Chapter One

The Darkest Night



Damp dread flecked her skin with tiny droplets of revulsion as she peered into the darkness. It wasn’t something solid that she was afraid of; it was the dark chasm just beyond her that threatened her the most. Maeve shrank back in fear at the prospect of stepping out into the void beyond what she knew. Treacherous tears threatened to fall onto her clammy cheeks. Just when she thought she was beyond the point of redemption she felt arms challenge her fright, taking her back to a point at which she could breathe real air and not the stale fetidness of the place she dreaded.

Severus looked down at her, his face harsh with worry but tempered with love. She looked gratefully into his eyes and recoiled at something, something fleet of foot that moved too quickly for her to recognise. With the ferocity of a tornado sweeping things up into the air she gave voice to a fear she could not rationalise. Her cries of grief wove a spell of such darkness around her that she knew she would drown in their slipstream. Huge, gulping sobs tore from a throat raw with grief and she grabbed hold of Severus’ dark robes, clutching tightly to the fabric and the man beneath, hoping that whatever it was she feared would never come to seek her out. Only Severus kept her from falling further into the despair that swelled at her shore.

And as her cries of anguish and pain reached their crescendo her hands flailed into thin air and she was left with an empty feeling of resounding loneliness. Loss pervaded the room as she opened her eyes to a pitch-black night, percolated only by the occasional owl-hoot and the sound of the hard wind in the trees outside the window. It was a dream, a nonsense created by her mind at a time of deep unease. It was only natural that as they prepared to go back to face the nightmare beyond the summer that she would feel such intense worry. Her hot head shifted on the cooler pillow and she was grateful for the chance to slow her breathing and concentrate on the certainty of a world made real by her consciousness.

She reached across to touch the man in her dream, the man who could chase away the nightmare of uncontrollable crying and irrational terror. All she needed was contact, to be brought back fully into her life before allowing herself to nod back off again. As her fingers crept across the pillows she realised something wasn’t quite as it should be. There was something missing. A breath, a rise in the sheets, the dip in the mattress as two bodies pushed the reluctant mass together and, most importantly, there was no warmth.

Maeve sat up and surveyed the emptiness with a heart still slightly out of kilter. Her head rationalised that he must have slipped downstairs for a glass of water, or perhaps he had heard a noise in the night. Something must have drawn him from his bed to create the emptiness beside her. With a sigh she flung back the covers and gingerly placed a toe on the cold floor, fumbling around with her feet to find her slippers. Once her soles were safely tucked into the warm sheepskin she stood up and padded softly across to the door. It opened with the customary creak and she peered into the gloom.

“Severus?� her voice was a low hiss, the reverence of the deep night making her lower her tone. There was no answer and she continued on her journey of discovery down the stairs. She looked into the sitting room and nothing but the pale embers of a dying fire reflected back against the darkness. Only now did the first strings of real concern begin to tug at her mind.

“Severus?� This time her voice was higher, shriller. Its warning note rang through the cottage but still it brought no response. Now she felt more than simple concern as she dashed through to the kitchen, the cellar and back to the sitting room. She raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, her white legs flashing against the blackout of the night. She crashed through the door of the bathroom, the second bedroom and finally, wearily, she pushed open the door of the attic space and cried into it for her husband to reveal himself.

There was nothing, nothing at all. She was completely alone in the house and, for the first time since the incident at Abbeylara last year, she was absolutely terrified.


Night continued to swirl uneasily around the cottage, its harsh breath finding a way into everything, making the world a dark and difficult place. There was no moonlight, no stars dipping their faces to the earth in aloof acknowledgement of the slumberous world below them. Through the deep and fathomless dark hours a course of events unfolded that would not find their way to the secluded house in Antrim until dawn, by which time Maeve had become an uncontrollable mass of worry. She had sent an owl to Hogwarts, to Professor Dumbledore. It was entirely possible he had called on Severus to do some secret task, but if that were the case why had Severus not merely woken her and told her that he had to leave. Why did it seem as if her husband had never even been in the house?

She threw open the wardrobe, needing confirmation that he had been there, and picked at his robes with agitation. Where was he? Maeve passed the gilded mirror on the wall and could see the effects of the sleepless night and the worry. Her hair was a tangled mess that fell in a feral tumble across her shoulders and covered her face, shielding wild, haunted eyes from the burgeoning dawn that crept slyly over the mountain. A sense of needing to do something forced her into the bathroom to splash cold water over her face and run a brush through the rat’s tails of her hair, the pain caused by the rough brushing temporarily taking her mind of her strange problem. After pulling on a dress she moved down to the kitchen window and studied the red rays of sun that came running down the green hills towards their cottage. She hoped that the light of day would bring with it her husband, or at least news of where her was. She couldn’t have known then that the news, when it came, would have such devastating repercussions.

By nine o’clock there had been no reply to her owl and she knew she would have to leave in order to find out what had happened to Severus. She could send out her Patronus but she doubted very much if it would make it all the way to Hogwarts from across the Irish Sea, and if her owl had failed there was no reason to suppose her Patronus would fare any better. Maeve couldn’t help the unbidden smile that crossed her lips as she thought of Severus’ attempts to teach her to cast a Patronus. He had been horrified when she had told him it was a skill she had never acquired and muttered darkly about ‘powerful witches not achieving their true potential’. He seemed to think it was imperative that she learned as quickly as possible and some of their honeymoon had been spent going over and over the incantation. His patience had worn thin though as she struggled to master the task. The basic Patronus form was easily done, but using the spell that would enable her to communicate with Severus, and for that matter the other members of the Order, had proved more difficult. They had travelled out to a deserted forest, carefully losing themselves in its depths, and she had tried to send the silvery form of a raven scuttling through the trees. The bird had erupted from the end of the wand, spinning rapidly above her head before evaporating into the night with a faint caw. They had been due to attempt it again that very evening.

As she drew her light, summer cloak across her shoulders, breaking free of the memory of her impatient teacher, and took her broom out from the cupboard a rapid-fire knocking at the front door startled her. A chill settled on the cottage, as she knew, instinctively, that the visitor brought bad news. Her fear for her husband tossed her on a wave of uncertainty as she walked slowly towards the insistent knocking.

She hadn’t been expecting to see Remus, his face hard and impassive. His hair was considerably greyer than it had been at the start of the summer and the tan that had made him look so healthy had faded. It had only been a month, she thought with sadness, what had happened to make him look so ill? Behind him stood two other wizards, with equally hard faces and wands in their hands, ready for a fight.

“Maeve, is Severus here?� Remus asked, his voice cold and frightening.

“No, I don’t know where he is,� she replied, bewilderment ravaging her forehead into tight furrows. “I woke up in the middle of the night and he was gone. I sent an owl to Dumbledore to see if he knew why.�

The look of pain that crossed Remus’ face meant nothing to her but she reached out a hand to comfort him, whatever the source of his hurt. The two other wizards moved forward at the mention of Dumbledore’s name and one of them spoke, his manner threatening and coarse.

“Why did you contact Dumbledore?� he asked, baring yellow teeth as he spoke.

“Because he is my friend,� she said simply. “Because if anyone would know where Severus had gone to, it would be Dumbledore.�

“Was your friend,� the other one said through thin, cold lips.

“Stilwater! That’s enough.� Remus paused for a moment before looking at Maeve again. “I need to speak with you, officially. There has been some trouble, in London.�

“Trouble,� Maeve looked at the trio with rising panic. Her gaze settled on the rough-looking man that Remus had addressed as Stilwater. “What do you mean was… what is he saying, Remus?�

“Let’s go inside.� Remus was still unusually cold and it was this that really made Maeve uneasy. Whatever had happened had had a profound effect on him but she couldn’t understand his manner towards her.

“Of course,� she agreed, moving aside to allow them to enter. “Shall we go through to the sitting room?�

“Stilwater and Gorse can wait for us in the kitchen,� Remus said, with a nod towards the other wizards. They looked as if they were about to protest but Remus gave them a look that Maeve couldn’t interpret. It seemed to be a warning and they heeded it by sloping off through the open door that led to the smell of recently prepared coffee.

She followed Remus through to the other room and recalled their first visit here. Then he had been unwell; the slash of Voldemort’s magic had torn through him, leaving him weak and unguarded. Now he looked equally as weak but his guard was firmly up as he sat down on the sofa, avoiding her eyes. She hesitated for a moment by the window, not knowing whether to sit with him or take a seat on the chair by the now dead fire. Eventually he raised his eyes to meet hers, recognising her dilemma and feeling a pang of shame at his detached attitude. Here was the woman he regarded as his sister and she was afraid to sit by him. The events of the night had certainly made monsters of them all.

“Come and sit with me, Maeve,� he relented. She rewarded him instantly with a fragile smile.

She perched with unease on the edge of the dark cushion, waiting for her worst fears to be confirmed. Her hair, now tidy, still fell over her shoulders, making Remus want to reach out and touch it, touch her innocence before he imparted his shattering news. Remus was absolutely convinced that Maeve had no foreknowledge of the events of the previous night; it was this sureness that had made him insist he was the one to go and see her. Through the open window the trees could be heard, groaning slightly in the mournful winds that had settled on the mountain. As the curtain fluttered gently he could see two ravens perched on a branch, clinging tight as the bough swayed beneath them.

“What is it, Remus?� she asked, her desperation palpable.

“There has been an… an incident… in a village on the outskirts of London. A very serious incident.� He faltered, almost unable to continue as the dramatic images of the night re-played in his mind. “Severus was involved.�

“He’s dead, isn’t he?� she said, the words so flat that Remus had difficulty believing she could be so emotionless. Her hands rested in her lap, white and tremulous as she twitched her fingers nervously against the thin cotton.

“No, Maeve, he is not dead. I’m afraid it is far, far worse than that.�

And now she knew something life-destroying had occurred and her face froze, readying itself for the mask she would have to wear when she found out the truth. Remus continued with some difficulty.

“There was an attack by Death Eaters, a very effective attack. We do not know how they found out that Dumbledore and Harry were there – I do not even know what they were doing on their night-time ramble. But it is done, and no doubt we shall find out in due course who betrayed us.�

“Is Harry safe?� Maeve asked, concern for her husband temporarily put to one side.

“Yes, he is safe but he witnessed an event that may well affect him very badly over the coming months.� One more event on top of so many, Remus thought. One more death in a young life populated with them.

“What happened?� she asked. “Please, Remus… just tell me.�

Remus had to gather himself in order to say the words that he still couldn’t quite believe were true. Each time he said them or thought them they made the event more real, more undeniable.

“It’s Professor Dumbledore...� He paused. “Professor Dumbledore was killed in the attack. It was… oh, Maeve, I really don’t know how to tell you the rest.� His eyes were cast down towards the glossy welcome of the wooden floor.

“Remus!� His name was said so sharply that he knew he was being very unfair to her in taking such time to tell her the truth. But when she did know, what would she do, her world would be in ruins around her. How could he do that to her?

“I’m so sorry… so sorry… Severus killed him. He used the Killing Curse. Harry was there and saw it all. There can be no doubt about what happened.�

Maeve stood up; cold fire in her veins as she moved away from him, moved towards the window that she had looked out of so often. This was the window that Severus had bumped into on their first night when she had popped a champagne cork behind him; this was the window that they often watched the nightfall through as it stole over the trees. This whole house was filled with memory, happy, glorious memory… of love and passion and deep understanding.

“You are wrong,� she said, her voice muted. “Harry was mistaken.�

“Harry was not mistaken, Maeve. He saw what he saw. Dumbledore pleaded with Severus and Severus ignored him. There can be no doubt that it was your husband that murdered Dumbledore, no doubt at all. You understand that makes your position very insecure.�

“Severus did not kill Dumbledore,� she repeated. “It is not possible. What else happened?�

“So much. Draco Malfoy was there; apparently he too threatened to kill Dumbledore. It was only when he failed to do so that Severus stepped in and completed the task for him. I know this must be very difficult for you to accept, Maeve… but you must accept it before you face anyone.� His heart was breaking for her now. He knew what the rumours would be, knew that there was no way the vast majority of wizards would believe that she was innocent of the knowledge that her husband had planned this attack. There was strong evidence now that Severus had never left the Dark Lord’s side. How much information had he given? How many deaths had he caused? It was all so unbelievable; they had all wanted so very much to accept that Severus was on his way to redeeming himself, to forgetting his past misdemeanours.

“Severus did not kill Dumbledore.� Maeve repeated the comforting mantra, fighting a duel with words that she could not hope to win. “Where is Draco now?�

“He fled with Severus. There was a fight with Harry as he tried to apprehend Severus… a fight that Severus won.�

“And yet he did not kill Harry? Why would he kill Dumbledore and not kill Harry, Remus? If he was really working for Voldemort then he would surely have killed Harry… can you not see that? This is ridiculous.�

She thought back to her wedding day, to the uneasy truce that had sprung up between Severus and his young pupil. They had all been so happy, so very happy, and she couldn’t believe that anything could have destroyed that contentment. Whatever malign external forces had tried to destroy them, the one thing she had been sure of was her husband’s complete fidelity to their union. There was no way he would have done this; it could not be.

“We don’t know why he didn’t kill Harry, perhaps he was too busy trying to escape to have much thought for what he could do to him. Maeve, please… you must accept this.�

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I MUST ACCEPT!� she roared. “I know the truth. I know that Severus could not kill Dumbledore — he held the man in too much respect.� Maeve hadn’t even begun to think about the fact that Dumbledore was dead. That would have been too much for her to try and process, given what was being said about Severus. But the fact remained that Severus was not here, and had not been here the previous night. If he had not been here then where had he been? Why had he not told her he was leaving? She controlled the rage that was beginning to smoulder in the pit of her stomach, controlled the desire to rail at the world and its cunning ability to throw her into turmoil at every turn.

“Maeve,� Remus pleaded, knowing now that he had been right to be the one to break the news, no matter how difficult it was proving to be. “Come with me to London. I can’t leave you alone here.�

“I can’t leave,� she said, horrified at the prospect. “This is my home... this is where Severus will return to. How can I possibly leave?�

“No, you misunderstand. I can’t leave you here because the Ministry want you back in London. They need to search the house… just to see if there is anything… “ He trailed of, the import of what he was saying only just beginning to trickle into her brain.

“Search the house?� Her face crumpled. “Why should they search the house… this is my home, my home, Remus. What do they think they will find here… Death Eaters and Dark Marks. Why aren’t they out looking for my husband? He’s missing after all.�

“They are looking for Severus.�

Maeve glared at him. “They are looking for him for the wrong reasons though… they are looking for him to accuse him of a murder he didn’t commit.�

“I understand you don’t want to believe that he did this, but it happened. We have a captured Death Eater that has given us a full confession about their part in the attack and who has confirmed that Severus was the one who killed Dumbledore.�

“Remus, please leave me alone. I don’t want to listen to this any longer. I want to wait for Severus to come home in peace.�

Remus was now suffering a dilemma. He couldn’t leave her alone and he had orders from both the Ministry and from the Order to bring her back. But her denial of the events of last night was profound in its intensity and she would be in emotional difficulty if he took her back in this condition. Could he really do that to her given what she was going through? Her waxen face had turned away and resumed its scouring of the landscape outside the window. Would he be able to make her accept Severus’ culpability in this matter? Her faith in the man that had so cruelly betrayed them all would be touching if it weren’t so misplaced. And then Remus had a thought that made him thoroughly ashamed. With Severus gone, would she come to care for him in the same way she did her husband? Would he finally be able to settle himself into her heart in that way? He looked away from her, disgust with himself apparent on his face. She saw the look through the reflection in the window and misread it.

“Do you hate me?� she asked. “Is that why you look so disgusted? Am I now in the same place as my husband in your thoughts?�

“Of course I don’t hate you!� The defensive ring to his voice made her wince.

“Then why the look of loathing?�

“I hate what has been done to you. You had your happiness and then it was taken away. It should not have happened.�

“But you are the one taking it away with these lies! They are lies... I know my husband and he is not capable of this betrayal. Harry has always hated him, always looked for a reason to make trouble for him…do you believe Harry’s word in this matter?� Mistrust and suspicion are subtle things, creeping in at times of deepest vulnerability, breaking allegiances and tearing friend from friend. It was so now, as Maeve struggled with news she did not want to hear.

Remus moved across to her, his face trying to remain gentle in the face of such an incredibly difficult situation. If she met Harry in this state the two would rip each other apart irrevocably. He knew that Maeve might see his position in this as disloyal but he had to be firm with her from the outset. There could be no watering down of the truth for her, no matter how unpalatable it might be.

“Sadly they are not lies. Please, Maeve, please accept what I am telling you.�

“Leave me be, Remus. I need to think about what you have told me. I need to think about how I am going to prove to you that what you are telling me is not correct.� She was unwavering, the sunlight from the window making the brown wreckage of her eyes burn with conviction.

“I can’t leave, I’ve told you that.� He hoped she wouldn’t continue with this impossible plea to stay here, the Ministry would never stand for it.

“You can leave. You can give me an hour’s peace. Let me have some time alone with my thoughts, Remus. At least give me that.�

Remus looked uncomfortable. He knew that if he left her alone his companions would accuse him of giving her the opportunity to do something underhand, not that he believed for a moment that she would.

“You think I’m going to hide something, don’t you?� she accused, searing him with her feelings of injustice. “Do you believe I had a hand in any of this? Do you believe this is a conspiracy? Remus, do you really believe, in your heart, that Severus was capable of doing this?�

The silence that greeted her gave her the answer that she needed.

“I need to pack,� she said, turning dead eyes from him. “If you need me to come and vouch for my husband then I will. Something has been damaged here today, Remus and it has nothing to do with what happened in London.�

Her sudden grace moved Remus and he felt ashamed of his refusal to answer her question. By leaving it in the air, unanchored, he had allowed her to believe that he had no faith in her either. But she had no idea of the bitterness and raw pain she would walk into down in London. If she attempted to tell the world that her husband was innocent she would suffer, suffer deeply. Her shocked figure left the room with shoulders proud and head haughty. Remus gazed out over the relentless beauty of the countryside and wished that Severus had left it a little while before causing his wife such grief. He had known all along that Maeve would suffer for her husband, and now the rest of the wizarding world would suffer too. How life can be changed so utterly in the shortest space of time imaginable.



Maeve stepped into the room she shared with Severus and looked around, as if she would find him waiting there. At best she hoped to see some answers, some proof, as if she needed proof, that this was a nightmare grimmer than the one from the previous night. She needed to wake up and cast off this chain of events that were unfolding, link-by-link, around her. The bed was still unmade and she made a move to it, straightening their pillows with swift movements. As she did so his scent stirred from the weave of the fabric, making her stop, frozen in time with the ghost of her missing husband surrounding her. Lemon light came in through the unopened curtains and she rushed across and ripped them back, looking out into the garden that sat, unruly, beneath the windows.

“Where are you?� she whispered into the day. It wasn’t enough, a feeble murmur blocked by a pane of glass that would carry nowhere. She slowly released the catch and pushed the glass forward, leaning into the freedom of the fresh breeze. “WHERE ARE YOU?�

The words were ripped away, bounced along the ground and lifted up into the trees, where they stayed a moment, suspended. Then they fled, startling birds and causing sheep to halt their endless grazing and gaze skyward in wonderment at the unanswered question.

Dissatisfied, she closed the window again and turned to her wardrobe. She quickly took out a few clothes and placed them in a small, brown travelling bag. Maeve was absolutely convinced that she would be staying just a few nights and then going on to Hogwarts, where most of her things remained. And with that unlooked-for reminder of Hogwarts she began to cry. The thought of a Hogwarts with no Dumbledore was too painful to consider, too appalling to contemplate. The fat tears of anguish fell hard and fast, staining the front of her cotton dress with their ferocity. She didn’t hear the light tapping at the window at first for it was drowned in the flood of her sobs. When she did hear it she looked up, a leap of hope lifting her heart from its sorrowful position somewhere beneath her ankles.

She couldn’t see anyone at first, but then something shifted slightly and she caught a flash of red cutting across her vision. With little to lose she moved back to the window and undid it again, poking her head into the day beyond.

“Hello, my sweet,� a voice said from just above her. She looked up and saw the familiar, and welcome, face of Roderick Rampton. “Need a ride anywhere?�

“What are you doing here?� she asked, incredulity making her forget her predicament for a moment. “I thought you were in hiding?�

“I was, until I persuaded a few people that I was a little more innocent than I may have been.� He waggled a rakish eyebrow suggestively.

“Like who?�

“Like the Ministry. Dumbledore knew of course…but that’s beside the point. Do you want to get away from here for a little while?�

“Do you know... about Dumbledore... last night?� Maeve was ridiculously pleased to see him. In Roderick she found someone that wasn’t tied in any way to the past, to her past.

“Of course I know… surely you didn’t expect me to be in the dark at a time like this. I was there.�

“And?�

“I’m afraid it’s true.� He had the decency to look genuinely sorry for her. She staggered back, away from the window, away from the one messenger she believed in spite of everything. She looked as if she was going to be sick and Roderick slipped in through the open window. He landed softly on the floor and put out a hand to steady her, the invisibility cloak he had been wearing falling off him completely. He caught her as she fell, her mind finally closing itself off to any further pain.



Remus paced the room with increasing purpose. He had heard her cry ring out across the trees, had heard her close the window on her sorrow. He glanced at his watch and realised she had already been up there for more than an hour. Augustus Gorse had put his curious head round the door and asked what she was doing. Remus had tried to sound reassuring when he informed the Auror that she was pulling herself together.

“I reckon we should go and get her down. The Ministry will be waiting for her and we’ve been long enough already.�

“Have some sympathy, she’s going through a lot at the moment,� Remus admonished.

“Well, I’m not convinced she didn’t know. He was her husband after all... hard not to know, isn’t it?�

“She did not know,� Remus said, the ice in his voice ignored by the other wizard. “I will go and bring her down. Do not say anything about her husband to her face. In fact, don’t speak at all.�

With a swirl of his shabby cloak he left Gorse to his ponderings and sprinted up the wooden staircase. The smell of home permeated everything in this house, from the honey smell of the wood to the odour of freesias that fragranced every room. This was a house that knew love and knew it well. So how had it come to this?

As he knocked lightly on the bedroom door he could see through to the bathroom. Severus’ things were still there. Small male-looking potions lined up alongside two toothbrushes and there was a silk robe draped over the side of the bath that was too dark to be Maeve’s. His throat contracted with sorrow for her as he knocked again, this time pushing the door open slightly. He couldn’t quite believe what he saw as he stepped cautiously into the room, or rather what he didn’t see. She was gone; the only sign that she had been here at all were the custard-coloured curtains that licked at the walls through the opened window. There were signs of hurried packing, half-open drawers with gaps and gaping wardrobes that contained a few empty hangers. Remus walked to the window, not wanting to believe she could have been so stupid as to escape – he was already speaking about her as if she was a fugitive and yet she had done nothing wrong. At least, she had done nothing wrong until now. He couldn’t understand her; surely she knew she would be safe with him. Had Severus returned while they had been busy doing nothing downstairs and spirited her away? But would she have gone? Would she have not tried to persuade Severus to stand up for himself? Surely, Remus thought, with a sense of surreal fear, Severus would never have harmed her in order to get her away.

He would have to go and report this to Stilwater and Gorse, and there would be now absolutely nothing he could do to protect her. She had sealed her own fate with this impulsive act. In fleeing she had ensured that she would be viewed as just as much a criminal as her murderous husband.

“Why, Maeve?� he asked the warm air. “Why?�

And the house seemed to sigh an answer back at him; she did it for love. What else would make her act in such an irrational and dangerous manner?

Stilwater and Gorse looked almost pleased to have their suspicions confirmed and, with a swiftness that left Remus adrift in the now empty building, they stepped smartly out of the front door and Apparated back to London. The stricken man stood in the kitchen of the cottage that had been Severus and Maeve’s first home together and he despaired. Of all the things they had expected this had been the last thing that could have been anticipated. Harry had told them a garbled tale of arguments overheard in dusty rooms at Grimmauld Place, of seeing Draco in Diagon Alley, of a strange book that had been discovered amongst things in the attic at the house he now owned and which was probably now uninhabitable for him. Above all, the vehemence with which he had threatened to gain his revenge on Severus had shocked Remus to the core.

There could be no happy ending now, for any of them.





Maeve regained consciousness as the broom had soared away from the Antrim coast. Looking down she saw the blazing blue of the sea and her eyes blinked at the burst of wind that almost blinded her. She was being held firmly around the waist by arms that were gripping a broomstick with some determination. The flapping red cloak that spirited in and out of her line of sight reminded her of who she was with and it was with a gasp of horror that she spoke.

“Roderick, what have you done?�

“What do you mean, what have I done?� he said cheerfully. “I’ve saved you from endless hours at the Ministry, that’s what I’ve done.�

“Don’t you realise how this will look?� Maeve realised how it would look — she might as well be in collusion with her husband, wherever he was.

“They’re hardly going to think you were in on the act, are they? After all, you’re their secret weapon against Voldemort. They aren’t likely to toss you into Azkaban and throw away the key, are they?� She couldn’t see his face so she didn’t know if he was being entirely serious but he certainly sounded it.

“Roderick… I just don’t believe you sometimes, I really don’t.� Her exasperation dripped into the sea below. “We don’t even know if the Ministry know about my connection with Voldemort. You know Dumbledore keeps… kept… things close to his chest.�

“I know, I’m an enigma… I think it suits me, don’t you?� His infallible cheerfulness irritated her now but she couldn’t help feeling a little pleased she did not have to suffer the insensitive probing of Stilwater and Gorse. Perhaps when she did finally arrive at the Ministry she would get less intrusive interrogators.

With so many questions it seemed strange that they lapsed into silence for the rest of their flight. Maeve didn’t even ask where they were going; somehow it no longer seemed to be important. As Roderick dropped the broom into a steady descent she barely registered the grimy town that swept beneath them. She certainly wasn’t overly concerned by their proximity to Muggles as Roderick brought the broom to land in a small clearing of trees that seemed to be enclosed in a park of some description.

“This is where we get off and walk,� Roderick said, flipping his leg over the broom and her with it. “It’s not far. I think you’ll be very interested in what we find there.� In one hand he carried his broom and in the other her bag, which she took from him and slung over her shoulder.

“Where are we?�

“You don’t really need to know the exact location. Severus will probably tell you himself eventually. All you need to know is that this is a secure place known only to a select few. Certainly none of your friends within the Order will know about it, nor will the Ministry.�

“And what are we doing here?� Maeve kicked a few empty lager cans out of her way as they trouped through the narrow pathway that led out of the trees and into the main area of the park.

“We’re hiding you from those that will seek revenge for what your husband did. Aren’t I nice?�

“Roderick, this is very tiresome. Just tell me what is going on.�

“All in good time.�

And she had to be content with that.


They crossed a narrow footbridge that arched lazily over a dirty river. Maeve glanced down and could see a rusting shopping trolley sticking up like a wrecked ship, its wheels unmoving in the summer sunshine. The banks of the river were covered in old tyres, bags of rubbish whose sides had split, spilling their contents onto the grass like some venomous effluent, and there was the occasional cat nosing around in the detritus of human lives. Bleak would have been a flattering description of the place, she thought, as they left the bridge and began to cross a cobbled street towards a row of derelict houses. The maze of lanes and alleyways bewildered Maeve and she wondered how Roderick could possibly have any idea where he was heading. Small, enclosed yards backed onto shared passageways and it was through these that they went, moving swiftly from lane to lane. In the background she heard the muffled shouts of people in their houses, the occasional child’s cry, and a dog barked angrily as someone upturned a dustbin.

“Roderick, this is ridiculous. We shall be seen.� She looked up at the dirty windows with anxiety. The place may have looked abandoned but it was clear from the grey laundry that fluttered from a few plastic washing-lines that people lived here. He turned to her hurrying figure and smiled.

“I shouldn’t worry. They are used to seeing shadowy figures roaming the streets. We will not alarm anyone.�

She struggled to keep up, her feet tripping over rubbish and stones as she negotiated her way through the effluent of the Muggles that inhabited this awful place.

Finally Roderick began to slow down, his mouth counting wordlessly as he walked down another nameless alleyway.

“Here we are,� he announced in a low voice. With a gentle shove, he opened the filthy door that shielded the yard from the rest of the alley and stepped into the gloom. Maeve followed him, disgusted at the state of the small, concrete area in which they now stood. There was a rotting mattress propped up against one wall, while on another stood the remains of a child’s pram, its corduroy upholstery ragged and dirty. The ground was covered with rubbish, a stinking sea of crisp packets and beer bottles, buoyed by an underlying layer of indeterminable grime.

“Where is here?� she said, wondering what the awful smell was and where it was coming from.

“Here, my darling, is temporary home.� He drew his wand and whispered “Alohamora� at the gloomy entrance. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open with the tip of his wand, not wanting to touch the filth-encrusted handle.

He stepped in ahead of her, propped his broom against the wall, and surveyed the dingy hallway with distaste before moving forward to another yellowed door. She followed him in and closed the back door behind her. Her nostrils picked up a scent that was vaguely familiar but it was mingling with ancient, stale cigarette smoke and the cloying smell of cooking fat and she couldn’t place it. It comforted her though, without her knowing why. A glance into the kitchen as she passed it revealed nothing but a few rickety cupboards and a grease-caked cooker that looked as though it had been here for many, many years. Roderick stood in another doorway and beckoned her through. She stepped into a room that was lined with books, shelf after shelf filled with dusty, leather-bound obscurity. She ignored the ragged sofa, the shabby armchair and the unsteady-looking table in favour of the bookshelves, dropping her bag against the sofa as she went to examine them.

The layer of dirt on the windows and the dreary net curtains that covered the glass hampered the light coming into the room and she had to look closely at the spines to read the fading titles. She didn’t recognise most of them but some of the titles chilled her to the bone. Pestilential Potions and Their Uses by Malificus Bentinck, An Almanack of Moste Mortal and Divers Magick by Destry Willowblight, and Inferi; Faire or Foul? by Acheron Dei were just a handful that she pulled down and flicked through, wondering at their owner and his or her taste in reading matter. A particularly striking spine had a gold-embossed skeleton sandwiched between the title – Carnal Theurgy And Its Application By The Incarnate – and the author’s name – Kentigern Snape.

Her eyes flicked over the lascivious illustration on the flyleaf and she turned the onionskin paper slowly, revealing a photograph of the author on the next page. She felt the bile rise in her throat as the dark eyes of the man who had murdered her mother stared up at her. He had been a disturbing-looking man, with his thin face and wild hair that rose from his scalp like a challenge. His right eyelid slowly dropped over his eye in a leisurely wink and Maeve could have sworn that he knew who she was.

“All right?� Roderick broke into her thoughts.

She ignored him, her fingers closing ever tighter around the book. She knew what she had seen in her dream, the flash of something she had found in Severus’ eyes. She had seen the bitter shadow of his father haunting him, stalking him through her nightmare. She slammed the book closed, dust jumping from its surface in a swirl of resentment.

“Whose house is this?� she said, her voice low with anger. “Where have you brought me?�

Roderick tried to look cheerful as he opened his mouth to answer but she beat him to it.

“This house belongs to Severus, doesn’t it?� She looked around her at the dour surroundings and wondered how he could have kept this secret. It was so different from Darkacre, although the heavy atmosphere was still the same. No wonder she had recognised the smell — it was Severus’ smell. He had been here recently.

“It does,� Roderick had a strange smile on his lips. “It belonged to his grandfather, Lionel Snape, a Muggle, no less. It passed to his father and then, in time, came to Snape. Did he not tell you about it?� She didn’t hear the sly tone in his voice; shock veiled everything but the knowledge that Severus had lied to her, or at the very least been economical with the truth..

“No,� she fumbled towards the armchair, sitting down in a seat that her husband must have sat in many times before. “No, he didn’t. What else didn’t he tell me?�

“Who knows? I always thought Snape was a bit of a rogue myself.� Roderick was enjoying this, despite her solemn despair. “I did try to warn you a few times but you wouldn’t listen.�

“No.� She stood up again, looking around. “There is something wrong here. This could not be… there is an explanation for this. If he did not tell me about this place then he did not want me to know for a good reason. There is something we do not know. What is it, Roderick?�

“I think that things are what they are. You read too much into things, Maeve. He had a secret and he wanted to keep it close to his chest. I know it must be upsetting for you but I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on.� He gave a casual shrug of his proffered shoulders.

“A shoulder to cry on?� The incredulity she displayed made him think she was perhaps over-reacting a little. “The world is trying to tell me something that I cannot allow myself to believe and here you are, presenting me with evidence of my husband’s other life. I don’t want a shoulder to cry on, I want bloody answers. I want to know where my husband is. Do you know? You seem to know everything else.� She glowered accusingly at him.

“Sadly, I don’t know. Wherever he is he will no doubt have Draco with him… the Ministry are searching all the obvious places. Darkacre, Malfoy Manor, and the cottage you shared. I only know about this place by accident. I overheard him speaking with Dumbledore about it – shocking lack of security on their part – and it wasn’t too hard for me to track it down. Not only that but Narcissa Malfoy knows where he lives. Very close those two were, and Narcissa Malfoy is a notorious blabbermouth.�

“What do you mean they were close?� She paled again. “And if Narcissa is a blabbermouth, what are we doing here?�

“Just after they left school, always seen around together… before she married Lucius, that is.� He ignored the comment about Narcissa and her rapid-fire mouth.

“I have to find him.� The urgency of her words told their own tale. Maeve couldn’t take any more information about Severus without hearing it from him, but she didn’t know where to begin. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t even tried to contact her, knowing the sort of turmoil she must be in.

“What if he’s thinking about doing something stupid?� she asked. Roderick made a noise that was so inconclusive it sounded amazingly like a grunt, unusual for Roderick, who was an accomplished talker no matter what the subject was.

When Roderick didn’t provide her with an answer she crossed over to the window and twitched the curtain back. “I know you aren’t used to telling the whole truth, but I would appreciate it if you told me everything you know.�

“I don’t know much,� he admitted, annoyed that this was the case. His status with the Ministry was improved but he wasn’t exactly in the running for Wizard of the Month in Witch Weekly. “I know about this place. I know that Snape’s been running errands for Dumbledore all summer.�

Maeve looked thoughtful as she recalled the many times that Severus had had to pop back to England for a few hours here and there. Their unbroken honeymoon had hardly been peaceable, what with owls dropping in every day and the occasional Patronus breaking into the bedroom at all hours. She had asked him, but knowing the nature of his work for the Order had never pressed for real answers.

“I know,� Roderick continued, “that Dumbledore had been seeing a lot of Harry Potter, too. They has some sort of errand to run that culminated in Snape firing an Unforgivable, although it sounds to me like the old man was on his way out anyway.�

“Don’t speak of Dumbledore as an old man,� she snapped. “He may have been an old wizard but he was still powerful. Oh, Medusa… did Severus really kill him, Roderick? Did he really fire a Killing Curse? I knew… of course I knew… that Severus was capable of killing. It was a painful fact that I had to face, but we thought… I thought… that all that was behind him. Do you know what was said, Severus must have said something.�

“I have read the transcript that Potter gave to a colleague… it’s not pleasant.� He waved his wand and a pale parchment appeared in the air before him. Maeve reached out and snatched it quickly, hurriedly scanning it for anything, any small sliver of hope that would mean she could prove Severus’ innocence. Her mouth soundlessly mouthed the words as she read Harry’s account of the incident. As she drew to the end a sigh of relief left her lungs and she moved across to the chair again, sitting heavily and drinking in the smell of Severus that rose from its dusty arms.

“Have you read this?� she asked. “Really read it? Where did Dumbledore go last night?�

“I think it’s fairly clear cut to me.� Roderick was a little dismayed that she had not collapsed into a heaving heap of sadness. If she had seen something that he had missed he was going to be very miserable indeed. “Snape killed Dumbledore in cold blood, despite being begged not to.�

“You idiot! Dumbledore wasn’t pleading for his life… he was pleading for his death. I have to find Severus… you have to help me find him.�

Roderick looked nonplussed. There was nothing in that transcript to suggest that Dumbledore wanted anything other than to live. Nowhere did he say to the fugitive wizard “Please kill me now so I can escape the torturous nightmare of my life,� so how on earth had she arrived at that conclusion?

“I don’t see… well…we don’t know where they went. You would have to ask Potter.�

“I would, only Harry isn’t exactly going to want to talk to me at the moment, is he? What did he mean when he told Draco it was his mercy that mattered? Harry says that the sound of Dumbledore’s voice frightened him — why should it? Perhaps because Harry recognised something that he didn’t want to accept. Severus has to kill someone he loved; the hate Harry saw was for himself, Roderick. He hates himself because he had to kill Dumbledore.�

“I think you’re jumping to awfully big conclusions,� Roderick said, his whole demeanour dismissive. “Just because Dumbledore didn’t explicitly ask Severus to save him doesn’t mean he wanted him to kill him.�

“Dumbledore was dying. Harry says he was weakening by the second in this account.� She waved the parchment triumphantly at him. “He even says that Dumbledore asked for Severus when they returned to the castle… he didn’t want Poppy, why was that?�

“Maeve, I understand he’s your husband, and that you want to believe the best in him, but you have to see that this is not going to wash with the Ministry. You will need to find proof of your fantastic theory and I don’t think there is proof. I think it’s as plain as the pretty nose on your lovely face what happened in that village last night. Severus has re-joined the Death Eaters and killed Dumbledore for Voldemort. There can be no other explanation.�

“YOU’RE WRONG!� she screamed, the mention of Severus re-joining Voldemort too much to bear. Reaching towards the table she picked up the glass lantern that sat there and threw it with some force across the room so that it shattered in shower of dusty, glinting shards against one of the bookcases. All this noise meant that they didn’t heat the gentle knock at the front door, or the voice calling through the letterbox.

“I AM NOT WRONG!� Roderick shouted back, his voice deeper but not nearly so forceful as hers.

“HE DID NOT DO THIS WILLINGLY!�

They didn’t hear the crack of the door as it was magically opened, allowing a cloaked figure to enter the hallway. It was only when the gooseberry-green door opened that they stopped shouting and turned to face the figure, whose face was obscured by a large hood. Instantly they both had their wands drawn and the newcomer slipped the hood from their face.

Maeve was astounded to see the frightened face of Narcissa Malfoy beneath the blue cloak, and Narcissa Malfoy was equally startled to be facing Severus Snape’s wife.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?� Roderick droned, replacing his wand and waiting for the fireworks to go off again.

Chapter Two

An Uncomfortable Alliance.


Narcissa’s cold eyes sparked with disbelief as she took in the scene before her. She had come here looking for her son and instead had found the inflexible figure of the one person she really hadn’t wanted to bump into for a long time, if ever. Her porcelain hands flailed into the air, looking for support, and when they failed to find any she settled for gripping the edge of her cloak.

“Narcissa,� Roderick said, his face a picture of pleasure. “How delightful of you to call in.�

“What’s she doing here?� Her words carried undiluted hatred, despite her startled appearance. Pale hair caught the light and provided Narcissa with a hoary halo that was at odds with her anger-ridden face. “How did she find out about this place?�

Maeve was fighting several feelings at once. The first was intense and crushing jealousy that this woman seemed to know so much about a part of her husband’s life that had been denied to her. Had Maeve been a simpler woman, with no thought for consequences, she would have slapped the superior-looking creature standing before her with that pained expression on her silly face. As it was she bit her tongue for a moment and tried to think. She didn’t want to appear stupid; ignorance would merely add fuel to Narcissa’s already well-lit fire of control and yet, her problem was that she was entirely ignorant of this place and of Severus’ life here. She cursed him for leaving her in this vulnerable position and prayed that he had a good reason for it. Maeve also felt fear, fear that Narcissa being here meant that Severus was somehow in worse trouble than she had first imagined.

“We thought we’d pay a visit to Severus’ little hideaway. Maeve wanted to see if she could collect anything that might be of use to her husband – isn’t that right, Maeve?� Roderick said, his smooth, untruthful, words tripping across the slanting dust. Narcissa blanched at the use of the term husband, despite the fact that she had a perfectly good husband of her own. Although given the current state of things Lucius wasn’t exactly in a perfect position with Voldemort.

The aloof witch was desperately trying not to address Maeve directly but she couldn’t help looking at her from the corner of her eye. She didn’t want to admit it, but she could see something of her own dilemma reflected back from the yawning pupils that surveyed her with corresponding distaste.

“You’re not telling me she knew about this place?� Narcissa was incredulous. “I thought no-one but Severus and I knew, and Bella… but Bella is, well…�

“Dead,� Maeve finished her sentence for her, entering the conversation with a word so final that it brought Narcissa to a stuttering halt. “Bella is dead, isn’t she? It may interest you to know that I saw her die.�

“Maeve.� The word was a warning and Maeve, for once, heeded Roderick’s advice and fell silent.

“Bella was my sister,� Narcissa spat, goaded, finally, into speaking directly to Maeve. “Perhaps you should remember that before you go around merrily telling people that you watched her die.� She hesitated before the callousness of her world caught up with her. “And no doubt you enjoyed it.�

Maeve knew the harm caused by immuring oneself within a mindset and she suspected that Narcissa had lost much of her ability to see that all people did not share the same cold-hearted viewpoint.

“Not particularly,� she replied, refuting the allegation with a half-hearted attempt at denial. “Certainly not as much as Bella would have done had the situation been reversed. By all accounts watching people suffer was a speciality of hers. Oh, but then I forget; she was Death Eater… that’s what they do.�

“Severus is a Death Eater,� Narcissa said dangerously. “Or are you forgetting that?�

“Was a Death Eater. He is no longer working for Voldemort, as well you know.�

Narcissa looked oddly pleased at this, giving a strangled falsetto laugh, and Roderick again tried to intervene.

“Now, now, ladies, let’s all calm our aerated tempers for a moment. We have nothing to gain from this nonsense, amusing though it is.� He winked at Maeve, who widened her eyes in disbelief at his apparent delight.

“Is that what he told you,� Narcissa said, her voice dripping happiness. “It’s true then, what they say. The wives are always the last to know. Severus never left the Dark Lord, not even for you.� The look that accompanied these words suggested that Severus would not leave a pile of dead Horklumps for Maeve, even if her life depended on it. “Through the darkest years he kept his faith in the Dark Lord. He told me so himself, in this room, not three weeks ago. I must admit I was sceptical at first, especially after he married you… but we all have our moments of madness and I suppose this was his. He did tell me that there was a purpose to his nauseating alliance with you.�

Maeve felt as if a strange mist was descending about her ears. Three weeks? That was the first week of their honeymoon. He had left on the Tuesday, saying he had to visit Dumbledore, something for the Order. He had been gone longer than expected, sending her an owl in the early evening to say he would be late, very late. She saw the room through different eyes then, could imagine the quiet companionship as Narcissa and Severus sat on the threadbare furniture, sipping wine and chatting about Voldemort. Did he crow about how easily she had been hoodwinked into believing… believing what. Maeve shook these perfidious thoughts from her head, hating Narcissa for making her think them.

“Nice attempt, Narcissa. You’ll have to do much better than that to even begin to make me distrust him.�

“What if I told you he made an Unbreakable Vow,� Narcissa hissed, enjoying her position of news-breaker. “With me, in this very room, sealed by none other than Peter Pettigrew.�

And now Maeve did grow pale. Unbreakable Vows were not taken lightly and only when the person making the vow knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they could fulfil them. The alternative was death.

Roderick looked extremely interested at this point. He was always exceedingly gratified to receive information that was new to him, and this was most definitely fresh to his ever-hungry ears.

“An Unbreakable Vow?� Maeve sat heavily on the sofa, the fight apparently drained out of her. “Pettigrew?�

“Surprised?� She couldn’t keep the chilling pleasure from her voice.

“What was the vow?� The cold clamp of jealousy wouldn’t let go of Maeve’s heart and it squeezed painfully as she tried to breathe. “What did he agree to?�

“I’m not sure he would want you to know. After all, you obviously didn’t know about this place, despite his attempts to cover that up.� She nodded her contempt at Roderick, who bridled under her scorn. “Perhaps it is better you don’t know.�

Maeve was out of her seat in a flash and had a hand clamped firmly around Narcissa’s astounded face before the other woman had the chance to defend herself. Her fingers dug into the older witch’s flesh, nails scoring red lines down the skin. Narcissa felt her head crack against the wall as the ferocity of Maeve’s anger was unleashed.

“Do you see this?� Maeve yelled, thrusting her left hand in Narcissa’s face and allowing her full view of the perfectly formed gold that circled her ring finger. “Do you understand what that means, what it really means? It’s not an ornament, worth galleons and a good position. It’s a bond, one that is unbreakable…as unbreakable as the vow you say Severus took. If he didn’t tell me about this – this sordidness – it was because he wished to protect me. And protect me he did, but he should have let me know. He was wrong to shield me because now it’s harder. But it’s not impossible, Narcissa, and your words, malicious though they may be, will not shake me. I know that I can’t change what he has been — why would I even attempt it? But I know that he is no longer what he was, no matter how much you will it to be so.� A thin drizzle of Narcissa’s blood ran down one of her fingernails and she stared at the injurious digit in revulsion, withdrawing her hand quickly and surveying the arc of scarlet that she had left on the once perfect skin.

Narcissa drew herself together, making no attempt to wipe away the blood, feeling the pain and accepting it.

“Lucius is not a bad man,� she began, her voice faltering slightly at the slight against her husband and her marriage. “He did what he did for us, for Draco and I. He has been a good father to my son.�

“He’s been the worst father!� Maeve retorted. “What did he ever do for that boy?�

“Maeve.� The warning came again from Roderick and she looked at his face with a glimmer of regret, remembering his own unstable childhood. “I think Narcissa has other things on her mind.�

“Like what?� Maeve snorted, anger making her reckless. “Like when her son will follow his father? When will Draco make his first kill, Narcissa? Is that what you are so worried about? Got to prove himself to Voldemort, doesn’t he?�

“MAEVE!�

She dropped her head, ashamed of her bitter cruelty.

“He failed.� The words were hollow and yet carried an edge of despair that made Maeve raise her eyes beneath weary lashes. She could see the struggle that was going on in Narcissa’s head and she recognised it as her own. The struggle between believing in your loved one and accepting that there were circumstances you would rather they were not involved in. The anxiety was evident in every fickle string of Narcissa’s being.

“Failed at what?�

“Indeed, Narcissa. What did he fail at?� Roderick was leaning against the sofa, his relaxed demeanour belying the interest he felt in the conversation.

Narcissa looked at them in turn; fearful of the consequences should her husband find out she was here, with these people. In the end it was her fear for her son that made her speak, made her confide in people she should otherwise have hated.

“The Dark Lord was displeased with Lucius. You know there was some trouble with - with Bella.� Her tongue hastily brushed her lips with moisture to relieve the dryness of the situation. “It seems that Lucius was trying to gain supremacy in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, but Bella felt that was her position. The Dark Lord thinks, wrongly, I might add, that Lucius deliberately set out to trick Bella and that this trick resulted in her death. But you were there,� she said, looking at Maeve with discomfort. “You must have known what really happened.�

Maeve shook her head, memories of that night and day in the cellars of Abbeylara still fresh. “No, I didn’t know anything about Lucius. Bella was having some dispute with my father and with, well, with Roderick.�

Both women looked to the smiling man, who continued to grin, not faltering in his good humour for a moment. He gave a little shrug, as if to say he wouldn’t know about these things. “It was a very confusing time for everyone. What Lucius did was his own affair; he certainly didn’t let me in on his secrets. Rather foolish of him to try and usurp Bella, or anyone for that matter. Surely he knows that Voldemort had no favourites?�

Narcissa was about to argue with him about Lucius, but realised it would get her nowhere. It wouldn’t bring her husband back from skulking around in Europe on some rather nasty mission that the Dark Lord had set for him. She knew she would have to be very careful now that he had marked the Malfoys as being questionable. If it hadn’t been for Lucius, Draco would never have been placed in such a terrible position. And as her thoughts moved back to her son her lip began to quiver and she barely held onto her composure.


Maeve sensed the fatigue in Narcissa, she felt it in herself and knew it made rational thought very difficult. Her loathing shifted just enough to allow the notion that she might be able to help Maeve find Severus, unpleasant though that idea may be.

“What did Draco fail at, Narcissa?� she asked, in a more temperate way. “What does Draco failing have to do with this?�

“The Dark Lord told him he had to kill Dumbledore. Not that the old fool didn’t deserve to be removed from his position, doddering around in his tower, but Draco… how could Draco possibly kill someone so much more powerful than himself?�

Roderick watched lazily as Maeve fought to control her rage. Such loyalty to the old wizard was touching, especially in one so distressed. In fact Roderick was beginning to quite enjoy being caught in the middle of these two very attractive, distraught females. It made him feel rather dashing, as if he had recently cantered across the pages of melodrama. Taking care not to disturb the flow of their conversation he produced some glasses and a bottle of wine with his wand and prepared himself for a pleasurable few hours.

“But Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore, Severus did,� Maeve retorted. “Why did Severus…� And with an echoing clang the penny finally dropped for her. “Oh, no, Narcissa. Please tell me that wasn’t the vow?� There was an ugly, lurching sensation in her stomach as the possibilities began to form and gain clarity in the stale air that surrounded them. “Please tell me Severus didn’t promise to kill Dumbledore. That is too unbelievable, even for him.�

“I begged him,� Narcissa admitted, a sparkling of tears dusting her eyelids. “I begged him to do it, knowing what it would mean. And he did it, he did it to protect my son.� The tears were swept away by her luminous lashes. “He did it for me, and for Draco, knowing full well what it would mean for you. You’re finished. How can he possibly live a normal life after this? He made a choice and he chose correctly.� The malice in Narcissa reasserted itself as she tried to out-face Maeve. “If you’re lucky you’ll get out of this foolish marriage with your name intact, but little else.�

“What,� Maeve began, through painfully clenched teeth, “did I ever do to you that you would hate me so much?�

Narcissa began to answer but checked herself. “You exist,� she said after a pause. “You had to come back from wherever it is they had decided to bury you, and you ruined everything.�

“What did I ruin?� Maeve demanded.

“You’ll never understand.� The malice retreated again and was replaced with a sadness that was pitiful. Roderick calmly handed them both a glass of wine and they took it, heedless of the early hour or the incongruousness of the scenario.

“Try me?� Maeve asked, but she didn’t get her answer. They were interrupted by a knock at the front door; a loud insistent knocking that was fully intent on being answered.

“I thought you said no one else knew about this place,� Maeve said, looking from Roderick to Narcissa with something bordering on relief that someone would get her out of this predicament.

Roderick insisted that no one else did know as he swept away their glasses with the same magic that had summoned them. Narcissa looked thoroughly rattled now and was on the point of bolting out the back way when Roderick grabbed her arm and looked at her very carefully, his charm working its own enchantment.

“It will be all right,� he said, his calmness proving infectious, as Narcissa stopped and looked at him. “I will get rid of them. I suggest you two go upstairs and wait.�

Maeve glanced towards the hallway, knowing that to get to the stairs they would have to pass the frosted glass of the front door. As she started to point this out to Roderick he tipped his wand in the direction of one of the bookcases and Maeve raised an impressed eyebrow as a hole in the wall appeared, leading to a dusty, dark staircase. They scooted up without another word, Maeve leading the way to an upper floor that was as dank as the ground one.

As the staircase gave way to a low-ceilinged landing they both hesitated, but it was Narcissa who made the first move. She walked straight to the end of the hallway and opened one of the caramel-coloured doors, giving Maeve a haughty look in the process.

“In here,� she said. “The back bedroom is furthest away from the front door and if necessary we can always escape through the window.�

Maeve held her arms tight to her body as she moved down the fusty passage. The walls bowed out, their paper covered in a strange, dull mould that smelled of boiled cabbages and wet dog. The room that Narcissa had disappeared into was indeed a bedroom, and a surprisingly clean one at that. Instead of the usual coating of dirt, here was a bright, well-lit room with clean linen on its small, single bed. Pretty curtains hung at windows that appeared to have been cleaned sometime this century, unlike all the other windows in the house. Narcissa flopped down on the bed and reached towards the tiny bedside table, opening a drawer and taking out a small bottle of perfume.

“This house always makes my nostrils feel they are under siege,� she said, giving a quick squirt of the iridescent liquid. Instantly it gave off a smell that made Maeve feel a little sick but the odour seemed to calm Narcissa, a smile of contentment softening the hard-faced woman. “Severus made it for me.� There was a slight hesitation over the ‘for me’ but Maeve chose to ignore the whole thing. She didn’t really want to know why Narcissa was so very at home here; the answers would probably have been too painful for her to hear.

They heard nothing from below until the front door crashed closed and the sound of Roderick’s hurried footsteps could be heard coming up the main stairs. Maeve was torn between staying where she was in case there was anyone with him and rushing out to find out who the visitor was. It was the sickly smell coming from Narcissa that finally made her step towards the door; she couldn’t understand how Severus could have created something that smelled so nauseating. She opened it to find Roderick stretching out a hand for the doorknob; his face was slightly flushed from the exertion.

“I can’t believe that stupid rodent sometimes,� he said. “Apparating into a street that could have been full of bloody Muggles. How careless can a wizard get?�

“What did Pettigrew want?� Narcissa asked, standing behind Maeve in a cloud of alarm.

“Calm down,� Roderick grinned, before wrinkling his nose in distaste. “He just wanted to see if Snape had returned here. I told him I was here working for the Ministry; he always was a bit too ready to believe what people told him. Never crossed his mind that I was no longer Voldemort’s favourite person. Of course the minute he gets back then Voldemort is going to be none too pleased that I’m sniffing around.�

“We need to get out.� Maeve looked anxiously down the corridor. “Once Voldemort knows you are here he’s going to send someone.�

“You do have a point,� Roderick said, a note of regret in his voice. “It would have been a nice bolt hole for awhile but plans change. I daresay we’d better get you to the Ministry now so they can have a chat with you. It’ll be the safest place for the time being.�

“Have you taken leave of your senses? I can’t go to the Ministry now… not after your little stunt at the cottage. They’ll be even more suspicious of me now than they were before.�

Narcissa stifled a slight snigger as she pushed past and left the relative freshness of the bedroom. “I’d offer to let you stay at Malfoy Manor but I think it might upset you, given that your own house burned to the ground.�

“My house is still standing, Abbeylara was no longer my home. Unlike some, I don’t need large rooms and expensive furnishings to feel comfortable.�

“I know, peasants require few creature comforts. You probably wouldn’t appreciate the quality anyway.�

“I appreciated the quality in Severus, many times.� Maeve was happy to see the dart gouge its way into Narcissa; her blond hair fell across a face that was pink with resentment.

“You two are highly entertaining; perhaps you should consider forming an act. I still have contacts in the entertainment world and could get you lots of work.� Roderick’s appreciation was entirely lost on the two witches, who didn’t see any humour in the situation.

“I’ll get my broom,� he said as they scowled at him. “Time to make our exit. How did you get here?� he asked Narcissa.

“I Apparated. I’ll go back the same way.� She turned her back to them and began to walk down the corridor.

“Narcissa, wait.� Maeve was soft as she spoke, feeling that there was still something unsaid between them. Narcissa did wait, pausing before turning back, her face tight with unresolved fears. “What will you do about Draco?�

“What can I do? I will wait for Severus to bring him home. We will see how things are when that happens.�

“What if… what if that never happens. What if Severus doesn’t bring him home?� Maeve hadn’t intended to sound quite so uncertain but she allowed the first sting of doubt to enter her mind. However sure she was of Severus’ innocence, she still couldn’t be certain that Voldemort would not exact some kind of punishment on both Severus and Draco. She just had to get to him before anyone else did.

“Then I will go and look for him. Severus will keep him safe.� The blind faith that Narcissa displayed made her feel fleetingly ashamed of her own doubts.

“I will deal with the Ministry and then I will go looking for my husband. If you know anything, anything at all that will help me I would expect you to tell me.� Her re-doubled, flint-edged resolve made Narcissa hesitate in her answer.

“Why should I…� she began.

“Because if I find my husband I will also find your son! Surely you can see that through your blinkered eyes? I will come to Malfoy Manor when the Ministry release me. Expect my visit and do not try to prevent it. Do you understand?�

“The Ministry might have something to say about that,� Roderick interjected. “I can’t imagine they will let you go running around the country. They will want to monitor your movements.�

“They can’t prevent me from visiting an old friend, now can they?� She gave a disgusted glance at Narcissa. “I can feign a friendship if necessary… mammoth task though it may be.�

Narcissa opened and closed her mouth rapidly. She had said and heard enough and just wanted to get out of all these memories. With a curt nod she headed for the stairs and was gone with a swirl of her dark cloak.

“And now we have to work out how to get you back to the Ministry,� Roderick grinned. “I don’t fancy another long broom ride with a passenger so it will probably have to be a Portkey.�

“That won’t be necessary,� a new voice carried down the unending gloom towards them.

They both turned in the direction of the bristling light that filled the corridor with reluctant energy to see the softly glowing figure of her father standing at the head of the stairs.

“I think I can arrange to get my daughter to London, Mr. Rampton, if you would care to leave us alone.�

Roderick blinked slowly in the face of such mercurial magnificence and for once he was speechless. Not one to kid himself, he knew when he was in the presence of something that could easily see through whatever web he was weaving. With a quick bow of his head he accepted Lugh’s instructions and patted Maeve’s hand.

“Chin up, my lovely. I’ll catch up with you in London, and don’t worry… I’ll spin them a line about why you were with me. They won’t think you were off being a naughty girl.�

“You will do no such thing, young man.� Lugh’s voice was firm. “You will leave the fate of Maeve to me and to the people who will ensure her freedom. You have meddled enough.�

“But really, I think that an explanation from me would…�

“I said enough,� Lugh repeated, and there was no room for further discussion in his steeled words. “Go back to wherever it is you can do the least damage. If my daughter needs you then she will seek you out.�

“Very well, if that’s the way you want it,� Roderick said, accepting defeat. He strode past Lugh, his dark hair reddened by the light that came from the sun-strobed man. As he clattered down the stairs he grumbled under his breath, words than neither Maeve nor her father caught.

“So, child. Things have been difficult?�

She nodded, glum confusion pulling her head up and down. Part of her was glad to see her father, but she knew there was a graver reason for him contacting her than merely helping out his troubled child, and that reason was soon revealed.

“You know I need to return something to you. The time has come. I had intended to visit you next week but after what has happened I think we should pursue a more expeditious course of action.� His fair eyes contained a degree of sadness.

“I understand,� she said, wishing she didn’t. “Do you have it with you?�

“Of course.� He reached into his heavy woollen cloak and pulled forth the craftsmanship that was the necklace she had last seen in Grimmauld Place when things had been so much more straightforward. “Turn around.�

She obeyed his instruction and shivered as he swept the hair from her neck and drew the necklace around her parian skin. With a jolt that made her veins heavy the two ends of the gold were joined, trapping her back into her fate. No one had ever placed the necklace around her neck before and it felt different, more purposeful, more real.

He turned her round to face him and smiled down into her uneasy eyes.

“Trust in him,� he said, his advice certain.

“I do, I do trust him, but it’s so hard to understand why…. So unbearable to feel the loss of him.�

“I know, child, I know it is. But you have borne his loss before and you will bear it now. Have a little faith in the strength of your bond and accept what life has for you. And when you do find him, please do not judge him too harshly… we all have sorrows to burden ourselves with and Severus is no different.�

Maeve fought the tears, fought the pain and the urge to blame her father for everything. She fought her own feelings of jealousy and her hatred for Narcissa. She waged war on the need to rail at Lugh for only telling her half-tales. But most of all she fought the feeling that she could simply return to Carrowdore Cottage, pull the curtains and sink into a mire of obscurity that would shield her from further hurt and heartache. She had managed it before at Abbeylara. How difficult would it be to do it again?

“You realise that Carrowdore holds no comfort for you now,� Lugh reminded her gently. “You will see him everywhere. His presence will permeate everything and will allow you no rest. Would you put aside what you must do for empty-handed comfort?�

“No.� It was a small word for such a monumental decision.

“Good.� Lugh gave a nod that suggested he had never experienced a moment’s doubt over her tenacity. With a shake of his cloak and an aura of action descending around him he moved towards her. “The time has come to leave this place. Severus will tell you about it in time; he had his reasons for keeping this from you.�

“I can imagine,� she mumbled, visions of Narcissa perched on the edge of the cream-coloured bedspread in the room behind her stumbled into her mind.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Maeve,� he warned. “Come, take my hand and we’ll do what needs to be done in the yard below, ugly though the place may be.�

“What needs to be done?� she questioned, placing her small hand within the warmth of his paternal one.

“You will discover a new way to fly,� he smiled. “I think you’ll like it.�

Intrigued, Maeve walked with him through the dreary building and out into the greying day. Clouds sagged over the clot of houses, threatening to sluice themselves over the murk below. Lugh surveyed the jumbled discharge of human existence with distaste, stepping carefully between the broken and the discarded.

“You know your ancestry?� he asked.

“Of course I do,� she replied. “How could I not know what you come from?�

“That’s good,� he nodded. “You know how the Danaan survived?�

“They became one with their surroundings, formed themselves into the earth beneath their feet. They inhabit the mounds and the trees, the oceans and the rivers. They gave up life above the earth for life within it.� As always, when she thought of her forefathers, she felt a shiver of awe.

“They did indeed, and they made the island all the richer for it. However in recent times they have released themselves from the confines of the earth and have come to inhabit the air too.�

Maeve regarded him, curiosity clinging to the worry on her face.

“It does not take a great leap of the mind for a person with the spirit of the Danaan flowing through their veins to learn this skill. You already have the shape shifters gift, so making yourself dissolve into the air should be nothing for you.�

“You expect me to be able to dissolve into the air?� She looked openly stunned. “I couldn’t do that; that’s impossible magic.�

“You couldn’t do it if you were human but you forget, there is half of my spirit in you. We will travel to London together, through the air that surrounds us. My presence will make it easier for you to achieve the undertaking.�

He took her hand calmly and smiled into the day, ignoring the sullen rat that tore through the grey slops at their feet. “Empty your mind of everything but the air that you breathe,� he instructed. “Feel the weightlessness of the atoms that spin and form around you. Become those atoms.�

Maeve concentrated her mind, allowing it to slip into a freefall of abandonment as she closed her eyes to the world that she knew. Just as she felt herself lift and drift into the dampness of the day she realised with horror that she hadn’t asked him how to reform, or even how to direct herself through the air in this state. Her last cumbersome thought was of being stuck as a pile of particles floating free for evermore and the thought was not unpleasant.



Her head ached, a thunderous weight that was pulling her down, down towards something solid that she knew would bind her with gravity. And then her father was smiling at her as they stood in a rain-wet street, droplets of water clinging to their hair. It took her a moment to drift back into her limbs but when she did she smiled properly for the first time since Remus had knocked on her door that morning.

“That was amazing!� she breathed. “The most incredible thing ever… and have I always been able to do that?�

“Always, you just needed a helping hand.� He smiled to see the happiness and then immediately took it from her by pointing towards the telephone box that would lead them to the Ministry and to whatever mad fate the officials would decree for her. “I think we had better face your accusers.�

They walked together, rays of damp sunshine in a dreary city, and stepped into the glass and metal of the red telephone box. It was Lugh who dialled and announced their intentions and it was Lugh who dismissed the Hit Wizards that were assembled in the foyer, waiting for this master criminal with bedraggled hair and a soggy cloak of doubt around her.

With most of the drama removed from the situation, they were taken to an office that seemed to be miles from the foyer. They walked through twisting tunnels with memos fluttering through them and they wormed their way through the building until the stentorian old wizard that had led them there stopped by a small, watery-blue door and rapped on it loudly with his red knuckles. When a voice called ‘enter’ he placed a beefy hand on the door and gave it a firm push, allowing them a view of the insipid room beyond.

Lugh allowed Maeve to go ahead of him and followed her in, dismissing the bothersome wizard with a forced smile.

Maeve found herself looking directly into the concerned eyes of the Minister for Magic herself. Amelia Bones sighed as she stood up, crossing the room to shake Lugh’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lamfada… I’ve heard great things about the work your people do in preserving the old magic, very impressive. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances than the one we find ourselves facing today.�

“So do I, Amelia, so do I. Shall we sit?� Lugh took gentle control of proceedings, ushering his daughter towards one of the wooden chairs that stood to attention by the vast desk.

“Please do,� she said before walking back to her own side of the desk.

There was a pause as they all waited to see who would speak first. Maeve found the easiest thing to do was to look at her feet while she waited for the Minister to go on the offensive. Amelia looked uncomfortable with this. She had liked Maeve when they had last met and was surprised that such an astute witch should have attempted an escape from Lupin and the other two Aurors. Surely she knew how bad that would make her look? The Minister gave a weak smile before tucking a strand of greying hair back under her hat.

“My daughter is not a criminal,� Lugh began. “You need to look to one of your own people for the reason she was taken from her home this morning.�

“Oh?� Amelia raised a surprised eyebrow.

“I suggest you watch Roderick Rampton very carefully, very carefully indeed. However he can attest that there was nothing suspicious about her actions.�

“Can Maeve not speak for herself?� Amelia asked, looking to the damp witch with appealing eyes. Maeve looked up and wondered what she would want to know, beyond the obvious. “What do you have to say about the events of this morning?�

“Roderick did indeed take me from my home, but there was no malice intended. I think he wanted me to catch my breath before I came to London. He knew the reaction I would provoke, you see. I think he wanted to protect me from that.� Her voice was small but true.

“I believe Remus Lupin tried the same tactic with you. Did he not offer you some time to gather yourself?� Amelia leant forward on the walnut desk; eager for answers she could believe.

“Yes, yes he did. Perhaps Roderick was not aware of that. Either way, I did not fly off to find my husband; I have no idea where my husband is or what he was doing in London last night. All of this is just as much a shock to me as it is to you. My main concern now is to find Severus� – Amelia winced slightly at the name – “and discover why he did what he did. There will be a perfectly good explanation… he did not murder Dumbledore.�

The other witch drew in her breath sharply and frowned. She had not been expecting such obstinacy from this young woman, although she understood how difficult it must be to accept one’s husband had done something of this magnitude.

“But, Maeve, he did kill Dumbledore and I can think of nothing that would justify his actions. Can you?�

“Dumbledore asked him to do it. You can see that from the transcript.�

“Professor Dumbledore pleaded for his life?� Amelia queried, shocked at what was being suggested.

They went round in circles for the next hour as Maeve defended Severus and Amelia tried to make her see that the situation was clear-cut and that they needed to bring the fugitive in. Amelia was trying to convert Maeve to their way of thinking in the hope that she would make it easier for them to arrest Severus. Surely the wife would know where the husband would run to? But it became clear, as the interview progressed, that Maeve really did have no idea where her husband was and that there was little point in continuing with this. Through it all Lugh kept his own counsel, listening to the fervent defence his daughter was putting up for her husband and admiring the depth of her feeling. As he felt the interview draw to its close he finally spoke.

“I think, Minister, that you would do well to listen to what Maeve has to say. There is a germ of truth in many things that we would not care to contemplate. I think you should take no hasty action and make every effort to find out the real truth of the matter before condemning.�

“I can assure you…� Amelia sat back in her chair with a pained expression.

“Good,� Lugh cut in. “I am glad I have your assurances. Now, if that is all I shall find my daughter some accommodation and we will take our leave of you.�

“Maeve already has the offer of accommodation,� Amelia said, making Maeve look at her with surprise. “Harry Potter has kindly offered you the use of his house. He informed me that you knew where it was.�

Whatever Maeve had expected Harry to do it was not this. She had imagined Harry would loathe her with everything he could muster and yet here he was offering his house to her. The thought of walking into the place with all those people watching her, judging her and Severus… was something she wasn’t sure she could cope with. It was bad enough having Remus looking at her with questions and doubts flitting through his mind. She couldn’t imagine the likes of the Weasleys and the other Order members bearing down on her with their mistrust.

“I don’t know… “ she said.

“He assures me that the house will be comfortable for you,� Amelia said, relaying the message exactly as it had been given. “You are not to worry about there being too many people there.�

“Well,� she hesitated, the thought of even Harry being there making her very uncomfortable. “I suppose.�

“Good, that’s settled then,� Amelia said, happy that she would be somewhere that she could be kept an eye on, even if it was by a seventeen-year-old schoolboy. “I’ll arrange for an escort to take you as far as you need them to.�

“Is Remus here?� Maeve asked. “He could take me all the way.� She needed to see Remus alone, needed to explain what Roderick had done.

“Yes, I believe Mr. Lupin is still in the building. Let me go and have someone find him and then you can be on your way.� With a look of relief Amelia left the room, glad to be out from under the baleful glare of a woman looking for answers that she could not provide.

Left alone together, Lugh began to make his farewells. Maeve was sorry to see him go, knowing that it could be a long time before she saw him again. The reason now had been the necklace; the next time might well be after she had done with the necklace and she had no idea how far in the future that would be.

As he stood to leave he hugged her one last time and reiterated his advice about Severus. Once again he implored Maeve to trust in her husband and once again she nodded and said she did, aware as she did so that she was about to face a world that now hated her husband and would do all it could to destroy her trust. As he stepped from the room she felt the bitter grip of reality take her by the hand. There would be nowhere to hide now, nowhere that her story would be believed, unless she counted Malfoy Manor…and Maeve was counting on Malfoy Manor giving up some of its secrets via the lady of the house.

The door opened reluctantly and revealed Remus’ weary figure, his hand raking through thinning hair. She made no rush to hold him, or he her. The wall that Roderick had constructed by taking her from Carrowdore was between them and around them, binding them in its bricks of mistrust. Maeve was the first to chip away at the barrier, her sorrow evident in her tone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t go of my own free will, Remus. It was Roderick Rampton, he took me.�

“But you didn’t return immediately,� Remus replied, bleak streaks of pain on his face. “You didn’t send word to me.�

“No, I didn’t. I was discovering things that perhaps should have been left undiscovered. I always planned on coming back… I have to come back to prove… well… you know what I have to do.�

“I know what you feel you have to do,� Remus said, careful to stress the difference. “But for now I think we should get you to Grimmauld Place and take stock of the situation. There is much you need to prepare yourself for, much you need to accept if you are to consider returning to Hogwarts at the start of term.�

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of going back to Hogwarts at all,� she said, her insides going cold at the very thought of entering Dumbledore’s school.

“The school is two teachers down; it needs as much help as it can get,� he said.

“Two teachers?�

“Professor McGonagall, who will take Dumbledore’s place, and Severus.�

“Oh, yes.� She was flustered. In her mind some things were still as they always had been. Severus would be at the school, scratching away with a quill in his dungeon… but that was impossible and she felt regret at her own decision to leave. “But I can’t go back, Remus. It wouldn’t be right for the school or for me.�

“I think you should consider it carefully before tendering your resignation. You know you will receive the full support of the teaching staff.� Remus looked hopeful as she got up from her chair.

“There is a difference between outward support and sly whisperings, you should know all about that. I’ll also need my time free for other things.�

“Like what?�

“Like finding my husband, because at this point I don’t think he’s going to come looking for me, do you? Come on; let’s get started for Grimmauld Place before my nerve fails me.�

“It will be all right,� Remus said, offering her the only crumb of comfort he could, although the words rang hollow to them both. “We’ll walk; it’s not far.�

Maeve found herself wanting to disappear into the ether again, shake off the chains of her body and float away. She smiled at the memory of her newfound ability and walked from the Ministry with Remus’ strong, fraternal arm guiding her along. Reckless disregard for safety saw them move through the busy London streets towards the faded dignity of the square of houses where Harry lived and where the Order of the Phoenix had its headquarters. Maeve wondered what would happen to the Order now its leader was gone but she didn’t like to ask. No doubt Remus was asking those very questions himself and had no answers. So many things had no answers, life was a huge question from start to finish and those that received their answers were the fortunate ones.

It was still raining when they turned into Grimmauld Place, a thin mizzle that soaked everything with its relentlessness. Maeve wore Remus’ thick cloak over her own, although she had argued against this but the worn out wizard was ever-chivalrous. She hadn’t expected it to be so painful, so filled with stark memories that replayed in black and white against the backdrop of her heart. She recalled, reflected and refused to cry. Maeve would not meet Harry with the streaks of her sorrow on her face, nor would she appear weak before anyone. If she was to convince them of Severus’ innocence she must be unbending in her self-possession.

“Here we are,� Remus said, more to break the silence than indicate their arrival. “Let’s see who’s at home.�

As the door appeared before them, its paint still flaking and tired, she stuck her chin up and gathered herself for what might come. Remus was strong beside her, gripping her elbow as if he believed she would bolt from the confrontation. Remus knew this had to be done but he dreaded it all the same. The door creaked inward and Harry’s pinched face peered at them through the steady mist. Where once there would have been delight there was now a dead hunger for news. Where once there would have been a spark of welcome there was now just the cold resignation to the world and to her.

For a moment it didn’t seem as though Harry would speak as he hovered in the doorway but then he appeared to gather his wits and spoke in a hoarse croak.

“Remus, Maeve, you made it.� Green gashes appraised her, ripping at her to get to the secrets she may have held. “Come in.�

He stepped back, bowed by what had happened, crumbling beneath the weight of his mentor’s death. They progressed, funeral-like, through to the drawing room and Maeve was heartened by the silence that prowled the house. Too many faces would bring with them too many things to say and be said in return; too many people brought memories along, shadows sewn to their feet that whispered of something that could not be revisited.

“Harry,� she said. “Harry, I’m so sorry.�

“You have nothing to be sorry for,� Harry said, bleakness spilling from his skin. “It’s Snape who has the apology to make, if I give him the time to make it.�

“Harry,� Maeve tried to pacify but she soon realised that Harry was implacable in his vehement hatred of Severus.

“When I see him next I will kill him,� he growled, the ferocity of his grief making him sound older and more dangerous than she had thought possible. “Make no mistake… either of you. Snape is a dead man when he next crosses my path.�

“There is nothing to be gained from talking that way,� Remus said. “It is better to have him judged properly than threaten revenge like this.�

“He didn’t judge Dumbledore, did he?� Harry looked to them to disagree and Maeve was almost about to launch into her defence of her husband but Remus touched her arm, gaining her attention.

“Not now,� he said in a murmur. “It’s too soon.�

She considered ignoring him, but eventually bit her lip and kept quiet. She needed a calm Harry to tell her what really happened and what they had been up to that night.

“Molly left some sandwiches,� Harry said, changing the subject with breathtaking speed. “Would you like some?�

Maeve shook her head and Remus followed suit. “I think I’d like to talk to you about some things, Harry, but not now.�

“No, you’re right,� Harry agreed, recognising that if they spoke of Dumbledore they would be too close to the previous night to do so rationally. “I’ll be in my room if anyone wants me. Professor McGonagall is calling round later to discuss… to discuss the funeral. You’ll be invited, despite…well…despite, you know.�

Maeve nodded, knowing she would not go. It would hurt too many people to have such a glaring reminder of Severus at the service. Harry left in a flurry of misery and Maeve turned to Remus, sick to her soul of the whole sorry mess.

“It’s all so damaged,� she said. “It’s beyond repair, Remus. What am I going to do?�

“You’ll be strong,� Remus said supportively, rubbing her arm.

“I might not be though. I may be brittle and break.�

Remus enfolded her into protective arms and wondered too if she would get through. He felt the presence of the necklace beneath her clothing and knew that the problems were stacking up for her, creating a tower of struggle that could fall at any moment. He could only offer up a silent prayer that she would see this through, and he secretly prayed that she was right about Severus, that there was something more than just cold-blooded murder at the heart of what had happened to Dumbledore.

Chapter Three.



Harry’s Pensieve.


Harry appeared so busy during the few days after Maeve arrived at Grimmauld Place that she didn’t get the chance to speak to him. He left early in the morning and she didn’t see him around the house again until late evening, always with a grim expression of tired anger on his young face. Under this oppressive atmosphere she knew she couldn’t approach him about the events of the summer; it would only serve to aggravate him. But as each day passed she grew more and more conscious of the fact that Severus was slipping further and further away from her. If Harry didn’t talk to her soon she would have to visit Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts without the information he could provide – more distance threatened to appear between herself and her husband.

On the fourth morning, after what Maeve had come to think of as the worst day in her life, she arrived in the kitchen as usual, expecting to find it empty. She was surprised, therefore, to find Harry thoughtfully munching toast while allowing his eyes to drift absently over the front page of the Daily Prophet. As usual the newspaper was aiming for the sensational and its headline read ‘Severus Snape – The Awful Truth’ and in smaller type ‘— by those who knew him’. It was accompanied by a fuzzy picture of Severus trying to hide his face as he left the Ministry of Magic. The photograph was an old one, probably taken around the time of the first wave of Death Eater trials, and it made her look away, a warm sensation beneath her eyelids making her feel suddenly vulnerable.

The kitchen had the sour smell of a place that was becoming unused to happiness. It missed the presence of Molly Weasley, who had retreated to The Burrow with Ginny and Ron after Dumbledore’s death. No longer did Order members file through, chatting, plotting and drinking endless mugs of hot tea. The crockery sat silently on the dresser, unused and unwanted, and the cutlery slumbered in drawers, waiting for the clamour of shared meals to wake them from their stupor. Grimmauld Place had been abandoned to its fate and its owner, for the time being at least.

“Maeve,� Harry said by way of a greeting. “There’s some tea in the pot, or I can make you coffee if you would prefer.� He watched her with guarded eyes, trying to judge what she would do or say next.

“Thanks,� she said, ignoring the steaming teapot and making for the kettle. She buried her mind in the mundane task of making coffee while she tried to decide if now was the right time. She could have the discussion with Harry and be at Malfoy Manor by mid-afternoon; especially now she had a new way to travel. The teaspoon dropped with a clatter into the sink and Harry shifted in his seat, folding the newspaper up and carefully placing it back on the table.

“What are your plans for today?� she asked, sitting across from him and disguising her uncertainty behind her too-hot coffee.

“I’d leave it to cool a bit,� Harry said with an almost-smile as she withdrew her lips sharply from the scalding drink.

“I know,� she sighed, putting it down to scorch a ring in the wooden table. Now wasn’t the time to scrabble around for a coaster. “I just, well, I don’t know what to say to you.�

“Me neither,� Harry admitted. “It’s not easy, is it?�

The kitchen paused in its clock-ticking, kettle-boiling melancholy and listened to their silence with interest. Elsewhere in the house they could hear Remus moving around, trying his best to avoid upsetting either of them. He had spent the past few morning trying to ease her worries, before going off to do something in the afternoons that he hadn’t told her anything about, not that she was interested. The minor details of life were passing her by as she grappled with her problems.

“I think it would be best if we didn’t talk about, well, you know who.� Harry made a small moue of apology, embarrassed by her marriage and trying to bridge the gap between hating Severus Snape and feeling sorrow for the predicament she had ended up in. He didn’t want to know how she felt about the man who had killed Dumbledore, nor did he want to know what she was doing to find him. No doubt he would come across Severus Snape soon enough, without the necessity of going looking for him.

Maeve looked alarmed at Harry’s use of the term “you know who�, because she knew he wasn’t talking about Voldemort. Was it that in his mind it seemed that Severus had become an even greater enemy than the Dark wizard himself? If they didn’t talk about Severus could they talk about Dumbledore? She decided to test the water carefully.

“You spent a lot of time with Dumbledore over the summer?� The question was delivered in a humbled tone, persuasive and innocuous.

Harry didn’t meet her gaze but gave her a mumbled yes. She realised this was going to be painful for him and she wanted to spare him that hurt, but if she did so it would be at the expense of her own. Maeve had to press on with the questions and hope he didn’t pull the shutters down on their first real conversation since she had arrived.

“Was it important, Harry?� Her use of his name made him look up quickly. The adult in Harry was fighting the boy as he debated which course of action to take. Maeve was close to Dumbledore too; he had seen that over the long months of the previous school year, but what he and Dumbledore had been doing in the last few weeks was more important than anything he had done before. Dumbledore had explicitly told him not to tell anyone, apart from Ron and Hermione, about what they had been discovering. He wondered if Dumbledore would have included Maeve in that secret had he known what would happen. And then he felt the bathing warmth of her light and knew he couldn’t keep it a secret from her. It was not easy to forget what they shared.

“Yes,� he said, “it was important. It was very important. I saw Voldemort and I know what he did to survive. I saw things I wish I hadn’t seen and I know now what I have to do.�

Maeve allowed him the luxury of time to collect his thoughts before he rushed on with what he had to say. She kept her head and didn’t force information from him. Harry took another sip of tea to loosen the words that wanted to fly from his throat.

“I can’t go back to school,� he continued. “I have too much to do to waste time there. It would -�

“You can’t not go back.� Maeve was far more scandalised than Remus had been when she had suggested she wouldn’t go back either. “You have to finish you N.E.W.T.s, Harry. You want to be an Auror.� She didn’t give him the opportunity to disagree with her as she ploughed on. “And I won’t be there if that’s what you’re worried about. You won’t have a reminder of Severus around.�

Harry blanched at the name, cold fury bending his fingers tight around the edge of the scarred table. He understood why she had made the suggestion but he still couldn’t stand her presence if she was going to talk about her husband. Just thinking of Severus as her husband was enough to make Harry want to throw up.

“I’m sorry,� she said, instantly repentant and knowing that she couldn’t afford to upset him. “I didn’t mean to, well, I didn’t want…� She groaned inwardly. “Tell me about what you discovered with Dumbledore and what you have to do.�

For the first time she felt the real value of her connection to Harry. Had she been just anyone, with no necklace and no prophecy to bind them together she had no doubt he would have told her to get lost. Indeed for a moment she thought he would still tell her to get lost. He pushed the cup away and stood up, uncomfortable in the cold kitchen.

“I’ll tell you in the study. There are things there you might want to see.�

“What things?� Maeve asked as she prepared to follow him. The study was the last place she would have expected to find Dumbledore’s secrets, used as it was by so many of the Order members.

“His Pensieve for a start.�

“His Pensieve is here?� she asked. “What’s it doing here? Hasn’t he been at Hogwarts over the summer?�

“Not much,� Harry shrugged. “Although I have been back with him a few times.�

“Didn’t you return to the Dursleys’?� Dumbledore had told her of the blood protection he received from the awful Muggle family and she would have been surprised if he had allowed Harry to forgo that protection.

“Yeah, I spent two miserable days there after your wedd - after Ireland.� He led the way from the kitchen, head bowed at the thought of the two days he had spent as a best man, a best man to someone he would now willingly send to the furthest reaches of hell.

The door to the study was locked and Harry pulled a small brass key from his pocket. Something told Maeve he had been guarding this room heavily since Dumbledore’s death and she wondered what secrets it would reveal. The key slid into the lock with ease and the door opened onto a small, dusky room that was filled with the odour of leather and cheap cigars. Harry moved quickly to drag the half-opened curtains together and waved his wand towards the candles on the mantlepiece. The room was, if not exactly flooded with light, then made less dingy and Maeve eyes grew accustomed to the simmering half-light. The walls were caked in books, all with the same ominous titles as those at Spinner’s End and she wondered why Harry had not been through them and removed the worst offenders. The desk dominated the room with its vast expanse of wood and masculine objects that reeked of old money. It was on the desk that she spotted Dumbledore’s rune-marked Pensieve, sitting amongst the less unusual paraphernalia like something foreign.

She turned quickly as the sound of the lock clicking home broke the uneasy silence. Harry left the key in the keyhole and smiled apologetically.

“I’ve been studying in here. Perhaps you thought I was out a good deal of the time, but I had things I needed to do in peace. There’s a lot of stuff in these books that I couldn’t have found anywhere else.�

“I wondered where you had got to for all that time,� she said. “I assumed you were at the Ministry, or Hogwarts maybe. It’s very stuffy in here. Don’t you get too warm?� She was only wearing a thin summer dress but she could feel the fabric begin to cling to her clammy back as the trapped heat of the room made her temperature rise.

“You get used to it,� he replied, picking up a pile of books of one of the green leather chairs so that she could sit down. “I don’t want to open the window because you never know who will be lurking out there.�

“But Grimmauld Place is protected. It’s Unplottable, surely?�

“Can’t be too careful.� His furtive glances at the fireplace and the window suggested that Harry had become very security conscious over the past few days. He sat down and asked her what she wanted to know, not really wanting to relive the summer but realising he needed to get it over with. He hadn’t even had the chance to talk to Ron and Hermione properly about it yet. Hermione was off on holiday yet again with her parents, something about New Zealand, and Ron had been busy mooning around over the fact that she wasn’t around to talk to. And now, of course, Ron was back at The Burrow with Molly and so he was friendless for the time being. Molly had tried to persuade him to come back with them too but stubbornness and the need to keep busy had prevented him.

“Remus mentioned that you and Dumbledore had been working together over the summer. What was it that you found out?�

Harry felt the calloused touch of sorrow as he prepared to start at the beginning and fill her in on the happenings of the eventful summer. Sitting down and leaning heavy arms on the desk he began, in a voice thick with tiredness.

“Dumbledore picked me up from the Dursleys the Wednesday after� – there was painful hesitation again over her wedding day – “after seeing you and took me back to Hogwarts. You can imagine how surprised I was by that. I’d expected to come back here or The Burrow with the Weasleys. He said he had some things he wanted to show me, things that it was important I see. Using the Pensieve he took me to see some of Voldemort’s early life, the orphanage he grew up in, his parents and grandparents, school stuff. I wasn’t sure why he was showing me all of these things at first — he called it homework for the holidays — but I gradually came to see that it was good I got a better glimpse of Voldemort and what makes him tick. And then he showed me one memory of an old Potions professor - he was probably your Potions professor.� Harry looked to her for a name.

“Slughorn?� She smiled as she remembered the larger-than-life character that was her old Potions master. He had collected influential people in the same way that children collect Chocolate Frog cards. “What did old Horace have to do with Voldemort? Ahh, but he was professor during Riddle’s time at school, wasn’t he?� Maeve relapsed into silence as Harry nodded and continued with his story.

“He told Voldemort about a thing called a Horcrux. Do you know what they are?�

Maeve narrowed her eyes and nodded, only too aware of that particular piece of Dark Magic. “A Horcrux is a particularly dark thing that contains a piece of a human soul, a piece of a human soul that has been removed by its owner and placed for safe-keeping in an object, or a creature. To remove the soul the owner has to commit and act of murder and perform a spell. I don’t know what the spell is though.�

“Slughorn didn’t know either and Dumbledore never said, even if he knew.�

“Oh, I’ll bet he knew.� The frown that the mention of the Horcrux had caused was shooed away by the memory of Dumbledore, a memory that threatened to confirm to her that he was really dead.

“So, anyway.� Harry said, ignoring the remark. “Apparently Voldemort made six Horcruxes, two of which have already been destroyed.�

“Why six?� Maeve interrupted again; her inquisitive mind forcing Harry into ever more detail. She wasn’t as surprised by this news as she perhaps should have been, but she was wondering how this would fit into the task she had been set by her father. Indeed, she wondered if her father even knew about the Horcruxes.

“Because Voldemort believes that seven is the most powerful magical number, and because he kept a part of his soul in himself. Did anyone tell you about the diary that Ginny found?� The mention of Ginny made Harry’s chest leap and then die down in quick succession. Had things been different he might have spoken to Maeve about his burgeoning feelings for Ginny and his reasons for not pursuing the relationship, but for now it seemed far too frivolous.

Maeve nodded, recalling something Remus had said on the subject last year.

“Well, that diary was one and Dumbledore found a ring that had belonged to Voldemort’s family — he destroyed that one.� The sudden image of the blackened hand that Dumbledore had sported for the past three weeks floated before his eyes. This picture was quickly followed by images of the cave - the cave that had been the start of Dumbledore’s demise. “So that left four more,� he ground out the words to make the distressing visions go away.

“And where are they?�

Harry gave her a withering look that suggested she really wasn’t very intelligent. “We don’t know. If we knew - if I knew - then I would be able to get them more easily. Dumbledore thought he had found one, in a cave on the Kent coast, but it turned out to be a fake, and he took a potion — it was poisoned. He made me make him keep drinking, even though he pleaded with me, begged me - he even asked me to kill him, but…�

The rawness that blazed from Harry’s eyes was too bright and Maeve looked elsewhere while he drew breath. She was clinging to something he had just said but didn’t want him to realise it. Surely if Dumbledore could plead with Harry to kill him then he could equally have pleaded with Severus?

“It was a locket, Salazar Slytherin’s locket� – Harry wrenched her back from thoughts of her husband – “or it was supposed to be, but it had been replaced and the real one is gone. We don’t know what or where the others are but Dumbledore suspected Nagini and maybe an item belonging to Helga Hufflepuff, some cup Voldemort had stolen from one of Hufflepuff’s descendants. That left one more.�

“And I’ll bet he went for something belonging to one of the other founders,� Maeve said shrewdly. “But surely Dumbledore has the only relic of Godric Gryffindor’s? Nothing but the sword has ever been found.� She paused for a moment. “And the Sorting Hat,� she added as an afterthought, although she had grave doubts whether the vociferous Sorting Hat would have allowed the ripped soul-fragment to lodge inside it. “That would leave Ravenclaw.�

“I know. That’s what Dumbledore said too, but maybe there was something else.�

“Okay, just to get this straight. There are six Horcruxes.� Even as she said the name she felt the darkness of the concept on her tongue. “The diary, the ring, the locket, possibly Nagini and two other items that we don’t know about, and Voldemort himself. Two of these things have definitely been destroyed. And now you feel you have to find the others, because without them we can’t kill Voldemort.�

“That’s about it,� Harry agreed.

Maeve nodded thoughtfully, working through the possibilities in her mind. “And why do you think it is up to you to find these things?�

“Because I believe that’s what Dumbledore wanted me to do. That’s why he took me on the visit to the cave; he wanted me to see - to appreciate - what it would take to retrieve the other things. And then he died, so there’s only me left that knows about all of this.�

“Are you sure, Harry? You know what Dumbledore was like. He always left a safeguard of sorts.�

“No one knew,� Harry said in a convincing voice, but even so, Maeve wasn’t sure.

“Someone knew, Harry. Someone knew enough to replace a real Horcrux with a fake one.�

Harry’s face was bleached of colour for a moment as he thought of the implications of this. He hadn’t fully considered the replaced locket until now, hadn’t even examined the thing. It was sitting in the large Black-crested goblet that sat on the ash sideboard beneath the window.

“Did you even look at it?� she asked. “You must have to know that it was fake.�

Harry nodded, getting up to retrieve the item that he hadn’t paid any attention to since it had fallen from Dumbledore’s grasp on the soft fields of a strange village that he had later learned was the very place his parents where buried. He had seen from the lack of a proud ‘S’ engraved on the surface that this wasn’t Salazar Slytherin’s and couldn’t have been the one that contained Voldemort’s soul. He scrabbled around in the cup and handed her the piece of jewellery.

Maeve held it to the guttering candlelight and realised it was a tawdry attempt at a locket, its golden body a little bent out of shape and the clasp loose. As she turned it over in her hand she flicked a nail beneath the metal overhang and flipped it open. Harry opened his mouth in annoyance as he saw what he should have found himself. A small piece of paper had dropped into Maeve’s palm and she placed the locket on the table before peeling back the folds of the parchment to reveal cramped handwriting.

To the Dark Lord

I have stolen your trinket and left you this pale imitation in return.

No doubt I will be dead before this locket comes back into your possession but I want you to know that I discovered your secret and it is I who will destroy the real Horcrux. I die hoping that with the destruction you will be mortal once more and will finally meet your match.

R.A.B.


Both Harry and Maeve looked perplexed. Neither spoke for a moment as they re-read the note several times. To Maeve’s surprise Harry then took the note from her, screwed it up and was about to throw it into the fireplace, but she was too quick for him and caught his arm as it drew back.

“What are you doing? That could be important!�

“Who cares about a stupid note? It’s obvious now that the other Horcrux has been destroyed, one less to worry about,� Harry insisted.

“Think! That Horcrux may not have been destroyed. R.A.B. - whoever they may be - may have failed. That Horcrux could well be lying around somewhere just waiting to be found, or it could be that we’ll never find it.�

She prised the crumpled parchment from his hand and smoothed it out, putting both it and the necklace down on the desk before addressing Harry again. “And the Pensieve? Why is that here?�

“I thought you might want to see the proof of what he did to Dumbledore. I thought that unless you saw it with your own eyes you wouldn’t believe it.� His own eyes were fragile with self-sacrifice, frightened that she would want him to accompany on this journey into memory.

Maeve looked to the Pensieve, shifting uncomfortably in the heat of the room. Did she want to? What happened if, when she saw what had really happened, she knew that Harry was giving the right interpretation?

“Do you want to?� Harry asked, his wand clutched to his side ready for the moment when he could pull this memory out for her. Dumbledore had spent three long evenings teaching him how to retrieve his memories and he could still feel the ache that the intensive lessons had left at the front of his head.

“Yes,� she said in a voice barely audible above her trepidation. “I don’t want to but I suppose I must.�

She watched as Harry placed his wand tip to his temple, silvery strands jerking from his head reluctantly, his brain not wanting to share the appalling tragedy of that night. The memory dripped slowly into the Pensieve and Harry allowed his wand hand to relax, rubbing his temple with his other.

“It still hurts to do that,� he said, waiting for the ache to abate. “But I think it will be worth it in the long run.�

“Are you coming with me?� she asked. It had been a long time since she had seen a Pensieve. They had had one back at the Ministry in Ireland but she had only ever used it twice to see memories from a colleague who had been tracking the illegal transport of Rathlin Red-Spotted Toadstools. This was an altogether different prospect as she prepared to see her husband do something so terrible it might just break her heart.

“Only if you really want me to,� Harry said, looking at a spot just over her left shoulder.

“No,� Maeve replied, recognising what it would cost him to experience the night again so vividly. “I’ll go alone.�

“You should know that Dumbledore put a spell on me throughout what happened. I couldn’t move. He did it to save me, I think,� Harry said quietly.

She stepped towards the table, bowing over the Pensieve and feeling her face washed with the shifting reflection of the pearly surface. Taking a shallow breath she bent forward and felt herself twisted sharply through the air, the murk of the study giving way to the shadows of a cloud-ridden night.

The cool tang of the fresh night bit into her lungs as Maeve felt the change in atmosphere. She was standing in a meadow, a gate to her right was unlatched and open, to her left Harry was struggling with the bent figure of Dumbledore. In one hand Harry had his wand illuminating the darkness while the other did its best to support Dumbledore, whose face was a grey desert of pain. She stepped forward, knowing that she could do nothing and wanting to do everything. Dumbledore straightened a little, searching their surroundings for something.

“Severus should be here soon,� he croaked softly. “It was arranged, should anything like this happen.�

“Why Snape,� Harry protested. “Why couldn’t it be one of the other Order members?�

“Oh, Harry, I know you have a terrible suspicion of him, but he knows enough to…� His voice seemed to flag and it took him a few seconds to renew his energy. “He knows enough to help me.�

Harry muttered something unintelligible and suddenly Dumbledore straightened a little, his head cocked in the direction of the lane that lay on the other side of the hedge. With startling swiftness he had his wand out and gave Harry a hurried instruction to wear his Invisibility Cloak. She watched Harry debate the order before giving in to the promise that he told her he had made. He was gone in an instant and Maeve saw Dumbledore’s wand flick in his direction. At the same time the gate behind her moved and she turned to see the white-topped head of Draco Malfoy striding into the field with his lit wand outstretched and a glint of something violent in his eyes.

Dumbledore staggered back a little, a venerable oak providing the support he needed. His face was slack with mortality; for there was no doubt in Maeve’s mind that the potion Harry had told her the old wizard had drunk was something fatal unless treated. She felt that if she peered hard enough into the gloom she would see the cloaked figure of death pressing against the night, waiting to claim another adventurer.

Draco’s strange voice broke the silence, grating against nature.

“So, your little adventure with Potter failed then did it? Where is he? Abandoned you like the coward he is, I suppose?�

“Draco, you do not understand things and there are others that are beyond your knowledge,� Dumbledore replied, his mind still strong but his voice weak. “What brings you here tonight, as if I didn’t know?�

Maeve watched in horror as Draco stepped closer to the shuddering form of the headmaster. “I’ve come to kill you, didn’t you realise?�

“Of course I realised,� Dumbledore said heavily. “I have known for the past few weeks that you had something planned. Although I must admit you chose a rather more immediate way of attempting the deed than I would have imagined. What did they have to do to get you to agree to this, Draco?�

“The Dark Lord didn’t have to do anything. He knows a good prospect when he sees one.� Maeve could hear the flicker of fear in Draco’s voice and wondered if Dumbledore could hear it too. But of course, Dumbledore was an excellent Legilimens. No doubt he was raking through the coals of Draco’s seething mind as they spoke.

“I see you have been learning rudimentary Occlumency,� Dumbledore said, scotching Maeve’s idea. “But you are not as accomplished as you could be, Draco.�

“You can’t see everything!� Draco retorted, his voice rising sharply in the still of the night. “You can’t see your own death or you wouldn’t be here tonight. You would have saved yourself rather than be killed.�

“Oh, I can see many things, but I cannot see you killing me.�

There was a scuffling from the gate and two robed figures rushed through, white faces showing excitement beneath their dark hood.

“Do it!� hissed one of them, a female. “Finish him now.�

Draco glanced back and frowned, a tight stitching together of his eyebrows that showed some frustration. “I’m doing it,� he shouted. “Let me enjoy the feeling before I finish him off.�

But there was something in Draco’s voice that spoke of anything but enjoyment and Maeve understood what she had always really known. Draco Malfoy was all mouth and no action. Strangely she was pleased by this confirmation, it meant that he could possibly escape the fate of so many others that had gone before him, if Dumbledore gave him the chance. She could see the dying wizard’s wand still grasped between his pallid fingers. He could, quite easily, have saved himself from Draco but instead he was choosing to save the misguided young man. Dumbledore’s eyes slid towards Maeve and she smiled, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t see her, and wasn’t remotely astonished when he smiled back.

“So, Alecto, you have come to witness the blooding of another innocent child, have you?� Dumbledore wasn’t smiling at her; he was giving acknowledgment to the Death Eater who had taken up a position at her elbow.

“Someone has to keep the Malfoy name out of the gutter,� the thickset woman sneered. “Lucius isn’t going to do that where he is, out in Serbia, scrubbing around with the proles!�

“Draco,� Dumbledore once again turned back to the now faintly shivering boy. “You have your whole life to be lived. Do not blight it with this unreasonable act. I could ensure your safety, and that of your family. If you do what you came here to do you will never know another moment’s safety.�

“What makes you think I won’t be safe with the Dark Lord? Once I do this he will shower me with everything I could possibly want. I will be all-powerful.�

The other Death Eater stepped forward and Dumbledore addressed him. “Amycus, what do you hope to achieve?�

“Your death, old man! Isn’t it obvious?� the gnarled voice carried through the air, making Draco wince. “Come on, Draco! What are you waiting for? DO IT!�

And once more Dumbledore moved a weary head in her direction, but this time it was not the two Death Eaters he was looking at, nor was he merely looking straight through her. This time he was watching for something, waiting.

And she knew, without moving her head the tiniest fraction, that the creak of the gate was caused by Severus. She snapped her head round to see his hardened face flash through the darkness with a strange, tormented rage in his eyes.

“Snape!� Amycus shouted. “Finally, we’ll get to see some action. Draco’s having a little problem.�

Maeve’s heart stopped the blood flowing through her veins as she looked at the face of a man she did not know. She had never seen that battle-hardened look on her husband’s face before, never seen Severus so completely oblivious to all that was around him. Moving quickly, in order to see exactly what Harry had seen, she caught up with him. As she drew level she could see his stony profile, could see the bitterness twisting at his mouth. There could be no doubt now that he was still associated with Voldemort, that he had found some way to explain her presence by his side, sharing the bond of man and wife. How long had Dumbledore been using him again?

And then Dumbledore spoke, a soft sound barely heard above the rustle of hate pouring from the Death Eaters.

“Severus.�

She watched as Severus’ face screwed itself into a ball of revulsion and hatred and she couldn’t help the cry that ripped from her chest, echoing Dumbledore’s single word.

“Severus!�

It flew around the memory, looking for a place to land, an ear to grant it refuge, and it found none. She moved towards him, wanting to clutch at the wand that now stuck out, pointing directly, triumphantly almost, at its subject.

Draco stood struck; he didn’t know which direction to move in as he saw a way out of the task that had been given him.

And Maeve watched the air between Dumbledore and Severus and wondered what was passing between them. She wanted to throw herself into the communication and snatch its meaning from the ether but she knew she was powerless to affect the past. Knew, even as Dumbledore spoke, that this was beyond her.

“Severus, please…� the dying man said, his eyes continuing to look steadily at the only person that seemed to matter in this tableau.

And she felt the world implode beneath her feet as Severus dropped his eyelids only briefly before mustering the words she desperately didn’t want to hear him speak.

“Avada Kedavra.�

And it was done. Death stepped forward and swept up its new companion into the night, several shouts were heard from the lane as Order members began to arrive and her husband grabbed Draco by the shoulder. Harry, freed from the binding of the spell Dumbledore had tried to protect him with, tore away the Invisibility Cloak and raised his wand.

“Stup-�

Severus raised his wand and with a snarl of satisfaction blocked the spell. Amycus and Alecto had their wands pointed at Harry now and Maeve was screaming into the past in an agony of ineffectuality.

“Cruci-�

“Blocked again, Potter,� Severus snapped. “And again,� he repeated as he deflected the Impediment Jinx that Harry tried to cast. “Keep your mouth shut and your mind closed and you may just get somewhere.�

Maeve moved closer to her husband, marvelling that even at a time like this he was still trying to give Harry advice, advice that Harry would close his mind to because of its source. She reached a tentative hand out to touch the expanse of air where his face should have been. Her white fingers moved through the image, crying out for something solid to connect with.

“Let’s kill him,� Alecto shrieked, excitement at seeing the body of Dumbledore making her eager for more.

“No!� Snape ordered. “He is the Dark Lord’s business, not ours.�

“Levi-�

“ENOUGH!� Severus shouted. His wand swirled swiftly and there was a sharp bang that left Harry on his back, looking up at Severus with unadulterated hatred on his face. He clasped a hand tightly on his wand but Severus was ahead of him and sent Harry’s wand flying from its owner’s grasp with a rapid hex. “You do not learn, Potter. You are too clever to learn anything useful. Had you paid more attention during our Occlumency lessons you might be better at this.�

Harry was incensed now, struggling to get to his feet.

“Kill me then! Kill me like you killed Dumbledore. Kill me while I am helpless and unharmed, you coward!�

Maeve looked back to Severus, saw the look of intense pain that crossed his already ravaged face, saw too the anger, the sheer naked fury that stalked his expression.

“DON’T CALL ME COWARD!� he shrieked, injustice and anger making his voice a scream of outrage. He dragged his wand through the air and Harry yelped loudly in pain, falling back on the grass clutching at his face in agony.

Maeve didn’t notice the warm swill of her tears as they leaked from her eyes, she didn’t even notice that she was repeating her husband’s name over and over. All she was aware of was Severus reaching out to touch Draco on the shoulder again and then they were gone with barely a pop. Shouts came from the road that ran by the meadow, a female voice loudly protesting that it was not her fault they had been standing guard on the wrong field. Maeve recognised the voice as Tonks’ and knew that the cavalry had arrived a touch too late. The gate was breached again as Tonks, Remus and Kinglsey entered the field just in time to see the two Death-Eaters Apparate out of harm’s way.

And then she heard Harry’s voice pulling her out of the Pensieve, drawing her away from the sorrow that she had just witnessed. Her wet face was no longer night-bound as the candlelight in the study reflected off the salt water beneath her eyes.

“I’m sorry,� Harry said, wondering now if he had done the right thing.

She shook her head mutely, too emotional to make any other response.

“It must have been painful. I’m tempted to leave it in the Pensieve for good.� Harry cast a glance at the stone bowl.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, Harry, but do you have any idea, any idea at all where Severus went?� Her voice bobbled up and down as she tried to control it.

Harry’s face became a mask of ice as he shook his head. “Why would I know where the traitor went to? To hell hopefully.�

Maeve was disappointed to hear the malicious sentiments but now she had seen what Harry had experienced she could understand it. Fortunately for her sanity she had understood more than Harry had. She had read his face better than Harry ever could and she knew he had not done what he had done willingly. There was more to what Severus had done that night than they had been told and she strongly suspected that both Dumbledore and the Unbreakable Vow were behind it all.

She gathered herself together quickly, realising that time was passing and she had other things to do. If Harry could give her no clue to where Severus had gone then she would have to track him down by others means. An afternoon visit to Malfoy Manor might reveal something but failing that she would have to have a poke around at Hogwarts. Filch was usually a good source of information.

She wiped a hand across her damp face and said goodbye to her tears. They were the first she had shed since arriving here and they would be last until she found her husband again. Tears would be a weakness she could ill afford with the likes of Narcissa Malfoy waiting to pounce on her every insecurity. She looked to Harry once more, calmer now as her emotions were brought to heel.

“What are your immediate plans?� she asked, wondering how he was planning to track down the Horcruxes.

“I’m going back to Godric’s Hollow. I want to see my mum and dad’s graves but I’m going to wait for Hermione to come back before I do so that the three of us can go together. She’ll be back in two days and Ron’s coming up from The Burrow.�

“I’m sure you will find their support invaluable,� she said, wondering if she would be able to offer him any real support throughout all of this. Severus was once again standing between them, a dark moth between two butterflies.

“Yeah, they’re always there for me.�

“Good, that’s good, Harry.� They were suddenly back to stilted conversation and Maeve knew it was their shared knowledge and different interpretations that was the cause of it. “And what of the Horcruxes?�

“I have a little more reading to do, and I may need to visit Hogwarts to have a look around, just in case there is something still there. If I find anything I’ll let you know.�

“Don’t do anything rash if you do find one,� she warned. “Do not go rushing off on your own to recover one of these things. At the very least tell Ron and Hermione. Remus should know too. He was one of Dumbledore’s most trusted friends.�

“I’ll see,� Harry replied, more to placate her than as a promise that he would actually consider telling Remus. If Dumbledore had wanted Remus to know about this then he would have told him. “What are your plans?�

“I have somewhere I need to go this afternoon,� she said, deliberately vague over the exact nature of the visit. “Then I will collect my things from Hogwarts and I’ll see how things are.�

“And will you look for…� He didn’t need to say Severus’ name, Maeve knew exactly who he was talking about from the look of disgust on his face.

“Of course, Harry. You can’t expect me not to. I have questions I need answers to.�

“Yeah, well, just make sure he doesn’t cross my path.� Maeve knew what the implication of these words was and hoped that Harry would not commit an act that Severus had so selflessly saved Draco from doing.

“I need to get going,� she said, the stuffiness of the room suddenly choking her with its heaviness. “I’ll be back later this evening.�

“Okay,� Harry said, not pressing her for details. He unlocked the door and watched her walk towards the stairs, hoping that she did not find her husband ever again. She was better off without him anyway; a few months not having him around would soon show her that.



Maeve had considered asking Remus to accompany her to Malfoy Manor, but decided against it. Narcissa was hardly likely to talk to her with a member of the Order of the Phoenix sitting on her no doubt dainty sofa, especially a member that also happened to be a werewolf. As she descended the stairs, her light summer cloak draped over her shoulders, she found him carefully pretending to dust the cloak rack.

“Nice try, Remus,� she smiled. “But you and I both know that no one dusts that thing in case they wake the monster.�

He grinned guiltily. “I was waiting for you, but I didn’t want you to know that.�

“So I see,� she said. “Are you not going out?�

“Not today, I’m waiting for Professor McGonagall to arrive with details of the funeral. She wanted to give them to Harry in person.� A ghost of grief was in the room with them at the mention of the funeral and they both frowned. “Are you attending?�

“No, I couldn’t do it to Harry.�

“You have the right to be there. Dumbledore had a great deal of respect and love for you. He would not want you to hide away from this last paying of respects. If you are worried about what people will say, then don’t be. I’ll gladly escort you.�

“I’ll have to think about it,� she said, the thought that Dumbledore would not want her to stay away was a new one and one that needed careful consideration. “Thank you for the offer of an escort. When is the funeral?�

“The day after tomorrow, two o’clock in the afternoon. It will be quite a send-off if the guest list is anything to go by. There’ll be no accommodation to be had in Hogsmeade with the amount of people travelling up.�

“Are you staying at the school?� She wondered how quickly her rooms would be taken over someone new, yet another new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the poor students.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall has kindly offered me a room for the night. I have a feeling she may attempt to persuade me to go back and stand in for her in Transfiguration, rather ironic, don’t you think?�

“I think you’d be a perfect Transfiguration teacher, but you could always have my old job back.�

“Don’t be too sure that she will let you get away with handing in your resignation. So, where are you off to and should you be going alone?�

“Oh, just off to visit a friend, nothing to worry about,� she said with a blasé shrug. “I’ll be travelling safely enough and will be back in time for dinner I should think.�

Remus didn’t like to argue the point that she had no friends in England - or in Ireland for that matter. She obviously had her reasons for not telling him where she was going and he respected that, even though it wasn’t the most security-conscious thing in the world.

“Well, as long as you are sure you’ll be safe. At least no one can waylay you with your new mode of travel.� Remus was very impressed with her new party trick and couldn’t help wishing it was something he could do. It sounded remarkably liberating to be able to disappear into the firmament. He gave her a peck on the cheek and smiled, opening the door to let in the fresh sweep of a breeze that stirred the old house with the promise of an awakening.

“See you later,� she said and he watched her as she became a blurred fug of sparkling atoms that were picked at by the wind and thrown into the bright wave of the day beyond the gloominess of Grimmauld Place.

With a resigned puff of breath he closed the door again and wondered what she and Harry had spoken about in the study. He felt a little left out of the equation and wished Harry would confide in him more. It would be gratifying to help in a more practical manner than just offering the odd reassuring word now and again.



Maeve soared into the air and marshalled her atoms in the direction of Wiltshire, which was where DeFictus’ Who’s Who in the Wizarding World had reliably informed her Malfoy Manor was situated. She reformed on the outskirts of the small village of Upper Wapping and prepared herself for the short walk to the large grounds that the house stood in. The sun was high and she removed her cloak to allow its touch to warm her bare arms as she negotiated the neat hedgerows and well-maintained lanes that led to the Edwardian elegance that was the seat of the Malfoys. DeFictus had given her a lot of information about the house and she knew it had been extensively re-modelled by Lucius’ great grandfather, as the nineteenth century had hurried out of the way to make space for the twentieth.

The gates where impressive; pale-grey stone columns rose proudly, supporting a wrought iron gate that was standing slightly open. She pushed at the black metal and stepped onto the wide drive that led up to an impressive façade. But she sensed something wasn’t quite right, something in the atmosphere of the place suggested a recent upheaval of some description. She proceeded with caution, her hand wrapped around her wand as it sat in her pocket.

As she finally reached the house, dwarfed by its size and elegance, the front door was whipped open and she saw Narcissa standing there, her face streaked with fresh tear-tracks and her hair wildly out of place. Maeve was more than a little surprised to see the socially astute woman answering her own front door and it added to her feeling of unease.

To Maeve’s horror the blond witch suddenly threw herself into her arms and began sobbing onto her shoulder with wild abandon.

Chapter Four



Malfoy Manor.









Maeve raised reluctant arms and gave Narcissa a loose hug that was frigid with apprehension at receiving news that may not be welcome. She hoped against hope that Narcissa had not received bad news about Draco, because the implications for Severus wouldn’t be good. Blond hair blew into her face and she jerked her head away from the blizzard of white to allow her eyes the chance of taking in the elegant, black-glossed open door and the graceful hallway beyond. It was not unlike Abbeylara had been, but there was more money here, more attention to detail. With a burst of impatience she pushed Narcissa away and looked at the woman with a matter-of-factness that stilled Narcissa’s sobbing.



“What’s happened?� Maeve asked, her eye suddenly caught by a flicker of movement in the pale-wooded corridor that sat sullen behind the door.



“Death Eaters,� she said, squeezing the words out with some difficulty. “There were Death Eaters here.� The wind stirred the tall birch trees that flanked the front of the house, their leaves brushing together in a whisper of alarm.



“Interesting, Narcissa, but hardly unusual. This is, after all, the home of a Death Eater, isn’t it?�



Narcissa flashed her a look of intense loathing that rose from her distress like a Hydra. “I don’t think…� she began. “I’m not sure that Lucius is… I don’t think he’s still…� And the weeping began again with renewed vigour, a torrential tempest of sorrow that almost made Maeve feel some sympathy for the woman.



The movement in the house was suddenly explained by a fretful house-elf, who hovered in limbo at the top of the steps with a starched, folded white tablecloth tied around its work-weary body.



“Mistress needs to come inside in case the bad men come back.� Its little face glanced between the two women, unable to decide if the newcomer was friend or foe. “Mistress will not listen to Colly; mistress is too upset. Colly has offered to make her a nice cup of tea but mistress is having none of Colly’s tea-making.�



Maeve looked into the worried face of the house-elf and thought about Dobby, who was happy as a sand lark back at Hogwarts. Was life as bad for this poor elf as it had been for Harry’s loyal little friend? Colly seemed genuinely concerned for Narcissa, but House-Elves often displayed a remarkable loyalty, despite the harshest of treatment.



“I’m sure your mistress would love a cup of tea, Colly. Why don’t you pop back inside and make one while I have a quick chat with her?�



Colly looked to Narcissa for confirmation of the order but Narcissa was dabbing at her delicate face with a lace-edged handkerchief and ignored her, so the house-elf took it upon herself to obey the order of another and scurried off back into the house.



“Inside, Narcissa, and tell me what they wanted. Must have been fairly dire for your house-elf to call them ‘bad men’.�



Maeve refused to give in to her natural inclination for sympathetic understanding as they walked up the steps together, Narcissa stepping back into the lofty hall first as Maeve closed the door behind her with a firm crack, shutting out the natural light and suffocating them in the sophisticated grandeur of the house. Glancing around the hallway the faces of the motley Malfoys stared down at her with critical stares from their well-executed paintings. A rustle of conversation began that extended right up to Siegfried Malfoy, Lucius’ great-great-great-great grandfather, who smirked a little before strolling from his portrait with an appreciative glance down at Maeve. The robust-looking man (Marcus Malfoy b.1921 d. 1982) who was in the portrait closest to her gave an appraising glower and muttered to his companion, a fragile-looking blond woman, that he had always preferred redheads. “More substance to them, more fight!� he said in a loud voice that carried up the stairs and was met with a ripple of agreement.



Maeve blushed slightly as Narcissa gave a strangled cry and swept away through a large white door, flooding the hall again with sunlight as she did so. Maeve looked towards Marcus and wondered why he looked vaguely familiar; it must have been his close resemblance to Lucius, she decided, as she followed Narcissa into what appeared to be some kind of refined day room.



Colly bustled in behind her holding a clattering tray filled with delicate china and a packet of biscuits. She set it down on the low table by the large sofa and then, to Maeve’s astonishment, sat herself down on a Chippendale chair and helped herself to a butter-thin, rustling it from the carton and nibbling the sweet pastry delicately as she waited for her mistress to ask her to pour the tea.



Narcissa seemed to gain temporary control of her crying and instructed Maeve to sit down, before joining her on the same crisply expensive sofa, a proximity that was just a bit too close for Maeve’s liking. For some reason Narcissa was still wearing some of that perfume that Severus had made and it was as nausea inducing as it had been before. The room was a perfect reflection of its designer; pale colours, highlighted here and there with a muted green or pink, delicate watercolours of washed-out country scenes hung from the walls, an arts and crafts fireplace guarded an empty grate, beech furniture was placed in an expert formation around the room and nowhere was there any sign of either Lucius or Draco. This was definitely Narcissa’s room.



“So, what did the Death Eaters want?� Maeve asked, making Colly choke on her biscuit at the abrupt mention of Death Eaters.



“They came to tell me.� She almost faltered but regained her voice. “That Lucius has been punished by the Dark Lord for Draco’s failure.� She punctuated her speech with a haughty sniff. “And that Draco is now wanted by the Dark Lord, to receive his punishment.�



“And what of Severus?�



Narcissa looked thrown for a moment before realising that Maeve had other concerns beside that of her own errant husband and son. “Oh, Severus will be all right; he always is. He married you and got away with it, didn’t he? Somehow he will make Voldemort believe that he killed Dumbledore in order to see the deed done because Draco had failed. He’ll twist it so that he looks the best he possibly can.�



“I hardly think you are being fair, do you?� Maeve snapped back, stung by the dismissal of Severus in such an easy manner.



“FAIR! There is nothing fair in life, you feeble-minded woman. I haven’t know a fair day since I was born.�



Narcissa’s frenzy of bitterness was an unpredictable fire that was starting to fan out of control. With this in mind, Maeve didn’t think it was the time to give Narcissa a lecture on the life and its capricious nature, though she knew she would probably beat Narcissa on the lack-of-fairness scale. But it didn’t stop her venting her anger over Narcissa’s ungrateful attitude towards Severus.



“Severus took an Unbreakable Vow for you and that brat of yours,� Maeve hissed. “Or had you conveniently forgotten that? He stepped in and did something he hated to do for the sake of that glory-grubbing son of yours. I didn’t see Lucius helping him. Has Lucius ever helped him?�



“Of course Lucius helped him! He gave him good breeding, an impressive home, the best things that money could buy. Lucius has given Draco everything a father possibly could.� Narcissa’s peaked face was now tinged with the blush of anger, or was it shame?



“Except, it would appear, love and a good moral grounding. Or were you too busy molly-coddling him to notice that Lucius thought of his son as another trapping of a successful life rather than a human being? I saw what happened when Severus killed Dumbledore. I saw the fear in Draco’s eyes, the lack of conviction in what he was supposed to be doing. I saw your son fail at being his father and you know what, Narcissa? I was so pleased for him. It was probably the bravest thing he has ever done, falling short of imitating his father.�



“Have you quite finished?� Narcissa spat.



“No, actually, I haven’t finished. Draco is an ill-mannered little toad. He surrounds himself with fawning idiots too scared of the Malfoy name to stand up to him. He pretends to be a better wizard than he actually is, because in reality he is barely passable with a wand. He has no moral fibre, no compassion or care for others and I believe that is all caused by you and your husband making him believe he is better than he really is. And what’s even worse is that you dragged my husband into your seedy little schemes and made my life difficult in doing so.�



“Severus didn’t need enticing into it,� Narcissa said, sitting ramrod straight on her seat with a threatening expression on her face. “Severus has always been there to help me, and Draco.�



“Why?� Maeve asked. “What was it that Severus felt he had to protect?�



“He owed my father a favour. I don’t know what it was but there was something there, something binding. Oh, not as binding as an Unbreakable Vow,� she said, as she saw Maeve’s look of alarm. “Some gentleman’s agreement made when Severus was much younger. You know what Severus is like for rules and those in a greater position than himself. He bows to it, makes sure he obeys. Well, he obeyed this gentleman’s agreement all these years. That and the fact that we were lovers, of course.�



Colly gave a startled squeal and shook her head vigorously, the old wood of the chair shifting fretfully beneath the house-elf’s excitement.



“Were you?� Maeve asked, monstrous jealousy seeping up through her heart and twisting in her throat. “Well, I suppose we all have our weaknesses. Severus could hardly be faulted for finding you attractive. Still, he didn’t think to marry you, did he?� Her lips became thin clamps of self-control as she bit back words of anger.



“He couldn’t. I was already married at the time. Lucius was away a lot. It was inevitable. We had always shared a connection, Severus and I.� Narcissa was lofty in her attitude, waving a commanding hand into the air to chase away Severus’ fidelity to his wife.



Colly was now looking frantic and shaking her head even more fiercely in Narcissa’s direction.



“Mistress, really -�



“Shut up, Colly!� Narcissa snapped, her earlier grief replaced by something else, some fight that she had dragged up from the depths of her past. “Severus would have married me if he had had the courage to ask me before Lucius did. But Lucius was a catch, an even larger one than Severus, so what’s a girl supposed to do?�



“Marry the man you love; that’s what I did.� Maeve was livid, disgust at what Narcissa was saying making her shake inside, but she maintained her composure.



“Love!� Narcissa smirked. “Love is for fools and dreamers. Love doesn’t get you anywhere.Look at you and your sham of a marriage.�



“One day, Narcissa, I will be able to prove to you that you have no idea what you are talking about. I find it very difficult to believe you cuckolded Lucius. He may be morally reprehensible but he is fairly astute. How did you cover it up?�



Narcissa looked away, her face pinked again by her own uncontrollable blood. “Details do not matter. It’s sufficient that you know what your husband is capable of. He can fool Lucius, he could fool you.�



“Oh for Mercury’s sake, Narcissa, listen to yourself. You are carrying on like something from one of those melodramas on the Wizarding Wireless. I have better things to worry about now than whether Severus has been eyeing up the legs of some woman who works at The Leaky Cauldron! He’s not trying to fool me. When I see Severus again I will speak with him of this... this drivel. Until then I suggest you give me some helpful suggestions as to where he might have taken Draco.�



Colly slipped from her place on the walnut chair and scurried out of the room with the two women watching in silence. Neither of them moved for a few minutes, breathless from accusation and counter accusation. It was a returning Colly, with her high-pitched voice, that broke their reveries.



“Mistress’ son left this behind when he vanished; perhaps it means something. Perhaps mistress and mistress’ not-quite-friend would like to see it?�



Maeve snatched the creamy parchment out of the house-elf’s hand before Narcissa could stir herself and Colly stepped back in surprise at the ferocity of the movement. She scanned the crude map quickly but soon realised this would offer no clue to their whereabouts.



“This is Godric’s Hollow,� she said, handing it over to Narcissa. “It’s his plan of attack.�



“How do you know?� Narcissa said, flinging the parchment back at her after giving it a cursory glance, not wanting to see proof of the task Draco had been asked to perform.



“Because it says so. Look.� Maeve tapped impatiently at the top left hand-corner of the parchment where the words “Godric’s Hollow� were written in cramped schoolboy script. “This is a waste of time. I should have known you would know nothing.� She cast the map onto the sofa and allowed herself the luxury of feeling a small sense of defeat.



“I didn’t say I didn’t know anything,� Narcissa parried. “I just haven’t got around to telling you everything, yet.�



Maeve was growing increasingly impatient and restless with this round-the-houses conversation. She disliked the restrained atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, with its after-taste of evil, and most of all she wanted to get back to Grimmauld Place, to Remus and to a night of companionable wine consummation with her best friend.



“When Draco was a very small boy Lucius had little time for him, he didn’t understand the workings of a young child’s mind. Severus had a place he went to during the summer months, when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. I’m not sure exactly where it was but it was on the Northeast coast somewhere.� Narcissa’s fragile grip on her own normality was loosening by the second. Her hands moved to her throat in a plucking gesture as she touched her own cool skin for reassurance that there was still flesh on her tormented bones.



Maeve watched Narcissa unravel and carefully examined her many memories of the things Severus had told her about his childhood and tried to think of a place name, a fragment that would lead her somewhere. She rifled through the leaves of her mind but nothing presented itself and Narcissa continued her clutching and her conversation regardless of her rival’s contemplation.



“Severus took Draco with him sometimes, just to get the boy out from - from out of the house. I don’t know why, but the two seemed to get on.� A red mark had appeared at her throat from the contact with her searching fingers.



“Just to get him out from under your dainty feet, I bet,� Maeve bit back. But then a new and horrible thought suddenly occurred to her, seeping from the bowels of her discontentment. What if, what if Severus was Draco’s father? What if that was the reason for him indulging in the Unbreakable Vow? It was so unlike Severus to take an interest in a child, anyone’s child, without a reason that was extraordinary. But Draco looked so like Lucius that it couldn’t be possible, could it? She looked warily at Narcissa. To ask her would be to risk further pain and ridicule. This was another doubt that would have to be wrapped in newspaper and placed in a box until the time was right to ask the one person that would surely tell her the truth.



“Draco was a demanding child,� Narcissa said, trying to excuse her lack of mothering. “I love him dearly but he can be very tiresome. Severus could control him, interest him. Anyway, that’s the only place I can think of. Lucius never knew where they headed off to, and even I only had the scantest notion. I don’t suppose you would know. Why would you when you know so little else?� She was happy to slight Maeve, would have been even happier had she known of Maeve’s doubts over Draco’s paternity.



“Can I see Draco’s room?� Maeve asked, ignoring the barb.



“Why would you want to see Draco’s room?� she replied in a petulant voice.



“Because there maybe something that would give a hint.� She tried to sound confident but she knew she was clutching at a flimsy hope. Colly was pleased with this idea though because she immediately bounced up and down a few times with a good deal of vigorous head nodding.



“Colly,� Maeve ventured. “Do you know anything about Draco? About where he went?�



Colly looked uncomfortable, her sharp, saucer eyes darting from Maeve to Narcissa. “Master Draco forbade me to say. But Master Draco is in trouble, and though Master Draco is terribly rude to Colly, Colly does not bear grudges. Colly can’t say but Colly knows.� She once again scuttled from the room and Maeve hurried to follow her, leaving Narcissa alone with her qualms.



The staircase was formidable, a huge trunk of wood and marble stretching from the ground floor to the first in a shimmy of style. Maeve took the marble runners two at a time as the elf set a dashing pace. Colly turned right at the top and hurried down a long corridor that stretched away into the impressive distance. As Colly came to a halt outside a large black door she sank into herself a little, struggling with her loyalty to the family and the betrayal of a secret. Draco had always been rude to her, but never cruel like Lucius. He had never beaten her or sent her out alone into the dark night when she displeased him. Colly remembered the one occasion when she had been shown true kindness, not the condescending contact that her mistress tolerated, but real kindness. It had been a wild night, bold winds crashing against the house, snatching at the trees with reckless violence. A foul mist had descended into the darkness and Colly had been sent out to collect the storm-charged root of the Salvati that grew in the herb garden. Draco had needed it for something in the Potions kit that Lucius had bought him for Christmas that year.



She’d struggled against the wind, clutching her tablecloth as if her life depended on it, and battled with the large, iron gate that signalled the entrance to the walled herb garden. As she had undone the latch the gate had forced itself forward, caught by the buffeting of the wind. She had crashed against the hedge, the bars crushing her tiny form into the thorns of the bramble. Her cries of pain and fear had gone unheard, until the six-year-old Draco had grown tired of waiting and slipped out into the night to find her. He had discovered her plight and pulled her from the thorns, speaking softly and gently in the way that young boys sometime have. And then he had called for his father to help, and the kindness had been cruelly cast into the shadows along with her feelings.



She flung open the bedroom door, memories of the kind Draco over-riding the memories of the more recent, angry one.



“Thank you, Colly,� Maeve said, as she stepped into the unusual tidiness of a teenage boy’s bedroom.



She had seen enough of Harry’s sleeping arrangements to know that boys generally kept their bedrooms in a state of perpetual disarray, driven by the need to surround themselves in the assorted debris of their lives. This room bore no resemblance to anything she had seen from Harry. Every surface was clear, every bookshelf ordered alphabetically, every piece of magical equipment tidy and polished. Maeve was astounded by it, and she also knew that finding something that Draco didn’t want anyone to see in this straight-jacketed organisation would be almost impossible.



She walked across to the bookshelf and pulled out a few volumes, nothing much interesting there, just some textbooks and a copy of Darkness Beckons; Find the Dark Wizard Within in Ten Simple Steps. Shaking them she was unsurprised to find nothing fluttered loose from the pages, no conveniently placed map of this unknown place in the north of England. She bypassed the Hand of Glory that sat, gnarled and obnoxious, on the desk and sniffed suspiciously at the plant that was flowering furiously on the windowsill. The room was as vapid as Severus’ office, nothing personal, no tokens of existence, just a few posters. Good grief, she thought with disgust, was that really a poster of the Dark Mark?



Shaking her head her gaze moved across to the bed, a masculine concoction of dark ebony and stiff sheets. And then she saw something sticking out from between the tightly tucked sheet and the mattress. Did people really still hide things under their mattresses, she wondered with wry amusement as she moved to reach the object.



Her fingers worked at the thin gilded wood as Colly bounced again, making Maeve wonder if Colly had tweaked the item a little to allow her to see it. It was a small gilt frame that contained a photograph. A young, smiling Draco was standing on a cliff top, two huge, pale-ivory bones arching in to the air above him, his blond hair ruffled by an incoming breeze. Behind him summer-soft clouds scudded by, the sun a rich red as it rose from its sleep. They must have been there early in the morning looking at the way the sun bounced from the underside of the clouds. Below Draco she could see the short sweep of a beach that gave way to a tight cluster of houses. On the opposite headland stood the weathered stone of a ruined building looking out across the bay back at the camera, its jagged teeth of stone defiant against time and the harsh salt that came in off the North Sea. Its topmost point was a sharp arch that was an echo of the two bones that stood proud above Draco’s head and she knew, knew without ever having been there, where this place was. Recognised the arch as the great ribs of a whale, understood why Severus would be drawn to such a place, a place of myth and darkness, a place of great thought, a place where he would not look out of place, even in his dark robes. And she knew where she had to go.



Maeve placed the picture carefully back under the mattress so that nothing could be seen, charming the photograph into blankness as she did so. If anyone else searched for it, they would see just a blurred image that would not give up its secret easily.



“Is that the place, Colly?� she asked in a low voice. Colly nodded her head and only just stopped herself speaking. Master Draco would be very angry with her if he knew she had given away his secrets, but as long as she had not opened her mouth and spoken the words he could not prove that she was the one who had allowed another person to have a glimpse of his private world. “Thank you,� Maeve said gratefully. “Thank you so much.�



Colly nodded, wringing together careworn hands as Maeve prepared to depart. The house-elf bobbed along behind her as she left the room, the occasional gulp of something unsaid trying to escape her mouth. Maeve was so intent on getting out of the house that she didn’t notice Colly’s sudden distress. As she reached the day room she popped her head around the door and found Narcissa exactly where she had been left, staring into the black fireless chimney.



“Have to go,� she said. “I forgot I had an appointment back in London.�



Narcissa raised a weary head. “You didn’t forget. You’ve found what you were looking for, or haven’t found it. Either way you have no further use for me or my house and so you’re leaving.�



“Erm.� Maeve hesitated for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, you’re right. So I’ll be off. Hope I don’t see you again quite so soon.� And she withdrew her head from the room and headed for the door. It was the gentle tug on her skirt that halted her in the act of escape. She peered down and saw Colly’s tear-stained eyes looking up at her.



“What is it?� she asked, her tone more gentle than that she had used with Narcissa.



“Please, Miss, I don’t know your name or anything; Miss never introduced herself. But Colly is frightened, Miss. The mistress is not a strong woman and those men are very bad. Mistress thinks she will be safe and that she only has her husband and Master Draco to worry about but Colly knows differently. Colly has spoken with another house-elf who works for another of Master Lucius’ friends. Mistress is in great danger and they will come back for her. Mistress needs help and Colly can’t do it on her own.�



Maeve’s conscience was tugged at but only by the genuine worry of the house-elf, not by Narcissa’s plight. As far as she was concerned if you played with the Dark side you could only expect darkness in return. But her new knowledge gave her a benevolent feeling of hope and made her more indulgent than she otherwise might have been.



“I don’t know what you want me to do, Colly,� she said. “It’s not as if I can spirit Narcissa away into hiding.�



Colly’s drying eyes widened and she nodded her head tentatively.



“But Miss could do that. Miss is obviously a very clever witch and would know of somewhere that the bad men couldn’t find the mistress. Please, Miss. Your husband would be very happy if you did this, very happy indeed. He is a fine man, your husband, not like the others. He never had a bad word to say to Colly and always remembered his manners.�



Maeve’s right eyebrow shot up so far it met her hairline. She didn’t know what surprised her the most, the fact that Colly knew Severus or the fact that Severus had deployed the unexpected use of manners towards a house-elf.



“You know Severus?�



“Yes, Miss.�



“And when did you last see him, Colly?�



“Oh, not long ago,let Colly think.�



Maeve’s heart once again sustained another bruise. If Severus had been here recently it would fuel Narcissa’s claims to a hold on his affection. Why else would he be visiting Malfoy Manor when there was no Lucius here?



“Six years,� she said finally. “It was Master Draco’s birthday, June 5th, and he came for the celebrations.�



Maeve chastised herself for not remembering that house-elves' grasp on time was slightly different to humans. The thought that Severus had not been here for all that time filled her with some hope and made her forget about the neat bedroom at Spinner’s End, if only temporarily. She grappled with the dilemma over what to do with Narcissa as the house-elf continued to gaze at her hopefully.



“I don’t know, � she muttered. “It’s not easy. I have nowhere that is completely secret.�



Colly continued to stare at her, offering no escape or easy option. Maeve didn’t even know if Narcissa would agree to leave Malfoy Manor with Draco and Lucius both in trouble. She couldn’t take her to Carrowdore Cottage— the Ministry were aware of its whereabouts so chances were that Voldemort would too. Spinner’s End was not an option, Abbeylara was ground into dust and, again, Voldemort knew about that place. Darkacre was known and Hogwarts couldn’t be considered. Maeve realised she had a very short list people that she could call on in an emergency who knew of suitable accommodation. The only person who would be willing and able to help her was Remus, but it wasn’t really helping her, it was helping Narcissa, and she didn’t think even Remus would stoop that low given Draco’s recent actions.



What did you do with the wife of a disgraced Death Eater whose son had just tried to kill the most respected wizard in the wizarding world? And the answer came as she caught the portrait of Marcus Malfoy watching her, his leering, confident stare reminding her of another.



“I’ll do what I can,� Maeve promised the now quivering house-elf. “But I can’t promise miracles.�



Colly nodded enthusiastically. “Any help would be appreciated, Miss, even though mistress may not seem to be pleased about any help she gets but didn’t ask for.�



“And what will you do while she is gone?�



“Colly will wait here until the family returns. Colly can’t go anywhere else and doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Colly will keep the house nice until Mistress comes home.�



“And what if the bad men come back?�



“They will not find Colly. Colly has lived here longer and knows more hiding places than even Master Draco. Colly knows that even Dark wizards cannot find a house-elf who wants to remain hidden. But mistress, mistress is too big and too - too talkative to hide where Colly would hide.�



Maeve nodded and reached down to pat the poor creature on the shoulder. Colly began to cry again and dabbed at her eyes with the tablecloth.





Narcissa was still sitting there, looking for all the world like a martyred swan, when Maeve re-entered the room. Crossing to the tea tray Maeve pointed her wand at the delicately folded, now-empty biscuit wrapper and said “Portus�. Narcissa inclined her head towards the light as the wrapper rose into the air before falling gently back down, the Charm complete.



“What are you doing?� she asked abruptly. “I though you were leaving the way you came.�



“That won’t be possible,� Maeve said, leaning across and touching Narcissa’s shoulder. “Because this time, you’re coming with me.�



And as her fingers made contact with the soft silk of Narcissa’s robes she reached for the wrapper and felt the uncomfortable tug as they were transported away from the rotten core of Malfoy Manor towards a slightly more welcoming, if equally dangerous, destination.









Rathgael was unsurprisingly deserted when they arrived. It was never the busiest place, only a few farmers trundling between their fields on ancient tractors, but the rain had forced them away from the harvest and towards more domestic matters. As the two women dropped into the sheltered coppice they were already arguing, one trying to calm the other. Moving away from the protection of the trees, the rain quickly seeped into their clothes and neither of them took the time out from quarrelling to cast an Impervius Charm.



“I didn’t want to leave! I never asked for your help, nor do I want it.� Narcissa whipped her eyes around the depressing canvas that stretched out on every side of her. “Where is this miserable place anyway? It looks like the end of civilisation.�



“This is my home,� Maeve snapped.



“Well that explains a great deal.� She gave a little snort of contempt and swiped her heavy, sopping hair from her face. “Only you could live in a place this wet.�



“And only you could live in a place that was that cold and evil-smelling.� Maeve hated the way that Narcissa could push her into a sharp reply, but she was more than equal to the goading. “This is a temporary stop until I find you somewhere safer.�



“I don’t need a personal guardian, especially not one with your kind of dress-sense, anyway. I’d like to go home and you have managed to drag me out without my wand. So if you would please create a Portkey, I can get out of this swamp.�



“Shut up, Narcissa, and follow me. You’re not going home. I happen to believe your house-elf and I think you are in danger if you stay at Malfoy Manor. Your best course of action would be to do what you have always done and let others make your decisions for you. Weakness is, fortunately, not one of my over-riding traits.�



Narcissa’s hand was itching to reach out and strike what she saw to be smugness from Maeve’s face but she stopped herself. It was too damp and she was too miserable and worried to start an un-ladylike fight in the middle of nowhere. She would bide her time and find the appropriate moment to wipe that satisfaction from Severus’ wife’s smile. Now was not it.



“Where am I following you to?� she asked, narrowly avoiding a particularly large and soggy cowpat.



“Carrowdore, my cottage. Mine and Severus’ cottage.� Maeve couldn’t help giving her a little reminder.



Narcissa gritted her teeth against the intended rub. “And is this twee little building far?�



“Ten minutes, but I could take you the scenic route if you carry on twittering.�



“There’s a scenic route out here? You do surprise me.�



Maeve’s wand twitched and Narcissa found herself slipping on the sodden grass, her robes rising up as she fell down onto the welcoming Irish grass.



“I know. I surprise myself sometimes.� Maeve gave a small smirk of satisfaction and carried on walking through the mizzle. Somehow the rain was welcome, a reminder that normality was everywhere and that nature could overpower most things. She reached the wooden gate that led to Rathgael Lane, drawing back the bolt and tugging it open. From behind her she could hear a squeal followed by hurried footsteps slapping against the waterlogged ground. Maeve turned to see an inquisitive cow wandering up the field in the direction of Narcissa, who had recovered from her fall and was now picking up her skirts and running as fast as she dared in the wetness to reach the security of the gate.



She reached safety and gasped her relief, leaning on the now closed gate and panting slightly.



“Narcissa, how can you live in a village and be scared of a cow?� Maeve could not deny that she was enjoying this.



“We don’t have cows!� She looked scandalised by the very idea. “We aren’t farmers.� Narcissa managed to make farmers sound like the most undesirable group of people in existence.



“And what’s wrong with farmers?� the harsh voice came out of the rain and both women turned to see a wintry-faced, rugged man staring at them.



“Oh, erm, well, nothing.� Narcissa looked to Maeve for support and failed to find any. “It’s just that my husband is, well, he’s not a farmer.�



“No, he’s a criminal,� Maeve said, finding the situation quite amusing. She knew the farmer; he had a large flock of sheep that he grazed up the mountain and had occasionally supplied her with milk and some eggs from his chickens. Coupled with the cows in this field he made a modest living from his farm. “You’ll have to excuse my companion, she’s not used to normal people.�



Narcissa spluttered something unintelligible and the farmer looked her up and down, appreciative of her slim figure beneath the swim of soaking silk. Narcissa shivered at his leer and began to back away towards the freedom of the lane. Maeve let her walk so far downhill before telling her she was going the wrong way.



“Is she all there?� the farmer asked. “Only, she doesn’t look quite right in the head, so she doesn’t. I’d be after taking her to the doctor, myself like.�



“She is a little bit simple, but we try and do what we can,� Maeve said, her face a picture of saintly self-sacrifice. This information elicited a sympathetic nod from the burly Irishman.



“Aye, we’d a bull like that. Finest in the herd he was until he went a bit quare in the head. We had to shoot him he turned so bad.� He looked towards Narcissa as if trying to decide whether she was ready to be put out of her misery just yet.



“Well,� Maeve said, slapping her arms against her drenched sides in a brisk, must-be-going movement. “Better get her home before she does herself some damage. Be seeing you around.�



“Aye, you will that lass. I’ll drop some milk by for ye later if you’ve a use for it like? And watch that stream; this rain has it running like the River Liffey.�



“That would be lovely, Mr. O’Grady. Thank you.� She grabbed Narcissa’s arms and steered her up the lane towards the dry comforts of the cottage, while Narcissa meekly allowed her to do it, fear of strange men wandering the countryside making her suddenly pliant. As they passed the fast flowing stream, Maeve only barely resisted the temptation to push Narcissa into the grey waters.



As soon as Maeve decided the cottage wasn’t being watched she ushered Narcissa in out of the rain and told her to wait in the kitchen so that she could drip onto the stone floor. Bran was perched in the porch at the rear of the house, slumbering out of the rain, and she opened the back door to wake him. Quickly scribbling a note she whispered its destination in his ear. With a soft hoot of pleasure at having his mistress back the owl rose into the rain and disappeared from view.



“I have some spare clothes,� Maeve said, walking past Narcissa and heading for the stairs. “You may borrow something if you wish, or you may opt to die of hypothermia rather than wear something of mine. The choice is yours.�



She didn’t wait for an answer but went to her room and changed swiftly, aware that when the owl reached its destination she would probably have a visitor very soon. She sorted out her hair with a quick drying spell before returning to the ground floor, the scent of Severus still in her nostrils from the bedroom.



Narcissa was drip-drying onto the sitting room carpet, her eyes fixed on the mantlepiece and the photograph that stood there, guarding the cottage in its owner’s absence.



“Its my favourite,� Maeve said, sitting down and watching the hurt on Narcissa’s face. “He looks quite handsome, doesn’t he, and happy, Narcissa. Severus looks happy because he was happy.�



The older witch wheeled away and walked towards the door with something other than rain on her cheeks. The look of bitter regret and pain on Narcissa’s face made Maeve slightly ashamed of her catty behaviour; just because Narcissa indulged her cruel side was no reason for Maeve to follow suit. She took comfort for the fact that she was going out of her way to try and save Narcissa’s flawless skin. She had got up again and was looking into Severus’ painfully smiling face when she heard the front door open and a cheerful voice call, “Only me. Nice weather for the old feathered pond-skimmers, isn’t it?�



She quickly replaced the photograph and turned to see the ever-smiling face of Roderick and watched as he first winked at her and then glanced to her right, and the photograph that was on the mantlepiece.



“Oh, how sweet of you, my love, a photograph of me on your mantlepiece. I really didn’t know you cared so much.� He swaggered across and planted a firm kiss on her cheeks, ignoring her look of confusion. “And to what do I owe this summons? You don’t look very distressed. A little soggy in places, perhaps.� He lifted a lock of damp hair that her hurriedly applied Charm has missed. “Been out for a walk?�



“After a fashion,� she said, trying not to grin at his radiant smile. “I have something I need you to protect.�



“Well, I’m your man. I protected you for long enough.�



“That’s debatable,� she argued, remembering some of Roderick’s lapses from the previous year. “I don’t need you to protect her, I just need you -�



“Her?� Roderick interrupted immediately. “A lady? You want to entrust a woman to my care? How delightful!�



“I just need you to find her a safe house to stay in until some of this Lucius business blows over.� Maeve ignored the sudden delighted expression that he wore.



“Well, well. So the lovely Narcissa is in need of protection? It must be terribly galling for her to have to ask for it from you of all people.�



“I didn’t ask.� Narcissa stood in the doorway, her hair back to normal, her face free from either tears or pain, and a dry dress belonging to Maeve hanging from her frame. “I was brought here.�



She made no move to enter the room but stood against the wall waiting for an explanation as to why Roderick was now present. Her face had resumed its usual bored mask and Maeve saw the performance for what it was. Narcissa needed to regain some control, and the only thing she could control any longer was her own demeanour.



“So, what’s the full story, girls?� Roderick asked, sweeping his cloak to one side and sitting down. “I hear old Lucius has finally come a cropper with the Dark Lord. Has he killed him yet, do we know?�



“No,� Narcissa said coldly and Maeve was amazed at her restraint after such a callous comment, doubts rising over her decision to ask Roderick to help. But she didn’t have any choice; he was the only one with sufficiently dubious alliances who would handle any of the Malfoys after all that had happened. “We do not know what has happened to him. But I do know that the Dark Lord wants my son back, and I cannot give him back. Not that I would if I could, obviously.� The obviously felt a little tacked on to the end and had it been Lucius speaking Maeve wouldn’t have believed it.



“So, you need to get out of the way. If they can’t find you they can’t torture anything out of you, is that it? And how do you think I can help?� Roderick looked to Maeve for an answer, as she was the one who had summoned him.



“I know that you have safe houses. You’re an Auror and could get Narcissa somewhere to stay, no questions asked. And for some completely ridiculous reason I actually trust you to do it.� Maeve’s smile was austere and provoked a stab of honesty from Roderick.



“Well, I don’t know why, darling, after some of the things you’ve seen me do,� he drawled.



“I trust you,� she repeated, as if by repeating the sentiment it would somehow solidify the trust between them. “You may have done some selfish things but I like to believe that if I asked you to give me your word you would do it. I gave you my word not so very long ago, in a certain garden.�



He gave a you-got-me roll of his eyes and looked towards Narcissa.



“Will she give me any trouble?� he asked, speaking about her as if she were an insentient being, an animal that had to be transported somewhere.



“Why don’t you ask her?� Maeve said, frustration once again making her snappy. “She’s standing in front of you after all.�



“I see I am reduced to a piece of furniture to be disposed of at your convenience.� Narcissa’s words were soaked with bitterness over her predicament. She wanted so much to believe that her husband could protect her and he had abandoned her to a fate of the Dark Lord’s choosing. “I am not a foolish woman, despite what you think.� The words were aimed at Maeve. “I understand that perhaps it is too dangerous for me to remain where I could be found. I will give you no trouble.�



“Good,� Roderick said. “I suppose that seals it then. Nice of you to think of me at a time like this,� he said, smiling at Maeve again. “Thought you would have got one of your other friends on the job.�



“Most of my other friends would like to see Narcissa answering for the actions of her son.� She avoided Narcissa’s face as she spoke.



“I see, so, last chance rather than first choice. Story of my life.� His good humour still intact he gave Narcissa one of his friendly winks. “Come on then, old girl, let’s get going. Do you want to know where I’m taking her?�



Maeve shook her head. “The less I know the less I can tell. Just let me know somehow that she is safe.�



“Why?� Narcissa asked stiffly. “Why are you doing this for me? You must know I hate you.�



“Hate is a strong word, Narcissa, and it’s as overused as love. You no more hate me than Severus loves you, and we both know that. I’m doing it for Colly and for Severus and perhaps in some small way I’m doing it for me. I don’t have to give in to your standard of life. I’ve asked myself what Severus would do in this situation and I think he would do what I am doing.�



“How quaint,� Roderick muttered under his minted breath.



“And because I want you to be somewhere out of the way so you can’t hinder me. The last thing Severus needs is you blundering into a situation because you think you might find Draco.� Maeve added the practicality at the end just to shut Roderick up.



“I’m not as brainless as I may appear, you know.� Narcissa was back on the defensive. “I did very well at school.�



“Yes, I’m sure you did, my lovely. Come on, I have somewhere else I need to be.� He shooed her towards the door and once she was outside he turned back and gave Maeve a strange look.



“You had better take care. You are involving yourself more than you need to. I know he’s your husband and all that rot, but hiding some woman that has a vague connection to him is taking the wifely duty thing a bit far.�



“They were lovers. I suppose I’m doing what he would want,� she said quietly, expecting Roderick to say something consoling. What she hadn’t expected was the huge wave of laughter that broke from him.



“Lovers my delightful arse!� he stepped forward and gave her a hug that fitted her well. “There’s none of that between those two. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear! Cheerio, I’ll be in touch!�



And he was gone. The cottage was swaddled in silence again and before she had the chance to take a breath Bran returned, accompanied by a snowy owl that she recognised as Harry’s. Unfurling the parchment she gave Hedwig’s head a quick stroke before bending her head to read. He was leaving for Hogwarts that night, travelling back with Professor McGonagall and wanted to know if she wanted to go straight back to Hogwarts from wherever she was. If this were the case Remus would be willing to travel to collect her and provide an escort. Poor Remus, she thought, always running around escorting people hither and thither.



“I suppose the answer is yes,� she said to Hedwig, scribbling her reply on the parchment before re-attaching it. The owl gave a quick bow of its head to Bran before flying straight off again without so much as a sip of water.





Rain continued to run down the windows as she waited for Remus to arrive. The small stream that ran past the front of the cottage was swollen and she assumed they must have had quite a few downpours since she had left a few days ago. How like the weather to so accurately reflect the general frame of mind of things. The light shifted, darkened, and the mood of the mountain became sombre and reflective. Hedwig must have flown into the worst of the weather because it was a full four hours before Remus arrived, his hair messy and clothes dishevelled. It was then that she realised it was he who had hit turbulence.



“There are things happening,� he said, as he took off his cloak and hung it on the peg behind the door. “A theatre full of people in Sheffield sank into a giant pit that opened up beneath them. Sixteen dead. The Muggle government are blaming it on mine shafts from the old coal workings, but we know differently. As I Apparated up I could feel things in the air. It wasn’t as smooth as it normally is. I hope with everything I have that they haven’t found a way to disrupt our ability to Apparate, not that that would affect you too much,� he smiled at her. “And then there was a sandstorm on a beach in Bognor - a sandstorm of all things! Two pleasure boats lost at sea on the same day too; twenty-five people gone on the same small stretch of coastline.�



“I’m sorry,� she said, dismayed by the ferocious attacks on the Muggles. “I’ve been so immersed in my own life for the past month that I haven’t had the time to notice the increasing trouble. It’s only been these last few days in London that I have realised the extent of Voldemort’s new campaign.�



“It will get worse,� he said ominously, wandering into the kitchen instead of the sitting room and automatically switching on the kettle. “Do you want a drink before we leave?�



“Coffee please. So why has Harry gone back to Hogwarts tonight?�



“I’m not entirely sure. He went back with Minerva. He’s been very secretive these past few days. Did you find anything out from him today?� Remus looked hopeful and Maeve hated not being able to tell him. All she wanted to do now was head for the coast to try and find Severus but she knew she had to get Hogwarts out of the way. Thinking about Horcruxes and Harry was not at the top of her list of things to do.



“Nothing important. He showed me the memory of Dumbledore’s death.� Her face didn’t so much as twitch as she thought back to the scene she had witnessed and she knew she was becoming immune to the horror that was surrounding her.



“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult, seeing Severus like that.�



“No,� she replied, surprising him. “Not really. It proved to me more than ever that he is innocent.�



Remus sighed and poured the steaming water into the two cups on the worktop. He was hoping that Harry would have managed to stop some of this Severus-is-innocent nonsense and yet - Remus didn’t like to think too hard about it. He didn’t want to accept the possibility there could be another explanation for what had happened that night. He wasn’t party to whatever it was that passed between Dumbledore and Severus down the years and so he couldn’t judge. But as he watched her soft lips touch the cup and her eyes flick up to catch him watching her he felt the first inklings that perhaps, just perhaps, she could be right in some way. Not that he would tell her this, of course. They had to get through the funeral, if she did decide to attend, and she needed to know that she mustn’t defend Severus. It would not be the time or the place.



“You’re wondering, aren’t you?� she asked. “You’re wondering why I trust Severus so much when the evidence is so clear.�



“I know why you trust him, Maeve. He’s your husband. If you were my wife I would trust you and believe in you no matter what you did. To a certain degree I do that anyway, but I wonder if your loyalty in this instance is not flawed?�



“That’s your job, to wonder. My job is to believe.� She smiled enigmatically. “I’m not attending the funeral, you know. It wouldn’t be fair, no matter what you said about Dumbledore wanting it. I can attend without being there, and there will always be a tomb to visit when the crowds are gone. I’ll go back to Hogwarts and collect my things in the morning and then I have somewhere to go in the afternoon.�



“Where?� he asked, growing tired of being on the periphery of people’s plans.



“I need to find something, Remus. Don’t ask me what.�



He saw the sadness in her eyes, the will to tell him and the fear of doing so. Remus felt caught between loyalty to the Order and to his friend and he hated it.



“Let me come with you,� he said. “Whatever it is, let me come with you. I can’t stand having you running around any longer, unprotected and in danger.�



She shook her head. “You can’t, Remus. It would compromise you too much. You would wish to do what the Ministry wanted, not what is right.�



He banged his cup down, tea slopping over the edge and making a copper stain on the marble. “Since when have I been a Ministry man!� he shouted, his voice rose in a way that Maeve had never heard before. “When did you ever know me bow to Ministry pressure in ANY WAY?�



“I’m sorry, Remus,� Maeve began; upset at his anger and sorry that she had provoked it. “Perhaps I didn’t mean Ministry, perhaps I meant Harry. You will do what is right for Harry.�



“I will do what is right!� he lashed back. “I will do what is right under the circumstances. That is all I have ever tried to do. I did it for Dumbledore, I’ve done it for you. Why should that change?�



“Because I’m going to find Severus,� she explained unsteadily. “Because you will not allow Severus to go free and I can’t hand him over to the authorities. I can’t take the risk that Severus will go to Azkaban.�



“You think I will allow someone to go to Azkaban who doesn’t deserve it?�



“You’ve said yourself that Severus is guilty. Why wouldn’t you send him there? I have to do this alone, Remus. I have to find him, and I know where to look. I can’t risk it. Please don’t be angry with me. Please understand.�



Remus couldn’t hide the feeling of hurt that made his face shrink back from her. He had thought she was the one person who would have faith in him to do what was right, to not be swayed by false opinion and hearsay. And here she was refusing his help, refusing everything in order to protect her husband.



“I’m coming with you,� he said in a firm voice. “You will not go alone. I promise you that I will do nothing to harm Severus’ chances with the Ministry. I will do nothing to apprehend him. I just want to know that you are safe. I’m giving you my word, Maeve, but you have to let someone help you.�



She watched him, watched the gentle brown eyes take on a fierce light she had not seen before and felt shame that she had pushed him away. She had been affected by his manner when he had come to break the news of Dumbledore’s death, had been prejudiced by the two Aurors’ presence that day. In her mind Remus had become the Ministry as far as Severus was concerned and that had been wrong of her. Could she possibly take him with her? The thought filled her with pleasure, that she wouldn’t have to make the trip alone, but it filled her with foreboding over what Severus would say when he found out.



Fortunately the decision was made for her as a light flashed towards the large kitchen window, made bright by the dim candlelight that illuminated the room. As they both turned towards the disturbance in the darkening twilight they could see clearly the outline of a fox, glimmering ghostly and looking straight at Maeve.



“Well, that’s that,� she said as the form faded into the night. “We’d better get going. Severus wouldn’t have sent his Patronus if he didn’t feel the time was right for me to look for him.�



“I’ll get my cloak,� Remus said, sealing himself to her with a decisive air that left no room for protestation.

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.

Chapter Six

A New Prince.


Maeve chose to walk back to the guesthouse once she was clear of the trees. The morning was so bright and so perfect in its effortless cheer that she enjoyed the opportunity to stretch her legs along the empty, still-damp, pavements of Whitby. It took her just ten minutes to cover the distance from Severus’ hiding place to the dainty front door of Madam Marb’s place of business. The door was already open when she arrived and a tall, pale-faced man was just stepping out into the fresh blast of the new day. He gave her a swift look, allowing her a glimpse of soulless grey eyes that quickly averted themselves from her gaze. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that made her believe he had been nervous, avoiding her as he hurried past and down the steps. His cloak brushed against her face as he struggled to avoid contact and she shuddered at its stroke.

Fortunately the vigorous figure of Madam Marb was absent from reception and she was able to slip, unnoticed, back to their room. It was still only just after six and she prayed that Remus was tired enough from the late night to still be sleeping. Opening the door, to her dismay, she found he was most defiantly awake. He was sitting in the chair by the window, his face a closed mask of disapproval.

“Oh,� she said, wary of his reaction to her absence. “I thought you would still be sleeping.�

“I haven’t been asleep since around four, when I awoke to find you gone and no explanation of your absence.�

“I couldn’t sleep. I had to go for a walk and found myself looking for Severus.� She didn’t know why she neglected to mention the Patronus. Somewhere at the back of her temples a headache was beginning to rouse itself, stretching across her sleep-deprived mind.

“Just like that?� he said sourly. “You didn’t think to wake me? Didn’t even think to let me know you were going out? I am very disappointed, Maeve.� A shadow of something indefinable drifted through the stale room. It cloyed at Remus, making his voice sharp.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you, but you where tired last night and the need to see Severus was just too much for me to resist. You know it’s not that I don’t trust you; I just didn’t know how I would react to him. I needed to be alone for that first meeting.� Her hand began to absently massage her forehead.

“Did you not stop to think that I would be worried, would possibly come and look for you?� Remus stood up, his seated position giving Maeve a natural advantage that made him feel ill-equipped to be quite as forceful as he had intended.

After a night without sleep, Maeve’s patience was wearing thin and she heard a whining note in Remus’ voice that triggered an unusual bout of temper. “You are not my husband or my keeper, Remus.� She glared at him reproachfully. “I had to go and see my husband. He wanted me and I went. I thought I would be back before you woke. I didn’t intentionally set out to worry you.� Her words were as choppy as the axe that was beginning to break through her normal thought processes, common sense fleeing from the sharp blade of her headache.

“You are overly-fond of taking it upon yourself to run around with no protection. You seem to give little thought to the people that care about you and it wouldn’t be the first time that you got yourself into trouble on one of these wild-goose chases.� Remus was unaware of her rising impatience, or her throbbing head, and so didn’t relent in his admonitions.

Maeve’s mouth fell open at the injustice of what he was saying. She thought of the wild-goose chase that had saved Remus’ life, the wild-goose chase that had meant she could speak with Severus’ mother before she died, the wild-goose chase across a frozen lake that had resulted in her trying to save the phantom Remus from a phantom attacker. And she knew that if she opened her mouth to speak she would say something that would simply force them further apart. In her heart she acknowledged that she should have left him a note, but his reaction made her feel suffocated at a time when she needed to concentrate her thoughts on her husband.

Remus finally seemed to realise he had gone too far and his face lost some of its rigidity. An apology was about to fall from his lips, but Maeve was too full of indignation and didn’t allow him to speak. “I’m going to pay for the room and then I’m going to - I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll see you back at Hogwarts after the funeral.�

“Maeve,� he said, trying to make this right before she left. “I was worried.�

“Then don’t. It’s a waste of emotion.� She continued towards the door, her head bowed from the pain.

“Don’t rush off again.� Remus allowed a desperate tone to reach into his voice. He knew he should be a little less possessive of her whereabouts but she could have got herself into all kinds of trouble wandering off on her own. “I’ll stay with you until you sort this out and there will be no more talk of what happened tonight.�

“I’m tired, I have things to do, and this was a mistake. You don’t believe Severus is innocent. You think I’ve been hopelessly deceived by him. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why you were so keen to come with me.�

“That’s not true! I was captious about Severus; I tried to consider the options available to him.�

“You over-reacted to me going to see him. Why was that? Did you want to see the place for yourself? Did you want to betray him? Take revenge for your friends, Sirius and James?� There was a hysterical edge to Maeve that Remus had never seen before. Her face was growing increasingly flushed as she planted her feet firmly on the moral high-ground.

“No.� Remus began to tread carefully, becoming increasingly concerned by her sudden irrational attitude. “Maeve, what’s really wrong? This isn’t like you.�

“I’m fed up with all this!� she screeched. “I want to forget about Dumbledore and the war, and Horcruxes, and Harry. I just want to go home. I want things to be the way they were before.�

“Calm down,� he said gently. “You don’t mean these things. Tiredness has taken it out of you. Come and sit down and let me make you a drink.�

“I don’t want you to make me a drink. I don’t want anything from you. I’ll see you at Hogwarts.�

And leaving her cold words frosting the air she stalked out of the room and back downstairs, abandoning a shell-shocked Remus who wondered what he had done that was so wrong.


Madam Marb was once again in her sentry position by the desk and raised a smile for Maeve, who didn’t seem to notice. Doris was awake and looking at the irate witch with beady black eyes. To Maeve’s pain-blurred sight it seemed the bird was judging her.

“How much do I owe you for the night?� she asked in a very curt manner.

“Going so soon?� Madam Marb was used to people staying just one night, but not used to people abandoning their roommates. “There’s breakfast waiting in the dining room.� She waved a scarlet-clad arm towards a rose-pattered door from behind which came the smell of hot toast and frying bacon. “And I think you over-did it with the rouge this morning, bit too much on your right cheek.�

“I’m not hungry,� Maeve snapped, the smell of food making her stomach howl in protest at her self-sacrificing words. “How much?�

“Goodness, you can’t have slept well to have got up in such a temper.� Running a long talon down the list of room tariffs, something she really didn’t need to do, as she knew the price and every variation thereof for every room in the establishment. “That’ll be 13 Galleons and 5 Sickles. Will your young man be staying on?�

“I have no idea,� Maeve said, disinterest apparent from the casual roll of her eyes.

“Oh dear,� the other woman said, sympathy welling up in her chest. “Had a bit of a tiff, my lovely? Husbands can be so difficult. My Archie was a devil when he caught a sniff of a barmaid’s apron. He’ll come round, don’t you worry. My Auntie Flora always used to say -�

But Maeve wasn’t interested in what Auntie Flora said, nor was she interested in listening to any more of Madam Marb’s waffle. She quickly handed over 14 Galleons and told her to keep the change before heading for the door and away from this pink nightmare that was beginning to make her eyes burn.

Just as she was about to step into the sun again, Madam Marb spoke.

“Has your husband’s friend left then?�

Maeve looked at her quizzically. “Friend?�

“That sickly-looking young man with those eyes that blow through you like a raw wind. He was up there when I went to put the bacon on. Oh!� Her attention was suddenly wrenched away from Remus’ mysterious visitor. “My bacon!� With a huge wave of strawberry robes she pushed open the rosy door and was gone.


It was very early for most people. The town was still wearing some of its sleepiness as Maeve tasted the salty sea on her lips. The harbour was dotted with boats but no one seemed to be taking them out or bringing any back in. Her head was aching more and more and as she brushed a wave of hair back from her face she could feel that her cheek was flushed with heat. Moving away from the sea front and up into the town she wondered what Severus would be doing now. It was high time he ditched Draco and got on with his own life. Skivying around after the likes of the Malfoys was humiliating when he could be his own man —was his own man. She pushed her way past two old women who were out having an early morning amble, causing one to drop her bag, but Maeve wasn’t interested in feeble old ladies.

“Fine morning, my darling!� The gruff voice broke into her thoughts and she stopped to see a toothless old man watching her from his seat outside a café. “Buy you a cup of tea?�

“No thanks, I’m hardly likely to be seen talking to strange old men, am I?� she said scornfully, beginning to feel uneasy in this strange place that was filled with odd people.

“You look frozen. One cup of tea with an old man won’t do any harm now, will it? You might go away wiser than you are at the moment.� He gave her an exaggerated wink and Maeve felt a little chill of apprehension crawl down her spine. Her head felt as if it was being wrenched open slowly by a very rusty tin opener. Sounds filtered through her ears but the rush of pain that coursed through her veins distorted them.

“No, really.� She turned, staggered a little and began to hurry away, her shoes making an unsteady ring on the stone slabs beneath her feet.

“They know you’re here,� he called after her. “I’d watch your back. Looks to me like you’ve already met one of them!�

Maeve kept going, her sense of direction abandoning her as she fought against the labyrinthine streets that led her nowhere. What did the old man mean? Who were “they�? Did he mean Voldemort? She could feel anger rising, the same feeling of irrationality that had caused her to be so volcanic with Remus. As she rounded a particularly sharp bend her cloak caught on the tip of an iron railing, yanking her back with such a snap that it almost choked her. Before she could even begin struggling to free herself she felt the fabric release her and she staggered forward into Severus’ familiar arms.

“What are you doing wandering around?� he said in an angry voice. “And what is that?� He grabbed her chin and tipped her right cheek towards him. His face darkened as he took in the now livid flash of red that scarred her cheek. “Who have you been in contact with?�

“No one,� she said, the pendulum of her emotions still swinging wildly. “Remus was being a complete arse so I left him and now I’m lost and some old man has just told me that ‘they’ know I am here.�

Severus quickly scooped her into a gloomy shop doorway that smelt of stale urine and was littered with old pizza cartons and chip wrappers. His nostrils flared in disgust at the smell of Muggle debris as he withdrew his wand. He pointed it at her face and she could feel the heat disappear, eaten away by a cooling balm that also made her headache evaporate. Her ears popped slightly and sound rushed in, a kaleidoscope of clarity that made her feel euphoric. “You have been in contact with someone, someone who is so corrupt that they have left their mark on you. Was the old man sitting outside a café, by any chance?�

“Yes, yes he was, down at the foot of the hill. But what do you mean about -� Severus was confusing her with his rapid-fire change of tack.

“And what exactly did he say?� Severus ignored her plea for further explanation about her now-extinct malady.

“Just that. He said they knew I was here.�

The gloomy doorway almost disguised the look of dismay on his face. “I shouldn’t have called you here. I thought enough time had passed, thought you would get here undetected. I was foolish. They’ve found you already.� He stroked a finger down her clear cheek.

“Who’s ‘they’?�

“A group of Death Eaters that are especially good at instilling fear into all they come across. The Dark Lord refers to them as his new princes because they, more than any others, believe that the end justifies the means and will use whatever methods available to them to gain their particular ends. If they know you are here they are being very restrained. I would have assumed they would take no chances with you.�

“Thanks for the uplifting words,� she grimaced. “My head feels a bit light.� She reached for his arm to steady her as she could feel the giddiness increase.

“That’s the corruption leaving your mind. When you said that Lupin was being difficult, what exactly happened?�

As she told him about the argument she had had with Remus a slow smile spread across his face. “Amusing that it should have been Lupin that suffered the effects of your ill-temper. He’ll forgive you, of course; he forgives everyone. In his position he doesn’t really have the choice.�

She frowned at him, but allowed the jibe at Remus to pass without comment. “So what do we do now? Is Draco still where he was earlier?�

“Yes, he’ll have to be moved, of course. I wonder if it is worth taking him back to Malfoy Manor.�

“Are you mad?� she gasped. “That’s the first place they will look for him. You might as well hand him directly to Voldemort.�

“Yes, well that would be true had I not received news this morning that Malfoy Manor was searched by Death Eaters in the early hours of this morning. They would have been stripping the silk walls as we spoke. What better place to conceal a fugitive than the one place the Dark Lord is sure he is not hiding in?�

Maeve looked doubtful but had to concede that there was a small degree of sense in what Severus was saying. If nothing else it would give Draco a few days grace before he had to be moved again. Severus was deep in thought and she took the opportunity to study his profile, framed by the rising light from the street. It wasn’t a handsome face by anyone’s standards but there was an indefatigable quality in his hooded eyes that gave her a feeling of intense reassurance. The hard set of his mouth and pale slope of his cheeks made her feel that she was coming home every time she looked at him. And when he turned black eyes to her she was wrapped in their love. A love that sometimes didn’t express itself that well but was nevertheless there.

“You’ll need to leave separately. Use your new party-trick to go to Hogwarts. I need you there anyway for the first attempt at retrieving the Horcrux in Hufflepuff’s cup.�

“The cup is at Hogwarts?� She was well practised at looking amazed now. The expression was almost permanent on her pallid features.

“I believe so. I have acquired information that suggests it was under Dumbledore’s nose all the time.�

“If it was under his nose then it must have been under yours too,� she pointed out.

“Indeed,� he murmured, quickly glossing over this fact. “Nevertheless, I will not be risking Hogwarts’ walls for quite some time and do not, therefore, have the luxury of confirming my information.� He paused, his face was ragged with grief, as if what he was about to say caused him more pain than he could stand. “I need you, with Potter, to retrieve that Horcrux and destroy it. You understand the implications of this?�

“Professor Dumbledore died retrieving a Horcrux. I think that makes it plain how dangerous this could be. But I have a task to fulfil anyway; no doubt that will prove equally as dangerous.�

Severus looked away from her; whether it was because of her possible death or something else, Maeve couldn’t tell. She found his fingers with her own and brought his attention back to her.

“I will communicate with you there,� he said, frustration making his voice pin-sharp. “I know this time apart is not convenient, and not what we would have wished for so soon after our marriage. Unfortunately it is a by-product of the Dark Lord’s meddling and one I wish I could undo.� His eyes fell to her throat, to the heavy weight that hung there and he frowned.

“It’s not your fault,� she reassured him, as she angled her face for a farewell kiss. “Will you be able to remove Draco safely?�

“I will if you can draw your audience far away enough to allow me to Disapparate to the boathouse and collect him. If they are otherwise occupied, they will be less likely to be looking for me.�

The thought of wandering through Whitby with the crème de la crème of the Death Eaters on her tail wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun day at the seaside but if it saved Severus from being apprehended then she would have to grit her teeth and get on with it. She nodded, stealing one last solid hug from her husband.

“Go on then,� she insisted, not wanting to show him her distress at leaving him again so soon. “I’ll go straight to Hogwarts. How will you communicate?�

“We’ll see. I’ll find a secure way.� He hesitated, not wishing to terminate the meeting but knowing he must. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks at any point.�

She shook her head, pressing her lips together to keep the sorrow from rising through them.

“I’ll contact you. Take very good care of yourself, for my sake.� He touched her face and gave her a smile. “And say sorry to Lupin for your earlier behaviour.�

And he was gone, silently Disapparating back to the vibrant carpet of grass and the slowly disintegrating boathouse. The doorway suddenly became devoid of any reassurance and she shivered as the final drops of the dark magic evaporated from her head. Stepping swiftly back into the street she almost collided with the same old women she had already bumped into.

“Well, really!� the one with the purple rinse exclaimed.

“Such a rude and clumsy woman! And these new-agers are usually so polite,� her companion replied tetchily.

“I’m sorry,� Maeve said in her most sincere voice, thinking that they were over-reacting. She had no recollection of them from earlier, nor could she remember the exact features of the old man that had spoken to her. She could vaguely remember leaving Remus, but why had Severus told her to apologise to him?

Walking slowly and with the appearance of having a solid purpose she walked to the top of the smaller hill and turned inland. Whitby sat at the foot of the North Yorkshire moors and it was a very steep climb out of the town towards the ragged flatness of the moor that slumbered restlessly above it. She walked with dogged determination up the incline, her breathing beginning to labour as her lungs fought for air. She had that unsettling feeling of being watched, of someone following at a distance, and she hoped that she was right. If they were observing her then they weren’t watching Severus. Maeve wondered if they could possibly have followed her last night, discovered his whereabouts?

Finally she crested the hill and continued to walk away from the populated safety of the town, her eyes looking for a suitable place to catch the wind and disappear without the Death Eaters knowing what she had done. At the end of the stretch of houses stood a small stone bus-shelter and beside it stood a coach, picking up the thin stream of passengers that had been inhabiting the shelter. As the coach pulled away she hurried towards it and, stepping into its shadow, she quickly focused her mind and in seconds was swept up in the flurry of the vehicle’s wake.

The two Death Eaters that had been following her waited for a few minutes, unsure of her intentions, before approaching the small building. The one with the cold eyes peered into the darkness and scowled as he realised she had gone. Hadn’t they been told she was unable to Apparate? This wasn’t going to look good when they returned to the Dark Lord, not at all. Although none of the Death Eaters were officially considered more important than others, they were definitely regarded as a cut above by most of the younger ones. This would certainly lower their status in the eyes of everyone. As they left the town behind them they carefully blasted a large part of the cliff away, not waiting to witness the effects of their malicious disappointment.




Harry was walking by the lake, his mind not wanting to take in the busy preparations that were going on around him for the funeral. A huge marquee had been erected and filled with chairs in anticipation of the many people wishing to pay their final respects. He had only snatched a quick glimpse through the entrance as he walked past, seen the white flowers that had been placed at the ends of each row of chairs, had recognised the funereal setting. Firenze had tried to talk to him but he had muttered excuses and left the centaur standing alone. Even Hagrid had been unable to get more than a mumbled good afternoon from him.

And now here he was, the late summer sky spread above him, weighing down on him, pregnant with expectation of his next move. The surface of the lake was far from placid today. Heads occasionally broke the mirror of water and the giant squid had also put in an appearance, watching him closely for a moment before disappearing once more to find the kraken. Ron was expected tomorrow, travelling up with his family and Hermione, and in some ways Harry was glad of another evening alone to collect his thoughts. Strains of music began to come from the marquee and he felt their melancholy slip over him, a mantle of mourning that would not be shaken.

Harry flopped down onto a grassy spot that allowed him full view of the lake and allowed him to ignore what was going on behind him. Withdrawing a notebook from his cloak he began to look at the scribbled notes that he had been studiously making over the course of the last few days. He smiled to himself as he thought of how impressed Hermione would have been had he only displayed this much conscientious activity with his homework. He was busy trying to work out the connection between R.A.B and Voldemort when a small voice mumbled a hello. Harry raised his head, a frown of frustration crossing his face that instantly softened when he saw the round face of Neville.

“Hi, Neville. You’re a bit early for school.�

“I know. Gran brought me herself. Said she didn’t trust the Hogwarts Express with Professor Dumbledore gone. She wanted to speak to Professor McGonagall personally before term starts and she thought she could attend the funeral while she was here. Gran always liked a good funeral.� Neville shrugged, as if bemused by this penchant for the morbid.

Harry disguised his sorrow well at the mention of the funeral; converting the grief into quiet anger that he pounded down into the bottom of his heart, ready to be dragged up again when he needed it.

“There’ll be a lot of people here,� he replied. “Dumbledore was a well-respected man.�

“More than anyone else,� Neville agreed, nodding his head. “Have you seen Professor O’Malley? I’ve looked in the staff room and in her office but I can’t find her.�

“She’s not here, not yet anyway. I don’t think she’ll be returning as a teacher this year, Neville. I think what Snape did has ruined her life as well as taken Dumbledore’s.�

Neville’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t think her life is ruined. She could return if she wanted to. What Professor Snape did shouldn’t prevent her from teaching. It’s not like she helped him or anything.�

“That’s quite right, Neville.� The voice made both of them start and Harry jumped to his feet. Maeve stood behind them, her cloak damp and slightly sooty-looking, and her hair dishevelled. “What Severus did would not prevent me from teaching. But I haven’t quite decided what I intend to do yet with regards my future here at Hogwarts. I understand Professor McGonagall is having the usual difficulty finding a replacement for my old job and the Potions position is now seen as a poisoned chalice.�

Harry nodded. He hadn’t really thought too deeply about the vacant teaching posts because they wouldn’t affect him too much, but he did know that, to his knowledge, not many people had stepped forward to fulfil the empty positions.

“You could take the Potions job,� Neville said brightly. “You’d be even better at that than you were at Defence Against the Dark Arts.�

“I hardly think the school wants another Professor Snape teaching Potions at present. Do you, Neville?� Maeve had already rejected the prospect of either her old job or Severus’. The thought of teaching in his dungeon had been too ridiculous given the circumstances.

Harry glanced away from her, not wishing for the reminder that she was no longer Professor O’Malley but instead carried the name of a man he loathed.

“An’ what are you lot doin’ lurkin’ around the lake?� Hagrid was carrying a huge tree trunk across his broad shoulders and lumbering towards them. His eyes peered at them morosely, wanting someone to turn back the clock a week.

“Discussing the numerous teaching vacancies that the school’s managed to acquire,� Maeve said, feeling the discomfit that she knew would be with her permanently if she chose to stay at the school.

“Ah, well.� Hagrid tried to find the words but his half-giant’s mind failed and he coughed loudly to cover his uncertainty. “Bin ‘ard these last few days an’ no mistake. But we ‘ave ter carry on. Be a shame ter lose you. Professor McGonagall mentioned you might not be stayin’�

“I hardly think my presence would be tolerated as a teacher, do you?� Maeve knew she was pushing things. She had to push things to see how far she could rely on people if she were to be Severus’ eyes and ears as they sought out the Horcrux that he believed to be here.

“Well, now, I don’ know about that.� Hagrid looked uncomfortable, shuffling his huge feet across the grass. “I reckon we need as many good teachers as we can get. An’ no matter what they say about yer ‘usband, you were one of the best teachers we ‘ad.�

“You were good, Professor,� Neville said, making Harry grimace at the obvious flattery. “I’d like to have you back. Don’t really care what you teach.� Neville was already growing slightly excited by the idea of his favourite professor teaching Potions, a subject he had not enjoyed overly much so far. “And besides, we should - we need - to stick together, I would have thought, given what we know about you-know-what.� He became a little embarrassed, the yawning gap of the summer making him wonder if everything that had happened with their binding prophecy the previous year was just a figment of his own imagination.

“We’ll have to see.� Maeve gave Neville this small concession while she regretted not discussing the question of her return to school with Severus. “But there are other things I also need to take care of so even if I did return, it might not be for long.�

Harry flushed a little as he realised that she was probably referring to the Horcrux hunt. They would have to discuss it soon and he didn’t want to admit he was no further forward with his mission to find them than he had been the previous day. Harry was no fool, but he had expected to be able to find things in the Pensieve and in the library at Grimmauld Place. What he was starting to fear was the possibility that he would need to re-connect with Voldemort before he could locate them, something that filled him with dread.

“Well, you think on about it, Professor,� Hagrid said, shifting under the weight of the tree. “I’m off ter fix up one of the walls on the stable o’ that ‘orse of yours. Something gave it a good kickin’ las’ night and I’d like ter know what it was.�

“Really?� Maeve looked alarmed. “Was Saoirse hurt?�

“Nah, right as rain, just a bid odd tha’ she never left the stable. Ruddy great ‘ole in the side of the building, an’ all.�

Hagrid nodded to Harry and Neville before shifting his great bulk in the direction of his hut. Neville watched him go with a worried look on his face.

“Should he be messing about building walls with the funeral tomorrow?�

“It’ll help keep his mind off things,� Maeve said. “People usually find it’s best to take their mind of the most painful things.� Looking towards Harry she wondered if he were taking his mind of things or dwelling on them. His very presence by the lake suggested the latter. Harry was there but he was distant and she knew his mind would be tied up with everything but the prophecy that Neville had spoken about earlier. As her mind wandered back to the prediction that Professor Trelawney had made, she wondered how it would fit with the discovery of the Horcruxes. Severus hadn’t even mentioned the necklace or the fact that the three of them had to take on Voldemort in some way. Had Dumbledore’s death overshadowed it? Had the discovery of the Horcruxes meant that her own part in Voldemort’s downfall was now changed to the point that the prophecy had been invalidated?

“Ah, Professor Snape.�

Harry froze for a moment, his face turning fiery red as he tried to tell his ears they had misheard. It was only when Maeve smiled and began to move away did he realise that Professor McGonagall, who had just appeared from the direction of the marquee, was talking to her. Neville looked uncomfortable at Harry’s obvious confusion and suggested that they both walk up to the school and try to persuade the house-elves to feed them.

“I’m not hungry, Neville,� he growled, and stalked away from them, ashamed of his own behaviour and unable to do anything about it. He couldn’t help the boiling hatred he felt, couldn’t help wanting to avenge Dumbledore the way he did.

Stranded, Neville shrugged disappointed shoulders and left the two professors to it. He was still hungry and he’d have to find food on his own if Harry wasn’t prepared to help.


“It’s good to see you made it back. No Remus?� Professor McGonagall seemed to have aged significantly in the past week. Maeve took in the extra lines that crept along beneath tired eyes. The strain of losing a good friend and of taking on the school was worn like a badge of penance on the older witch’s face.

“Erm, no. I think he’s following on. I had to leave in a hurry.� Maeve tried her best to look apologetic.

“Is it worth the trouble of me asking exactly what it was that delayed you?� There was no hope in the headmistress’ voice.

“Not really.�

“Very well. It seems everyone is cultivating their secrets and I fear that it could lead to problems.� Professor McGonagall gave Maeve a shrewd look before turning the conversation swiftly back to her most pressing problem. “I have managed to appoint a new Transfiguration teacher; a young lady from Aberdeen, Aileen McKenzie. She was a highly suitable applicant and was more than happy to take the position.�

“That’s good news,� Maeve said, pleased that at least one problem was solved.

“I also have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher arriving first thing tomorrow, which means I will have to ask you to clear out your things from the classroom.�

“Of course.� Maeve was a little disappointed to learn that the position she had said she did not want to take was now filled. She was just about to ask who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers was when Professor McGonagall smiled.

“What I would like you to do is move your things as far as the Potions Classroom.�

“Oh.� Maeve was now really regretting not speaking to Severus about still teaching at Hogwarts. “I’m not sure that’s what the pupils would want, give the current belief about Severus and what happened.�

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips tightly together, fighting the impulse to speak against the former Potions master. “That’s something that we don’t have the time to indulge in at the moment. I find myself in dire need of a Potions teacher and I also find I have someone more than capable of the job standing before me. I would hope that, as a kindness to me, you would see your way to taking on the position, at least for now.�

“May I have until tomorrow to think about it?� Maeve asked, hoping that Severus would contact her in the meantime.

“Certainly. Let me know when you have made your decision. I would not wish to bind you to a place you would rather leave but it would help me a great deal at this very difficult time. I can continue to look for a replacement if you find the position untenable. I would hate to think that after all Professor Dumbledore has done for you, you would let his school down at a time when it needed help.�

“I’ll think it over tonight and give you my decision in the morning,� she said, regretful that she was not able to be open with her and stung by the quiet barb at the end of Professor McGonagall’s plea for assistance.

Professor McGonagall gave her a curt nod and swirled back towards the marquee. A loud crash shattered the air and the headmistress picked up her skirts and hurried towards the tent to find out what the latest disaster to befall the school was. At least, Maeve reflected, the worst that it could be this time was a broken vase rather than a broken life.

As she walked towards the school she noticed a figure walking up the drive, small case in one hand and cloak hanging over an arm. His head was bowed and she couldn’t make out his expression as he toiled along the gravel. Maeve remembered Severus’ instruction to apologise and began to fret that, in the sway of the stray corruptive force, she had done or said something really awful. It was no good putting it off, she would have to face him sooner rather than later and she found the discomfort of having bad feeling between them too much to contend with.

She hurried across the swathe of grass diagonally and managed to head him off, her feet making no sound on the soft surface. She was almost upon him before he realised he was not alone. As his head rose from his chest she offered him a weak smile filled with remorse, a remorse that came more from her desire to make things right than from any regret over what she might have unwittingly done. He stopped walking and looked at her sadly, unsure, despite the smile, what he should do now that she was here. He had been worried about her since she had stormed from the room and relief at seeing her in one piece overcame any anger he might have borne. Remus carefully placed his case and cloak down on the gravel and watched her warily as she came to halt a few feet away from him.

“I’m sorry,� she said. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next, I don’t know. I don’t even remember arguing with you but apparently I did.� The words tumbled over one another in their anxiety to please.

“Yes, you did,� he replied, unable to keep a touch of severity out of his voice. “Quite vociferously.�

“I’d been in contact with something, something that made me behave that way. It doesn’t really excuse whatever I said to you, but I am sorry. I hate us not being friends. Hate it when we argue.�

“It was most unpleasant,� Remus said, half-severe and half-guilty as he realised what she had been in contact with. His visitor that morning had left behind such a cloud of evil that he himself had been sickened by it. No wonder then that it had affected Maeve in such a bad way. “But you don’t need to apologise. It obviously wasn’t your fault.� He opened his arms, inviting her in to seal their reconciliation with an embrace. Maeve jumped at the opportunity and felt normality descend again as she and Remus became friends once more. He released her, picked up his things and they walked together towards the castle, companionable silence reigning as they attuned themselves with the sombre atmosphere surrounding them. It wasn’t until they stepped inside the cool hall that Remus spoke again.

“Have you made a decision about your job yet?� he asked.

“No, although Professor McGonagall has filled all but one of the available positions. You’re not coming back to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, are you?� She recalled her failure to ask Professor McGonagall who the new teacher would be.

“No,� he grinned. “I think my days of teaching that particular subject are over. It was only Dumbledore’s constant loyalty that allowed me to teach – to even attend the school – and without it I hardy think the school will be the place for me. I’m here now to pay my respects and then I think I will be done with Hogwarts.�

Maeve recognised the sadness behind his words and wondered if she too would be done with Hogwarts after the passing of a few months.

“Professor McGonagall has asked me to teach Potions, at least until she finds a more permanent replacement. I thought the students might find that a little difficult.� Maeve looked to him for an honest opinion.

“Why? I would have thought it would be harder for you than for them.� Remus’ intelligent eyes were well-trained in offering just the right look of sympathy and he employed it well now. Maeve needed to be deflected from her worry for the students but despite his first attempts she still worried about her name.

“I saw Harry’s reaction to Professor McGonagall calling me Professor Snape. I don’t think I could inflict that on the entire school.�

“Harry will not be here. The rest of the school did not bear the same intense loathing for Severus as Harry did. They will just be grateful to have you teach them. I would be more worried about you in that dungeon wondering where your husband is and what danger he is in.� He paused to imagine her in that cold, dreary place and shuddered. He looked into her hopeful eyes and knew he had to be considerably more cheerful for her. “You know, if you were worried about your name, you could always keep your old one, just for teaching.�

“I couldn’t do that,� she said with a sad shake of her head. “It’s bad enough that Severus is bearing the guilt for what happened. I couldn’t deny his name when he needs whatever small sliver of support he can get.�

“No, you’re right. I should not have suggested that.� Remus looked momentarily abashed, his attempt at offering her another option falling flat on its hopeful face. “But I think spending a few months here at Hogwarts would be good for you. It would give you time to re-adjust and decide what you are going to do next.�

“Back again?� The sneering voice insinuated itself into their ears and Maeve gave a little shudder as she turned to face Filch.

“So it would seem, Mr. Filch,� she said, while Remus merely gave a half-smile at the grubby caretaker.

“No husband with you though, eh? Shame that is. He was the only one of you sloppy lot that knew how to teach. Place’ll go to the dogs even more now he’s gone. Still, he did everyone a favour by -�

“That’s enough!� Remus barked in such a ferocious voice that Filch looked momentarily afraid of the force behind it. “I believe you were another that was kept on out of Dumbledore’s kindness, so I suggest you be very careful what you say.�

“Keep your hair on,� he grimaced. “No sense in getting upset, waste your energy, and so close to a full-moon.�

“Don’t you have something unpleasant you could be doing elsewhere?� Maeve said, disgusted that Severus had spent so much time cultivating this man’s trust and complicity.

“Aye. I’ll be off. I’d watch yourselves though.� And with a lusty sniff he wiped a grubby sleeve across his nose and turned his back on them, shuffling away towards his office.

“That man is deeply offensive,� she said as she watched him go.

“He knows a lot about Hogwarts though, an awful lot about Hogwarts.� Remus also found him objectionable but couldn’t help feeling that Filch was just another messy product of poor circumstances.

“Yes, yes I suppose he does know a lot about the school,� Maeve said, her mind shifting to a place where it could regard the creepy man as useful.

As they began to walk towards her rooms there was a loud explosion from the foot of the main staircase and a suit of armour blew across the hallway in several pieces.

“What on earth?� Remus began, turning to survey the messy scene.

“Sorry!� the shuffling figure of Professor Flitwick appeared. “Sorry, new charm’s not quite ready. Don’t worry; I’ll have it cleared up in no time.�

Remus shook his head and smiled down at the Charms professor.

Life was beginning to feel like it was full of monumental explosions that needed tidying up after, be they real or emotional. Maeve couldn’t help wondering where the next one would spring from.

Chapter Seven.


Grave Secrets.


“Master?”

The word was weak, a submissive call that echoed through the halls of the subterranean world that Voldemort had reluctantly returned to.

“What is it?” The reply came back clear and hard, a hammer striking an anvil in the bowels of the earth.

Pettigrew shuffled his way to the central chamber of the mass of tunnels that were empty of all life apart from Voldemort and his reptilian companion. He had just heard back from Mulcahy, the Death Eater that had been sent to the place where they believed Snape’s wife to be and he knew he had to tell Voldemort what he’d learned about the woman and her strange way of getting around. Much as Pettigrew would have liked to see others humiliated, he knew he would not be forgiven for keeping this information from his master.

“I need to speak with you about the woman, master.”

Voldemort stood by the intricate carvings that adorned one wall of the whitewashed cave and glared at Pettigrew with undisguised distaste. He felt revulsion both for the simpering man that grovelled around, trying to eke out some self-worth by bringing him scraps of information, and for the woman he knew he referred to.

“Will it bring me the boy?” Voldemort hissed, as Nagini slowly uncoiled beneath the large, crudely made table that dominated this corner of the cavern.

“Not directly,” Pettigrew spluttered. “Not immediately, at any rate, but it might help explain why Mulcahy and Tompkins lost sight of the woman.”

“She has learned to Apparate? If this is the case we shall not have too much trouble disturbing her movements.” Voldemort felt Nagini move to his side, felt the loathing that the snake contained within its scaly skin for these detestable creatures that tried so hard to raise themselves to impossible heights in his eyes.

“No, she has not learned to Apparate, master. I don’t quite know what she does but she disappears into the air slowly.”

The tall man looked at Pettigrew closely, trying to detect any signs of duplicity in the man’s eyes. “What do you mean she disappears slowly?”

Pettigrew seemed to bow even lower, excited at the prospect of being able to deliver something to Voldemort that he did not already know. He scratched at his face in agitation as he formed his words carefully.

“It’s quite a strange thing, master. She seems to dissolve into the air. Her body glows brightly and turns into the finest fragments that hover like…like… a thousand tiny…erm… bees and then they move upwards, just like a swarm of…glowing, no… glittering insects and then…”

“Spare me the poetic!” Voldemort snapped in impatience. “So, she has had another visit from her father then? He has been teaching her new tricks. Well, fortunately I am expecting a visit from her husband later. Perhaps then we will find out exactly what she has learned.”

“You think Snape is still trustworthy?” Pettigrew asked, his mind hopeful of a negative answer.

“I will see. Certainly the killing of the old man indicates he was not working for him. My question is, is he working for me?”

“He married her, master, he betrayed you with that woman.”

“Don’t tire me with your ridiculous babble. Snape has always had a weakness for her. In an earlier time I would have been able to see her attractions myself. He has given me his explanation for giving in to temptation and I’ve accepted it. And of course it is useful to have a hand in the enemy’s camp.”

“But Snape will try and save her. Do you not think she divides his loyalties?”

Nagini raised a threatening head and hissed loudly at Pettigrew, who scurried back a few paces.

“Do you not believe that I know who is trustworthy and who is not? Are you suggesting that your mind is more acute than mine?” Voldemort’s hand found the head of the great serpent and his skin felt the cool relief of the room reflected in the snake’s scales.

The cowed man recognised the dangerous look that had settled itself onto his master’s face and he knew the time had come to make himself scarce. With Nagini rearing up at him he muttered a no, which he quickly followed with profuse apologies and the vague explanation that he had to go and see to some more Death Eaters who would be returning from Cornwall. They had been sent down to create some problems for the Muggles and he was expecting them back at any time.

Left alone once more, Voldemort began pacing the room. His crimson eyes brewed malice behind their opaque fog as he formulated his plans for the meeting with Snape. There would have to be an adequate explanation of what had happened to the boy, or Snape might not survive the encounter.





The students that filed into the Great Hall were not as boisterous as they usually were at the start of term. Horror upon horror had piled up over the summer and they all knew that the attacks would increase in both number and severity. The fact that Dumbledore was now gone seemed to just add to the rising calamity for a considerable section of the wizarding community.

They made their way to their tables in such a subdued manner that it made the teachers frown at the uphill struggle they faced motivating these young minds. It was especially worrying for Professor McGonagall, for whom today had already been extremely difficult. It was bad enough that she had to address them at all but the situation was made worse by the notable absence of several pupils and staff. There was no Harry Potter or Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table, although they were still in the school they had opted to dine in their rooms, and the Patil twins were also absent along with the two Creeveys. The Slytherin table had been particularly badly hit, with many students not returning. The familiar trio of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere in evidence, understandably in Draco’s case, and Pansy Parkinson looked pale and grief-stricken.

The staff table also suffered, more so perhaps because of the fate of its most prominent absentee, Professor Dumbledore. The teachers that were present looked out across the choppy sea of uncertain students with sorrow at what had gone before and what may yet come. The only un-filled chair, apart from that of Aileen McKenzie, who was bringing in the First-Years, was that of the Potions professor and the headmistress frowned as she took in the unexpected gap.

The door to the Great Hall opened and a petite witch with unremarkable brown hair ushered in a much-reduced new intake of students. She led them quietly to the front of the hall, where they stood shivering in anticipation of what would happen next. Professor McGonagall had pared down the opening of the school to the bare minimum. There would be the Sorting, followed by her truncated speech and then the first meal of the year. The old witch didn’t have the heart for anything other than a business-like approach, not after the emotion-filled funeral of the morning.

She glanced to her left as she heard the little side door open. With relief she saw Maeve’s apologetic figure hurriedly walk to her chair, giving a nod of recognition to the other teachers. There were thin, puzzled tear-tracks on the new Potions Professor’s face that she had tried to hide but failed. Professor McGonagall turned her attention back to the First-Years and didn’t see the slack-jawed look of amazement on Maeve’s face as she saw the robed man who was sitting quite comfortably between Professors Trelawney and Flitwick.

The Sorting was quickly underway and before too long the young children had been allocated houses. As they made their way to their allotted tables there was none of the cheering happiness as in previous years. Hermione Granger, who was now Head Girl, was doing her best to keep her chin firmly in the air, attacking her new role with her customary conscientiousness. She prodded and ushered the younger ones into some sort of order, glancing occasionally at the place where her friends should be. Maeve hauled her mind back from its tailspin at seeing the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and admired Hermione’s fortitude, knowing how difficult it was to come back to a place alone and unsupported by your dearest friends.


“And so,” Professor McGonagall began as she climbed to her feet, “we begin a new year at Hogwarts. I think all that needs to be said about my much-respected predecessor was said at his departing this morning and I would not wish to repeat myself. So, straight on to school business.”

There was a murmur of discontent through the hall. The students who had not been present at the funeral were disgruntled that they did not get the chance to hear glowing words about the man that they had all respected.
Rufus Norton, one of the few remaining Slytherins, coughed loudly and received the undivided attention of the new headmistress.

“Yes, Mr Norton?”

All eyes turned to the usually unobtrusive student as he smiled politely.

“Some of us didn’t attend Professor Dumbledore’s funeral, Professor McGonagall. Perhaps a few words for us.”

Percy Weasley, who was once again clinging to the teachers’ table as if his continued presence would elevate him beyond his now defunct position, glared at Rufus in disgust. “I hardly think there would be enough words to make you really understand the greatness of the man who was the headmaster at this school,” Percy said stiffly.

“That will be enough, Mr Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said, her fingers clutching at her lectern as if it could give her more than just physical support. “Mr Norton, this has been a trying day for many of us. Please allow me to get through this evening with the minimum of fuss.”

Rufus nodded his head and gave Percy a glare that made the young man turn away in disgust.

“Now, as you can see there have been a few necessary changes to the staff this year. Professor McKenzie, who joins us from Ringing the Changes, the well-known transfiguration company that specialises in rejuvenating old furniture, will now take my own lessons. Indeed, I have a rather splendid desk that was once a ship’s mast, which Professor McKenzie produced for me.” She almost drifted from her train of thought, finding the discussion of furniture far less taxing than her current topic.

The small, mouse-faced woman that was Aileen McKenzie waved cheerfully to the children and there was a small wave of murmured acknowledgement from the assembled students.

Professor McGonagall sighed, as if her next words would not be what anyone wanted to hear, least of all the woman sitting along to her left.

“Of the other two new appointments one professor will already be familiar to you as your old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. This year Professor” – there was the slightest hesitation as she almost stumbled over the name – “Snape, formerly Professor O’Malley, will now be conducting your Potions lessons as she feels unable to return to her old post for her own reasons.”

Maeve gave the weakest of smiles to her old students and watched as the new ones goggled at her for a few moments. Everyone knew who she was, even the eleven-year-old newcomers who had seen her face in The Daily Prophet over the past week.

“And finally, your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year will be Professor Rampton. Professor Rampton comes to us direct from the Ministry where he has been an Auror for the past few years. We asked the Ministry for their help in fulfilling the position and they were kind enough to send us one of their men. I hope you make all three professors feel very welcome in their new positions. Now, the usual rules apply. There will be no Hogsmeade visits for the second year in succession. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students, particularly at this most dangerous of times. You will obey all instructions given to you by members of staff and you will report anything unusual. I think that is all I need say. Please enjoy the meal you are about to receive – yes, what is it, Mr Filch?” She turned her sharp eye to the caretaker’s squirming figure.

“About them new rules I gave you, about my office,” he prompted.

“There will be no need for those new rules, thank you,” she said, her voice snapping with strain. She turned back to the main hall and addressed the students once again. “Very well, what are you waiting for? Sit down and eat.” With a weary sigh of exasperation she sat down and waited for her food to appear, only vaguely aware that there were a lot of raised eyebrows and widened eyes being exchanged by her Potions professor and her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

The meal passed quickly, no one really in the mood to enjoy their food. As lacklustre spoons scraped the last few dishes, Professor McGonagall once again got to her feet and dismissed them with a stern instruction that they go straight to their dormitories. There was no argument from the students and the hall emptied rapidly, subdued by a jaded silence that extended all the way to the teachers’ table. No one spoke as they relieved themselves of the need to put on a brave face, each professor wrapped up in his own thoughts as he abandoned his place at the table.

Maeve purposefully hung back, impatient for an explanation from the dark-haired man who was fussing with his cloak. He tried, and failed, to ignore her because as he made to walk past the glowering woman he felt her hand firmly take his arm.

“What,” she hissed, “are you doing here?”

“Well, I do think you could be a little more pleased to see me, my darling!” he said jauntily. “Considering the favour I did you.”

“Did you know?” she asked. “When you took Narcissa did you know you would be coming here to teach?”

“I had an inkling.” He rested against the table, one leg casually crossed in front of the other, his arm supporting him. “But nothing was confirmed.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

He twinkled at her, charm radiating from every pore. “Should I have?”

“I suppose not, but even so…”

“Oh, cheer up, lovely. I’m here now so we make as well make the most of it. Fancy a walk down to Hogsmeade for a drink?”

“No, I do not fancy a walk to Hogsmeade for anything, let alone a drink, and if you wink at me again I will hex you. Why are you here?”

“Tsk, well really! I’ll have to find someone else to accompany me then. Sure you don’t want the honour?”

The hall was now completely empty and they were alone with just the tables and the floating candles for company, or so they thought. In the corner, just out of sight, was a small and shaking house-elf with a purpose. She hadn’t expected her quarry to be curtailed by this stranger though.

“Roderick, tell me what you are doing here, now.”

“You’re a clever girl. Work it out.”

She twitched her hand in the direction of her wand and he rolled his eyes in defeat.

“Ministry want you kept an eye on. That’s why my appointment wasn’t confirmed, because we didn’t know if you would take the position. I know the school, I know you and they want me out of the way for a bit. Natural choice, wasn’t I? And I’m pretty hot with the old Dark Arts too, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated weakly. “And how is Narcissa?”

“As well as can be expected considering she is living well below her usual standard. She’s making her own cups of tea now, in mugs. She was scandalised when she realised that was how low she had sunk.”

This information produced a smile from Maeve, who would have given anything to see Narcissa drink from a mug.

“Well, if you aren’t going to accompany me I had better get going on my own, hadn’t I?” He stepped away from the table and ruffled her hair slightly in a gesture that made her grimace with annoyance. “See you later, my darling!”

As he strode from the Great Hall a patter of footsteps brought Maeve’s attention away from the exit and back into the room. As she looked down to find the source of the footsteps she found Colly’s furtive face looking back up at her.

“Forgive the intrusion, Miss, but Colly has a message from your very special friend. Your very special friend would like to see you.”

Maeve crouched to the floor very quickly and put her finger to her lips. The little servant could only be talking about one person and if anyone overheard them it could prove disastrous.

“Colly understands the need for secrecy,” the house-elf said, a hurt look creeping across her face. “Colly would not shout her news from the very top of Hogwarts tower.”

“I know, Colly, and I’m sorry, but you must be very quiet.”

Leaning towards the crouching witch, Colly whispered in her ear and Maeve stood up swiftly. Her mind battled over whether she should feel happy or worried and it failed to negotiate a satisfactory truce between the two.

“Thank you,” she said as she squeezed Colly’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of him. If I leave now I can make the meeting.”

The house-elf bowed low and with a crack was gone, leaving Maeve alone again in the Great Hall. She couldn’t go unaccompanied, of that she was sure; the danger would be too great. Given the location Severus had chosen for their meeting there was only one person she could take with her, only one person she trusted, and in some small way it would go to make up for what she had done when she abandoned him in Whitby. Clattering up the staircase she headed straight for Remus’ room and hoped he would be willing to accompany her.




“You know, this place doesn’t exactly have happy memories for me,” he said as he helped her in to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. “I had envisaged a glass of Firewhiskey and an early night.”

“I’m sorry, but I thought you might get a little tetchy if I left you behind again.” Maeve pulled the strands of a spider’s web from her mouth and resolved to talk as little as possible on the journey through the insect-ridden gloom.

“Oh, very amusing,” he said, his voice muffled by the confined space. “And what is he going to say when he realises you have company?”

Maeve shielded her mouth with her hand before she spoke again. “He’ll have to live with the notion.”

Remus wasn’t convinced that it would be so straightforward but he continued along the familiar passageway until it opened out and he could see the first glimmer of light that indicated they had reached the Shrieking Shack. “Are you ready for this? He may get volatile. There’s something about this place that brings out the worst in Severus.”

“Just hurry up, Remus,” she urged, wanting to be out of the spidery darkness. Insects had never been her strong point and throughout her years at Abbeylara they had been one of the few reasons she would use magic. Far better to remove a spider from the bath with a quick spell than scoop up the scurrying arachnid.


The tunnel lifted upwards, towards the weak light, and they were assailed with the nasty odour of rotting wood and stale air. Remus climbed up through a small hole that led to the source of the faded light, momentarily blocking it out, and then turned to help Maeve up into the room that he knew so well. He frowned at the reminder of what had happened here during his school years and his mind reluctantly returned to the events of just a few years ago when he had finally learned that Sirius was not the traitor he had believed him to be.

Maeve hesitated, unsure of which direction to take, but a movement on the floorboards above them sent her straight up the stairs in a flurry of movement that took Remus by surprise.

By the time he had caught up with her she had flung herself into the arms of her husband and was wallowing in his embrace, suddenly oblivious to anything but the man whose cloak enfolded her. Remus hesitated in the doorway’s shadow, embarrassed to be witnessing something so private. It was Severus who broke the connection first, pushing her back and examining her face, as if expecting to see more signs of darkness there.

“So, there is once again a Professor Snape teaching Potions at Hogwarts. How very appropriate,” he said, his words sarcastic but tempered by his tone.

“I should have spoken with you about returning to Hogwarts properly. I wasn’t sure whether to take up another teaching position.” She toyed with his cloak gently, enjoying the feel of the well-made fabric between her fingers. “Potions seemed my only option, and Professor McGonagall was desperate.”

“I would imagine so, still, this will work to our advantage.”

At the reminder that they were here to deal with something other than their own longing to be together again, Maeve realised she needed to alert him to Remus’ presence.

“I did not come alone,” she said warily.

“Oh, tell me you didn’t.” He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and looked towards the door. “Come in, Lupin, and stop skulking in the shadows like the half-man you are.”

“Severus!” Maeve jerked her hands away from him. “Stop being so ridiculous.”

“Stop being so high-minded,” he snapped back. “I have so few pleasures in life, allow me this last one.”

“No, I won’t allow it. Apologise.”

Remus had crossed the threshold into the room and immediately tried to defuse the situation.

“There’s no need,” he insisted. “It’s a habit Severus has that can’t be broken. I have long since learned to overlook it.”

“Apologise!” Severus exclaimed, as if apologising were the lowest thing a wizard could ever stoop to. “To him?”

“Yes,” Maeve stood her ground between the two of them, Severus’ implacability vying with Remus’ inherent goodness. “Now, please.”

“No!” Severus was equally as insistent.

“Maeve, there’s really no need for this.”

“There is a need for it, Remus, and he will bloody well apologise.”

“Why do apologies mean so much to you?” Severus asked in bemusement. “You wanted me to apologise to Potter and now this… Nonsense.”

“Just do it or I will walk out of here and you can find the Horcrux on your own.” Her face was hot with indignation and she was moving back towards Remus, as if physically shielding him from Severus’ ire.

“Maeve,” Remus took her by the shoulders, making Severus bristle with indignation. “I do not need you to fight my battles. Severus is a pompous man; we all know that. If he chooses to use the crutch of name-calling to make him feel better then so be it. I do not need an apology, nor will I actively seek one. Now, let it be.”

Maeve looked at him from under affronted lashes and then turned on her heel and focussed her attention on her husband once more. “So,” she began, as if nothing had happened. “What do you have to tell me about this cup?”

Torn between being relieved that he no longer had to apologise and annoyed that Remus had come out of the exchange better, Severus pulled a parchment from his robes and handed it to her. “I spoke with the Dark Lord today. I gleaned a little more information that could help us locate the location of Hufflepuff’s cup.”

“You spoke…”

“Yes, it is no concern of yours what passed between us.” He rubbed at his arm and Maeve knew that whatever had passed between master and servant hadn’t been pleasant. “What’s important is that I know roughly where the cup can be found. The details are there.” He nodded to the parchment. “It’s possible, but inadvisable, that you could retrieve it alone. I think taking Potter with you is the best plan, considering he is so intent on fulfilling Dumbledore’s quest personally. He must not know that the information is coming from me; it could jeopardise the whole thing.”

“Where do you think it is?” she said, about to unroll the parchment. He placed a hand over the creamy paper and prevented her from opening it.

“Not here,” he said. “You will only be able to read it safe in my old office. Needless to say, I believe a journey through the trees will be necessary to retrieve it, a task in itself if the creatures that inhabit the forests hereabouts are anything to go by.”

“It’s in the…” He put a finger to her dry lips.

“You need to know when to keep your own counsel,” he advised. “Mouths are often the cause of seeped secrets. Take this back, use him” – he nodded towards Remus – “if you need to. But be wary of how much you involve others. It is not just moles that stumble around blindly in the dark; wizards can do the same amount of damage with their futile mound making.”

Maeve nodded, wondering if this would become their regular meeting place. Her eyes slid to the remains of a four-poster bed that stood on the corner. It was damaged but with a few simple charms and some clean linen it could be habitable. He smiled into her eyes, a lascivious smile that recognised her intent.

“It would be pleasant, but I fear not practicable. Now, go back to the castle and rest. Use Potter while he remains at Hogwarts. Use the Granger girl also. She may be intolerable but there is a brain in that head of hers that could be employed well if you chose to.”

“I’m well aware Hermione has a sharp mind,” Maeve retorted, remembering Hermione’s skilful way of drawing people into her S.P.E.W. net.

“It’s time for you to go,” Severus said. “Lupin, if you wouldn’t mind I’d like a moment alone with my wife.”

“I’ll wait downstairs,” Remus said softly, backing out of the room with reluctance.

Severus drew his fingers through her tangled hair, luxuriating in its familiarity. He wondered, as her life-brightened eyes looked up at him with naked longing, how many times they would part like this over the coming months, never knowing if each lingering kiss or guarded smile would be their last shared moment. Life, he reflected, was one long blizzard of irony. The many years they could have had together, basking in slowly passing time, and instead they had been given this helter-skelter of fear and uncertainty.

“I don’t need to tell you that I love you,” he said.

“You don’t, but it’s always nice to have the affirmation.”

“Very well, I love you. You know that I would take your place if I could, would risk my own life rather than yours.”

“You risk your own life enough as it is,” she reflected. “Severus?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you still worked with Voldemort?”

He winced visibly. “It wasn’t expedient for me to do so,” he said. “It would have made you unhappy and made me feel ashamed.”

“Ashamed?”

“Yes, Maeve, ashamed. Ashamed that I had not been my own man all those years ago. Ashamed that I placed my self in a position of vulnerability were both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were concerned. Ashamed that I did not have the courage to follow you back to Ireland and bring you back, bring you back and marry you when we were young enough for it to make a difference to the past.”

“But you did marry me, and it has made a difference.” Her face shone into his, its light bringing comfort to his over-worked mind. “And it will make a difference, it has to.”

“Such trust in fate. Where do you get your certainty from?”

“From ourselves, ourselves alone. I should go.” It was Maeve who broke their closeness now, pulling away and wiping the sentimentality from her face. “I love you too.” She paused, trying to regain her composure. “How will I contact you?”

“For now, you can’t. There is nothing secure enough. I will send the house-elf if I need to speak with you.”

“I need to be able to contact you,” she insisted desperately. “I can’t bear being apart.” Her wedding ring closed around her finger, its carefully crafted gold tightening the bond.

“Maeve, we can’t always have what we want. I want to – well – it is of no consequence what I want, but you will have to get through this as best you can.”

She gave him a numb nod, blinkered by her love for him. Severus reached forward and ran a gentle hand down her neck, enjoying the smooth skin. He allowed his cool fingers to walk across her collarbone and traced the line of her breastbone into the centre of her chest, where his fingers connected with the necklace that had been the cause of so much pain. Curious, he touched it, felt the latent power within, and then he withdrew quickly, looking to her for a reaction. But Maeve was too wrapped up in her sorrow and he recognised it was time to leave.

“Go back with Lupin. If you are in danger, if you believe your life is threatened, then send me your Patronus, but only if you are in danger.”

“I understand,” she said in a too-quick voice. “I’m going. I can’t bear these partings.” With a swift brush of her lips to his she turned and was gone, leaving Severus alone and friendless in the ruins of the Shrieking Shack.



“What do you know about the Forbidden Forest?” Maeve asked Hermione as they walked through the grounds during the lunch break the following day.

“It’s forbidden,” Hermione said, and then immediately blushed as she realise how stupid she sounded. “And it’s home to several creatures that we know about and a lot more that we don’t. If you want to know about the forest you should ask Hagrid. It’s his domain.”

“I know, but Hagrid is rather – how shall I put it – indiscreet.”

“Why do you ask?” Hermione looked at Maeve, curiosity only just held in check.

“Has Harry spoken to you about what he and Dumbledore were doing over summer?”

Hermione immediately looked to the ground, memories of Harry’s pain over his recollections of summer fresh in her mind. “If you mean the Horcruxes, then yes, he has.”

“Good, because I think there is one in the forest.”

Hermione’s head shot back up and she looked at Maeve with renewed interest. “What makes you think that? They could be anywhere.”

“I think there is something in the forest, something that was important to Voldemort. Something that would make him use it as a place to store a part of his soul.”

Hermione shivered slightly in the early September chill. “Where are you getting this information from? It’s driving Harry mad that he can’t get at anything.”

Maeve faltered, although she had anticipated the source of her information would be called into question. “Hermione, are we agreed that the most important thing is to get to these Horcruxes no matter where the information comes from?”

Hermione looked as though she was being lured into a trap and didn’t immediately answer. Just talking about the Horcruxes with Maeve seemed to be somewhat of a betrayal of Harry and the efforts he was making to find the things that Dumbledore had been searching for,

“Hermione?” Maeve prompted. “We have to find them. Harry can’t do this alone and I think he is beginning to suspect it. If the information comes from you he will think nothing of it. He has always trusted your faith in books and research. A few hours spent in the library and a convincing-sounding theory will make it seem as if you have figured it out.”

“Harry’s not that stupid!”

“No, but you are that clever.”

Hermione was silent as they headed back towards the castle. She had an idea that Professor O’Malley was getting her clues from her husband. It had to be. Harry would be incensed if he thought that was the case – would he be so incensed that he would ignore good information?

“This is worse than I imagined it would be,” she said as they approached the main doors. “I knew there would be death and sorrow but I never imagined this division amongst friends. Harry can hardly bear to look at you because you have become Professor Snape.”

A look of intense frustration crossed Maeve’s face. She wished she could throw Harry’s head into a cauldron and haul it out freed from his biased notions. Harry had to accept some level of guilt in this.

“I know that Harry has difficulty… Hermione, will you help me help Harry find this Horcrux?”

The wind stilled as Hermione stopped and looked at the older witch. She wanted to trust her, wanted to hand over the responsibility for finding the Horcruxes to someone else. But the more Hermione thought about it the more she realised she couldn’t lie to Harry.

“Harry should know everything,” Hermione said stolidly. “He needs to be aware of where the information is coming from.”

“What? Like Remus knew the source of his Wolfsbane last year?” Maeve was growing angry at Hermione’s double standard when it came to honesty. She didn’t like having to fight to get her own way but was prepared to use whatever means necessary to get Hermione to comply with her.

“That was different!” Hermione said.

“Can lies and omission ever really be measured, Hermione? You and I both know that we use the truth to suit our own needs… altruistic though those needs may be.”

Hermione now found herself cursing Harry for cajoling her into making the potion that had almost caused Remus’ death. Had he not done that she would have had a stronger case to put before the badgering professor who was now watching her with shrewd eyes.

“You want me to lie to Harry,” Hermione said in a helpless voice.

“You lied to Remus.” Maeve’s riposte finally struck home and Hermione felt her walls of self-righteousness crumble.

“What do I need to tell Harry?” she asked, her capitulation sudden and complete.

“You need to tell him that you have found a connection with Tom Riddle and the forest. You need to mention the Temple of the Four Winds. Harry needs to be sufficiently interested to want to find this temple.”

“How can you be so sure that this information is correct?” Hermione was not to be easily swayed.

“Because it came from Voldemort himself,” Maeve said in a whisper. “I don’t deal in shaky information.”

“When did you become so hardened?” Hermione asked, surprised by the flinty look in Maeve’s eyes.

“When my husband was taken from me by circumstances he could not control.”

Hermione looked her in the face, not really understanding the weight of feeling behind Maeve’s words but wishing she could.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Maeve left her standing on the steps, her objective accomplished, and returned to Severus’ dungeon to prepare for her afternoon classes.





Hermione missed her afternoon lessons, pleading illness. If Professor Rampton was put out that the Head Girl chose his lesson to miss he didn’t seem to show it. Madam Pince had looked over the note from Professor Snape very carefully, double-checking the authorisation for the seventh-year to access the books. Hermione had assumed that life would be a lot easier as an advanced student, but Madam Pince still ruled her library with implacable ferocity that meant even the Head Girl needed explicit permission from a professor to enter the restricted session. Madam Pince was finally convinced by the note’s authenticity and pulled back the ropes, giving Hermione unlimited access to the books that loomed high on the shelves.

And so Hermione now found herself sat at a small desk with several books piled around her. Foul Forests and their Denizens kept sprouting root-like legs in an attempt to return to its shelf and Hermione found she had to pile all the other books on top of it to keep it on the table. She had spent an hour looking fruitlessly through A Study in Stone; Temples of the Wizarding World when she finally found something that could be of use.

Chapter fifteen was casually exploring the siting of ancient temples of recognition within sacred forests when the words ‘four winds’ leapt out at her. She bent her head low over the page and drank in the information.


“Have you any idea what time it is?” Ron growled as Hermione burst into the room he shared with Harry. He saw the book in her hand and groaned. “No exams, Hermione, no reason to study at all… so what are you doing with a book?”

“Where’s Harry?” she asked, ignoring Ron’s incredulity. “I need to speak to him.”

“Nothing I can’t pass on?” Ron’s face was hopeful. He had missed Hermione over the summer and had been looking forward to spending time with her back at school. The last thing on his mind had been Dumbledore getting himself killed and the ensuing chaos.

“Where is he?” she repeated, looking around the room as if the answer could be found behind the heavy curtains.

“He’s gone to speak to Maeve,” Ron said reluctantly. “They seem to have things to discuss.”

“Thanks.” Hermione made to leave the room and Ron almost stopped her, then he had an attack of severe doubt and allowed her to go.



Hermione had never been privy to the location of Severus’ private rooms so she headed for the dungeon where he had once taught, hoping that she would find Maeve there, and she was lucky. As she pushed open the door she found a red head and a black head bent low over a table, the smell of the last lesson of the day still heavy in the air.

They both looked up and Maeve gave her a conspiratorial smile as Hermione said a brief hello.

“Harry,” she began, looking at Maeve as if she could offer some direction. “Do you have a moment?”

Harry looked pale with defeat. He was aware that his period of grace at Hogwarts was running out and he had discovered nothing of use, nothing that could indicate the location of a Horcrux. Hermione’s bright aura was the last thing he needed, a reminder of success against his monumental failure.

Maeve watched expectantly as Hermione entered the room, noted the parchment of research tucked beneath her arm. In a voice that was so discreet it was almost staged, she announced her sudden need to do something in the stock cupboard, in Severus’ stock cupboard, and she left them alone.

Hermione watched her go, looking anxiously at the door that Maeve had retreated behind, wishing she wasn’t in this position of deception. But a vision of Remus swilling back her imperfect potion swam before her eyes and she knew this wasn’t nearly as bad as giving someone a potential poison.

“I found something in the library that might help,” she said, plonking the parchment down on the table. “It’s to do with the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry looked at her eagerly, his pride having long since given way to hope at finding something concrete in the natural stone of Hogwarts.

“I was reading a book for my ancient runes class when I saw this.” She handed him the parchment, on which was a faded photograph that she had enchanted from the book onto the parchment. If Madam Pince found out she had ‘borrowed’ an image from one of the precious books Hermione knew she may well be banned from ever returning to the library.

“What is it?” Harry asked, looking with puzzlement at the fading image of the temple that lay before him.

“It’s the Temple of the Four Winds,” Hermione explained. “And it is located somewhere within the Forbidden Forest. It was created by the founders and has been embellished over time. But it was designed to reflect the four elemental qualities of the people that founded Hogwarts. And I think that may be where you’ll find what you’ve been looking for.”


Harry pulled the parchment across to him and studied the classical white columns that formed the proud frontage to the marble building. It was tall and rectangular, topped with a triangular roof that sailed above the columns, an umbrella against the elements. Elegantly rolled capitals joined the columns to the band of carvings that skirted the roof, carvings that Harry couldn’t make out because of the graininess of the old photograph and the fading caused by removing it from its original home in the book. He quickly read the page, wondering why on earth Dumbledore hadn’t thought to look here. He voiced these concerns to Hermione who realised that there were gaps in her scant information that she couldn’t fill in.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t think it was all that important.”

“Or perhaps he couldn’t connect it to Voldemort?” Harry ventured. “Perhaps Voldemort knew about the place and used if for some of his seedier practices while he was at school.”

“But it’s in the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione pointed out. “He’d be breaking school rules, not to mention risking his life to go in there. What were they doing building a temple in such a risky place anyway?”

“Maybe the forest wasn’t always forbidden,” Harry mused. “We did forests once in History of Magic and they were often used as sacred places. Maybe the forest was once sacred and something happened over time to turn it into the place we know now.”

“Possibly,” Hermione said, amazed that Harry could remember anything from History of Magic because to her mind he had spent most of the lessons trying desperately not to nod off, and she was quick to tell him so.

“Well ordinarily it wouldn’t have stuck in my head, but it was the time I ran of to Diagon Alley and Florean Fortescue helped me with the essay. They should sack old Binns and have Florean teach his subject. We might actually have learned something then.”

Hermione gave a disapproving look and returned to their topic of discussion. “But that still doesn’t explain why Voldemort used it.”

“Well, the very fact that no one else would go there would be one reason. And there’s also the fact that the danger and the symbolism of the place would appeal to him. The four founders… He would love that.” Harry continued to look at the picture of the temple, trying to see something in the picture that would give him confirmation that they were on to something.

“We’d have to be pretty sure that this was the place that Voldemort hid the Horcrux. The danger in getting into the forest, let alone finding the place, would be huge,” Harry said, finally looking away from the book. “I think I’d have to do this alone. I couldn’t risk anyone else.”

“You would not be going in alone,” Maeve said from the store cupboard, making them both jump as they had forgotten she was there. “I would be going with you, Harry. And you might have a job keeping Ron out of it too.”

“And what do you think I would be doing?” Hermione demanded, angry at suddenly being dropped from the equation when she had done the hard work in the library. “If you think you’re doing this without me you’re very much mistaken.”


Maeve joined them at the table and looked at the temple for the first time. It was typical of many classical follies, highly decorative and potentially useless, but as she looked closer she realised that it wasn’t just a folly. Reaching across the table to turn the image to her, she smiled and knew that Severus’ information was not faulty. The parchment he had given her had been very vague about why Voldemort used this place but looking at the friezes that decorated the front wall of the building she knew why it was so attractive to him.

“That’s not just a temple,” Maeve said. “Do you see those friezes carved into the marble?” Her finger pointed to the gaps between the Doric columns. “They depict funeral games. In ancient Greece games would be held after someone of importance had died to celebrate their life. This is a mock Grecian temple but the presence of these things would indicate it is more than that.”

“Funeral games?” Harry asked, feeling sick as he thought back to the previous morning and the sombre atmosphere that had surrounded Dumbledore’s parting. “How could they have played games when someone had just died?”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I should have phrased it better. They weren’t games held for fun, they were a mark of respect.”

“Then this is a mausoleum,” Hermione chipped in. “Someone is buried there.”

“Exactly, and I think I know who looking at the serpent carvings at the foot of those pillars.” Maeve sighed heavily. “But none of this is much good to us when we don’t know just where in the forest it is. The trees cover such a vast area that we could spend a year searching and still not find it.”

“Well, that would be true, if I hadn’t found this too.” Hermione picked her bag up from the floor where she had dropped it when she came in and pulled out a book, a very small book that she had removed from the library without Madam Pince knowing. She had been amazed she had managed to get it out of the library without the book giving her away. Madam Pince employed myriad charms to protect the books from students and usually they would scream that they were being taken without permission. Perhaps this book realised it was needed. “I haven’t had the chance to even open it. Madam Pince was breathing down my neck and it was as much as I could manage to slip it in my bag. The silly old woman told me I had spent enough time in the restricted section and was about to throw me out.”


Maeve took the book from her. The gilt title read A Brief History of the Forest Surrounding Hogwarts Castle: Updated to Include Maps. As she flipped open the flyleaf she saw the book was dated 1565 and for the first time she realised how remarkably well preserved the books were within the Hogwarts library. After the Table of Contents and a brief introduction she found a double page diagram that made her smile at the simplicity of it all. There, in black and white etching, was a very early map of the forest. It confirmed Harry’s assumption that the forest had not always been quite so forbidding because there were a few pathways marked on it and no indication that there was anything to fear from the creatures that lived within its wooded walls. She wondered if the small pool still existed; according to the map it was not far from a clearing that contained what the map announced as ‘the greate and magickal oake tree’.

And then in the far corner, the corner that was the furthest away from the castle, she saw a small, roughly drawn picture of a building. It was much smaller than the one that stood there now, not much bigger than a single-roomed cottage, but beneath it, written in the same cramped script that had announced the presence of the oak, were the words ‘The Temple of the Foure Windes; a moste sacred and revered place’. Maeve couldn’t help but wonder when the newer Greek concoction had been built over what had been before and why it had been re-designed to so obviously be a mausoleum.

“Have you any idea,” Harry said over her shoulder, “how difficult it is going to be to get there? It’s as far away as it could be from the edge of the forest.”

Maeve was silent for a few minutes and then closed the book. “It’s only a great distance from the castle. However, it is on the edge of the forest, just not our edge. There’s a possibility we can go in the back way, so to speak.”

“But the forest comes out half way up the mountains,” Hermione said. “We’d have to be mountaineers to get in that way.”

“Not necessarily,” Maeve said. “We could just fly in and land. The terrain may be rough, but it won’t stop us getting there.”

Hermione didn’t like the idea of flying a broom up onto a mountain but Harry was unperturbed by it. “So we just step into the trees and it’s there,” he said. “It can’t be that easy.”

“No, Harry, it can’t be that easy. But at least if we do it this way the forest will be the least of our worries.

“When?” Hermione asked.

“As soon as we can,” Maeve answered, realising that her stay at Hogwarts could be shorter than she first thought. “I suggest we aim for sometime in the next few days.”

And she hoped that in the meantime Severus would contact her. If he had been helping Dumbledore cope with the aftermath of the last two Horcrux attempts, then he would need to help her if they were injured too. Although Merlin alone knew what Harry would do if he found Severus in the same place as he was. Still, Harry could hardly complain if he was saving their lives, could he?

Chapter Eight

The Temple of the Four Winds.



Maeve’s heart wasn’t in her teaching. She looked out at the assembled second-years and wondered what she hoped to achieve. The students were unhappily stirring cauldrons filled with what they hoped would be successful Swelling Potions and for the first time Maeve felt the futility of trying to maintain order when outside all was chaos.

Her resolve not to read The Daily Prophet had faltered that morning when she saw a picture of Severus on the front page as people still reported hopeful sightings of him. She had turned to the second page and looked in consternation at the images of destruction wreaked by Death Eaters at a large Muggle tourist attraction close to Truro, the county town of Cornwall. Their Prime Minister had made a public appearance in the area to try and calm the Muggles down but she could sense the beginnings of panic setting in, if the report was anything to go by. It was bad enough that the wizarding world was suffering from Voldemort’s acts of malice, but to have Muggles being killed in such numbers was only going to make matters worse. She wondered how long it would be before Muggles became aware of their presence once more.

And Severus hadn’t contacted her. Harry was eager to begin their attempt to recover Helga Hufflepuff’s cup and couldn’t understand Maeve’s vague attitude to pinning down a time for the excursion. The temptation to send her Patronus was strong but Severus had forbade her to do it unless her life was at risk. She could picture the scene if he was having a tense discussion with Voldemort and her raven flew in on them. No, she couldn’t contact him. She would just have to trust to her own ability to retrieve the Horcrux, if it was there.

Pacing the dungeon, she tried to picture Severus in the room. She smiled to herself as she remembered his simmering presence, recalled the countless times he must have stung his students into trying harder or battered them into submission. And she missed him more than she could articulate, longed for his presence within the school again. Turning quickly to the blackboard so that her students didn’t see the beginning of her hot tears she reached for a tissue and dabbed at her face. It was stupid and she couldn’t understand it, but ever since she had arrived tears never seemed very far away. They lurked beneath her lashes, lying in wait for an opportunity to roll carelessly down her cheeks in an expression of loss over her husband.

“Are you all right, Professor?” Rebecca Danaher, one of the Gryffindors, was looking at her with perceptive concern.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Rebecca,” she said, wishing people didn’t have a habit of asking you if you were all right. Such little displays of kindness often set the tears off anew.

The knock at the door was unexpected and when Percy Weasley popped his head around it she raised an eyebrow. She walked through the bubbling cauldrons and quietly asked him what he wanted.

“Harry Potter has taken up residence in the headmaster’s office. He asked me to pass on the message that he would like to see you there when you have finished your lessons for the day.” It was clear from Percy’s twisted lips that he felt thoroughly debased by carrying messages around for Harry.

“It’s the headmistress’ office,” Maeve reminded him. “And thank you for passing on the message. Have you been given a new position yet?”

“I have to go,” he said, closing the door loudly behind him. Maeve realised that she had never discovered what Percy Weasley was doing at the school and she yanked the door open again.

“Percy,” she called after him. “Why are you here?”

He looked back at her and seemed on the point of stopping. “I came to deliver Harry Potter’s message,” he said, mid-stride.

“I don’t mean that,” she corrected, wondering where this sudden need to explain Percy’s presence came from. “I mean generally.”

Percy stopped and looked at her calmly. “I am here because Professor Dumbledore thought I would be the best person for the job.”

Maeve pulled the door to behind her so that the students could not hear the conversation. “But there was no position until you arrived. What was Dumbledore protecting you from?”

Percy looked furtively at the floor and Maeve was sure she saw the smallest change in the colour of his complexion. “Professor Dumbledore needed someone to help him, an extra pair of hands in the running of the school. That was all there was to the matter.” Percy raised obstinate eyes to her and looked as if he was going to say something else, but the moment passed and instead he was dismissive. “That is all there is to it.” And this time he did turn away and he kept going.




Harry was waiting for her as she climbed the stairs and stepped into Professor McGonagall’s office at the end of her day. The portrait of Professor Dumbledore still slept contentedly. No matter how hard visitors to the office tried to look elsewhere, this portrait was always the first thing they sought out, perhaps waiting for some sort of sign. A fire burned low in the grate, bringing warmth to the chill of mourning in the room. Hermione was sitting by the flames, her head bent over a book again, while Harry was taking up Dumbledore’s familiar place at the large desk.

“Professor McGonagall is being generous, allowing you the use of her office.” Maeve took the seat opposite Harry and Hermione raised her head from the large, red-backed book that she was reading.

“She knows that I have things to find, and I think she doesn’t want to impede me.” Harry looked tired and Maeve wondered how many long night hours he had spent in this room trying to find information. From the weariness in Hermione’s eyes, Maeve guessed that Hermione had also been burning the candle at both ends trying to keep up with him.

“You still think you will find something in here?” Maeve asked. “I rather think we have already located the one thing that’s at the school.”

“There’s more,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I don’t believe this Horcrux is all that’s left at Hogwarts that will be useful.”

“What did you want to see me about?” Maeve asked, knowing full well what Harry wanted.

“We need to fix a date to retrieve the Horcrux. I don’t think we’ve got much time and the longer we leave it the more people will die.” Harry had a matter-of-factness that belied his own concerns. “And we need some sort of plan of attack.”

“I don’t think we can plan an attack,” Maeve said with a touch of resignation in her voice. “I think we are going to have to go along and trust to our own abilities. We have no idea what protections will be in place around the temple.”

“It could be that Voldemort thought the forest was protection enough, that and his own bloodline.” Hermione rose from her seat and handed the book she had been reading to Maeve, before returning to the comfortable armchair.

On the softened vellum of the pages Maeve took in the gentle, sloping hand of the person that had written the diary. The date was the thirteenth of November 1953.

Tried once again to trace the temple. It seems that the map is misleading and that the temple is not located in that particular corner of the forest. Indeed, after several attempts at breaching that tight knot of trees I have to concede defeat. If that is the final resting place of Salazar Slytherin, it is better protected than even the castle itself. There is talk that the descendants of the aforementioned man may have put special Concealment Charms on the building so that only they can locate it. If this is the case then I may as well give up now and concentrate my efforts on finding the lost village beneath the lake.

Maeve flicked to the flyleaf and saw the name Filippo de Valeros in fine copperplate script; she looked to Hermione for an explanation.

“De Valeros was an historian who searched the wizarding world for curiosities and sites of antiquity. Apparently he was granted special permission by Armando Dippet to spend some time here and investigate the lesser-known aspects of Hogwarts. It would seem the temple defeated him, although he did find the lost village — he says so later on in the diary.”

“But if only descendants can find the temple, always assuming he is right about that, then we won’t find it either. And how on earth did someone manage to photograph it?” Maeve asked, wondering how they would get over this slight sticking point.

“Well, it was probably enchanted after they interred Slytherin’s body in it and the photograph was just the architect showing off.” Hermione began, looking to Harry. “As for us not finding it, well, that might not be the case.”

“There may be a possibility,” Harry interjected, “that I will be able to find it.”


“Because…” Hermione began.

“There’s a little bit of Voldemort in you through the scar,” Maeve finished, a smile appearing on her lips. “And if all that’s stopping someone getting access to the temple is its invisibility to all but Slytherin’s descendants then Voldemort may well have left it unprotected in any other way. He could never have realised he may have passed on some of his ancestry to you, Harry.”

Harry gave a slight shiver, despite the warmth from the fire and nodded. “It’s bloody horrible having a connection with Voldemort, but it could be useful in this case.”

“So, it could be that the easiest part is to retrieve the Horcrux.” Hermione said, her faced suffused with quiet confidence. “But then we have to remove the soul.”

Maeve knew that she would have to take responsibility for performing that task, although she wasn’t prepared to tell Harry that at the moment. Without Severus to pick up the pieces of whatever damage the broken piece of soul caused she knew that whoever removed the fragment risked certain death. Harry would not be prepared to have Severus standing by while he attempted the destruction.

“We thought we might try and locate the temple tonight,” Harry said, looking to Maeve for approval.

The door opened abruptly and Ron shot in, looking out-of-breath and flustered.

“Bloody Lavender!” he puffed as he sank into the chair by Hermione. “She’s just mental. Keeps going on about how nice I look in my Quidditch gear. Weird!”

Hermione gave a frustrated smile but said nothing. She got up and took the book from Maeve, placing it carefully back the shelf she had taken it from.

“So,” Ron said, looking around at everyone for a clue as to where they were in the conversation. “What’s the decision?”

“We were just about to make it,” Hermione said snappishly, “until you barged in complaining about that girl.”

“I can’t help it if she’s decided to follow me around like a sheep,” Ron said, his annoyance suddenly manifesting itself. “I’ve tried to get rid of her but it doesn’t work. She’s got armour like a re-enforced armadillo.”

“Well, I haven’t heard you say anything particularly dissuading.” Hermione had become very cold towards him at the mention of Lavender. “If anything you seem to encourage her.”

“I do not!” Ron voice rose several octaves.

“We don’t have time for this.” Harry halted their bickering by rising from the desk. “We need to decide if we are going tonight or not?”

“I say yes.” There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that they should go as soon as possible.

“Yeah, sooner we get it over with the better,” Ron agreed, despite himself.

Only Maeve hesitated, heartened slightly by the news that the temple might be more easily accessible than she had first thought, but still wishing she could inform Severus what they were about to do.

“Well?” Harry looked at her, green eyes desperate for her to agree to the plan. He just wanted to do something constructive now, wanted to get away from the past week’s futility.

“Very well,” she acquiesced. “Tonight. I suggest we assemble by the lake at nine. And make sure you have your brooms.”

Hermione gave a little grimace and wished that they had been allowed to take their Apparating tests at the end of last term as planned. It was becoming very annoying how things were being postponed or cancelled because of the increasing disruption caused by Voldemort. The Ministry had decreed that it didn’t want inexperienced witches and wizards Apparating during the current crisis. Even experienced Apparators were having trouble doing it, several splinchings having pushed the Ministry ever closer to introducing controls on the mode of transport.

“Tonight at nine, then,” Harry said, content now that he had something active to do.

Maeve left the office without saying anything else and went straight to her room, to Severus’ old room. She had kept many of his things, content to be surrounded by reminders of him, no matter how gloomy they were. Many of the things that had taken up the space in her old rooms had been packed up and sent home to Rathgael with Liam. Only her books and the old clock remained at the school, taking up little space in the damp confines of the dark residence.

She made herself a cup of tea and was about to pick up some parchments and sketch out her next few lessons when the fire flared wildly and a head popped calmly into it.

“Evening, my little angel.”

“Roderick…did no one ever tell you it was rude to pop into people’s fireplaces uninvited,” she said, glaring at him.

“Well, excuse me, but I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like you’ve just got out of the shower or anything.” He winked again and she got the distinct impression that scenario was exactly what he had been hoping for.

“Don’t do it again,” she insisted. “What do you want?”

“Now, that’s no way to speak to a dear friend, is it? I thought I’d see how you were, all alone in that dreary place. Dear Apollo!” he said, looking up to the ceiling. “Are those bats hanging there? How passé.”

“I really don’t have the time to discuss interior decoration, Roderick. Did you really want something or are you just passing the time annoying me?”

“I was going to offer you the chance of a trip into Hogsmeade. Last night proved very unsatisfactory. Really, the standard of conversation in The Three Broomsticks is not what it once was.”

“I though The Hog’s Head would have been more your level,” Maeve said acidly.

“Such a comedienne,” he drawled. “So, coming?”

“No, not tonight.”

He sighed, a piece of ash shooting up his nostril making him sneeze loudly. “You might find it interesting.”

“I have other plans tonight.”

“Other plans?” he queried. “How can you have other plans? Who is there in this place to have other plans with? No husband? No one your own age, unless you count Lupin, and he’s hardly the life and soul of a party.”

“Roderick, go away,” she said, wanting a little peace before she went to keep her rendezvous by the lake. “I have things to do.”

“You know, there are only so many times a man will take no for an answer before looking for his pleasure elsewhere,” he said in an injured voice.

“Well, could you tell me the number and then I can say all those nos in one go and get it over with. Now…shoo!”

He gave her one last wink before pulling his head out of the fire and Maeve began to wonder how she could disconnect it from the network. She picked up the parchment again and was about to start work when the fire flared once more.

“Roderick, the answer is no,” she said, without looking up. “No, no, no, no.”

“No to what?” Severus’ voice filled the room.

She snapped her head up, a huge smile chasing her irritation away. “Severus! Aren’t you taking a risk?”

“Why are you assuming I am Rampton… and what would his head be doing in my fire?”

“It’s my fire,” she grinned. “And he is being a little over-friendly at the moment. Keeps trying to get me to go to Hogsmeade with him. Isn’t it chancy for you to be using the Floo network?”

“Extremely. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m in a disused house at the moment. They haven’t disconnected the fire so I thought I’d risk it.” His face looked longingly around his old room. “You kept everything, I see.”

“It reminds me of you.”

“How gratifying for you,” he said in a self-deprecating manner.

“I will be paying particular attention to our missing friend tonight,” she said, dressing up her intentions in as cryptic a manner as she could manage.

“So soon?” he asked. “Be careful. That friend may stab you in the back, as friends of that ilk are wont to do. I will have to see if I can be waiting to meet you both in a place that will be mutually satisfying should our friend turn out to be volatile. Somewhere well used to madness, I think.”

She nodded. “Severus?”

“Yes?”

“I miss you… I miss you so much more than I thought I would. There is a huge hole in everything I do.”

Severus looked uncomfortable, though whether that was her words or the fire she couldn’t tell. “Maeve, this has to be borne. I cannot risk staying here any longer but I will be available tonight should you need me. Do not take any risks with our friend.”

And the fire rose, consuming his face, before dying back down to a murmur.

“You could have said you missed me too,” she whispered to the now-vacant fire. And then she cried; simple, heart wrenching sobs that poured all her loneliness out onto his old sofa.




The moon was a half-crescent that hung helpless in the clear sky. The four of them assembled by the lake, brooms in hand and dark, night-absorbing cloaks covering them. Harry’s eyes glittered with anticipation as he prepared to lead them into the sky.

“We have to stay close together. The moon will give us some light, and I’d rather we didn’t use our wands. I don’t think this place will be guarded, but there will be other things in the forest that will be attracted by unnatural light,” he said.

“Yeah, like Hagrid,” Ron joked but Hermione immediately silenced him with a scowl.

“If there is any real danger I want you and Hermione to go back to the castle and alert Remus.” Harry was suddenly very serious and refused to listen to Ron and Hermione’s protests. “We may need help. But Maeve and I have to deal with this. It’s our battle.”

“It’s everyone’s battle, Harry.” Hermione understood what he was saying but it was hurtful to be excluded after all the hard work she had put in, reading through Dumbledore’s books. “It doesn’t just become your battle when there is danger.”

“Hermione is right,” Maeve spoke for the first time. “This is everyone’s battle. The wizarding and Muggle worlds are at stake. But Harry also has a point, Hermione. We need you to fetch help if necessary. We need you to be able to walk away from the struggle, and that in itself will be as brave as staying to fight.”

Hermione nodded but looked unconvinced, while Ron merely inhaled furiously.

“Good, I think we have agreement. Let’s go then.” Maeve was the first to rise into the night sky, wobbling a little on Remus’ old broom.


The flight over the forest was a nervous one, as four pairs of eyes searched the skyline anxiously. Beneath them the wooded area seemed to slumber but they knew there would be many creatures awake below them, searching through the scrub for prey. Harry had the map carefully tucked into his cloak and he had already planned the direction they were to take. Using the line of the mountain as a guide he overtook Maeve and swept in an arc across the sky, leading them upwards and away from the school. The advancing autumn had begun to take the warmth from the air, making their breath come from their mouths in faint wisps of white.

Ron stayed close to Hermione, watching her ride her broom with concern. If he was honest he was more worried about her falling off than about any danger they faced from below. “You know,” he said, causing her to lose concentration and wobble even more than she was already doing. “It’s all right saying that Harry might be able to find this place. But the rest of us won’t be able to see it, will we? Unless there’s something about your parents you’re not telling us.”

“Will you stop joking!” she whispered, flying dangerously close to him and causing him to pull out of her way. “But you do have a point. We’ll have to work that out when we get there.”

And as she said that Harry slowed down and began to descend, growing ever closer to the brooding mountainside and the mantle of trees that rested on its lower slopes. In the darkness the mountain reminded Maeve of a slumbering giant; the only thing missing was the slight rise and fall of its chest as it breathed peacefully in sleep.

“We need to land and get our bearings on the ground,” Harry said quietly, the night breeze carrying his words to the others. “It all looks the same at the moment.”

“Great,” Ron sighed. “Lost already.”

“That’s not what Harry meant,” Maeve said, following Harry in landing on the soft rug of grass and hedge that sat just yards from the danger of the forest’s edge.

The four figures stood together for a moment, looking at the seemingly impenetrable trees with apprehension. It was all very different now that they were here and away from the warm comfort of Professor McGonagall’s office.

“After you then,” Ron said, trying to sound cheerful and knowing he had failed.

“How are we going to see in there without using our wands?” Hermione asked. “Without the moon we’ll be blind.”

“We might have to use our wands after all,” Harry replied doubtfully. “Maeve?”

“I agree,” she said. It was one thing roaming forests that she knew well in the dark, but she didn’t know this one and had no idea what was in there. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to meet it blind. “But wait until we are actually in the forest.”

“Come on then.” Harry didn’t even consult his map as he set off for the brooding patch of ink that formed the forest. “We’d better get on and do it.”



It was alarmingly dark once they were under the cover of the trees and Maeve suggested they use two wands to light their way. She went with Harry as he held out his wand before him, while Ron and Hermione brought up the rear. The ground was uneven beneath their feet as branches cracked and the first of the season’s falling chestnuts rolled away from them. Maeve could feel the breath of the forest on her face, a whisper of damp vegetation and dark magic that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So many things lived here, so many known and unknown threats. If it wasn’t something introduced by Hagrid then it was the centaurs, keeping guard over their domain, anger with the wizarding world renewed.

Harry wasn’t relying on maps or sense of direction any longer. As soon as he had stepped into the forest he could feel something, a strange vibration that he could sense below him, around him and above him. It felt like it was coming from the very trees themselves and yet it was external to the forest. A stab of pain ran through him, starting at his scar and covering his whole forehead. He stopped and clutched at it for a moment, Maeve instantly worried.

“Close your mind, Harry,” she whispered. “Remember your Occlumency. Shut it out. He must not know.”

She could see, by his wand light, the concentration crossing his face and knew he had blocked whatever it was as he turned to her with relief in his eyes. “It must be the location of the temple,” he said by way of an explanation. “Perhaps it’s making the connection clearer for Voldemort.”

“Do you know which direction it is?” Ron asked. He was looking warily around for any sign of spiders, the memory of Aragog, the huge Acromantula that lived in the forest, still fresh in his mind.

“It’s over here,” he replied confidently, pushing a way through the undergrowth, which was gradually becoming denser. “I can feel it getting louder.”

Ron gave Hermione a look. “What’s getting louder?” he whispered.

She shrugged and told him to be quiet. Harry was now standing still on the edge of an opening in the trees. A patchy carpet of grass was all that the clearing contained, but Maeve could see by the light in his eyes that that wasn’t all Harry saw.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” she asked.


Harry looked in distaste at the white structure before him. In the shaft of moonlight that pierced the break in the canopy it appeared to be glowing silver, the carvings on its marble surface thrown into sharp relief by the fall of light and shadows. It was in pristine condition; the mosses and lichens that threw themselves over everything else obviously chose to ignore this structure. The columns stretched upwards, their solidity helping secure the glistening roof and bringing his attention to the carvings that he had been unable to make out clearly on the photograph.

They depicted witches and wizards, wands outstretched, exercising dominion over a variety of other creatures. Goblins cowered beneath a well-carved group of taller, male wizards, awaiting their doom. A group of Mermen were held dripping above the shore of a sea, while witches laughed at their plight. A group of what Harry could only assume were Muggles where tied to a stake and a witch was cheerfully lighting the pyre, He turned away from the scenes of malice and looked at Maeve.

“Yes, it’s here, and it’s gruesome.”

“What’s it like?” Ron asked, looking at the empty clearing blankly.

“It’s tall and it’s glowing and there are awful carvings on the top of it. I can also see the funeral games that Maeve mentioned earlier. The door is closed and there is a glass handle but no lock.”

“There wouldn’t need to be a lock,” Maeve pointed out. “But I don’t like the idea of you going in there alone. I want you to take my hand and lead me in after you. I want you two to stand guard here,” she said to Ron and Hermione.

“Yeah, ‘cause there’s so much happening here,” Ron said and felt the heel of Hermione’s shoe crush his toes.

“Of course we will,” Hermione insisted, ignoring Ron’s rolling eyes.

Harry moved forward until he was at the foot of the seven stone steps that formed the path to the doorway. Maeve stopped when he did and waited for him to gather his strength.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, not even sure he was certain himself.

“Yes.” She took his hand and knew that if she broke contact with him when they were inside this place that she could not see she would have no idea what would happen. “Let’s go.”

“There are seven small steps, so be careful.”

He began to climb them slowly and Maeve faltered over the first one but quickly got her bearings. Hermione and Ron watched as they climbed into the air, more worried than amazed.

As he reached the door Harry was unsurprised to see the handle turn of its own accord and the heavy stone swung inwards. He told Maeve what was happening and informed her that the room they were about to enter appeared small but very tall. Stepping over the threshold he realised the ceiling was similar to the one in the Great Hall at Hogwarts and all he could see were white clouds rolling above his head. In the centre of the small room was a large stone tomb hovering free of the ground with no visible means of support. Ancient runes were carved around the edge and Harry wished Hermione were here to translate them — but then he reflected ruefully that she wouldn’t be able to see them. As he looked around he caught his breath for, sitting in an alcove on one of the smooth walls was a small cup made of gold, delicate handles jutting out elegantly on either side of its curved body.

“It’s here,” he breathed, preparing to lead Maeve to the object they had come to retrieve.

Maeve staggered slightly. Far from seeing the forest, or even the interior of the temple, she saw a blinding white light that burned her eyes with its ferocity. She tried closing her eyes and realised that the white light wasn’t around her, it had become her.

“Harry, I can’t…. Get the cup… Just get the cup.”

“Are you all right? What…” He looked to her and found she had become so pale it was hard to differentiate between her face and the walls around them. Her fingers tightened around his as she fought for some kind of sanity against the hard rain of light.

“Just… Get…The…” She broke off, the need to scream rising in her throat as the pain engulfed her.

Harry had to pull her along slowly, keeping that precious connection with her hand. He should have come alone. It was so easy — the cup was just there and Maeve wouldn’t be suffering had he been brave enough to come unaccompanied.

His free hand reached towards the alcove until his fingers where just a hair’s breadth from the precious metal. As he was about to grab it Maeve lurched forward, tipped by the scales of insanity. For a brief moment her fingers dodged free of his and she was floating, lost in the endless whiteness of a place that she should not have been in. Harry cried her name in alarm and quickly re-made the connection, pulling her away from the madness, almost deafened by her screams. He didn’t understand what the stream of silvery-white that ran from her was. It moulded itself to their surroundings and was gone before he had the chance to look too closely.

With a swift grab at the cup he lifted it from its resting place, cool metal contrasting with the heat from Maeve’s hand. Harry had been expecting to feel something from the cup, something that would betray what it might contain within its golden form, but it felt just the same as the locket had when he’d first touched that. He cast the briefest of glances at it and knew by the small badger that was carved onto the cartouche that this was what he was looking for. This was not a fake cup; the workmanship was too fine.

And then the temple lurched. Harry once again clutched at Maeve, who was rapidly losing her senses, as a huge crack appeared in the back wall. A fetid smell was released through the small chamber and Harry knew that they had to get out as quickly as possible. Maeve was becoming a dead weight as she sank to the floor and Harry had to tuck the cup into his robes in order to drag her away from the ever-widening rift in the marble. It felt like a huge force was being exerted from whatever lay beyond that crack, a force that was attempting to pull in the interloper and destroy her.

“Come on!” he implored, using all the strength he had to drag her unresisting body across the floor towards the welcome darkness of the forest. And still the force grew stronger, fighting him, trying to claim its prize in the form of someone who had dared defy the legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Maeve felt her body divided by the opposing forces of good and evil as it tried to decide which way to go. Harry was just on the point of shouting for one of the others when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Maeve was wrenched from him and carried into the darkness beyond the temple, a cloaked figure bending over her briefly before disappearing into the shadows just as Harry threw himself clear of the temple’s door.

As he ran towards her he scanned the clearing for Ron and Hermione and found them running heavily through the forest towards him with Remus in tow.

“Did you see that person?” Harry shouted. “There was someone else here.”

“Didn’t see anyone, mate,” Ron gasped. “We just heard Remus shouting for us and ran to show him the way.”

Remus had hurried to Maeve and bent down by her. Looking gravely up at Harry he appeared more worried than he had ever been.

“Did you get it?” Remus knew what he had to do but dreaded what he might have to do to Harry in order to achieve it.

“How do you…?” Harry started to ask.

“Did you get it?” Remus repeated and Harry had never seen him look so serious.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I got it.”

“Give it to me.”

“I can’t… I mean, what will you do with it that I can’t?”

“Harry, have I ever given you reason to mistrust me? Give me the cup, now.”

“But I promised Dumbledore…”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT NOW YOU HAVE IT?” Remus roared, making all three of them jump in alarm. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he continued in a lower tone, “that you would be impotent once you actually had the objects? I can deal with this. You have to trust me, Harry.”


Harry was so shocked by the rare fire in Remus’ voice that he reached into his cloak and produced Hufflepuff’s cup, handing it to the stricken man without thinking.

And to Harry’s horror Remus Disapparated with both Maeve and the cup, leaving him alone with Hermione and Ron wondering what on earth had just happened.




Darkness draped itself comfortably over the village of Hogsmeade, cloaking many clandestine meetings and surreptitious transactions. A few lights twinkled in windows but most of them were extinguished by thick curtains, keeping out both the night and the threats it might contain. From his position Remus could just about make out the creaking sign of The Hog’s Head and he knew he must move quickly before anyone was alerted to their presence.

He had been surprised by Maeve’s earlier late-night visit. He was just settling down to listen to the Wizarding Wireless, the jazz half hour had been just about to start and he had poured a glass of wine to enjoy along with the music, when she had knocked at his door. The explanation of what she was doing came tumbling out to the accompaniment of some fairly excitable saxophone playing and he listened with increasing anxiety. It was pointless to argue with her, or to try and prevent her from doing what she was doing, but she asked him to remain alert to any signs from her, to bring her to this place if there should be a problem and to make sure he brought the cup too.

When the bleak and wretched Patronus had limped, broken winged, into his room he knew the time had come to act and had Apparated to the very spot she had described. Calling out her name he had been surprised to hear Ron and Hermione reply, and they had come running to him to guide him through the trees.

And now here he was, with Maeve in no fit state to be walking anywhere, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade with the Shrieking Shack as their destination. Lifting her into his arms, he strode as quickly as he could away from the village and allowed the half-moon to light his way to the scene of his own degradation from so long ago. Maeve was heavy in his arms and the moon was already beginning to sap at his strength, but he made it as far as the run-down wooden door, kicking it open with his foot. The wood splintered slightly as it fought against the lock, but its rottenness allowed for easier entry than a more solid door would have demanded.

A shadow moved at the top of the stairs, dark robes obscuring the man behind them for a moment. As Severus’ eyes adjusted from the relative light in the room that he had chosen to wait in to the darkness without, he realised who it was at the foot of the stairs and then he recognised what Remus carried. He moved so quickly down the stairs that Remus thought he had sprouted wings and flown. Without a word to Remus, Severus took his wife’s limp body from the weakening man and clutched her coldness to him, feeling the white wash of dark magic about her once again.

Moving rapidly back up the stairs he carried her into the untidy room and with a huge effort of will laid her carefully on the dusty and unstable old bed. His hands ran over her carefully, feeling his way around the magic-induced madness that was plaguing her senses. Removing his wand from his cloak he ran it down her face and over her neck, keeping the contact between wood and flesh until he reached her clothing. Switching spells momentarily he caused a slight tear to appear in the fabric until he could reach the place where her heart beat gently beneath her skin. Severus had felt this magic before; it was magic created by defiance and the anger of those defied. He should have known, he thought angrily, should have realised that if this was a Slytherin temple she would be forbidden from entering.

Remus was in the room now, watching Severus trying to revive his wife. He saw the concentration on Severus’ face, the slight shake of the wand tip on Maeve’s chest. The cup rested against his side, secure in his cloak, and he wondered how much more they would endure that night in order to destroy the fragment of soul within it.

Maeve’s lips parted and a thin mist of grey dust rose from her, disappearing into the light around them, and she sighed. Severus removed his wand from her flesh, bringing together the torn fabric of her dress and leaving her intact once more. His hand ran across her forehead, pushing back the sweat-soaked hair. Resting his head against her temple he tried to control his frustration at making her do this, his own hair covering her face like a shield. His teeth clenched to prevent him from challenging what she would now have to do, but he knew it was she and neither Lupin nor himself that would do it.


He looked to Remus, a hand outstretched to claim the other thing that Remus had brought with him.

“Do you know what you are doing?” Remus asked, withdrawing the cup and offering it to the other man.

“Of course,” Severus snapped, closing his fingers around one of the fine handles, shivering as he did so. “I know that this will not be pleasant, but it needs to be done.” He set the cup down on the spindly table by the bed.

“What needs to be done?”

“Oh, Lupin, Lupin. Always on the periphery of things, never quite making it into the inner circle of knowledge.” Severus gave him a look that was pure poison. “Maeve needs to draw out the piece of soul and destroy it. But I need to give her time to recover from the experience at the temple. It will not do to have her weakened when she attempts it.”

“Is that all she is to you?” Remus asked, anger building up. “A vessel through which you can achieve your personal aims? Someone to be used as you have used so many before?”

He didn’t have time to react. Severus’ wand was already to hand and Remus’ was still tucked inside his cloak. He was launched through the air and landed with a dull thud against the wall, blood trickling down the gash in his cheek that Severus’ curse had caused. He reached for his wand but Severus was already using a non-verbal Expelliarmus to disarm him, sending the wand spinning across the floor. He raced towards the weaponless Remus and loomed above him, hatred oozing from every inch of his body. His wand hovered above the fallen man, latent hurt contained within its core.

“You can’t continue to lash out for the rest of your life,” Remus said, trying to calm Severus down. “You can’t continue to argue using your wand.”

“Don’t you EVER,” Severus snarled, “question what I do with my wife again. She knows better than anyone what has to be achieved tonight and she knows it may well kill me to watch her attempt it.”

“And yet you talk about her so dispassionately?” Remus challenged. “I’m not sure I could speak about her in such a cold manner.”

“You” — Severus thrust his face at Remus — “will never have the opportunity of speaking about her in the way I do. You were never man enough for her in the first place. You wouldn’t understand the sacrifices one has to make in order to do what is best.”

“I understand that love won’t allow you to put the person you love in as much danger as you allowed Maeve to get herself into tonight.”

“Do you think” –Severus was now dangerously patient in his tone of voice – “that I could have in any way prevented Maeve from doing what she did tonight? Do you think it is right for a husband to control his wife, Lupin? Do you think you could control her? I seem to remember one particularly fortunate occasion, for you at least, when I failed to exercise any control over her whatsoever. It resulted in your life being saved.”

“There must be another way of dealing with that thing,” Remus said. “There must be something you can do rather than allow her to risk everything.”

“Well, yes, there is,” Severus said casually. “I could let you kill yourself in the attempt. You do not understand; you never have. Maeve has to do this.”

“Then why did Dumbledore attempt it?”

“Because things have changed, you fool. Things are not what they were before Dumbledore died. Things will never be what they were.”

“And yet, you were the one that killed him. You brought about this change.”

“I had my reasons, Lupin. You would not have been able to do it.”

“I couldn’t kill someone I loved!”

“And I could, perhaps that is the difference between us. I can do what needs to be done, no matter how painful… You on the other hand give in to your… softer side.”

And as Remus was about to retort, the room darkened, the candle extinguished by the chill that had risen from the bed. Dust was swept from the floor for the first time in many years and it blinded both Severus and Remus far more than the darkness did. Severus moved to illuminate his wand and saw Maeve sitting up on the bed with the cup in her hand. He wanted to look away. He knew that what was about to come would be almost too much. It had taken so much from him to do Dumbledore’s bidding, but he wasn’t sure he could watch his wife suffer like this. Now that the moment had come he could feel his resolve deserting him for the first time since he had abandoned the Dark Lord’s service.

But this wasn’t about him. This was about destroying the threat that the wizarding world faced. This was about allowing the power of what Maeve now possessed to use her body to destroy Voldemort piece by piece. And this was the first piece.

Something was happening to the cup, its firm sides melting into Maeve’s hands as she stared at the hot metal. Severus saw Remus stagger to his feet from the corner of his eyes and held out a restraining hand, the sight of his wife’s hands blending with the syrupy gold coming close to breaking his will.

“Stop her,” Remus said, trying to move past him. “She will be killed by this, Severus.”

“Let her be.” He held Remus back again, and found he had to hold himself back at the same time.

And the darkness beckoned her, drew her into its thrall as it stretched up from the cup. Tendrils of everything that was ailing and malevolent rose to meet her, touched her pale skin with its vile caress. Maeve inhaled what she drew from the cup, felt the molten metal drip from her fingers onto her dress, where it burned the fabric with such ferocity that her flesh could be seen puckering beneath the drips of liquefied wool. It was the sight of her burning flesh that almost drove Severus to stop what was happening, the sudden sickening smell of her melting skin making him cry out against the horror.

She stood up, seared fabric clinging to her legs, and yet she didn’t seem to notice any of the pain she must surely be feeling. Her face was raised upwards, her whole being seemed to be waiting for something, pregnant with suspense. And Severus inched slightly closer, wanting to catch her fall when it came.

Maeve opened her mouth and felt the power within her, felt the need to release the energy, to free it to be crushed by the very air the supplied her with life. The cry that came from her was something beyond anything both men had ever heard before and it shattered their ears. Again Severus almost broke free from his own prison of dogged determination to see this through, but he was too busy trying to restrain Remus to allow himself the luxury of aiding his wife.

“STOP THIS!” Remus cried. “If you love her, Severus, for mercy’s sake, stop this!”

And this time it was too much for Severus. With all the power he could muster he cast a Full Body Bind at Remus and he was thrown to the floor, completely immobile. He could only lie there and watch while Severus approached his screaming wife as she battled to release the demon she had taken inside herself. He knew to touch her would break the magic that was working its way through her and yet the urge to take her rigid body into his arms and try to soothe away her pain was so strong, overpowering almost. He gripped the rotting posts that supported the canopy of the greying bed, hung on to prevent him moving towards her any more.

Another scream shredded his heart, made him call out again in response. His magic was ready to heal her when this was over, but he didn’t want to wait that long, his confidence in her ability to withstand this onslaught wavering beneath the thunder in his head.

“Maeve,” he whispered hoarsely. “In Dumbledore’s name what have I done to you?”

And from his prone position on the floor Remus knew that he could never have done what Severus was now doing. Remus finally knew that the love he felt for Maeve was not strong enough to weather such a rough road. He would have bent and broke beneath the weight of his feelings for her. Would have stopped this and denied her the right to do what was important.

She was suddenly thrown to the floor as a greenish light grew around her, a manifestation of a soul that was twisted and abused beyond all recognition. It floated upwards and then flung itself back, trying desperately to return to her throat and the safety of a solid object to contain itself in. Maeve’s screams once again rang out around the shack and Severus hovered so close he was only millimetres away from touching her. The green mist harried him for a moment and then seemed to decide that this was not were it could find shelter and forced its way back into Maeve’s mouth.

The cry of ‘no’ rang through the room as Maeve scrabbled to her knees and retched violently, vomiting away all the vestiges of this piece of Voldemort’s soul. And the fragment finally knew there was no shelter to be had, no murder to create a home for it. With an agonising moan it lashed around, striking Maeve’s face with the tail end of its anger as it broke into a thousand pieces of evil that were not strong enough to survive on their own.

Maeve clutched the side of the bed and continued to retch, as if she could rid her body of the poison it had briefly played host to. And as she did so the pain began to set in. The burning of her legs and face intensified, the gold that had melted to the floor began to reform now it was freed from its duty as container to part of Voldemort’s soul. And Severus was upon her, his pain almost exceeding hers at seeing the physical injury that had been inflicted on her. Half of her cheek had been stripped bare of skin as the darkness had found the earlier source of corruption and tried to use it. Blood poured form the gaping wound, the pearlescent white of her cheekbone visible beneath the crimson liquid.

He lifted her gently onto the bed, wiping her mouth free of the last traces of vomited soul with the edge of his cloak. With a harsh voice he released Remus from the Body Bind and the recent captive forced himself to move, albeit stiffly, to try and help in whatever way he could.

“Get that vial,” Severus instructed, indicating a small tube of silver liquid on the mantelshelf. His fingers raised the loose flap of skin and gently folded it back over the torn muscle and the bared cheekbone, looking into her pain-filled eyes with such tender care that she knew no matter what happened she would find more safety and love with him than anywhere else on earth.

Remus did as he was told, too horrified to protest, reaching for the potion with so much haste that he almost dropped it.

Maeve faltered, closing her eyes to the world before opening them again, silently pleading with her husband to ease her suffering. The pain was growing by the second. With deft hands he tipped the contents of the vial over both her cheek and knees, hoping that the speed of delivery would lessen any permanent deadening of the skin. Without waiting to see if the potion was taking effect he drew his pain-wracked wife into his arms and cradled her like a baby on the ruined bed of the Shrieking Shack.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus said, looking down at Maeve’s shuddering form. “I was wrong to doubt what you felt for her. I was wrong to think I could ever have been strong enough. Your love for her is beyond anything I can hope to achieve.”

Severus didn’t reply, didn’t care what Remus thought or did. He watched Maeve’s face as it fought the pain, held her tighter, tried to calm her with his presence.

“I’ll leave you, unless you need anything.” Remus began to back away a little.

Severus looked up then. “Yes, there is one thing you can do for me. While I am in this state of flight you can watch over her. I cannot be with her in the light of day or the quiet of the evening. I need you to be the one that prevents harm seeking her out.”

Remus nodded, and finally said goodbye to his thoughts of ever loving Maeve in the way that the man who now held her did.

Once left alone Severus watched over her until her eyelids began to sag and the relief of a potion-induced sleep claimed her consciousness. The cup now sat on the floor, just a cup again. And then he cried. Cried for what he wanted and what he could not have while another four pieces of Voldemort’s soul survived.

And Maeve slept, slept safe under her husband’s watchful sorrow.

Chapter Nine.

Godric’s Hollow




“It’s destroyed,” Remus said, allowing Harry the luxury of looking at him angrily. “I’m sorry I was so short-tempered with you in the forest, Harry, but for Maeve’s sake we had to act quickly.”

“Am I allowed to know what happened, or is that beyond me as well?” Harry was alone in his room, Ron having gone down to breakfast in the Great Hall. He had been packing, frustrated at having the Horcrux snatched from him at the last minute. This had been his task, Dumbledore’s legacy to him. He hadn’t expected Remus to step in at the last minute and claim the spoils.

“Maeve succeeded in accomplishing its destruction. She seems to instinctively know what must be done.” Remus was pleased that Harry was no Legilimens as he kept the truth of the night’s events from him. He did not know if Maeve had returned to the castle yet, but with classes about to start he wondered if she would be in any state to teach them.

“And is she… Is she all right?” Harry couldn’t help the concern he felt, despite his annoyance at being sidelined so effectively. He threw another sweater into his case, giving the sleeve a vicious tug as it caught on the buckle.

“I’m not sure. No doubt we will know soon enough.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Harry asked. “How can you not be sure? You didn’t leave her alone, did you?”

“She was cared for,” Remus said, finding the room had become uncomfortably hot. “Perhaps you would like to check on her before you leave. She will have an hour before classes begin. I’m sure she’d rather see you than me.”

Harry glanced at the small wooden clock and found it was already almost eight. “I suppose I could,” he grumbled. “I’m off to Godric’s Hollow this afternoon. I’m going to visit mum and dad’s grave.”

Remus regarded him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think the time is right for you to do that,” he said. “Perhaps an earlier time would have been too soon. You can fully appreciate their sacrifice now.”

“Yeah, well… And what are you going to do?”

“Who knows,” Remus admitted. “With the Order in disarray and the Ministry still not content to give werewolves gainful employ I suppose I will go back to doing what I can.”

“Couldn’t Professor McGonagall offer you a job maybe? It wouldn’t have to be as a teacher, would it?”

Remus shook his head. “My time at Hogwarts is over, Harry, as is yours. We need to find our place in the world again.”

“Well." Harry sensed Remus was drawing away and prepared himself for the moment of parting. “Goodbye, for now at least,” he said, holding out his hand to Remus. They shared a warm handshake and Remus felt for the first time that Harry had become a man over the summer. There was no difference in them now; Harry had finally caught up to his teachers.



With Remus gone, Harry realised he had better do something about informing Maeve of his intentions before her classes started. He finished putting what few things he had brought into the suitcase and closed it roughly. With a frown at Ron’s untidy morass of clothes, which still hadn’t been packed, he left the room and headed off to Maeve’s new rooms.

The corridors were still blissfully quiet, all the students either getting dressed or already at breakfast. Harry wasn’t sure how being an outsider made him feel. He no longer wore school uniform, nor spared a thought for textbooks and homework. He had been amazed at just how quickly he had forgotten what it was like to follow the school routines, to be a part of a large society of people that was so self-contained. Percy was the only person who passed him, giving a curt nod before hurrying on his way. Harry couldn’t imagine Percy lasting much longer here; he wasn’t McGonagall’s style really.

As he approached Maeve’s room he re-adjusted his attitude and decided that the slightly put-out face he had used for Remus wouldn’t be appropriate now. He remembered what it had cost Dumbledore to destroy the ring; he didn’t think Maeve would have fared any better. Knocking lightly he thought he saw a shadow by the statue that occupied this part of the corridor. The whole world seemed full of shadows now, real or imagined.

Maeve’s muffled voice called for him to enter and he pushed open the door, eager for her version of events. She was standing by the fire, her hands holding the back of a chair. He could see that she was pale, the left side of her face white against her red hair.

“Maeve, how are you? Did it go okay?” Harry’s eagerness wasn’t quenched by her sluggish response but as she turned to him Harry felt sick.

“It went as well as could be expected,” she said in a slow, potion-dulled manner. “We succeeded, at least.”

“What happened to your face?” Harry looked with anger on her scarred cheek.

Maeve gave a heavy laugh. “What do you think happened, Harry? The part of Voldemort’s soul contained in that cup wasn’t too happy about being destroyed. I’m afraid it caught me before it died.”

“And has it been treated?” He winced at the bright-red line that traced the place where Severus had re-joined her skin. Her cheek was swollen and mottled with broken blood vessels.

“Yes.” She laughed again and Harry couldn’t help notice that she was reluctant to let go of the chair. “Believe me, it was far worse.” Maeve felt the room swim a little and wondered how she would ever make it through the day.

“Madam Pomfrey is very good with cures,” Harry observed, remembering his many visits to the hospital wing. “I’m sure there’ll be little scarring.”

“I’ve been told there should be no scarring at all,” Maeve reassured him, taking care not to tell him that it wasn’t Madam Pomfrey who had wrought a cure for her injury. No scarring that would be visible, she thought, fighting the bile that rose in her throat. She had been unable to eat or drink, every time she imagined something going down her throat it constricted and her stomach lurched. “Considering what we have achieved, I think I got off lightly.”

She finally plucked up the courage to let go of her armchair crutch and winced as her robes grazed slowly healing knees. Harry moved towards her but she waved him away. “I need to walk, Harry. I need to walk this malaise off.”

“You can’t teach in that state,” he said, seeing the pain hurtle across her face. “You need to go to bed and allow the effects to wear off. Didn’t Madam Pomfrey insist you stay in the hospital wing?”

“I need to work,” she insisted. “I need to…”

A knock at the door prevented her from finishing but she didn’t have the chance to say anything before it was flung open and Roderick strode into the room.

“I hope you’re not thinking about working in that condition,” he said to her, nodding a greeting towards Harry. “What are you even doing up and about?”

“I have to work,” she repeated for Roderick’s benefit.

“Have to? There’s no have to about it. What you have to do is go to bed… Just look at the shape of you. What did that to your face?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, wavering slightly between the chair and the table.

“I’ve tried to tell her,” Harry said. “She won’t listen. Someone else could take her classes.”

“Someone else will take her classes.” Roderick stuck his arm out helpfully just as Maeve lost her battle to stand upright. He caught her and sat her down in the armchair that had so valiantly been holding her upright just moments earlier. “I have no idea what you have been up to, Professor Snape, but you’re in a right pickle now.”

“I’ll go and get McGonagall,” Harry said, glad he didn’t have to leave her alone.

“Don’t bother Professor McGonagall,” Maeve pleaded. “She has enough to worry about.”

“She’s the headmistress. It’s her job to worry. No, it’s no good. You can go back to bed – that’s if you even made it there last night.” Roderick gave her a piercing look and Maeve sank back against the support of the chair.

“Tell McGonagall that I’ll take Maeve’s classes this morning. I have none of my own to worry about, and then she can sort something else out for this afternoon. Damn it all, Maeve, why did you have to be so stupid?”

Maeve had closed her eyes but opened them again when he spoke, wondering at the sudden hint of knowledge in his voice. She saw Harry leave the room and groaned as a fresh wave of nausea attacked her stomach. Roderick walked through to her bedroom and noted the carefully made bed, she had been in no position to make it so neatly this morning and he knew that she had been out all night. Frowning he fetched her nightdress and nightgown.

She appeared to have nodded off already when he returned to the sitting room. “Come on,” he said, lifting her from her drowsing position. “Delightful though it would have been to see you in that pretty silk, you’re not even fit to get yourself to your bed.” With a gentleness that would have surprised Maeve had she been conscious, he placed her carefully into her bed and left her to rest after her ordeal.




Harry was pleased to be free of Hogwarts. He and Ron had travelled into Hogsmeade – after he had seen that Professor McGonagall was aware of Maeve’s needs – and they were now sitting in a secured carriage on the train being carried south by the rhythmic labour of the red engine. Ron was particularly pleased to have his best mate all to himself and was regaling him with tales of his summer with Hermione. He was building up to a particularly good punch line when Harry turned to him with a stern expression.

“Ron, if you don’t mind I have other things to think about than you snogging Hermione.”

“Oh, right,” Ron said, his face colouring a little. “Was I really going on about Hermione?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, “you were, endlessly.”

“She really is a great gir…”

“Ron.”

“Sorry.” Ron fumbled around in his bag and pulled out what looked suspiciously like a photograph. Harry turned away and Ron thought better of drawing his attention to the smiling Hermione in the picture.

They lapsed into silence for a while, Harry watching the countryside flash past with ever increasing anxiety gnawing at his mind. He had no idea what he was about to discover in the small Muggle village that had witnessed the death of his parents, but whatever it was, he was sure he was ill prepared for it. He mirrored Ron’s actions and pulled a picture from his bag, only his contained the joyful figures of his mum and dad standing in a garden that was yellowed by the dying sun. They waved at the camera, his father mouthing something as his mother laughed. Trees swayed in the background, their leaves newly shed, and a gate swung loose, clanging against its post in the wind that shook the scene.

The date had been scrawled on the back of the picture and Harry knew that they had died just three weeks after the photographer had captured this relaxed scene. He knew that inside the cottage behind them he was probably fast asleep in his cot, sucking a carefree thumb or cuddling an innocent soft toy. And then it had all gone wrong and… Well, it had all just gone wrong. He tucked the photograph back in his bag and Ron watched him concentrate on not becoming emotional.

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “It’ll be good for you to see the place where they’re… Well, see their…” Ron gave up and offered Harry a box of Every Flavour Beans.

“You can talk about it,” Harry replied, putting the beans on the seat beside him, not in the mood for sweets. “I’m not afraid of the fact I’m going to see my mum and dad’s graves. With everything that’s happened, I think it’s about time I went and said hello to them, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Ron mumbled, uncomfortable with talk about saying hello to blocks of stone. His mum still went and talked to Bill’s grave and Ron hated being dragged along with her. He didn’t think Bill was beneath that particular piece of earth, didn’t think that he had to go to that place to talk to his dead brother. “Is there anything else you want to do while you’re there?” he asked.

“Dunno, have a look around. I’ll maybe find the place their house stood; find our last family home. And there could be…” he trailed off, not sure of what there could be but hoping all the same.

“What could there be?” Ron leaned forward in his seat and spilled his own pack of beans over the floor. As he scrabbled to pick them up a face paused at the window in the door of the carriage. Harry watched as he was scrutinized for a few moments, arctic eyes looking him up and down. He was just about to get up and challenge his unwelcome audience when the man moved away. “What’s up?” Ron said, his beans back in their box once more.

“Nothing,” Harry murmured, not taking his eyes of the place where the stranger had stood. “But I think the sooner we’re off this train the better.”

“Why?” Ron followed Harry’s gaze and saw nothing but a blank window. “Seems fine to me. Carriage has been charmed, so we’re in no danger, are we?”

“I don’t think the people that would like to get their hands on me would be bothered by a few charms.” Harry pulled a face and went back to looking out of the window.



They left the train at King’s Cross where Arthur Weasley was waiting in a silver Ministry car. Harry was always pleased to see Arthur and today was no exception. If Arthur still felt the effects of the illness he had suffered last year he didn’t show it — in fact quite the opposite. Arthur’s face was alive with vigour and he smiled broadly when he clapped eyes on Harry. Leaping from the car – rather too hurriedly for a passing taxi nearly took the car’s door with it – he patted Harry heavily on the back and greeted him with warm affection.

“Harry, glad to see you again. You’re looking very well.” Arthur was jostled by a young family who were running to claim the taxi that had so nearly relieved the Ministry car of its door and for a moment Harry was unable to answer.

“Thanks, Mr Weasley,” he replied. He had seen Arthur and Molly at the funeral but they had little opportunity to talk and so it was nice to get the chance now. “It’s been a tough week but it’s done.”

“Yes, funerals are always hard on those left behind.” Arthur gave him his best sympathetic look and tried not to think about the fact they had lost their figurehead.

Ron made a funny grunting sound and threw his bags into the back seat of the car. “You two going to stand around talking all day or are we going to get a move on?”

“Ermm… Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Arthur said, looking at his Muggle watch and smiling at the green digits that glowed back at him. It was only when he was out in the Muggle world that he could use it. The magic at The Burrow and the Ministry sent its little battery haywire and he found the sporadic electric shocks it gave him not worth the pleasure of wearing it. “Give me your bag, Harry.”

“That’s all right, Mr Weasley. I’ll stick it on the back seat.” Harry clambered in after Ron and wondered why Ron was suddenly sulking. With a smooth hum the car moved away from the pick-up point and Arthur neatly cut up the now irate taxi driver who shook an angry fist at him. Harry was too busy scowling at the taxi driver and returning his V-sign to notice the sleek black car that pulled out immediately after them, its occupants obscured by the tinted windows.


The journey up to Godric’s Hollow took them through the built up suburbs of London and out into the vast flat expanse of Cambridgeshire. As they pulled off the busy motorway and began to follow a much quieter A-road Harry had the chance to collect his thoughts once more. Ron was still sulking over the fact that his dad had greeted Harry and completely ignored him. He had been wondering why the black car had been behind them since London, but as no one else seemed to worry about it he didn’t see why he should.

They skirted the proud city of Cambridge, emerging into fen country and the endless horizons of East Anglia. Arthur turned his head to glance into the back of the car. “Almost there, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, taking in every inch of the scenery that surrounded him. It was late harvest time and the farmers were still busy, their tractors trundling by with loaded trailers of potatoes, turnips and what he thought was sugar beet. The trees were not quite in the advanced state of slumber as they had been in the photograph of his mum and dad, but they were slowly turning, the first hints of gold at their edges. “Will you be accompanying us, Mr Weasley?”

“You know, Harry, I think it’s high time you called me Arthur. And I’ll stay with the car unless you need me for anything. You have a small map of the place, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Remus made one for me.” As he spoke Arthur indicated to pull off the main road and they were now on a much narrower lane that twisted its way to a small cluster of houses that slept around a squat grey church with a low, crenellated tower. Harry hadn’t actually looked at the map yet, but he guessed from looking at the diminutive number of buildings that made up Godric’s Hollow that it wouldn’t be a large one.

Arthur stopped the car by the lych gate that guarded the entrance to the church and Harry looked at the well-kept blue sign that announced the name of the church as…

The Sacred Church of St Neot.
All Welcome
Services officiated by Hilary Salmon



“All welcome?” Ron grumbled. “Doesn’t look very welcoming to me.”

“Ron, that’ll be quite enough of that sort of talk,” Arthur said, sounding a warning note that indicated he took a very dim view of Ron’s churlishness.

“I think it looks just right,” Harry said. He was only too happy to get out of the car, leaving his bag on the back seat and walking towards the charming gate that arched above the path, dying roses growing up its bowed wood. “I think, if I could choose, this is exactly where I would want to be buried.”

The silence would have been complete had it not been for the clarity of the birdsong that came from the trees surrounding the church. The air was still and Harry felt as if he had stepped out of the world for a short time, real concerns drifting away to allow him a small pocket of peace in which to pay his respects to his dead parents.

“We’ll wait here,” Arthur said, taking hold of Ron’s arm as his son made to follow Harry. “If you want us, just shout.”

Harry nodded and turned away, following the well-tended path that snaked its way around the side of the grey building. A great many of the gravestones were very old and extremely weathered. He paused to look at a few of them and found he could barely read the faded stonework. As he turned the corner of the building he found himself at the side, where even more graves stones jostled for space in what was really a very small graveyard. Chilled by loneliness he paused, knowing that when he turned the corner again he would be at the rear of the church and in the gravestones there he would find his mum and dad.

A slight breeze gave him a gentle shove in the right direction and he stepped into the late summer sunshine, its light warming away the sudden chill. There were several long rows of higgledy-piggledy headstones here, some leaning alarmingly, ready to fall. Many were moss-covered, and lichen thrived in this moderate atmosphere. Harry could see the new graves at the back of the older ones, their bright marble a stark contrast to the older, grey-green stones that surrounded him. He picked his way carefully through the graves, trying desperately not to stand on any but finding it difficult because of the haphazard placing of the stones. Making mental apologies to any whose graves he accidentally stood on he finally made it to the end of a row of around twenty new graves. White and black marble alternated with local stone as the material of choice.

Gathering his courage and his emotions he began to walk down the line reading the names as they crawled back in time. 1994 was the most recent, then came two for 1990 and one for 1989. Apparently the residents of the village were a healthy bunch because the next grave… well… Harry knew the grave that contained the remains of his parents before he read the inscription. It was simple headstone, creamy stone with plain carving on it. He steeled himself to read the work of the stonemason.


In Loving Memory

James William Potter. Beloved husband of Lily.

Died tragically 31st October 1981

Lily Potter. Beloved wife of James.

Also died tragically 31st October 1981.




And Harry knew that now he had been presented with something tangible, something that he could reach out and touch, that the need to avenge his parent’s deaths was even stronger. He didn’t feel sad or mournful, didn’t feel the loss of the years he could have spent with his parents. He had been feeling those things all his life. Now he felt the hardening of his heart and the blind need to deal with Voldemort as quickly and cleanly as he possibly could. And the next Horcrux would not be swept away by Remus or Maeve. This was his fight and he would fight it.

The stonemason had carved a small panorama at the base of the inscription. A stream flanked by a roughly carved willow and leaping from the water were several fish. Harry couldn’t understand this flight of fancy on the part of the mason but he had to accept it was a pretty scene. From high above him a bird screeched and he looked up. The sky was clear, nothing scarring the bright blue. His green eyes searched the graveyard, unsettled by the sound of the bird’s cry, but he could detect no movement other than the occasional nod of a tree. Looking back to the inscription he wondered who had made the decision about what would go on there. It was very similar to the other inscriptions and he wondered if his mum and dad had been living as Muggles and if, in death, they had been treated as Muggles just like the other victims?

After a few more minutes staring at the stone he realised there was nothing here for him. His mum and dad were gone and he wouldn’t find them beneath this patch of earth. It had been necessary to come and see this place, but he felt no better or worse than he had before he knew what it looked like. Pulling Remus’ small map from his pocket he looked at the pencil-drawn village. From here he could walk across the village green to the pub, an inn called The Green Man, or he could go directly to his parents’ old house, or rather the place where it had stood. Harry decided he needed fortifying before he went to the place where his parents had died so he gave one last look at his parents’ grave and left to rejoin Arthur and Ron.

They were standing by the car watching each other warily and Harry had the feeling he might have interrupted a father/son argument.

“All right then, Harry?” Arthur asked, placing a paternal arm across Harry’s shoulders. “Can’t have been easy?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry replied, looking to Ron, who gave him a weak grin. “You all right?”

“Yeah, never better,” Ron said. “Did you find it easy enough?”

“It was at the back, with a few newer graves. Wormtail must have enjoyed his work.” He glanced up the road, wondering if the village had recovered from the attack on their house,even after all these years.

“Treacherous git,” Ron said vehemently.

“Now, now, Ron,” Arthur said. “There’s no need for that.”

“Well he bloody well was a treacherous git. If it hadn’t been for him Harry’s mum and dad might still be alive.”

“Ron!” The warning was firm and Ron closed his mouth.

“Fancy going to the pub?” Harry asked. “You’re supposed to be eighteen in the Muggle world but this place looks like the kind of village that wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“Are you asking me to condone underage drinking?” Arthur asked with a disapproving look. “I hardly think I can do that, Harry, even for you.”

“Well if you think about it, we are of age in the wizarding world. It’s not our fault that the Muggles are a little backward.” The grin that accompanied Harry’s logic persuaded Arthur to relent and they walked across the patch of well-trimmed grass that formed the heart of the village and headed for the whitewashed pub. A sign hung limply above the door with the grizzled face of a man with a crown of leaves on his head. The leaves trailed across his face and, much to Ron’s disgust, shot up his nose and into his mouth.

“That’s horrible,” he said, looking up at the sign in horror. “Who’s he supposed to be?”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, unfamiliar with the old magical curiosity.

“In you go then,” Arthur said, holding the door open. Their nostrils were instantly assailed with the smell of stale tobacco and pub cooking.

“Ermm… Exactly how are we going to pay?” Ron asked, knowing that even if any of them had any money on them it would be useless in this place.

“I have some Muggle money,” Harry whispered. “I changed some Galleons while I was in London before the funeral. I had an idea that if I was coming to a Muggle village it might come in useful.

The lounge was almost empty, only a garrulous old man propped up the bar, a pint of bitter sitting on the counter in front of him as he talked to a bored waitress. A middle-aged buxom woman stood behind the bar flicking a cloth over the shelves that contained numerous bottles of whisky. Harry could see her heavily made-up face in the mirrored background to the shelves and he thought she looked like someone his Aunt Petunia would have hated. As the door slammed behind them she turned round, ready to greet one of her regulars and then she stopped short, her mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise.

“Good afternoon, dear lady,” Arthur began graciously. “And what would you recommend we slake our thirst with on this fine day?”

Ron looked at Harry in disbelief. “Why’s he talking like that?” he mouthed. Harry shrugged and watched as the barmaid tried to recover her posture in the face of the charming Arthur Weasley.

“Recommend…oh, er…. Well as a rule we don’t recommend ‘cus our regulars generally know what they’re having.”

“Ah,” Arthur said, momentarily thrown by having to choose something. He racked his brain trying to think of something that sounded normal and eventually pointed to a bottle of Blue Curacao and asked for a pint.

“A pint?” The barmaid’s eyes widened at the prospect of this stranger getting steadily drunk on the vivid spirit.

“It’s all right, Arthur,” Harry said, stepping in to rescue the floundering wizard. “We’ll have three pints of Wadsworth’s 6x.” Harry had seen enough bottles of the heavy beer in the Dursleys’ to know that this would be perfectly acceptable for them to drink in a small pub like this.

The barmaid looked relieved to be given an order she understood and immediately busied herself pulling the pints. Arthur was fascinated by the fruit machine that glittered brightly in the corner, colourful lights announcing it as Monopoly. “Fascinating,” he breathed, wondering what it actually did.

The drinks were slopped onto the bar and Harry handed her a ten-pound note. As expected she didn’t challenge their age and they carried the full glasses across to a table close to the unlit fire. Harry leant back into the upholstery and took a sip of his beer, instantly wishing he could have ordered a Butterbeer. Clearly Ron thought the same thing as he spluttered half of his first mouthful over his father. Arthur was just pleased to be drinking a genuine Muggle drink and sipped at it eagerly, savouring every mouthful.

“So, Harry. We’ll pop round to your mum and dad’s old place and then head off back, unless there’s somewhere else you’d like to go?” Arthur was making steady inroads into his pint and Harry wondered if he ought to tell him it was considerably more alcoholic than Butterbeer.

“No, I just want to see the house and get a feel for the place. I can always come back when this is all over.”

Ron looked doubtful at the confidence in Harry’s voice about the war ever being over but he didn’t say anything, nor did he drink any more of the beer that he thought was the grossest thing imaginable.

“Good, good.” Arthur was quite relieved by this news. He had a great deal of work waiting for him when he got back to London. Molly certainly couldn’t expect him home before midnight. “Goodness this stuff is strong.” He set down the glass on the table. “What does that contraption do?” His head nodded to the fruit machine.

“You put money in it and try to win more,” Harry explained. “It’s a bit like the ‘Chase the Knuts’ games that Florean has in Diagon Alley.” Harry watched as the old man by the bar looked across, waiting for him to avert his eyes, but he didn’t. The man nodded a greeting and Harry smiled.

“I’d love to have a go,” Arthur said wistfully. “But I don’t expect it takes Sickles.”

“Here,” Harry said, getting up and handing him a note. “Get that changed at the bar and you can play.” Without waiting for Arthur to reach into his cloak and give Harry the equivalent Sickles he turned and walked across to the old man by the bar.



“Thought I recognised those eyes.” The man’s voice was gruff with age as he relaxed against the bar. Harry almost got the impression that he had been waiting for this meeting, something in the set of his jaw and the tilt of his chin revealed a stalwart soul who had finally been repaid for his long wait. He tipped his glass against yellowed teeth and drained it of its final dregs.

“Do you?” Harry asked, calling the barmaid across and ordering another pint of whatever it was the stranger was drinking.

“Reckon so. You’d be the young ‘un of that Lily Potter. Never thought we’d see you back here agin but never stopped ‘oping all the same.”

“What do you know about my mother?”

“What do you want to know about your mother?” Shrewd eyes looked him up and down, trying to find something else of Lily besides those green emeralds set in his face. “Didn’t know her for very long but she came to me many a time for advice.”

“Did you know…Did you know what she did for a living?” Harry was unsure whether to ask outright if he knew whether his mum had been a witch.

“I knew she had special abilities,” he said, leaning closer to Harry. “But as for a job. Well, she were your mother… That were ‘er job so far as I could tell.”

Harry felt a little spatter of emotion across his chest at those words and the man nodded. “Aye, she was your mother all right, and a fine one at that. Never knew what she saw in that fella of ‘ers, always away he was, business in London she told me but I knew it were more ‘an that. This is an old village, young master Potter, a very old village. We know more ‘an most about special abilities. My grandfather now, he were born to parents with special abilities but he had none of ‘em. His father were the last in the line that we know of.”

“What’s your name?” Harry asked.

“Albert Gryps,” he said proudly and held out his hand for Harry to shake. This ritual completed Albert began to regard Harry as something of a long lost friend and immediately began to pour forth opinions on many things, from his view of the current happenings in the Muggle world to the deterioration of the quality of the local beer. Harry listened patiently, half-hoping for some more personal recollections of his mother. He glanced at the clock that sat above the bar, a strange timepiece with its face set in the belly of a stuffed carp. It was already gone four and he really needed to get a move on. From the corner that contained the fruit machine he could hear loud yelps of pleasure as Arthur won a cascade of pound coins.

“I don’t suppose, Mr Gryps, that you would be willing to show me where my mother’s house used to stand?” Harry tried to ignore Arthur as he began to gesticulate towards Ron in an effort to get some appreciation of his win.

“I might that,” the old man said. “She’d ‘ave wanted you to come home, you know.”

Harry wasn’t sure he would have referred to Godric’s Hollow as home. He’d only lived there a very short time and couldn’t remember any of it. Albert was already inching himself carefully off the high bar stool and pulling on the battered woollen jacket that covered it. With a hefty grunt that indicated a large degree of effort on his part, the old man then led the way out of the pub. Harry chanced another look at Arthur and Ron; Arthur was completely engrossed with the many-featured Monopoly game and Ron was looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry mouthed a ‘back in a minute’ at him and slipped from the fusty pub into the cool of the worn out afternoon.


Long-fingered shadows reached across the grass as they walked together across the lush, well-kept grass of the village green. Birds sang in the dusky peace, their chorus heightened by the early evening shadows. One or two net curtains twitched as curious villages paused in their dinner-making routines to observe the stranger in their midst.

“She were ‘appy enough ‘ere,” Albert said, watching the ducks skim the pond in lazy circles. “Used to bring you out and get you to help her feed the ducks. Said you used to eat more bread than them poor birds.”

Harry smiled and wondered if any of those ducks had been fathered by the ones he had fed as a child. “What did she talk to you about?” he asked.

“This ‘an that. Mostly she were just lonely and glad of a friendly ear to listen to her. But she spoke about you and her fears for what might ‘appen if You-Know-Who got ‘is ‘ands on you.”

The sound of Voldemort’s pseudonym tripping so casually of this Muggle’s tongue took Harry by surprise but he allowed the man to continue uninterrupted.

“’Course, when it did ‘appen I was one of the first round there. Saw ‘im leave but couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Never did find out what really ‘appened apart from the fact that your mum and dad died. No one with special abilities left in the village to ask, see.”

They passed a short row of three thatched cottages and turned onto a lane of more modern, mid-twenties cottages. They were constructed from pale stone and traditional slate roofs with neat gardens and picket fences. At first Harry thought there were two sets, three and two, divided by a small public garden and then, with a sinking feeling, he realised why there was a gap in the uniform row.

“Is that it?” His face had become paler as he took in the spot that had seen his mother and father murdered and him left an orphan.

“Aye, lad… That’s it. They never built on it. The owner didn’t think it were right after what ‘ad ‘appened. Mrs Keane on the left there, she looks after the garden, keeps it proper looking.”

They walked up to the fence and Harry stood by the gate, the gate that must have been replaced because surely everything had been blasted away. The roses tangled with holly bushes in a prickly barrier along the edge of the garden while in the middle the last of the marigolds and pansies were beginning to fade and die.

“Only thing left, that is,” Albert said, nodding at the gate. “Destroyed pretty much everythin’ else but left that standing.”

What had before just been a gate now took on another life for Harry. He rested his hand on the latch and imagined his mother’s hand over his, helping him into another part of his life, opening the gate for better exploration of his past. He ran his fingers over the metal and lifted the latch slowly. The gate opened with a smooth well-oiled action and he stepped into the garden.

“She kept it just like this,” Albert explained. “Them’s ‘er roses and ‘olly bushes that she planted when she arrived. They’ve done right well. There’s a stream at the bottom of what were the back garden. Your dad used to take a rod and spend a few hours down there when he were home, which wasn’t often.”

But Harry had seen enough. He knew now that though this had been necessary it was fruitless. He could only feel the vaguest echoes of his mother and no matter how much he stared at the bushes she had planted or the pond where she had fed the ducks with him, he would find nothing of them here beyond softened memories made fuzzy by time. And Albert had been a good companion but the time had come to say goodbye.

“I think I’d better get back to the pub and find my friends,” Harry said, stepping back out of the garden and onto the pavement once more. “Thank you for showing this to me.”

“My pleasure, lad, my pleasure. Any time you want to come back down you just come into that pub and you’ll find me there. If you want to talk about your mother, then that’s where I am.”

Harry smiled his gratitude and was prepared to walk away when Albert stopped him.

“Oh, there were one other thing,” he said, stuffing his grimy hand into one of his coat pockets. “I found that in the garden, after the house went. Thought maybe it was something of theirs that you might want to keep.”

Harry held out his hand and felt something small and metallic drop into his palm. As Albert pulled his hand away a key rested there, small and silver with a crest on the top part of it. The main shaft was highly decorated with the tiniest birds and then it forked into three complex bars at the end. He mumbled his thanks to the old man, not knowing what the key was but pocketing it all the same. With his latest acquisition working its way down into the corner of his pocket he raced back to the pub and to Arthur, who had by now won £124 and was very disappointed that the machine was now empty of money. The barmaid, whose name it transpired was Maisie, was congratulating him heartily and swearing that she had never seen the like of it in all her time in the pub.

“It’s like magic,” she grinned, watching Arthur carefully pocket the shiny golden coins, not noticing the fact that he looked distinctly shifty when she mentioned magic.

Harry hurriedly parted Arthur from his new friend and rallied a bored Ron into action. Within ten minutes they were safely back in the car and driving away from the village, the lonely figure of Albert Gryps watching them leave. As the silver car turned out of sight he saw a black car driving towards him, the occupants shielded from his view by darkened windows. Albert was no fool. He knew what was contained within that car and as it drew ever nearer he stepped smartly into the church of St Neot and waited for the storm to pass.




Evening cascaded around the eaves of Malfoy Manor, the sun slinking gently away from the rancour that stalked the uninhabited walls of the old building. Draco was unhappy, deeply unhappy, and he was quite willing to take it out on his surroundings, although he was somewhat hampered in this by Severus’ insistence that he use no magic. Still, much could be achieved by throwing things around and flooding the occasional bathroom. Draco knew that his behaviour was childish but he didn’t have the will to stop it. If they insisted in treating him like a child then he might as well behave like one.

He was busying himself with the steady unravelling of one of his father’s family tapestries when the door to the study was opened and Severus walked in, a scowl on his face.

“You’ve been gone forever,” Draco whined. “I was beginning to think my luck was in and you’d abandoned me. Anyone could have come by the house while you were gone.”

“Then it is a pity they didn’t,” Severus retorted, not in the mood for Draco’s petulance. “I have more pressing concerns than your entertainment.”

The tapestry was now little more than a shredded pile of thread on the floor and Draco looked with satisfaction at the pin-holed fabric. Serve father right, he thought. That’s if he ever escapes the Dark Lord alive.

“Is that your idea of being productive?” Severus commented, with a disgusted glance at the ruined hanging. “I would have thought you could be better occupied with reading or attending to your mother’s plants.”

Draco gave a laugh and stood up, watching as his former teacher crossed to his father’s desk and opened a drawer. It no longer concerned Draco that Severus seemed fully in control of his destiny and his house. Draco was just biding his time when he could prove to the Dark Lord that he was worthy of being in his service. The first step would be to give Severus Snape the slip and escape from Malfoy Manor and he had decided that tonight was the night. He had correctly judged that the Severus was over-tired, having been out all night and day, and would probably sleep very soundly that night. Draco had considered just walking out of the castle while his guardian was away but knowing his luck he would have run straight into him coming back from whatever mission he had been on.

No, tonight was the night that Draco would make his break for freedom. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore now, but he would go for a prize far greater in the Dark Lord’s eyes. And to make life even easier Severus picked up a sheaf of papers and stalked from the room with an instruction that he not be disturbed until morning. As he closed the door behind him he didn’t see the huge grin that spread across Draco’s face, if he had he might have been tempted to stand watch over the boy all night.

Chapter Ten



The Missing Malfoys



Severus had spent the whole night in Lucius Malfoy’s well-appointed library, his head bent low over open books as he searched for information. Hundreds of miles away Hermione Granger was doing exactly the same thing, but she was doing it in the comfort of her own bed and with her wand lighting the pages. Severus was considerably more irritated and uncomfortable than the student he had once taught. He didn’t dare use the Floo network to communicate with Maeve when the house’s fires were more than likely being watched and he was worried about her, more shaken by what had happened than he cared to admit to himself. He had diverted all his energies into trying to understand what the Dark Lord had alluded to in their last conversation.

Of the three remaining Horcruxes, Severus knew the location of two of them. The location of the third was as much a mystery to him as it was to Harry. The Dark Lord was not often open to reminiscences and Severus had been increasingly perturbed by his erstwhile master’s sudden tendency to talk about his time directly after leaving Hogwarts. As the story of his time at Borgin and Burke’s unfolded, Severus knew that the Horcrux could have been placed in any one of the items contained within the shop. A thousand dark objects could have passed through the young Riddle’s hands and any one of them could have proved significant enough for him to bury a part of his soul in it.

Severus flung the catalogue of wizarding antiques across the room and watched as the pages became detached from the spine. This was getting him nowhere and he still didn’t know if Maeve was recovering or relapsing. Irritatingly cheerful light was beginning to filter through the window. Unusually, he hadn’t bothered to close the curtains last night, and he could now see the first eager wisps of dawn slink across the early morning sky. To cap it all he knew that time was running out for them to be safe here. He would have to move Draco today and he was running out of options. Yesterday he had even considered feeding Draco Polyjuice Potion and turning him into someone else for a while, a ridiculous idea that he had quickly dismissed.

He stood up, his thin legs stiff from being cramped beneath a desk all night, and hobbled towards the door with the intention of waking Draco. An unwelcome noise broke the still silence of the house, the sound of wood splintering and heavy footsteps in the hallway made Severus alert to the possibility of disaster. If it was the Ministry he was in danger and if it was Death Eaters then Draco was in even more danger.

“I don’t see the point in this.” The voice was young, male and annoyed.

“You know what the Dark Lord said; leave no stone unturned, even stones that have already been turned and replaced. Let’s put our heads down and get on with it and then we can get back to bed for a few hours.” This voice was older, more controlled, and it was moving up the stairs.

Severus was having a gargantuan battle with his own conscience as he tried to decide whether or not to abandon Draco to this particular fate. It would be simplicity itself to quickly Disapparate away from this house of memories, relieving himself of the baggage that was Lucius’ son. Narcissa’s pitiful face flickered before him, the tears pricking at his principles. He would never be able to face her again knowing that he had abandoned Draco to two Death Eaters. It would also mean he would have to accept the fact that he had broken a promise made many years ago.

Disapparating quickly, he reappeared in Draco’s room and saw immediately that it was empty, the bed made. With a flash of irritation he realised that the boy was going to make his life very difficult. Why couldn’t he have simply gone to bed and not complicated matters?

The footsteps were closer now, pounding down corridors as the people making them began throwing open doors. Severus tried to remain calm and work out where Draco could have disappeared to but the sounds of doors being destroyed was somewhat distracting. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead as he decided the best course of action would be to pretend to be on the same mission as they were. With a flick of his wand he turned the immaculate room into a minefield of disarray: the bed was torn asunder and wardrobes ripped apart. He flung open the door and roared down the corridor at the two intruders in a voice that was so commanding they stopped their violent door-smashing immediately.

“What is the meaning of this?” To his credit Severus was always able to give off the aura of someone in complete control of a situation, apart from the occasional problem with Harry, who had the ability to bring out the worst in him.

“Who are you?” the younger one asked in a defiant voice.

“More to the point,” Severus began, striding down the corridor towards them, “who are you?” His wand was drawn and he held it stiffly by his side, ready for action if need be.

“I know you,” the older one cut in. “You’re Severus Snape. What are you doing here?”

“And again… I could ask you the same thing.” Severus stopped and addressed the older Death Eater, choosing to ignore the younger one completely. “I am trying to locate Draco Malfoy, a task that the Dark Lord regards as of the utmost importance. I did not expect to find two… two… hoodlums storming into the place and making such a ridiculous amount of noise. If the boy were here I think we can safely guarantee that he will have made good his escape given the advance warning he has had of your presence. Did no one ever teach you the importance of stealth?”

“Look, we didn’t ask for this job. It’s tedious and we were dragged out of bed to do it. In and out, that was our plan.” The older one picked his teeth as he spoke and Severus looked on in disgust at the lack of manners and the absence of any sort of quality in these two fools.

“Is the Dark Lord aware of how useless the pair of you are?” Severus watched them exchange worried glances, all the time hoping that Draco would have the good sense to keep his head down and not make an appearance. “Shall I make him aware?”

“All right… We get the message. We’ll calm down a bit and have a quick shufty round and then be out of here. The lad would have to be stupid to hide out in his own house anyway.”

“Indeed. Well, allow me to make a suggestion. You go back to the Dark Lord and tell him you found nothing. I highly doubt you will find anything now anyway. I’ll finish my investigations and report back to the Dark Lord myself.”

Again, worried looks were exchanged between the two.

“And don’t worry,” Severus drawled. “I won’t mention either of you.”

“I dunno, I think we should do our job, Richard.” The younger one looked to his companion for advice.

“Nah, it’s all right. This is one of the Dark Lord’s top men. If he says he’ll look, then he’ll look. Let’s get back to bed.”

They turned around to leave and Severus watched them go with a frown. “I have one more question, gentlemen,” he said. “Why exactly have you become Death Eaters?”

Richard was the one to answer, diving straight in before his friend. “It’s easy to kill, isn’t it? Anyone can kill a few Mudbloods or Muggles. And it keeps you safe with the Dark Lord on the up and up. Sorted.” And he turned around again and patted his friend on the back. “Might just manage a bacon sarnie before bed, eh, Gerry?”

Whether Gerry was happy with this suggestion or not, Severus never found out. The dark-cloaked men were down the stairs with such speed that Severus was appalled by their total unsuitability to be servants of Voldemort. Whatever side a person opted to take, they could at least do their best. As far as he were concerned they were even worse than the likes of Bellatrix. At least she had been true to herself right to the end, misguided though that may have been.

He approached one of the large windows that shed light into the corridor and watched them leap onto their broom and ride off into the ever-lightening sky. Sure that they were leaving, he turned again and began a very thorough search of the house, looking for the errant Draco.

Three hours later, and several fights with the brambles that fenced off the gardens, Severus had to accept that Draco was no longer at Malfoy Manor. Even Colly hadn’t been able to find her master’s son and she was the one who finally convinced him that Draco had flown the coop. His face was darker than an approaching storm as he gathered together a few things and prepared to leave. If Draco survived whatever he had decided to do then Severus would see to it that he regretted his actions in deceiving him.




Maeve woke late in the afternoon to the sound of gentle music that ached with the sounds of home. She felt very disorientated as she tried to sit up; for a moment she thought she could see the mountains that surrounded Rathgael and she blinked away the vision. Her eyes were sticky and it was only after she rubbed the dried tears away that she could see. Her chest was heavy, as if she had cried in her sleep and still felt the pain of it. Instinctively her hand went to her wound, feeling the slight bump of the skin that Severus had so recently mended. Unsure of how she came to be in bed she flung her legs to the side and wobbled to her feet, tottering like a toddler towards the other room.

The source of the music soon became apparent. Sitting on the table was a music box with a miniature band of Irish musicians sitting in the middle playing away to their heart’s content. She smiled, wondering where the trinket had appeared from, and sank down onto the sofa, content to watch the tableau on the table for a little while. It was hunger that finally drove her to do something constructive as she realised with a sweep of relief that her throat no longer felt sore and she could contemplate putting something down it without immediately retching. Wrapping her outdoor cloak around her slightly shivering shoulders, she headed for the door and the Great Hall.

She made it as far as the main staircase, where Roderick headed her off.

“And where are you going?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I’m hungry,” she said hoarsely. “I was going to go and get some food.”

He trotted up the stairs and placed a very rigid arm around her shoulder and steered her back in the direction of her room. She protested weakly, not wanting to go back to her room and the constant reminder of her husband.

“Can’t I just go and eat in the Great Hall?” she pleaded, her personality still quelled by her ordeal of the previous night. “The company might perk me up a bit.”

“The only perking up you need is the sort that comes from spending a quiet evening in your room with a good meal inside you. Your stubborn need to put on a brave face is rather silly, you know.” He could feel her unsteadiness transmitted from her weak body and knew she was in no state to face the barrage of questions that would come from the inhabitants of the Great Hall.

When they finally arrived back at her room they found Hermione waiting by the door, her nose in a book. She looked up as they approached and paled a little when she saw Maeve’s scarred face.

“You look terrible,” she said unthinkingly. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m all right, really,” Maeve insisted, but Roderick overrode her.

“She’s extremely tired and needs something to eat. Would you mind popping down to the kitchens and terrorizing those house-elves into rustling something up for her?”

Hermione looked scandalized at the prospect of terrorizing house-elves and lost no time in telling Roderick exactly what she thought of him and his attitude to the poor over-worked creatures. Maeve even managed a small smile as she watched the founder of S.P.E.W. in full defensive flow.

“Well, ask them nicely then,” Roderick said in an impatient voice. “Just get Maeve something to eat.”

“When did you become such a mother hen?” Maeve croaked. “It’s terrifying, really, it is. I think I preferred the selfish, vain Roderick.”

Hermione sped away to forage for food while Roderick opened the door and ushered Maeve inside. “Selfish?” he queried, pushing her towards the sofa that she had so recently vacated. “Vain?”

“Yes… I’ve never known a vainer man.” She pulled her cloak around her again, waiting for the warmth of the fire to reach her bones. “Not that you are unattractive; you simply appear to be rather too aware of it.”

“Are you trying to chat me up?” Roderick had an impish grin on his face as he pointed his wand at the fire and made the flames burn brighter. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for that to happen?”

“If I had the strength I would hex you,” Maeve said, managing a grin for him.

“Well, fortunately for me you don’t.” He came across and snapped the music box shut, looking at her with affection. “And I’m rather glad we don’t have that sort of relationship really. It has a nasty habit of spoiling perfectly good friendships.”

“Yes, it can if you let it.” Maeve looked away towards the fire and thought fleetingly of Remus. “Still, sometimes friendship is all you need.”

Roderick came and sat beside her, hesitating before speaking again. “So, what did you get up to last night?”

“Nothing much.” She tried to be evasive but Roderick continued to watch her equivocal eyes and waited patiently for her to continue. The warmth began to make her feel a little sleepy, Severus’ potion still keeping the pain, and some of her astuteness, away. “I had something to help Harry with and it didn’t turn out as we expected. Nothing we couldn’t take care of.”

“What were you doing in the forest?”

“How do you know we were in the forest?” she asked, remembering something from earlier that had puzzled her. “Where you out and about too last night?”

“Might have been taking a stroll around the grounds.” He winked at her and took his turn at being evasive. “Came back from Hogsmeade and didn’t fancy turning in immediately. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” She watched him carefully. “And that doesn’t explain how you knew we were on the forest.”

“Saw you all taking off. You weren’t exactly careful about being seen. I want you to be cautious. There are things out there that you cannot even begin to comprehend and throwing yourself willingly in their path is asking for trouble. I don’t want you ending up dead; what the hell would I do with old mother Malfoy then?”


Hermione struggled back into the room with a tray containing a bowl of porridge that was giving off a small plume of nutmeg-spiced steam, and a glass of milk that seemed to have a slightly yellow tinge to it. Lying down by the silver spoon was a small tube that Maeve instantly recognised as coming from the hospital wing.

“I ran into Madam Pomfrey as I left the kitchen and she asked who the porridge was for. When I told her, she Summoned a Pepper-Up Potion from the ward.” She set the tray down in front of Maeve. “Dobby says the best thing for you is soup, although I thought that would be a lot of trouble for them so insisted they make you porridge. A big bowl of soup would have been too much for you, don’t you think?”

“This is wonderful. Reminds me of when I was little.” Maeve picked up the spoon and skimmed the warm layer of nutmeg off the top and stirred it into the creamy gloop. Blowing away the steam she took a mouthful and sighed with pleasure. “Perfect.”

Hermione sat opposite them and waited while Maeve finished the food. Roderick was eyeing the student suspiciously, as if he had decided her motives for being here would lead to more trouble for Maeve. “Don’t you have homework?” he asked, as Maeve scraped the bowl.

“I’ve done all the homework I’ve been set,” Hermione responded as if she had been stung by a particularly irritating wasp. “I never leave any outstanding.”

“Well, don’t you have Head Girl duties then. First-years to round up, corridors to patrol?”

“No, I don’t.” She glared at Roderick. “Don’t you have homework to mark or students to chase up?”

It was Roderick’s turn to glare and he was about to speak again when Maeve intervened. “Roderick, you go. I’ll be fine with Hermione for company. I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“Hmmm…” Roderick was clearly not convinced but knew better than to argue with two females. “If you need anything stick your head in the fire, and do not go out again. You’re in no fit state.”

With a good deal of huffing and puffing he swished his cloak in Hermione’s face and left them to it.


Maeve took the Pepper-Up Potion and immediately began to feel more clear-headed. She settled back, tucking her feet under her, to drink the lemony milk that Dobby had prepared. It was an unusual combination and she did wonder how Dobby had managed it without curdling the milk, but she couldn’t deny it was rather soothing.

“Did you want to see me for anything specific?” she asked.

“I did, but I don’t think I should bother you with it now. Professor Rampton is right; you need to rest.” Hermione hesitated but curiosity got the better of her. “What happened after Remus took you – if you feel up to talking, that is?”

“We went to a safe place and I managed to release the Horcrux. I don’t really know much of what happened next because I was in and out of consciousness. Remus seems to have done a disappearing act again so I can’t ask him.”

“Harry saw Remus this morning,” Hermione informed her. “Said he was going to try and find something useful to do now that Dumbledore had gone.”

“He’s developed a habit of vanishing without saying goodbye.” Maeve appeared regretful about this but she quickly moved on to better news. “At least we have one less Horcrux to worry about.”

Hermione nodded and then toyed with the idea of showing Maeve what she had discovered. Hermione had been given the idea by Harry’s visit to Godric’s Hollow. She didn’t know whether it was a sense of solidarity with what Harry was doing or whether it was because she genuinely believed she might find something there, but she couldn’t deny the investigation of the graveyard at Hogwarts had proved fruitful.

Her old friend the library had furnished her with the basic information and from there it had been a simple matter of taking a very brisk walk in her lunch hour, despite the fact that she should have been taking care of Head Girl duties, to investigate in person. The name on one of the gravestones had surprised her so much that she had immediately rushed back to the library to check other facts against the carved words on the headstone.

“I think I might have found something out about R.A.B.,” she blurted out, her subconscious making the decision for her. Maeve was instantly interested, putting her glass down and sitting upright again. “I think I know who it is.”

Unwilling to puncture Hermione’s balloon of happiness, Maeve knew she would have to tell her what she already suspected, or rather what Severus suspected, before allowing her to continue.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” she said, making Hermione look deflated for the moment. “Sorry, I should have mentioned it but with finding the cup I didn’t get the chance. At least, that’s who we think it is.”

Hermione gathered her wits again and pulled one of the foot soldiers in her own particular army from her bag. She placed the book on the table and once again Maeve knew that Hermione’s rabid consumption of information might be about to pay off.

“Regulus Black’s whereabouts are currently unknown; no one knows if he’s alive or dead.” Hermione could quite easily have been a teacher with her lucidity and direct approach. “However, there is a grave in the Hogwarts graveyard that bears the initials R.A.B.”

Maeve watched as the Head Girl began to warm to her theme and her interest steadily grew.

“The graveyard is restricted, naturally, but if you know the right place to look you can occasionally get the rules to bend for you. The headstone doesn’t actually say that the remains of Regulus are there; the initials are part of the dedication. But I think it’s too great a coincidence. I think there is a possibility that Regulus died here at Hogwarts.” Hermione waited for the verdict as she flicked open the book and pointed to the part that explained the requirements for interment within the school’s cemetery.

“What’s the inscription?” Maeve asked, not quite ready to believe in coincidences.

“To commemorate a man who met with a tragic end. How he fell, we cannot tell, but his body rests at peace beneath the sacred soil of Hogwarts. R.A.B.”

“But that could mean the person who wrote the words was R.A.B. and not the person in the grave. If it was Regulus buried there then surely Dumbledore would have mentioned it.” Maeve wasn’t at all convinced by the whole R.A.B. business and she wasn’t about to believe that this ambiguous inscription on a headstone could be in any way an indication of Regulus’ presence at Hogwarts.

“But Dumbledore wouldn’t have realised the significance of R.A.B., would he? He never got to see the note in the locket. Perhaps something unfortunate happened to Regulus here and the family didn’t want to bury him so Dumbledore took pity on them.”

Maeve had picked up the book and was reading the requirements for burial. The book was quite definite about the conditions that had to be fulfilled. Either a person must have been a teacher, student or on the staff at the time of death or they had to have more than one hundred years service or they had to have died on the grounds and have some connection to the school. The candidates in recent years must have been few and far between.

“If this is correct then he must have died while still a student,” she said.

“Or,” Hermione said with a gleam in her eye, “he died on the grounds.”

“Yes, that’s possible. But even so… This is silly. We have no proof whatsoever that Regulus is R.A.B. and that the person buried in that grave is Regulus. I think it’s commendable research, Hermione, but I don’t see how we can use it because there’s nothing certain in any of our information. Even if Dumbledore hadn’t realised the significance of the initials he would surely have told Sirius that his brother was dead and buried here.”

Hermione looked only slightly disappointed. She had expected doubts to be cast. But she held on to her ideas and was determined not to let it drop. Somewhere in this school there was something that would connect Regulus Black to that grave and she was going to find it.

“Do you fancy a quick walk around the lake?” Maeve asked when Hermione didn’t respond to her dismissals. She had to get out of this room and breathe fresh air or she felt she would go round the bend.

“Professor Rampton said you weren’t to leave,” Hermione said, privately agreeing with him. Maeve still looked pale as an iceberg and there was the hint of perspiration on her face.

“And you think I’m going to listen to him,” she laughed. “He’s trying to make himself feel worthy.”

“Let me get my cloak.” Hermione got up and took the book back. If Maeve was going to insist on going out then she had better go with her and pick up the pieces if the teacher collapsed. “I’ll meet you by the main doors, and don’t go without me.”





Harry and Ron jumped out of the car as Arthur performed a rather hasty braking manoeuvre, pulling in to the kerb with a sharp twist of the steering wheel. Grimmauld Place was, as usual, deserted and Arthur was able to sit and watch the two boys enter the house safely. Once the black door had been closed and melted away into the wall he put the car in gear and sped back to the Ministry to complete his onerous tasks for the day. He had his doubts that Harry and Ron could adequately fend for themselves in a domestic environment but he didn’t have the time to stop and see to them. Molly had insisted she couldn’t leave The Burrow and Ron was equally insistent that he was sticking with Harry. Arthur remembered the scene when Ron had told his mother that he wasn’t going back to school and it hadn’t been pretty. Molly had tried every argument in her arsenal to try and persuade him but unfortunately for her Fred and George had set a dangerous precedent by leaving before their exams and she found Ron equally as determined not to go back.

Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had no domestic concerns. As soon as they were inside Ron marched to the kitchen and foraged around for sausage rolls and pumpkin juice. They polished off their meagre rations in the drawing room, Harry wondering if he ought to check on Maeve.

“Do you reckon Hermione will stick it out at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, licking the puff pastry off his fingers. “I mean, she doesn’t seem to be missing me all that much.”

“Hermione won’t neglect her N.E.W.T.S., not for anything.”

“I thought she might have, for you at least. We’ve been through loads of things together and it feels a bit like she’s abandoned us.”

“Hermione is useful where she is,” Harry said. “It’s better that she stays at Hogwarts.”

Ron looked dubious. If truth be told he was missing her more than he dared admit to himself. She might nag him a good deal but she was also comforting to have around, familiar, like an old pair of slippers. He was about to mention this comparison, which he was rather proud of, when the fire crackled and a familiar head popped into the fireplace.

“Ah, good,” Professor McGonagall said as she saw Harry. “I was hoping you would have returned from your visit. I think I have discovered something rather unusual.”

Harry was instantly alert and walked across to his former Transfiguration teacher’s flickering face, lingering memories of Godric’s Hollow instantly forgotten. “What is it?”

“Something is missing from an artefact in Professor Dumbledore’s office and I’m not sure how long it has been gone for.” She looked more puzzled than worried but evidently she thought it important enough to seek out Harry. “And I wondered if you would take a look at it for me. You are the only other person I can think of that has handled this particular object recently, apart from Professor Dumbledore himself and he can’t be…well, he can’t tell us.”

Harry frowned as her hand appeared, a sword in its vice-like grip. He recognised it instantly as the weapon he had used against the Basilisk in his second year at Hogwarts. Stepping forward he took it from her and Ron looked on in amazement as Godric Gryffindor’s sword gleamed in the firelight.

Turning it over in his hands he felt its weight and watched as the rubies nestling in the hilt burned with inner light. Looking at it now he had the time to study it closely and it looked exactly the same as it had done five years ago; the silver was the same, the huge egg-like rubies were all there, its edge was as sharp as ever. And then he turned to the back and realised that as well as the large rubies there was a thin line of much smaller ones at the place were the hilt joined the hand guard. They circled it in a uniform line with one small exception. At the back, dead centre, there was a small concave gap. He looked up and met Professor McGonagall’s expectant eyes.

“There seems to be a ruby missing,” he said.

“I know that, Mr Potter. What I do not know is when the ruby was removed. I was hoping you might be able to tell me whether or not it had been there when you had your unfortunate meeting with the Basilisk?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, looking back down at the weapon. “I honestly don’t even remember seeing that row of smaller rubies when I last held it. They are pretty tiny.”

“If its only one ruby,” Ron interrupted, getting up to have a look at the gap for himself, “then does it matter that much. It’s at the back anyway. Who’s going to see it?”

Professor McGonagall gave him such a pained look that he closed his mouth and sat back down hurriedly. “There is a jewel from Godric Gryffindor’s sword somewhere in existence and I am not sure how it will effect either the sword or the person that holds it. These things carry magic of their own, powerful magic.”

“The Sorting Hat brought it to me,” Harry recalled. “Maybe it can help you.”

A hand thrust itself from the fire and Harry offered her back the sword.

“The Sorting Hat cannot see in the same way we see, Mr Potter. I doubt it will have much light to shed on matters. Very well, I am sorry for disturbing your… meal.” She looked askance at the crumbed plates on the floor. “If you need anything you know you only have to ask.” But before she could give Harry the chance to ask anything at all she had disappeared back to her office and left the fire to resume its normal state.

“She needs to lighten up, that one,” Ron murmured. “Wants to get a glass of Firewhisky down her. Fancy worrying about a bloody tiny stone like that. Dad’s got an old sword in the attic and it’s got none of its jewels left but no one worries about it.”

Harry couldn’t help wondering if the jewels had been gradually sold off to pay for things like uniforms but he didn’t mention it. Instead he bent towards the fire and stuck his head into it, peering out at the gloom of Maeve’s office. She wasn’t there and he didn’t quite know where to look next. He couldn’t very well stick his head into the girls’ dormitory; there would be a riot. Bringing his face back into the room his eyes alighted on Hedwig and he knew if he wanted to get in touch with her he would have to rely on the faithful bird.

“I want Maeve to talk to the Sorting Hat,” he said, walking over to the bureau and taking a piece of parchment and a quill out of its polished interior. “I think it might know more than McGonagall thinks.”

“Blimey, you’re at it now. It’s only a little ruby, Harry, I wouldn’t bother about it.”

“Ron, we’re at war. McGonagall thought it was worth disturbing me for so there must be something about it. It won’t cost us anything to keep it in mind, will it?”

He scrawled the briefest of messages onto the parchment and attached it carefully to Hedwig’s leg before throwing open the window and allowing the bird out.

“Surprised you still trust Owl post with You-Know-Who’s lot around so much. Never know what might happen to Hedwig.” Ron was grumbling just for the sake of it now and Harry was tiring of his attitude.

“Thanks for that Ron. Fill me with confidence, why don’t you?”

Harry wandered out of the room and left Ron contemplating the seemingly unnecessary fuss about the tiny missing stone.




Narcissa looked out of the rain-streaked window and wondered how she had managed to get herself into this situation. Neatly flicking a tea bag out of the stained mug she opened the bin and dropped it in. As accommodation went this had to be pretty much the bottom rung on the ladder. A two-roomed bedsit in the heart of a nondescript Muggle town, the name of which she didn’t even know. The wallpaper was slowly working its way off the wall, damp was rising from the ancient carpet and there was an ominous scratching that came from the walls at night. When she felt particularly low she almost wished for a quick death at the hands of Voldemort than this humiliation.

At least the tiny bed was clean, its sheets laundered and ironed, but it was about the only thing that was. Roderick had visited her the previous evening and she had begged him to allow her to have Colly with her so that she could at least make the place habitable. So far he hadn’t been back, no doubt spending his time lounging around and trying to pick up women, nor had Colly materialised.

Narcissa was going a little stir crazy with nothing but that awful little box in the corner for company. Every time she switched it on there seemed to be people trying to either sell her something pointless or going through emotional trauma that involved screaming at each other. Although she had found the early morning antics of an antique dealer rather interesting, there were a couple of things on the programme that she thought she had recognised as belonging to her distant relatives, but she couldn’t be sure. Of course, the news programmes had proved the most uncomfortable things to watch, Muggle deaths all over the place. Not that she minded a few Muggles losing their lives, but each time she saw an act that was clearly the work of Voldemort she worried for Draco and she worried for Severus.

Carrying the mug of weak liquid across to the part of the room that she optimistically called her lounge area she sat down on the moth-eaten sofa and switched the box on. Strains of now familiar music came from the gradually illuminating screen and she settled down to watch the rather crude activities of a group of people living on a street in somewhere called Manchester. She had half an idea that it was up north somewhere but it looked too grimy for her ever to have visited. Narcissa settled herself in for another night with her new friends and opened up the little packet that contained a chocolate bar, although why the Muggles had named the thing after a planet she couldn’t quite work out.

Half way through the programme, as the advertisements broke into her avid viewing, the screen suddenly went blank to be replaced with rumbling music and the serious face of a news announcer. Behind him there was a small picture of a blazing building.

“We interrupt your normal viewing to bring you this news flash,” the announcer said in his gravest voice, which was usually reserved for state funerals. “There has been some sort of explosion on the sea-front at Blackpool and the building you can see burning behind me will instantly be recognisable as the famous Blackpool Tower. Although terrorism is suspected the police are refusing to either confirm or deny these reports.”

Narcissa looked at the metal structure that was located over his left shoulder and watched as the screen flicked to a live broadcast to see the effects of the fire in glorious colour. The building twisted and tore at itself as the heat caused the iron to buckle. A cameraman was going beyond the call of duty by dodging police cordons to get a close up shot of the burning base. People had been evacuated and Narcissa could see what she assumed were the Muggle equivalent of Hit Wizards bearing down on the cameraman shouting instructions for him to get back. On the floor by what had once been glass doors lay two bodies, alive or dead she couldn’t tell.


As the cameraman backed away from the police his camera swept by the faces of the two casualties and Narcissa’s upper lip curled in distaste as she saw the blood-encrusted forehead of the first, a man in his late twenties with black curly hair and a ruddy complexion. As the camera picked up the other man her lip snapped straight and pulled her mouth wide in shock. There, lying at the foot of a burning Muggle building, was the unmistakable white-blond hair and cold features of her husband. Half of his face was marked with a fierce burn and his arm was thrown clear of his body at a peculiar angle.

Narcissa didn’t notice the remainder of her chocolate that she had been saving for the second half of her now forgotten soap opera as it melted into the fabric of her robes, or the fact that she had knocked the dregs of her tea onto the mouldering carpet. She was too busy wondering what Lucius was doing in Blackpool and why he appeared to be dead on Muggle TV. With a sickened gurgle she walked Inferi-like across to the television and pressed the switch that would turn the distressing screen blank.

Sitting in the twilight of a place she was unfamiliar with, completely alone and friendless, Narcissa did what every Pureblood witch with half a degree of self-respect would do; she burst into tears.

And when she had finished crying she knew that she could no longer sit around and wait while her family faced death and destruction. Stepping over the disgusting carpet she collected together the few meagre belongings that Roderick had furnished her with and she opened the door to the vast hallway that must have been a fine example of Victorian opulence at one time. Gritting her gleaming teeth she left the malodorous accommodation behind her and walked straight into the darkness of a town that she did not know with a plan that she had not yet formulated.





Maeve arrived back at her room at the same time as Hedwig did. The bird was sitting calmly on Jezebel, the statue that stood outside in the corridor, as Maeve rounded the corner.

“Hello,” she said to the owl as it fluttered across to her. “Fancy saying hello to Bran and resting your wings for a while?” She scratched the soft head gently and opened her door.


“And about time!” was the snapped welcome that came from the fire, where Severus was busy trying not to singe his hair with the amount of time he had spent in there waiting. “Have you any idea how worried I have been? You have been gone for hours.”

“An hour, actually,” she said, allowing Hedwig to flutter across to share Bran’s perch. “And you took your time.”

“I haven’t been able to find a secure fireplace. I’ve had to break into a house and it’s not ideal. I thought you might have been taken to the hospital ward and here you are looking perfectly healthy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, sitting heavily on the sofa, glad to rest her legs. The short walk had been welcome but tiring all the same. “I haven’t been at work today.”

“I should think not. You would have been in no state after you were moved back to Hogwarts. You should rest for the next few days.”

“Possibly,” Maeve said, evading the question. “So, are you all right? You look worried.”

“Of course I’m worried,” he said, his voice rising almost manically. “You would be worried if your wife had recently suffered the effects of a Horcrux and you couldn’t be with her. You’d also be worried if the person you were supposed to be protecting had managed to disappear into thin air.”

“Draco has gone?” She looked intrigued.

“Shhh… For Hades’ sake, woman, keep your voice down.” He looked over his shoulder nervously. “You never know who’s listening. I need you to make sure that Narcissa tells you if her dratted son makes contact with her.”

“Even I can’t make contact with her,” Maeve pointed out. “So how on earth will Draco manage it?”

“Never underestimate the bond between a son and his mother,” he replied hurriedly. “And have you seen Lupin today?”

“Remus? No, should I have? He’s gone walkabout again and left Hogwarts this morning.”

Severus made a strangled noise and looked furious. “One thing I ask him to do! One thing and he can’t even manage that.” He looked behind him again. “There’s someone coming. I have to go. Be careful, Maeve. You have no one guarding you.”

There was a noise from behind him and his head disappeared abruptly.

“Well,” she said to no one in particular. “Thanks for that lovely message. I’m not worried about you now. No, not worried at all.”

As if to take her mind off her husband, Hedwig flapped down from her perch and held out her leg for Maeve to see. Half-heartedly she removed the parchment and wondered what Harry had to say.

The note was extremely succinct:

Maeve,

Please try and speak to the Sorting Hat. Ask it about Godric Gryffindor’s sword and something that might be missing.

Hope you’re feeling better.

Harry.


“I wonder what he’s up to now?” she said to the owl as it nibbled her fingers. “And I wonder how he thinks I’ll be able to get access to the Sorting Hat?”

Hedwig offered a helpful hoot and Maeve gave her a smile. “I wish I could speak owl,” she grinned, allowing Hedwig to return to the perch so that she could cosy up to Bran.

Taking her cloak from the hook she began to formulate her diversion for getting Professor McGonagall out of her office so that she could nip in and have a quick word with the tatty old hat that was so revered at Hogwarts.


Fortunately she found she didn’t need a diversion of her own. The Slytherins had apparently done her work for her by allowing a fire to burn too long in their common room. An Ashwinder had been produced and had slunk off to lay eggs. Naturally the Slytherins were in uproar and Professor McGonagall had been called to supervise the destruction of the nest. She had learned this from Mr Filch, whose slimy presence had manifested itself as she approached the Headmistress’ office. She had cheerfully informed him that she would wait for Professor McGonagall in her office and had whispered the password at the door. At the mention of ‘Trossachs’ the door slid open and she stepped onto the staircase and away from Filch’s probing gaze.


The office was slumbering gently in the absence of its owner. None of the portraits were awake and even the air felt heavy with sleep. She immediately approached the shelf that held the Sorting Hat and looked at its battered brown material for a few minutes before coughing gently. She contemplated poking it, or even putting it on her head to get it to speak to her. The Hat took pity on her and shifted gently without her having to take either course of action.

“So, what can I do for such an attractive young lady at this late hour?” it asked, its brim opening and closing like a well-worn mouth.

“Oh,” she managed, taken aback by its sudden decision to speak. “Sorry to bother you but…well… I have a strange question.”

“Do I remember you?” It seemed to inhale deeply. “Ah yes, young Miss O’Malley. I seem to remember you were in Ravenclaw, weren’t you? Fine addition to that house, albeit a late one.”

“It’s Mrs Snape now,” she said. “Professor Snape actually.”

There was a throaty laugh from the old hat swiftly followed by a coughing fit. “You must excuse me,” it rasped. “Filthy moths keep trying to set up home under my brim. So, you married a Snape, did you? Not THE Snape, by any chance?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “The Snape.”

“Interesting. Always knew you had the Ravenclaw intelligence but I didn’t realise you had quite so much Gryffindor recklessness and bravery.” There was another rakish laugh and then it became serious once more. “So, times must be hard for you. You’ll need your wits about you. Now, you haven’t come her to while away the hours in idle chat. What do you want? Why don’t you pop me on your head so I can better understand you?”

Businesslike, Maeve lifted the hat and placed it on her red tangle of hair before relaying Harry’s brief message and the hat was silent again. Somewhere in the room a clock ticked and outside in the darkness owls hooted nighttime messages to each other.

“I can’t see what you can see,” it said after a period of reflection. “I can only feel what comes beneath my brim. I have held Godric Gryffindor’s sword in me only twice. The first time was many years ago and we need not concern ourselves with that. Suffice it to say, the sword was whole then.” It paused and Maeve waited as its voice shrank. “The second time was when I came to Harry Potter’s aid in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Maeve didn’t really understand the significance of any of this but she listened closely anyway.

“When I gave it to young Potter, something was missing. I don’t know what it was but it felt lighter, less whole.”

Realising she had been given the information that Harry sought, she knew she had better make her excuses and go before she had to explain herself to Professor McGonagall. With a muttered thank you to the hat she lifted it carefully from her head and popped it back on the shelf before turning and hurrying from the office. She barely heard its parting shot.

“I can’t see, but I can sense things. The thing that has gone from the sword is closer to home than anyone would care to think.”

Maeve may have stayed to answer but she could hear noises on the corridor below and rushed down the stairs to meet Professor McGonagall as she opened the door.

“Professor Snape,” the older witch said in surprise. “You are out late.”

“I wanted to tell you that I would be able to resume teaching tomorrow,” Maeve said, not even blushing at the lie. “But you weren’t there, obviously.”

“No, indeed I wasn’t. Some small problem with the Slytherin common room. I see you appear to be feeling quite well. What was it?”

“Just a cold, I think. I was given a Pepper-Up potion by Madam Pomfrey and I’m quite all right now.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

“As long as you are sure you’re quite fit to teach,” Professor McGonagall said, a shrew look in her eye.

“Quite sure,” Maeve insisted. “So, goodnight and I will see you in the morning at breakfast.” She ducked out of the door and was gone in a swirl of green robes.

Professor McGonagall watched her go with a frown on her face and wondered what was really going on around her. Could it be that Professor Dumbledore had felt such alienation from the day-to-day activities of some of the people he regarded as friends? She hoped with all her heart that nothing bad would come of all this secrecy and skulking as she made her weary way up her stairs to do some more work on organising the files that Professor Dumbledore had left in such a muddle.

Chapter Eleven.

Toil and Trouble




Voldemort watched the reflection that glared back at him and couldn’t help being satisfied with his unearthly face. It suited him well to present a face so warped by his own degradation that it immediately struck mortal fear into anyone that crossed his path. Of course some of his closer, if closer was the right word, minions were now growing accustomed to his face and could hold a conversation without having to constantly look away. The man who was coming to meet him in half an hour was just such a minion, although Voldemort was beginning to realise that this particular man was overstepping the boundaries of what constituted being an underling.

Severus Snape, on the face of it, had been a faithful servant with a small transgression over the woman. Voldemort had been prepared to allow him that small pleasure in exchange for assurances that he would use her to his advantage when it came to information gathering. The news that Harry Potter would not be returning to school had been useful, but not exclusive. It was the information regarding the little nostalgic daytrip to Godric’s Hollow that had been far more constructive. It had enabled Voldemort to have them followed, to have them watched, and to let them know they were being watched. Parnell, the head of the group he liked to refer to as his princes, had made sure that Potter was aware of their presence on the train and then again when they were following them in the car.

Voldemort would never admit to being worried about Potter, but worried he was. This ridiculous debt to the gods was being chased and he didn’t have enough knowledge to know what their plan of attack was. Sometimes he contemplated having each of that ridiculous trio wiped out individually, rubbed from his life in the time it would take him to order their destruction. But he wasn’t sure about Potter, wasn’t sure what that scar carried with it. His memory of their last encounter was fresh in his mind and he had tasted bitter defeat at the hands of a boy. If this was repeated his followers might get restless, lose confidence and desert him.

Kicking a coal back into the blazing fire he shifted his attention from the mirror to the sleeping snake. She had eaten well that morning and was resting by the heat of the crackling hearth. Voldemort couldn’t remember the last time he had felt real warmth; certainly not since his disembodiment caused by that runt of a child. He had little use for warmth though, in the same way he had little use for anything that couldn’t further his own aims to be the greatest wizard that ever lived.

The tunnels were silent and secluded enough for him to formulate plans and organise attacks. The only person allowed into his inner sanctum now, apart from Snape, was Pettigrew, and even his visits were tiresome. The grubby little man scuttled around his feet, hands up at his face, heaving with subordination.

In this rarefied atmosphere Voldemort was unconsciously laying a path that led to him being vulnerable, but part of his weakness was his self-belief in his own infallibility and he would never allow himself to see that things were not as he wished them to be.

Footsteps echoed down the corridors and he turned to face the entrance to his cavern. Severus strode down the long corridor and finally came into Voldemort’s view. Master and servant watched each other circumspectly before Severus nodded a curt greeting and waited for Voldemort to speak.
Voldemort glowed with annoyance at the change that woman had brought about in the rather ugly man. His eyes were no longer the dead jewels they had been. They burned now, burned with something Voldemort had nothing but contempt for. He was waiting for this ridiculous weakness that people termed love to show itself in Severus’ actions but so far he was as hard and unyielding as he had ever been.

“You have news?” Voldemort hissed.

“The boy is not at Malfoy Manor, if he ever was there,” Severus said with silky conviction. “I think it is likely he has gone to look for his father.”

“His father is dead,” Voldemort said, watching the other man’s eyes carefully.

“Unsurprising.” Severus was swift to accept this new information, adding it to the store of things that he could not, and would not, react to. “Lucius has proved to be improvident in recent years. Perhaps it is well that he should go now without causing you further damage.”

“You think he has done me harm?” Voldemort was quick to sense the scornful note in Severus’ tone.

“I think the catastrophe in the Department of Mysteries was harm enough, don’t you, my lord?”

Voldemort, as always, accepted the accolade of being Severus’ lord with a slight nod of the head. It gave him a feeling of certainty in an ever-changing world to be exposed to such deference.

“It was Lucius’ eventual undoing, that and the problems with Bella last year. But this is not what I wish to discuss.” The atmosphere changed and woke Nagini with its mist of great gravity. “I wish to discuss how we can remove Potter from the equation.”

“With great care,” Severus replied. “Without Dumbledore he may be more guarded, and more determined. I certainly anticipate he will try and kill me the next time our paths regrettably cross.”

“Then you had better make sure you reach for your wand first, hadn’t you, Snape, because it is you that will do the killing. I cannot risk it myself, nor can I risk him being alive any longer. I want Potter dead before he discovers anything, anything at all. His visit to Godric’s Hollow” – the mention of the founder of Gryffindor seemed to cause him pain – “proved fruitless, but we cannot risk him discovering anything.”

“What do you anticipate him discovering?” Severus asked, wondering if the Dark Lord could be provoked into making an overt mention of the Horcruxes.

“It does not concern you,” he snapped back. Severus maintained a dignified silence and allowed the Dark Lord’s flare of anger to die down again. “Perhaps you ought to be anxious also. You were, after all, there that night.”

“I was there only briefly,” Severus said. “There is nothing for me to trouble myself with.”

“The old man is still alive,” Voldemort informed him, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “And you know why we need concern ourselves with him.”

“There is nothing to fear from Gryps. He has no idea.”

“Then you need to make sure he stays firmly rooted in the dark, don’t you?”

“It is too late for him to discover anything now. If he does he will be unable to use the information.”

“For your sake, I hope so. There were no children, so he is the last.”

“Why have you never removed him yourself?”

“Such impertinence, Snape! I think you forget yourself on occasion. I have my own reasons.” He turned to the fire again, his back to his most faithful servant. “You need to formulate a plan for ridding us of Potter and you need to find that fool Malfoy. Fortunately for him I believe your version of what happened. Bring him to me and we will find him another task for him to redeem himself with. Where has the mother gone? That’s what I’d like to know. She has an ally somewhere to conceal herself so effectively.”

Severus watched the halo of heat from the fire that surrounded the Dark Lord, his face an impassive mask and his eyes concealing the truth.

“She is not without connections, my lord,” he said quietly. “She is, after all, a Black.”

“And what remains of the Black family is loyal to me – so why does she hide and why do they hide her? But this is a trifling matter and one I will not waste my time on. She will reappear and then we shall see what she has to say for herself. I shall greatly enjoy informing her of her husband’s untimely demise.”

“When do you wish me to make contact with you?”

“As soon as you formulate a foolproof plan for disposing of Potter.” Voldemort turned back and gave Severus the beginnings of a twisted smile. “And I did mean to ask – what happened to your wife? I hear she met with an accident?”

It took all of Severus’s self-control to keep his eyes impenetrable.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, the contact I have with my wife is almost non-existent. As I understand it she met with a Potions mishap.” He looked as if he were about to say something else but stopped himself. It was best to say as little as possible about Maeve to the man who would have liked to see her dead. He was only too aware that he was on considerably unsteady ground with the Dark Lord, at least were his marriage was concerned.

“You know I consider her a weakness.” The threat was clear from his face as he looked at Severus. “She is expendable. It will be interesting to see what you do when that time comes.” He walked across to Severus, only slightly taller than the wizard who met his threat with an empty face and an even emptier mind. “Would you be able to dispatch your own wife, I wonder?”

“The time has not yet come, my lord.”

The laugh that Voldemort gave made Severus’ insides twist with anxiety but he stood firm, waiting for a dismissal. “Then pray, Severus Snape, that when it does, you will not be the one I choose to execute the order. You may go.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Severus turned and strode, with furious steps, out of the labyrinth of tunnels that formed part of the old Rampton estate. His head ached from the secrets he kept and he wished with all his soul that the twisted wizard he had left standing by the roaring fire could be consumed by the flames he stoked.

Emerging into the sun-steeped autumn day he blinked at the brightness of the abrupt light. His list of priorities was getting longer and more pressing, starting with the search for the missing Horcrux, continuing to Draco and ending with trying to make sure his wife was safe given that the one person he thought he could depend upon to watch over her seemed to have disappeared into thin air. With an annoyed intake of breath Severus Disapparated from the fire-ravaged grounds of Rampton Court and reappeared in the one place he had vowed not to seek sanctuary, Rathgael.




Hermione was fast coming to the conclusion that The Daily Prophet was actually quite enjoying the events that dogged both Muggles and wizards during the escalation of the war. She read the headline that screamed with almost indecent glee – Seven Muggles swept of a cliff during a freak gale – and made a disgusted noise. Below the picture of the now empty cliff was a smaller headline that rubbed its hands as it informed the world that Florean Fortescue, purveyor of fine ice cream, had gone missing and his shop had mysteriously caught fire overnight. In smaller print, tucked away in the bottom left of the front page was a picture of a woman that Hermione half recognised but couldn’t place. She had been pledging money to help witches and wizards in distress, according to the tiny report, and would be hosting a gala concert that night at The Rotunda, a wizarding concert hall in Battersea.

Neville watched her as she put the paper down and nibbled at her toast, taking care not to drop crumbs on her uniform.

“Don’t you miss Harry and Ron?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But there’s a war, Neville. It’s a small sacrifice when you look at what else is going on in the world.”

“I’ve been thinking…” His thoughts seemed reluctant to manifest themselves though as he hesitated, sipping his water to buy himself some time.

Hermione clicked her teeth and waited for him to get on with it while pushing her own plate away. She had a lot to do that morning and she didn’t want to get bogged down in a heavy conversation with Neville.

“I’ve been wondering if I’m doing the right thing by staying at school.” With the scandalous thought voiced he blushed and choked on another sip of water.

“Do you think you should be doing something else?” she asked, surprised that Neville should be thinking this way.

“I think I should be helping Harry,” he said, putting his glass down and looking at her timidly. “I think this is all a waste of time. You know they’re talking about cancelling exams this year. The examination board lost two of their members in an attack the other day and now there’s doubts about them being able to set papers and stuff.”

“They’ll set the exams,” Hermione said, appalled at the idea that they may not get the chance to sit their N.E.W.T.s. “If they didn’t there would be no point in us being here, would there?”

“I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe they think school’s the safest place for us. I know that I like my lessons but with all these people dying and Gran going on about the glorious fight, I just feel a bit… well… a bit redundant.”

“Don’t even think about giving up school,” Hermione reassured him. “You’ll be in a better position for having finished your education.”

“But Harry and Ron aren’t finishing their education. Padma and Parvati left too…”

“They have a private tutor. Padma wrote and told me that. They’ll still be doing their exams this year.”

“What’s up?” Seamus asked, plonking himself down next to Neville and pinching a slice of his toast.

“Neville is wondering whether it’s worth staying at school this year,” Hermione informed him. “I’ve told him it is.”

“Aye, well you would, wouldn’t you?” Seamus was grinning to take the potential sting out of his words. “Personally, I think it’s the best place for us. Me mam wasn’t happy but I told her no way was I leaving. An’ Dean’s still here and he’s me best mate. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“See, Neville. Stick with it.” Hermione lifted her bag off the back of her chair and stood up. “I have to go. Need to get in some work in the library before classes start. See you both later.”

“Does she have to work so much?” Seamus asked as Hermione dashed from the Great Hall. “She tires me out just watching her.”

Neville was about to reply but Filch sidled past and growled at them to hurry up and get out of the Hall so he could sweep the floors.

“Dirty great footprints all over the place, it’s enough to drive a man mad,” he snarled, bringing his face close to Neville’s and breathing stale breath over the round-faced boy. “Now git!”

Neville and Seamus both hurriedly gathered their things and scurried from the hall. As they rounded a corner Neville collided with Maeve who unfortunately had an armful of books. They cascaded onto the floor and Neville immediately bent down to pick them all up. Filch had come to the door and stood watching them in bitter amusement.

“Always dropping things ain’t you, Professor Snape?” He allowed his tongue to roll lazily over her name, making it sound lewd. “I bet that husband of yours would like to drop a few things right now, like the murderer name tag he has round his scrawny neck.”

“Aw shut up, Filch,” Seamus said. “You don’t scare us anymore. You’re just a wee man with a small mind. Leave us alone.”

Neville didn’t look too convinced about Filch not scaring them anymore and he was rather relieved when the grubby man scuffed his way back into the hall. He had finished gathering up the books and placed them back into Maeve’s arms. Maeve was busy watching the place where Filch had stood with her lips clamped together tightly.

“Professor Snape?” Neville said, bringing her back from her sudden reverie. “Can I see you later?”

“What about, Neville?”

“About staying on at school.”

“Neville’s having a crisis,” Seamus said with a smile.

“Well, if you are thinking about leaving you should really see your Head Of House for careers advice.”

“I know, but Firenze can be a bit vague when you talk to him. You should have been our head-of-house. It would have made life a lot simpler.”

“I was in Ravenclaw, Neville. I doubt I would be an ideal candidate for Gryffindor head-of-house. But you may come and talk to me if you wish. Straight after lessons, my office.” And with that she left the pair of them to while away the half-hour before classes commenced in order to find Roderick.


“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, as she walked into her old classroom and found Roderick suspended from the ceiling by a thin silvery cord. It was tied around his right arm and she detected a hint of pain around his mouth.

“Damned Undoable Knot,” he gasped, nodding to the place where the magical cord had tied itself around his armpit. “Thought I might teach the first years how to undo one and forgot the blasted words.”


Maeve pointed her wand at the silver binding and released him, grimacing as he hit the floor with a thud. “You know, I do wonder how you passed Auror training.”

“We never had to mess around with Undoable Knots,” he groaned, brushing himself down and hurriedly straightening his new robes that he had collected from Hogsmeade the previous day.

“Peacock feathers,” Maeve said as she walked past him. She paused and lifted a section of the vivid plumage, tutted and sat on his desk.

“What’s wrong with peacock feathers?” he asked, looking down. “They’re all the rage in London.”

“This is not London,” she said. “The pupils will find them… entertaining.”

“Hmm… I was going to buy you a set of matching robes for Christmas but I won’t bother now, ungrateful wretch.”

Maeve hadn’t had the chance to spend much time in her old classroom and she looked around now, wondering if all those mirrors were entirely necessary. Roderick was sweet in his own way but he bordered on the narcissistic sometimes and she wondered if, had he been a little less self-absorbed, he would have been a better wizard.

“How are you finding the Slytherins?” she asked, thankful that McGonagall had not seen to give her a house to lead.

“Tedious. No character to them.” He was still looking down at his robe and frowning.

“A lot better in your day, eh? Which must have been all of ten years ago.”

“We did have a certain degree of character.” He looked up. “What can I do for you, anyway? You are normally busy avoiding me. I hope you really are well enough to teach.”

“Yes. I had an owl from a firm called Witherspoone and Thwacker this morning. They appear to be solicitors acting for an unnamed client who is laying a claim to Severus’ house, Darkacre. What should I do?”

“Give it to them. Those houses are more trouble than they are worth. Snape will thank you for it in the long run. You have your cosy little love nest in Ireland so what would you want that rotting husk of a house for?” Roderick sat next to her on the desk and rested his feet on his chair. “I was glad to see the back of Rampton Court.”

“It’s not mine to give away and I’m not just going to hand it over to someone. I just wondered if I should bother Severus with this.” She looked hopefully to him for guidance.

“You mean you are in contact with your fugitive husband? Well, well, Mrs Snape you put me in a very difficult position. As an Auror and upstanding member of this school I really should turn you in to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” There was the briefest hint of merriment in his eyes as he spoke and Maeve pulled an impatient face.

“Roderick, the day you do something that your job requires you to do will be the day I give up believing in my husband. Do I respond to the letter or not?”

“Talk to Severus about it. Believe me, Maeve, your marriage will be better without that house. Too many bad memories for both of you, if you ask me.”

“Okay, I’ll have a think about it. You off down to Hogsmeade again tonight?”

“I might be. Want to come?”

“Maybe. I’ll see you at dinner. Have a good day.”

“You sound like a little wife. Do I get a kiss on the cheek?”

“No, you do not,” she said, jumping down from the desk and giving him a poisonous look.

Her robes flaring out indignantly behind her, she left the room to head back to her own classes with the now familiar sinking sensation that denoted another day teaching when there were bigger battles to be fought.

On the way to her classroom she stopped by the owlery and used one of the school owls to send a brief message to Harry about her conversation with the Sorting Hat the previous night. She scribbled her note, wondering what he could do with such trivial information. As the owl soared from the window she watched enviously, wishing she could do the same thing and escape from the confines of the school but she knew that Severus wouldn’t countenance it now that he had her safely tucked away behind Hogwarts’ secure walls. It was one thing to risk her neck in the pursuit of a goal but he had made it clear that he wanted her safe the rest of the time.





Rathgael smelt unused to human company as Severus Apparated into the bedroom. He had used one of the Death Eaters to go ahead and make sure the place was not being watched and it was only when the man had assured him that it was not did he dare visit his home. Ignoring the trappings of his marriage that surrounded him he quickly descended to the ground floor and sent out the message that he hoped would bring the man he had once loathed, and still disliked, to him.

There was wine in the kitchen and Firewhiskey in the small drinks cabinet in the sitting room. He was sorely tempted by these small luxuries of home but he resisted and drew a cup of water from the sputtering tap. He sat down at the well-worn table to wait and was pleased to see he didn’t have to wait long. A small knock announced that his message had reached its destination and he moved to allow Remus to enter the house.

Remus was disconcerted by the arrival of Severus’ Patronus, reminded of his promise to watch Maeve and his subsequent failure to carry out this promise. He waited at the door and winced when the door was slowly opened to reveal Severus’ hard face looking at him with disapproval.

“Come in,” he said, standing aside. Remus entered under his watchful gaze, cringing at the scrutiny, and hurriedly made his way to the kitchen.

“What did you want to see me about?” he asked, placing the ball in Severus’ court.

Severus circled him for a moment, giving them both time to formulate a plan of attack. The kitchen curtains were drawn and little light entered the room, lending a heightened clandestine atmosphere to the meeting.

“I wondered why you made a promise to me and then immediately abandoned it in favour of chasing your own tail down in London.” The harshness made Remus ashamed of his need to get away from Hogwarts. He would have been given the opportunity to stay had he wanted it but instead he had just left.

“Maeve was well protected. She has Roderick Rampton watching her like a hawk. There will be no danger at Hogwarts.”

“No? You have already pulled her from danger once when you brought her from the Temple. Without you she could have died in there.”

“I didn’t pull her free of the Temple,” Remus admitted. “She was already on the grass when I got there.”

Severus looked at him, flint-eyed. “What do you mean, you didn’t pull her free? Who did then?”

“I assumed Harry did it,” Remus replied, looking puzzled. “Who else could it have been?”

“Who else indeed,” Severus said thoughtfully. “Very well, we shall lay that aside for now. I need something more demanding of you now, something that you must do if you value Potter’s life.”

“What has Harry got to do with this?”

“You must persuade Potter to either stay at Grimmauld Place or return to Hogwarts. Under no circumstances must he walk the streets unprotected.” Severus paused for effect and as Remus opened his mouth to speak, continued. “He will be killed if he is allowed to roam free.”

“But Harry knows that there is a chance he could be killed and he’s accepted that. There will be nothing I can do that will change his mind.”

“Do you wish to see him dead, Lupin?”

“I think Harry can cope with whatever Voldemort throws at him.”

Severus narrowed his eyes and stopped his pacing, coming to a halt in front of Remus, who met his stare.

“The Dark Lord has chosen to throw me at him, Lupin. Potter will not succeed in evading me, as well you know.”

Remus felt his throat grow dry and he tried to make sense of what Severus was telling him. “You would not kill Harry to save your own neck, Severus. Even you would not stoop that low.”

“I would not kill Potter to save myself, that much is true. But I would kill him to preserve my unique position and the advantage that gives me in the fight against Voldemort. What is one more boy when both the wizarding world and the Muggle world are at stake?”

Remus felt Severus’ cold calculation rise before him like a brick wall and he knew that he had run headlong into it again. It was the same as the resolute attitude that Severus had shown with Maeve and the Horcrux. He already knew that Severus had the courage to kill Dumbledore so he supposed that Harry would be an altogether easier prospect.

“Why you?” Remus asked.

“Because the Dark Lord is constantly testing me. Killing Dumbledore gave me a great deal of credibility but killing Potter would make my position unassailable. This is why you must make sure that I cannot conceivably get to him.” Severus sat down at the table and rested his head in his hands. “It is a lonely place that I find myself in, Lupin. Perhaps you can understand that.”

“I understand loneliness. But I didn’t bring about my condition. You brought about your own circumstance.”

“Yes, I am not ashamed to admit that. But it is done and we only have one chance of winning now. Aurors and force of arms will not do it. When both sides have the same weapons one must try other means of achieving ones ends.”

“Such as?”

“You will see in time. But you must remove Potter from my path. I also need you to watch Maeve. That was not an idle thing I asked you to do. Rampton cannot be trusted under any circumstances.”

Remus nodded, dreading the return to Hogwarts and wondering what he would tell Maeve. “I will do what I can. I am not sure why I have come to trust you and I hope I don’t find myself regretting it.”

“With your capacity for judging characters I would also be worried, Lupin. You trusted Pettigrew after all…and as for Potter and Black…I think little more needs be said.” Severus tightened his cloak around him, readying himself to leave the sanctuary of his own home. “You may not contact me but I will try to contact you whenever it is possible.”

Remus knew that he could never like this bitter and complicated man, but for now he would have to at least respect his position at the heart of what ailed their world. “I will do my best with Harry, but I can’t promise success. You need to accept that if you do try and kill him, Severus, you will have me, and possibly Maeve, to go through. Will your dedication to your cause extend to harming your wife directly?” And to cut off any possible answer Remus Disapparated from the house, ignoring all social niceties.

Frustration borne of the inability to protect the one thing Severus loved drove him to pick up the nearest thing, which happened to be a small white vase, and throw it across the room, passing through the place where Remus had recently stood. It clattered against the wall and dropped to the floor in a poor imitation of Severus’ own life.





Night was falling ever quicker as the year moved inexorably through autumn, and as Maeve stuck her head out of the small window in what used to be her office she drank deeply of the crisp air that settled into the crannies of the building. She had expected to find Roderick shirking some duty or other but the office was depressingly empty. She flicked idly through some of his textbooks and reflected that this was much like Severus’ office had been: devoid of any personal mementos.

It was just after four o’clock and she had grown so restless that she had decided to accept his offer of a trip into Hogsmeade. Finding he wasn’t here to make an arrangement with, she left his office in a rather more downcast mood than she had entered it. Walking through the empty corridors she had completely forgotten her promised meeting with Neville, concerned only with relieving her intense loneliness. As she dropped down the main staircase into the hallway she was thinking only of the long evening ahead of her and certainly not contemplating the re-arrival of Remus.

In a strange way she accepted his disappearance with a feeling of security. Such was the connection between them that they were able to flit in and out of each other’s lives with little thought for the consequences and this comforted her.

“Maeve.”

Her name, spoken so firmly, was a well-worn and familiar cloak that crept gently across her shoulders

“Remus.” She accepted the cloak with a turn of her head, and a warm acknowledgment of his presence. “You really must break the habit of these abrupt departures; they are far too melodramatic for my taste.”

“We need to talk about Harry,” he said, dismissing the possibility that this was a visit just to see her. “And we need to talk away from Hogwarts.”

They met at the foot of the stairs and it would have been impossible to miss the immense strain of worry that arched across his brow. In the distance normality could be heard: the clatter of a plate on stone, the sound of a student’s laughter, the shout of an enraged Filch as he discovered a transgression, and yet here, in this pocket of the hallway, Maeve knew that Remus carried a weight upon his back that he was straining under.


“Let’s take a walk to Hogsmeade,” she suggested. “We can talk while we walk.”

Remus nodded, dull hair dropping across his forehead as he did so. He held open the great door for her and she walked out to greet the evening that she had so recently been admiring from Roderick’s office. The cloying chill settled on her lungs and made her breath come white and wispy, pleasing her with the promise of closeted nights before the fire.
Autumn dropped and died around them, leaves lilting from the trees on the whisper of wind that blew gently through the Hogwarts’ grounds. It distressed her hair, moving the red strands against her face and making her sweep them aside repeatedly with her hand.

“Your face looks sore still,” he said, wishing he had chosen to walk on the other side of her, where he wouldn’t have to see the fading scar from the Horcrux.

“I can’t feel it now,” she admitted. “It will fade away. Most things fade away eventually.”

“They do indeed,” he reflected. “Some more quickly than others.”

She looked at him with questioning eyes but he smiled and changed the subject. “Harry must return to either Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place, and he has to stay there.”

“Really?” Her feet crunched pleasingly on the gravel that led to the main gates. “And what’s brought this on?”

“I spoke with Severus earlier.” The wince that she tried to disguise at the mention of her husband made Remus recoil, but he continued nevertheless. “He warned me that Harry must be made secure.”

“And where did you hold this cosy tête-à-tête?” She didn’t even try to hide her sadness.

“It doesn’t matter where,” he replied, placing a brotherly hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. “But he gave me an idea of Voldemort’s plans and we have to keep Harry safe.”

“We can’t keep Harry safe, Remus. You know that. All we can do is hope that he doesn’t meet with Death Eaters when he is unprepared.”

“He can’t defeat all the Death Eaters.”

“He’s defeated Voldemort, or at least succeeded in foiling his plans.”

“Voldemort was unaware of what would happen between their wands. Harry will meet his match and we have to prevent that from happening.”

Maeve sensed the undercurrent that ran headlong beneath their conversation. As they reached the closed gates she stopped and turned to him.

“You’re saying something and yet you are not saying something, Remus. Why don’t you tell me what Severus actually said, and why he said it to you and not to me?”

Remus looked at her and wished he had never agreed to the ridiculous plan to become her brother just twelve months ago. He would never have forged this bond with her, might never have even come to know her, and now here he stood, trying to protect her from what her husband could do.

“Severus has been given the task of removing Harry from Voldemort’s path. He has to kill Harry.” Remus looked away from her open face and turned instead to the closed coolness of the fading sky. “He wants Harry somewhere where he cannot get to him, hence Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place.”

“I see,” she said, addressing the stones beneath her feet. The setting sun was gilding the trees with an uplift of gold and she allowed her eyes to stray. So much beauty surrounded her, so much which was natural and wholesome. Why did the touch of humankind have to intrude with its devious plans and intolerable cruelty? “And what else?”


Remus could see her resolve hardening yet again. The touch of warmth that the sun was bestowing on her face made her cheeks glow brightly but his eyes dropped to her neck and the necklace that was ever-present. The scarlet sun lent a rosy glow to the jewel and he was mesmerised for the moment.

“I think you need to accept that Severus is doing his best in terrible circumstances.” The reply was not quite what Maeve was looking for as the gates swung open and allowed them to pass from the security of Hogwarts to the tumbling wilderness that signified the route to Hogsmeade.

“Severus always does his best,” she said in a whipped tone. “But his best sometimes leaves others floundering in his wake.”

“Severus has always left others either floundering or incensed. It’s his personality.” Remus allowed himself a small, wry grin. “But we must persuade Harry to come back. If we don’t the future for both Harry and Severus looks bleak.”

“The future for Severus couldn’t look much bleaker at the moment,” Maeve said. “He is a walking Azkaban resident, if only the Ministry could catch up with him.”

“I hope for all our sakes that they don’t,” Remus muttered, and with those words he crossed a solid boundary that firmly placed him in the opposite camp from those that ran the wizarding world.

They walked on, allowing the burning scents of the season to lure them onwards towards the village of Hogsmeade. Pyres were already being built for the celebration of the birth of Igneus Wiggins, the man who had invented the Incendio Charm, and they passed several heaps of firewood on their walk to Hogsmeade. The village was upon them almost before they knew it, gentle lights starting to flicker on throughout the snug homes in an attempt at keeping the darkness that swelled through the land at bay. Remus allowed himself a glance at the Shrieking Shack as they passed by its rickety walls but Maeve chose to look forward and ignore the scene of her recent battle.

“Where would you like to go?” Remus asked. “We could visit the Three Broomsticks.”

“I’m not in the mood for it, or Madam Rosmerta. Lets go to the Hog’s Head instead.” Maeve nodded towards the dirty, seedy-looking pub that leant out into the street, overhanging the pavement slightly.

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have liked a place like that. It’s not exactly a palace, you know.”

“I know, but I’m not after a palace tonight. It’s easier to talk without being overheard in there anyway. Madam Rosmerta has ears sharper than any Extendable ones.”

Remus smiled and followed her across the road. “Well, that’s certainly true enough,” he agreed.


The first thing that hit them, as Remus opened the door, was the undeniable stench of goats. Under normal circumstances, Remus would have been a gentleman and allowed Maeve to enter first, but there was no way he was going to send her into this den of iniquity without first having a look himself. He stepped across the threshold onto the sawdust strew floor and realised the smell of goats was even stronger inside than it had been out, dismissing the idea that the odour came from a neighbouring farm.


Several odd-looking individuals were seated in small groups, heads low over stale drinks as they held clandestine conversations. Maeve wrinkled her nose, following Remus to the well-worn bar to order something that wouldn’t turn their insides into lead. Remus turned to her with an apologetic smile, despite the fact that it was she who had insisted n this venue.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“Something bottled,” she replied, looking at the thick crust that covered the pump delivering the beer.

“Butterbeer?”

“It will do… or perhaps we could share a bottle of wine. That red looks okay.” She nodded towards a clumsy pyramid of jewel-coloured bottles that adorned the back of the bar.

“Go and grab a seat” – Remus looked doubtfully round the bar – “and I’ll bring it across.”

“I may just grab a seat and run,” she said, only half-joking. She made her way past several leering wizards, one of whom tried to grab at her robes, and finally found a small snug that faced the fire and had its back to the rest of the room. The smell of goats was at its strongest here and she cast a small Aromensia Perfectis charm to try and clear the air but it only helped subdue the smell slightly.

Remus approached with a dust-shrouded bottle and two equally filthy glasses. A quick Scourgify sorted that problem out and Remus had the cork popped and the wine poured before Maeve could even protest at the filth.

“So,” he began, “how do we get Harry back to Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know, Remus, really. Unless we concoct something about the Horcruxes. But he has to find the Horcruxes and he can’t do that at Hogwarts.” She sipped the wine and pretended it was palatable.

“Is Harry really the one doing the finding?”

“Not at the moment…but Harry needs to be …Well…Harry just needs to be.”

“Maeve, this is both Harry’s and Severus’ life at stake if we don’t get him to safety.”

“Severus won’t kill Harry… Not if I put myself between them.” Her face was so sure, so very sure, that Remus blanched and sank the rest of his glass, bitter though the taste may have been.

“Severus has to kill Harry.”

“But if I…” She set her glass down. “What, Remus? What are you saying?”

The door flew inwards, a rush of cold air swirling into the bar making the fire flare and die again. Maeve looked round and was about to hail the new arrival when she saw who he was with. She instantly withdrew into the safety of the snug and turned her hair from red to black.

“What’s the matter?” Remus asked, craning his neck slightly to see who she was looking at. Her hand clamped around his arm and drew him back into the warmth of the seating.

“What is he doing here with her?” she hissed.

“Who is it? She looks familiar.”

But Maeve didn’t get the chance to tell him because the table began to vibrate, making the sediment in her wine rise, and Remus looked around to find the source of the tremor. Other customers had also notice the gentle rumble beneath the floor of the pub and some were standing up in agitation.

“I don’t like this,” Remus said, beckoning her to leave her seat.

“It’ll be something simple,” Maeve insisted. “I really don’t want Roderick to see me until I find out why he’s entertaining her.”

“Seriously, Maeve. I don’t think you have a choice.”

The normally reticent barman ignored Roderick, who was about to place an order, and immediately scrambled over the bar to escape the chasm that had just opened at his feet. Maeve resisted Remus’ attempts to pull her out of the snug in favour of watching Roderick and his new companion as they hurriedly backed away from the bar.

“It’ll be Death Eaters!” the grizzled old woman who had just shot up from her chair by the door yelled. “Save yourselves.” She threw herself at the nearest man, who happened to be rather inebriated and dropped her hopeful body with alarming speed.

The barman was at the door, followed by a wave of panicking customers, Roderick and his companion amongst them. Remus was grappling with Maeve and finally succeeded in pulling her free of her hiding place.

“He’s gone,” Remus said, pushing her towards the door. “Let’s just get out.”

“But I don’t want him to see me,” she insisted, as Remus steered her out. The building shifted again, leaning towards the bar area, and glasses slid from the tables.

“I don’t want to see you buried beneath this pub!”

Bricks and mortar creaked and left their stations as the earth pulled the foundations ever closer. With a surprising show of chivalry, Remus scooped her up, just as the ground finally slithered towards the ever-increasing hole. He staggered towards the door, fighting the momentum of the collapse, which was trying to tug them both into the rumbling rubble that was cascading into the opening.

“Put me down,” she said, wriggling free from his grasp and giving him stability that he didn’t have with her in his arms. “This is no time for heroics.”

“It’s not heroics,” he puffed, as his feet scrabbled for firm ground. “It’s survival.”

Maeve reached what was left of the twisting door jamb and turned just in time to see Remus lose his unsteady footing and stagger backwards towards the promise of serious injury or, even worse, death.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” she cried hurriedly, holding tight to her wand and hoping she had the strength to carry him to safety. Remus was lifted from the rising dust and moved towards her as she tried her best to hold her strength.

“Disapparate!” she shouted. “Just get out!”

“And leave you here!” He wobbled in the air as he spoke, her cry breaking her concentration.

“I’ll get out, but this is draining me…” Her wand arm wavered again and Remus dipped and began to fall. Maeve cried out again for him to Disapparate but was powerless to do anything other than watch as he fell towards the swirling dust that occupied the space where the floor had once been.

With mounting horror she watched his dull eyes look towards her with a silent plea for her to leave and save herself. Maeve stepped forward, expecting the uneven ground to throw her off balance, but instead she found firmness supporting her feet. The dust was settling, its incessant ebb and flow stilled by a breath of wind that pressed calm on everything.
Her eyes were blurred by the prickle of dust that the wind carried to them and for a moment she was blind to her surroundings.

As she gradually recovered her vision she found, to her complete astonishment, that Remus was sitting on the ground, rubbing a bumped shin, while the rest of the pub was slowly drifting back to normality. Chairs were righted, the bar reformed and the low hum of the Wizarding Wireless that played in the corner once more flirted with the empty pub. She looked a Remus’ dust-peppered form and shook her head, as if trying to clear the particles of confusion from her brain.

“What happened?” she asked, glancing from Remus to the vast expanse of normality that now surrounded them.

“I have no idea,” he replied, pulling himself up from the ground using a nearby table. “But whatever it was, it was powerful magic.”

The door creaked open and both immediately turned. Facing them was a man neither of them knew and Remus immediately leapt to the defensive, while Maeve kept her own wand by her side.

“There’ll be no need for that, lad,” the newcomer said in a fearless voice. “You can put it back in yer pocket. They’ve gone. Got what they came for, by the look of things.”

“I’m sorry,” Maeve said, looking at him with a quizzical expression. “Who are you?”

His grizzled face broke into a smile and he walked towards her with an outstretched hand. “Aye, couldn’t expect you to know that, fer all yer special abilities. Albert Gryps, pleased to meet you.”

As she gripped his hand, Maeve felt a bolt of heat shoot up her arm but when she looked at him he seemed ignorant of the fact. “Maeve Snape,” she replied. “And I think I’m pleased to meet you. This is Remus Lupin.”

“I know who he is,” Albert said, nodding informally in Remus’ direction. “Seen ‘im once or twice before. But this isn’t the right time fer this. How about we make our way back up to the castle and have a little chat?”

The door opened once again and the barman poked a wary head into his pub. Blinking against his confusion he looked at the old man first.

“Evenin’” Albert said pleasantly. “’Ad a lucky escape, haven’t yer?”

The barman blinked even more rapidly and couldn’t find his voice in time to answer. Albert doffed his cap as he led Maeve and Remus from the pub into the gathering crowd that had been drawn by the sound of dark magic erupting at the Hog’s Head. There was now no sign of Roderick and his companion and they were able to pass almost unnoticed into a night that was now untroubled by commotion of any kind.

They walked silently until the shadow of Hogwarts began to loom ahead of them and Albert suddenly paused.

“I think you might want to warn that ‘usband of yours that he’s in danger of being betrayed.” His face was clouded by the darkness but Maeve could feel the urgency in his words. “I ‘appened to speak to someone earlier that’s in the know, so to speak.”

“Betrayed. By whom?” Maeve lit her wand and could see the man’s face plainly in its unrelenting light.

“By a chap goin’ by the name of Draco Malfoy. Know him, do you?”

Chapter Twelve



The fire crackled miserably in the grate as Maeve poured drinks for her two guests. Albert accepted the cup of tea gracefully, without commenting on the fact that it was too weak for his taste, and settled himself as close to the green flames as he could. The silent cold of the approaching winter crept into his bones with more ferocity each year, and it made him grateful for a fire, no matter how feeble. Remus also accepted tea, and found it just to his taste as he sipped at his cup.

Maeve sat close to Albert, eschewing the social crutch that a drink provided, and leant towards the old man with questions tearing at her tongue.

“So, how do you know that Severus is in danger?” she asked, unable to contain her anxiety any longer. “And why Draco?”

“We ‘ad some visitors to our village yusterday. Mind, we ‘ad a fair few visitors, some welcome, some not so welcome. But that’s the way of it, I suppose. Anyhow, this one visitor came a-callin’ on me in the church.” He paused his narrative for a lubricating slurp at his tea. “Which in itself were a surprise, given that the church is a special place and all. But he had words of warnin’ and I were proper surprised that they were turnin’ on their own.”

“Who is turning on who?” Remus asked, eager for any news that could help what was left of the ever-disintegrating Order.

“Them dark uns,” Albert said, his words slow and deliberate, as if he wished there to be no misunderstanding in what he was saying. “Allus were a tricky bunch, but now it seems the stakes are higher.”

“But who exactly?” Maeve pressed him.

“I don’t know their names,” Albert smiled. “I don’ know much about your world.” This didn’t convince Maeve. He knew enough to seek them out in Hogsmeade and he was completely at ease at Hogwarts. “What I do know is that there’s strife where you wouldn’t think ter look. But this chap, ‘ee says to me that there’s a feller just arrived at their boss’ place with a big chip on ‘is shoulder and who’s dishin’ the dirt on everyone, but ‘specially yer ‘usband.”

Maeve looked to Remus for some sort of reassurance and found none. Remus was busy wondering if there was anything in what Severus had said that could have given him any indication of where he planned to go after their earlier meeting.

“And tonight?” Maeve asked. “You said ‘they’d’ got what they wanted.”

“Aye, they did. This chap said that they were after someone who ‘ad been taking payment from two masters. And we all know that people taking payment from two masters meet a sticky end eventually.”

“But the pub?” Remus asked. “Why make the pub disintegrate and then appear normal. If they wanted someone inside, why not just step in and kill them?”

“These people, they have a degree of stature. They wouldn’t want any common or garden murder on their hands, if murder was what it was. They needed to get ‘im out with a bit of a palaver goin’ on.”

“Who?”

“Now, that I don’t know,” Albert admitted, tea providing temporary refuge from the unanswerable.

“And you said there were visitors to your village.” Remus decided to share Maeve’s role of gentle inquisitor. “Just what village is that?”

“That’d be Godric’s Hollow, young man. I’m sure you know it.”

Remus looked taken aback by this new information, unsure of where to go from there.

“Then you must have known Lily and James Potter?” Maeve blurted out.

“I did that,” Albert said with quiet dignity. “Knew ‘er well. That’s ‘ow I recognised yer friend there.” Albert nodded to Remus. “Visited them once or twice ‘ee did.

“I did,” Remus concurred, with a mournful nod of his tired head. “But I don’t recall you.”

“No, well, I liked to spend time with Lily but didn’t make myself conspicuous.”

“And are you a wizard?” Maeve asked.

“Not me, Miss. Never ‘ad the special abilities meself. Me granddad did, but ‘ee were the last of us.”

“Not necessarily,” Remus interjected. “They sometimes skip several generations. Your children’s children could be wizards. Do you have children?”

Albert suddenly looked sadder than Maeve could have thought possible with his cheery face. The emotion washed over him in rolling waves as he spoke. “I ‘ad a son. ‘Ee died many a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Maeve and Remus said in unison, unified in their sadness for the old man. It was clear he had never quite recovered from the loss of his child and they were unwilling to press him any further on the subject. Several moments of agonised silence passed before Albert realised that they were uncomfortable at being the ones to speak next.

“But it were a long time ago,” he said by way of comfort, “and time soothes wounds. Never ‘eals them, just relieves the ache a bit.”

Again, Maeve and Remus acted as one and nodded their agreement.

“I think I’ve outstayed my time here,” Albert said, rising from his chair. “I just wanted to deliver a warning to you.”

“But how did you even know?” Maeve asked. There were still so many unanswered questions for her. “How did you know where to find us?”

“My visitor told me quite a few things. And let’s just say I felt sorry for yer and all yer trouble. There’s some things a young married couple shouldn’t have to go through and this is one of them. ‘Ee’s too sharp to be betrayed by a young whippersnapper and that’s why I’m ‘ere. Redress the balance, you could say.”

“Thank you,” Maeve said, glancing to Remus to see if he had anything else to ask. “But I don’t quite know what to do with your information.”

“It’s ‘igh time you were with yer ‘usband,” Albert said, his attitude sharper than it had been. “All this nonsense, being at this school and pretending to teach. You ‘ave a place, and that place is by your ‘usband’s side. ‘Ee might not like it but ‘ee wouldn’t argue too ‘ard against it, I’ll bet.”

“But I don’t even know where he is! How would I convince him?” Maeve was ecstatic that she was having confirmation of all she believed. The right place for her, the place where she would feel the least sorrow, was standing with Severus, wherever he might be and whatever he might be facing.

Remus’ face had gone white at this turn of events. He was supposed to be persuading Maeve to get Harry to come to Hogwarts, not losing her as well.

“Well, now, I’m sure Severus would agree that Maeve is safest here,” he said. “He’ll not want to take her on the run with him.”

“You know that, lad, do you?” Albert asked. “You know that a ‘usband wouldn’t want ‘is wife by ‘im as ‘ee fought ‘is battles? If this one was my wife I wouldn’t let ‘er out of my sight for fear of losing ‘er.”

“Really, Mr Gryps,” Remus tried again, his voice forceful yet polite. “You don’t know the whole situation. It would not be in anyone’s best interests for Maeve to go running off after Severus. And I am sure Maeve knows that.” He glared at her hopeful face, challenging her to see sense. “Even if it’s not what she wants to hear,” he added, as an extra appeal to her rational side.

But Remus had already seen what love could do to a person at the Shrieking Shack, could see the suffering it could endure and the way it transcended all reasonable thought processes. He watched as Maeve’s gaze shifted to the fire’s glowing green flames and knew he had lost. There was a light in her face, a reflection of all that she wanted and would have, of a desire satiated.

“I think Albert is right,” she said slowly, turning back to the two men with a smile creeping, victorious, across the lower half of her face.

Albert gave a satisfied grunt and relaxed a little, placing the cup on the table. “I knew you’d see things in the right way.”

“This is not the right way!” Remus said, his voice rising. “This is not what we planned,” he said to Maeve. “This goes against everything we were talking about – about Harry.”

“ ‘Arry is it?” Albert asked. “Well, why don’t you leave young ‘arry to me.”

“What do you know about Harry?” Remus snapped, angry that he was being over-ridded.

“You met him, in Godric’s Hollow, didn’t you?” Maeve asked, watching Albert carefully. This man was exuding a powerful charm that she found almost equal to Roderick’s, but it had very different results. Roderick’s would stop a person dead at twenty paces and make them believe everything he said. Albert’s was subtler and gentler, but it still worked.

“I did that. I think that whatever it is you want ‘arry to do could be achieved if you left ‘im to me. Trust can be a wonderful thing for oiling the wheels of reluctance, or so my dad used to say.”

“Why would he trust you?” Remus asked, feeling even more sidelined.

“Because of ‘is mum, and because ‘ee ‘as no reason not to trust me, Mr Lupin, but I’d need you to maybe ‘elp things along a little. Mayhap ‘ee’d be ‘appier meeting me again with you present, as a little gesture of familiarity.”

A stiff, disapproving knock at the door brought silence to the room and Maeve rose to see who it was. The knock brought to mind Roderick and thinking of Roderick made her think of what Albert had said about the person the Death Eaters had been looking for serving two masters. Her hand moved to the door handle as her face blanched. Surely, surely Roderick couldn’t finally have succumbed to Voldemort. He could talk his way out of anything, couldn’t he?

Neville had a face that was both apologetic and accusatory as he stood on the threshold. Maeve instantly knew what she had done and it was fortunate that her face was already white; it compensated for the sudden blush as she realised she had stood him up.

“Oh, Neville! I am so sorry that I wasn’t here for our meeting.”

“It’s all right,” he said in an injured voice. “I understand you have a lot of things on your mind at the moment what with Professor Snape and everything. And in a way I’m glad you weren’t here.” He looked towards the interior of her office and Maeve knew she should invite him in, but she didn’t know if Albert would want the extra attention.

“Oh? Why’s that, Neville?” She shifted her weight from one tired foot to the other and wished that he would hurry up.

“Because it made me realise I needed to use my own mind and be my own person.” He moved his shoulders a little, as if by shrugging them he could shrug off the years of uncertainty.

“What do you mean?” Maeve suddenly looked as doubtful of Neville’s decision making as Remus was of hers.

“I’m leaving school. I’m going to join Harry and Ron.”

Maeve’s hand shot towards the door jam and clung on in astonishment. From the interior of her room she could hear Remus’ cup hit the table with a loud clink and he was beside her before she had the chance to respond.

“Neville,” he began, “you do know that your education is more important than any wild goose chases with Harry, don’t you?”

“Professor Lupin,” Neville stuttered. “I didn’t know you were here.” He took a step back.

“Just visiting,” he said quickly. “But you mustn’t leave school. It is very important that you stay on here.”

Maeve almost felt sorry for Remus at that moment and looked at his strained face with sympathy. “Remus is right, Neville. You need to stay here and finish your year. Hermione is staying and you’re right up there with her when it comes to things like Herbology. It would be a great loss to that subject if you left now.”

“But what use am I? You know… what with the prophecy and things. I feel I need to be near Harry.” He flushed as he realised he didn’t know if Remus knew about the prophecy and he might have made a mistake in blurting it out.

“You would be near to Maeve if you stayed here,” Remus argued and Maeve almost opened her mouth to say something about her not being here but she felt his hand press a warning into the base of her spine.

“That’s right,” she lied, her mind already made up about leaving. “And there is a possibility that Harry may be coming back to school.”

It was Neville’s turn to look surprised as he glanced from her to Remus, who nodded.

“Harry’s coming back here? But why would he do that?” Neville folded his arms in front of him.

“Because…” Maeve looked to Remus, who unfortunately was busy looking to her.

“Because, young man, he’s not daft and knows where he’s better off.” Albert shuffled into view, causing Neville to unfold his arms and stand a little straighter. “And you’d do well to think on that. You couldn’t be better off than you are here. What’s a youngster like you going to achieve in the face of them Dark uns, eh? Better to get the information into yer head and then face ‘em.”

“But… but I think…” Neville’s arguments failed him as the old man’s eyes watched him carefully. “I don’t know.”

“You do know, lad. You know this is the place fer you to be. All this stuff and nonsense about running off to fight the great fight, eh. Ruddy nonsense, that’s what it is. You stay safe and don’t be in an ‘urry to get yerself killed chasing dreams of ‘eroics.”

Maeve stepped back and allowed Albert the floor, wondering if it were really possible for three people to be balancing so many untruths, like plates spinning on poles, ready to fall and shatter at their feet. The old man was really in his stride now and was continuing to give Neville a very thorough lecture on the foolhardiness of running off to war. She stepped even further back into the quiet gloom of her room and began to plan her escape in her mind. Professor McGonagall would have to be apologised to, of course, and a new Potions teacher found. She watched Remus’ brown-clothed, wide-shouldered back and wondered if he would – well, it would earn him some money and he wasn’t completely hopeless at Potions. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stepped in to her shoes at short notice, after all.

Her mind strayed to her bedroom. A few clothes in a bag along with her toothbrush and a few toiletries wouldn’t take much to carry and she could be gone by morning. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know where Severus was; she’d found him before and she’d find him again. Remus turned suddenly, as if her train of thought had thundered through the tunnel of his over-worked mind and shook the walls of his brain.

“No,” he mouthed, not wanting Neville or Albert to understand their conversation. “Don’t do it.”

She shook her head. “I have to,” the whisper was low. “I have been so unhappy here.” Her hands tugged nervously at the folds of her skirt.

He moved closer to better understand her whispered reasoning, leaving Neville’s carefully come-to decision to be thoroughly picked apart by Albert.

“Think of the danger to you and Severus. Maeve, this is madness. You’ve had your head turned by a foolish old man and you know this isn’t right, for anyone.” His gentle eyes pleaded with her, willing her to have a change of heart, knowing that her husband would blame him for this. “What do I need to do to stop you?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “I can’t get Harry to come back if you’re not here.”

“You can,” she said. “He’ll come back with you and Albert at him.” She paused, aware of the heavy ticking of time. “I need to pop out and see someone.”

“What?” he said, dismay creeping over him. “Now?”

“Yes, now. I need to know that they are all right and I need their help if they are.”

“Is this Roderick?” Remus was now even more agitated than he had been. “You know, you can’t trust him. What if he was the person the Death Eaters were looking for?”

“That’s what I need to find out. I know what Roderick is, Remus. I know he’s difficult. I’m under no illusions about his ability to switch sides at any moment. But he’s helped me before and, if he’s still here, he’ll help me again.”

“He could be part of Severus’ problem. By doing this you could contribute to the danger Severus is in.” Remus had never thought he would be overly concerned about Severus Snape’s welfare, but now it seemed of paramount importance to what they were trying to do.

A dry cough interrupted their disagreement as Albert laid a grandfatherly hand across Neville’s shoulders. “I’ll walk the young un back to his common room and then I’ll be off.”

“Oh, okay,” Maeve began, her lack of concern for Neville apparent. Remus was about to say something else but Albert continued before he could voice it.

“Thank you for yer ‘ospitality, Professor Snape, you’ve been most accommodating. If you’re ever passin’ by Godric’s Hollow you just pop in. It’s the end ‘ouse on the village green; red door with the brass knocker. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Maeve replied. “I’ll be sure to drop in on you sometime. And thank you for the warning.”

“Maeve,” Remus cut through the pleasantries, feeling there was still more to be said and that Albert perhaps hadn’t told them all he could.

“I’m just off out too,” she said, wilfully ignoring him. “Could you close the door on your way out, Remus?”

She dodged past Albert, patted Neville’s arm as an apology for her lack of concern, and scurried off along the corridor in the direction of Roderick’s office. The light in the corridor flickered and dulled as Remus realised that he had just been completely railroaded into a siding by Maeve’s force of will.

“Bright thing, isn’t she?” Albert observed.

“Oh, yes. Very intelligent,” Remus agreed, although he would have argued the point that she ill-used her intelligence on occasion.

“I didn’t mean that, lad. She’s bright. Brings light where there’s dark. ‘Er ‘usband needs ‘er, whether you think it’s a grand idea or not.” And with that admonition he steered a bewildered Neville away in the direction that Maeve had taken.

Remus sighed out his frustration and wondered how on earth he was going to get Harry back here, persuade Maeve not to leave and make Severus understand that things weren’t as easy as he seemed to think, especially where his headstrong wife was concerned. Closing the door gently behind him he just missed the flare from the fire, and it was an empty room that greeted Severus when he popped in to see if Maeve was still in one piece.



The door to Roderick’s office was, unsurprisingly, closed and Maeve knocked lightly, hoping and praying that she would hear Roderick’s familiar voice beckon her in. A few moments passed and she was sure she had heard a scuffle of some sort from the other side of the closed door. She was about to knock again when the door opened and revealed a calm-looking Roderick beaming at her.

“Maeve, my lovely, what a delightful, if unexpected, surprise. Can’t really talk now, have something important to do.”

Mirroring Neville, Maeve peered over his shoulder into the room beyond, but couldn’t glimpse much.

“I need to speak to you,” she said. “And I really need to speak to you now.”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and allowed a hand to rest indolently on her shoulder. “My darling, you tease and torment me for weeks and then you need me just when I am in the middle of something else.”

“Would that something else be a someone else?” she asked, shifting his hand firmly from her shoulder. “Someone female?”

“Oh, fabulous,” he breathed. “My glittering icicle is jealous. You’re too divine for words sometimes, cherub.”

“Really, Roderick, have you swallowed something overly sugary? That’s pure syrup, even by your standards.”

“You know how to wound a man,” he groaned. “But seriously, gorgeous, can’t it wait?”

“Not really.” She stood steadfast and waited for him to give in. He may well have some dealings with Jenny Fitzwilliam, but that was his business and something she didn’t have time for now. Her resolve was hardening by the second and she just wanted to hurry this along.

“You’re killing me, here, you know that?” He hovered in the doorway, trying desperately to prioritise the two women. “I can give you half-an-hour, but not here.”

“Let’s take a walk up the Astronomy Tower,” Maeve suggested. “I think that will be secluded enough.”

“Going to ravish me, are you?” he grinned, softly closing the door behind him. “Can’t wait.”





It was cold, colder than the grave that Lucius would soon be occupying, as Narcissa walked slowly through the centre of the town. The cloak she had borrowed from Maeve was pulled tightly around her and she tried to weather the storm of curious glances from passing Muggles. Under any circumstances, Narcissa would have drawn attention with her striking beauty, but with her green cloak and startled expression she was even more conspicuous. A light drizzle dampened her hair and she was irritated that the cloak’s hood didn’t quite cover her head fully.

It was a little before nine o’clock when she reached the Muggle bus station, its orange lights and smell of hotdogs making her cringe at the shabbiness of it all. She stood at the entrance, peering into the semi-circular construction. Glass shelters jutted out around the curve of the wall, several people sheltering beneath them in the gloom. In the places where the light bulbs had either blown or been blown out by youths with nothing better to do, the hot pinpricks of cigarettes occasionally perforated the darkness. Narcissa was frightened, frightened to use any magic and frightened to reveal herself to the Muggle world.

Several dirty-white buses pulled in and out as she stood there, faces pressed to the grubby, rain-spattered windows as they tried to distance themselves from their travelling companions. The number seven announced that it was going to Alder’s End while the number sixty-two was going to Green Park. If Narcissa had expected one to pull in conveniently marked London, she was soon disabused of this idea. And then, just as she was about to give in to a bout of self-indulgent silent sobbing, she heard it: the rumble of magic as it tore through the street and presented itself to her with a squeal of brakes, a resounding bang and a dazzling flash of light.

Livid purple and invisible to the Muggles around her, the Knight Bus came to a shuddering halt in front of Narcissa, its vast black wheels just inches from her dainty feet. She shrank away from the contraption, knowing what it was but never having conceived that she would ever need its services. After all, a Pureblood witch with her connections should never have cause to be stranded without protection.

She retreated even further when a young man, pimply and wearing a smart, peaked cap on his shortly cropped hair, swung out of the opened door and tipped a youthful hand to his brow.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus,” he said confidently, before stuttering to a halt. “Ermm… Just a sec, love, forgot what comes next. ‘Ere, Ern… What comes after Knight Bus?” he shouted over his shoulder. Narcissa looked around him, her face desperate.

“Ar,” said the elderly wizard, who was sitting in what appeared to be a large armchair.

“Well now, that’s no ‘elp, is it?” the young man said, returning his attention to Narcissa. “Anyhow, you must be stranded for the Knight Bus to call fer you. Give us yer wand hand an’ I’ll pull you aboard.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Narcissa breathed, afraid that if she re-entered wizarding circles in this manner her identity would be immediately known and relayed back to people she would rather not know.

“What doncher know?” the young man asked. “Ah, you don’t know my name. Eric Shunpike, at your service.”

“Hello, erm… Eric,” she replied, still looking nervously at the driver, whose glasses seemed impossibly thick for someone who was driving a form of public transport.

“An’ what might your name be then? Lovely woman like you, out on yer own and everyfink.” It was Eric’s turn to look around her as he tried to see if she had any luggage. “You got no cases or bags, then?”

“No, no I haven’t,” she said quickly. “I travel light. I’m…erm…”

“Don’t choo know who you are?”

“Professor O’Malley,” she said quickly.

“Professor are you? Well… D’you ‘ear that, Ern…We got a Professor.”

“Ar,” the driver grunted a response.

“Ernie don’t say much, do you, Ern?”

“Ar,” Ern confirmed.

“Ernie Prang’s bin driving the bus for years. ‘Ee knew my brother when he were conducting. That were before they got him and shoved him in prison on some trumped up charge. My old ma…broke her heart it did. Still, got to keep yer chin up and get on with it, doncher?” Eric looked downcast for a brief moment before his natural good humour and inquisitiveness returned.

Narcissa nodded, not sure exactly what Eric Shunpike was talking about. The rain was falling steadily now and she could feel her boots beginning to leak.

“So,” Eric stuck his hand out to help her on board. “Where you goin’ then?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she said, surprising herself with her destination.

“Oo! You bin playing ‘ookey ‘ave you? Well, that ain’t right, is it, Ern? Teacher playin’ ‘ookey. We’d best be getting you back then. That’ll be 1 Knut and eleven Sickles then, please. You can get extras, but I’ve forgotten what they are… Toofbrushes and cocoa, I fink.”

Narcissa reluctantly reached up and took his hand, almost recoiling at the clamminess, and he hauled her unceremoniously on board the strange bus. Dipping into the small purse of money she had brought with her she counted out the exact change and placed it into his outstretched hand. Her gaze then shifted to the four-poster beds that lined both sides of the bus, taking the place of normal seating. Unsure which to take, Eric came to her rescue and pointed her in the direction of the one nearest to them.

“You settle yourself down there an’ we’ll get goin’. Take her away, Ern!” he called cheerfully.

With a spark and a swoosh the door closed as the engine prepared to roar into life again. Ernie put his foot rather heavily down on the accelerator and the bus shot forward at great speed, sending Narcissa tumbling over her own feet. She landed on the bed with her skirts around her ears, displaying rather more flesh and underwear than she would have cared to.

“Blimey!” Eric said, a smile sending his pimples scattering across his face. “I don’t think I were meant to see that,” he added as Narcissa hurriedly tried to recover her modesty.

She huddled on the bed, wondering how long the journey would take but unwilling to draw the strange young man’s attention back to her by asking him. The Knight Bus was erratic and swayed from side to side with alarming frequency. Narcissa wasn’t sure how she was hanging on to her stomach as the bed reeled from the erratic driving. But at least it was dry, and the next place she would be was Hogwarts. If she had to crawl to that dreadful woman to help her again, then so be it. But this time she would make sure she led her to that husband of hers. And at least in Severus she had one person who she could trust beyond all measure. She ignored the rain that cascaded down the windows and tried not to imagine just how the driver was managing to see through those glasses and the wet windscreen.

After a short while the bus lurched to a halt again, sending the beds into a frantic dance, and Eric leapt to the door, desperately trying to memorise his full welcoming speech. Narcissa kept her face covered by the now damp cloak, forcing the hood to cover her face and losing a few inches off the bottom in doing so, and peered out to see who the new arrival was. She couldn’t hear the interchange between Eric and the passenger but Eric was getting a little heated. He was then was shoved roughly aside as a tall, blond figure marched onto the bus, his eyes passing scornfully over her covered head and down towards the far end.

“What choo say your name was?” Eric called, having recovered from his rough handling.

“I didn’t.” The young man turned back to Eric and scowled. “And you won’t ask again if you know what’s good for you. Now, I want to go to Eastwrithe, and you can drop me off first, before all these other…” he glanced scornfully at the assortment of desperate passengers and discovered he couldn’t be bothered to give a name to their collective. “Just tell the old man to put his foot down.”

And Draco Malfoy swept to the back of the bus with a sneer on his supercilious face.

Narcissa was trembling. Her first instincts had been to throw off the cloak and run to her son, enveloping him in the safety of her arms. But something had held her back. Why hadn’t she said anything? Draco was the reason she had left the safety of the house the Rampton man had provided for her and yet here she was, almost afraid to speak to her own child. It had been the look in his eyes, the sneering hatred, that had made her recoil further into the anonymous safety of Maeve’s cloak. She should speak to him, find someway of acknowledging him. Her mind reeled as it tried to place the name Eastwrithe. Surely she would have heard of it if Draco were making his way there. And why wasn’t he with Severus? Cold fear settled itself in her still unsteady stomach as she began to imagine a scenario in which Severus would have abandoned Draco. She eventually came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t have. Was Severus dead?

She peered out at her son, blue eyes searching for something in his glacial face. It was too dark for her to make out anything but the force of his detestation for everything around him. She couldn’t let him see her like this, in a borrowed cloak with hair damp and matted from the rain. She couldn’t let her son down in the way his father had let him down. She would continue to Hogwarts and get the O’Malley woman to help her, and Rampton. Rampton would be at Hogwarts and whatever anyone said about him, he was good in a tight spot.

Narcissa kept her vigil until the bus came to another of Ernie’s abrupt halts and her son walked past her, sneer intact, without sparing so much as a glance for his embattled mother as she huddled like a discarded rag doll on the bed beside him.

Draco got off, elbowing Eric in the ribs as he did so, and Narcissa breathed again. She kept the cloak covering her face though, unwilling to let others see her tears of frustration, longing and loss as they coursed a now well-sluiced path down her cheeks.





The Astronomy Tower was predictably empty as Roderick and Maeve arrived there, stepping out onto the parapet that ringed the tower. It was used for astronomical observations but, as Maeve looked to the heavy, cloud-bruised sky, there would be no observing anything tonight. She leant against the crenellated walls and peered into the semi-darkness around them. He was out there, alone, and she was here, safe. It would have to change.

“So, are you going to devour me now, or would you like a little small talk first?” Roderick leaned against the wall too and looked into her face. “You miss him very much, don’t you?” he asked, laughter and frivolity dissolving into the darkness.

“More than I could have imagined,” she said into the night. “And that’s what I want to talk to you about.” Maeve knew there would be none of the arguments that Remus had put up. Roderick understood adventure and desire and wouldn’t stand in her way.


“Are you insane?” he asked, after she had explained what she wanted to do. “If you think I’m going to help you do that you must be off your delectable trolley.”

“Well,” she began, irritated that the one person she thought would understand was being awkward. “That’s a little unhelpful. You know I’ll go ahead and leave whether you help me or not so I think you could be a little more accommodating.”

“Why? You seem to think I’m some endless favour that can be constantly be called in whenever you are in trouble.” The shift in attitude permeated the air around them, making Maeve shiver.

“That’s unfair of you,” she said in such a small voice that Roderick barely heard her.

“Unfair or not, it’s true. What am I, some Mr Fix-it?” He was looking out towards the night now, his dark hair blowing back in the breeze. Maeve wasn’t sure what she had done or said to turn his normally animated face to ice and she quickly re-assessed her approach. His morose expression made her angry with herself for, well, for taking him for granted. There was no other way to describe what she was doing.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are. I think you are someone that lives for a challenge.”

He shifted his face slightly, the light from the torches that skirted the wall setting a spark to his attractive eyes. Maeve knew he was listening; she just had to find the right things to say.

“I think that without people presenting you with a little excitement and danger you would drift, like the sea without the pull of the moon to give it some purpose. You’re an Auror; it’s what you do. Without the attention, without being needed, your life would be duller than you could bear. And you’re good at what you do. People come to you because you always deliver.”

The silence strained between them, blown by the wind and taunted by Maeve’s words. She watched as his jaw worked slightly, willing him to respond, willing him to accept the truth of the flattery.

“And I come to you because you are the only person I know that can help me, not because I think you are there to be used. And I believe in you.”

Being believed in was not something that Roderick was used to, certainly not in his personal life. Not that he’d ever particularly wanted to be believed in, having fun was far more important. But something in this woman wormed its way into his conscience and made him feel dissatisfied with things the way they were.

“Please, Roderick. Don’t take offence. It’s not like you.” And she realised that she didn’t really know what he was like beyond what she had seen in their short acquaintance. Did she really know what anyone was like in her life; she had only known them all for just over a year, with the exception of Severus.

Roderick’s red cloak fluttered slightly and his slender hands caught at it to stop it blowing open. He inclined his head towards her, his voice lower and more serious than she had ever heard it.

“I know. I know it’s not like me. Of course I’ll help you, that’s inevitable, but sometimes it feels as if you only ever come to me when you are in trouble. And you’re right, I like a challenge. I live and breathe a challenge, but sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes I want…” he stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know what I want.” He gave her a cracked smile that was filled with a surprising amount of self-doubt and insecurity.

A rumble from the sky indicated the approach of a storm, tiny droplets of rain reaching for them and spitting on the torches. In their flickering light Maeve reached for him and gave him a gentle hug and he allowed it, with no flirtatious comment or throwaway remark. A swift sheet of lightning illuminated them and Roderick pulled away.

“Come on then,” he said, the spell of intimacy broken. “Let’s get you re-united with your husband.” And the rain beat a tattoo on the tower as they darted back inside, away from the filthy weather.




“You’re leaving?” Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression on her face. “And when did you decide upon this unexpected course of action?”

“Today. I can’t do my job properly with all that has happened.” Maeve could still feel Remus’ disappointed disapproval as he had finally admitted defeat and agreed to take her position, providing it was agreeable to Minerva.

“And have you given any thought to what you will do, or to the fact that the Ministry will want to keep an eye on you because of Severus.”

Maeve hesitated before replying. “I’m going home. Rathgael is as good a place as any to sit this out and wait for Severus to clear his name. The Ministry doesn’t really concern me at the moment. They’re not exactly the most competent organisation.”

Professor McGonagall looked even more incredulous now, or as incredulous as her inanimate face would allow. “You have never struck me as a witch inclined to merely ‘sit things out’. And I think the Ministry will have difficulty believing that too. They may be ‘incompetent,’ but they are also persistent.”

“The Ministry can believe what they like. The fact of the matter is I shall be going home to Rathgael, where I shall busy myself with Potions work.”

“But you could do that here, and provide a service to the students. I’m sorry, Maeve” – she stood up and poked the fire absently – “but I just can’t see what you hope to gain from this. Unless there is something at the school you specifically wish to get away from.”

“Just memories,” Maeve said sadly. “Memories and constant reminders.”

“And who would take your position? When do you intend to leave?” The conversation had veered too close to emotional matters for the headmistress’ liking and she immediately steered it back on a more business-like path.

“I have spoken with Remus and he has agreed to take my position to allow you the time to make a new appointment. I’m sorry; my teaching career has been very hit and miss what with one thing and another. I think I need to draw a line under it.”

“You are making a mistake. You may not have been here for a long time, but you have been an excellent teacher. We have no complaints about your work, and the students certainly seem to enjoy your classes. You are swapping a secure position within the safety of these walls for the exposure of your cottage.”

“My mind is made up,” Maeve said, aware that Roderick was waiting for her by the front door. “I need to leave now. My bag is packed and I will be escorted home. Inform the Ministry if you wish. I have no objections.”

Professor McGonagall knew better than to try and persuade her to change her mind and rose too, with a nod of her head. “Very well then. If your mind is made up there is little I can say. I will have to inform the Ministry, but I will make sure they do not perceive this as an attempt to run away on your part.”

“Thank you,” Maeve said, extending her hand to shake her soon-to-be former employer’s.

“And there will always be shelter for you here, if you need it.”



She left with a leaden heart and made her way back to her room to collect the bag that she had already packed. It was late now, approaching half past ten, and she was tired. Roderick was going to accompany her to Rathgael before locating Severus and she knew that she would owe him so much if he managed it, owed him so much for even trying.

With a lingering glance at the room she said a mental goodbye to the bats before closing the dungeon and a part of her life that she had been so recently unhappy with.

As her retreating steps echoed down the corridor the fire, that was now little more than smouldering embers, flared and Severus appeared once again.

His impatient eyes scoured the room for signs of life and when they found none clouded with annoyance.

“Insufferable woman,” he hissed. “I finally find a secure fire and you’re not here.” With one last angry flash of his black eyes he withdrew his head from the fire and left the room to its silent counsel.




The Knight Bus came to a tyre-shredding halt outside the main gates, just missing one of the pillars. Narcissa stood up unsteadily and smoothed her borrowed cloak down as Eric waited expectantly by the door.

“Come on then, Professor! ‘Ome at last. And by the looks of things, you’ve a welcoming committee!”

Narcissa looked out into the darkness and saw two figures approaching the bus, their identity concealed by the lack of light. She hesitated then, wondering if she was about to step into the lap of danger.

“Come on then, what choo waiting for. We’ve other customers to deliver.”

She glanced at Eric and realised she had no choice. Stepping straight into a large puddle of water she felt the door close and with another loud bang the Knight Bus was gone, the relief of its bright light snatched away, leaving her alone and in darkness.

The people coming down the long drive were obviously not as wary as she was because a wand was suddenly lit, chasing away the immediate blackness and casting shadows dancing around her. Before she had the opportunity to decided whether to flee or fight, the gate swung open and allowed her entry. But she didn’t get very far.

“For the love of all that’s magical!” Roderick exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You had a perfectly good safe place to stay and here you are, wandering around like a hopeless cause.”

“You have to help me,” Narcissa breathed, unable to believe her luck. “I know where Draco is going, but I don’t know why. I have to find him before he meets with the Dark Lord.”

She realised that the person with Roderick was Maeve and she almost felt a pang of regret at what she thought she might know about Severus’ fate. “I’m sorry, but Severus wasn’t with him. There’s no way that Severus would have let Draco go alone. I think he might be… Well, I think he might be…”

“He’s not dead,” Maeve said. “But he’s in danger. Probably more so now because of that brat of a son of yours.”

“Well, really!”

“No time for this, ladies,” Roderick said, dropping his wand down towards the floor he cast around for something suitable to turn into a Portkey and found it in the shape of a discarded scarf. With a muttered Charm he turned the wet, woolly mess into a means of travel and with a smile asked them if they were ready.

A minute later they were standing outside the door of Rathgael and it had stopped raining.

Chapter Thirteen

Questions, Questions.




The Leaky Cauldron had suffered of late. The clientele had dwindled as witches and wizards limited their visits to Diagon Alley. People seldom stayed overnight in London now if they could possibly help it. Today only a few tables were occupied, mainly by people who couldn’t get through the prospect of the day without a drink firmly placed in their hand. Tom was busy rubbing glasses clean and watching the conversation between three familiar figures over in the corner by the large fire. It had been a good while since he had seen either Harry Potter or Remus Lupin and although the Weasley boy’s father was in quite a lot he seldom saw the children.

Remus was edging closer and closer to the reason he had brought Harry to Diagon Alley but his proximity to the problem was making it even harder for him to get the words out. Although he did feel he could congratulate himself on being right about their location, neutral territory was making it marginally easier than it would have been at Grimmauld Place. Harry was telling him about a new lead he had on one of the remaining, unidentified Horcruxes but Remus was only half listening. He knew that Harry wouldn’t find the answer to anything at Grimmauld Place and the boy could spend the rest of his life looking through the Blacks’ old books and wouldn’t find anything.

“Harry,” he began, interrupting Harry’s description of a leather-bound tome that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw and was still thought to be in existence, although no one knew exactly where. “I need to discuss something with you, something important.”

“Oh?” Harry stopped short and glanced at Ron, who was busy mopping up the Butterbeer he had just spilled over the table. “What is it? Is it about the Horcruxes?”

“No,” Remus said with heaviness in his voice, “it’s about Hogwarts.”

At the mention of Hogwarts, Ron stopped his mopping and looked up. “But we don’t go to Hogwarts. Has something happened? Is Hermione all right?”

“Hermione is fine, Ron.” Remus frowned at the tangent that Ron had taken. “There is nothing wrong with Hogwarts. I’m worried about you, Harry.”

“Me? I’m fine.” Harry watched Remus and waited for him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

“I know you are at the moment, but I’m more worried about what could be just around the corner. I think this Horcrux hunt has taken over your life somewhat and I think you need to think about what’s best for you, not what you feel you ought to be doing for Dumbledore.” Remus didn’t want to bring Dumbledore into the discussion but felt he couldn’t make his point without doing so. Harry was about to splutter something indignant but Remus continued. “You need to finish your education, Harry. You will never be an Auror without getting your N.E.W.T.s and you haven’t missed that much of the year. Hermione could do with the company, too.”

“I’m not going back,” Harry said with a determined grimace. “It’s not something I’m even going to think about, so you’re wasting your breath.”

“You believe the future of us all depends upon these Horcruxes. What if you’re wrong? What if there is something more threatening at large, something that could prevent you from getting to those Horcruxes at all?”

“Like what?”

“I can’t say.”

“Well, if you can’t say,” Ron jumped back into the conversation, “it’s a pretty weak argument, isn’t it?”

“I think it is very important that you go back to Hogwarts, Harry. I can’t force you to, but surely you trust me to know what’s right.”

“I trusted Dumbledore but he didn’t always know what was right. If he had then he would never have allowed that bastard Snape to kill him, would he?”

“Harry, please.” Remus winced at the hatred in Harry’s voice. “This obsession with Snape is unhealthy… You need to leave him to the authorities.”

“The authorities? You mean the hopeless cases at the Ministry? They couldn’t find a Sickle in Gringotts. And it’s not an obsession.”

“Dad works for the Ministry,” Ron pointed out, knowing that his father hadn’t been included in Harry’s scorn but feeling the need to defend him all the same. In fact Arthur often said the same things about the people he worked with, and with considerably more colourful language than Harry had just used.

“I know, Ron. But he’s not one of the Hit-Wizards looking for Snape, is he? No doubt he would do a much better job. How hard can it be to find a piece of dirt like Snape anyway? But back to your proposal, Remus. No, I’m not going back, no matter what you think you know.”

Remus looked down at the scratched and stained table, wishing someone else could do all the lying and persuading for a change. He pushed his glass away a little, his heart not in the Firewhiskey that sat before him. He knew he needed to make a concerted effort to get Harry to agree but he was beginning to falter in his own belief that he could do so. Tom chose that moment to shuffle across. He had been inching ever closer to them in the hope of finding out what they were talking about but as soon as they noticed him they fell silent.

“Get you more drinks?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said, brightening. “I’ll have another Butterbeer, thanks. You, Harry?”

Harry shook his annoyed head and ignored Tom. Remus gave a dismissive, “No thanks,” and Tom slunk away.

Gathering his concentration once more, Remus went on the attack again. “You could still continue to try and discover the Horcruxes from Hogwarts, but you’d be safe. You don’t have to be running around London to find them.”

“Of course I do,” Harry replied. “How could I find them stuck up there doing homework?”

“Hermione is there. You could work more closely with her, and I’ll be there.” Too late, he realised he had slipped something in the conversation that would require further explanation.

“You?” Harry was quick to pick up on the slip and his green eyes glued themselves to Remus as he waited for an explanation. “Why will you be there?”

“I’ve taken on another temporary position until Professor McGonagall finds a new teacher.”

Harry leaned forward, his elbows rubbing a little of the dirt off the table. “And why does she need a new teacher?”

“Someone left,” Remus replied, realising it was hopeless trying to hide it from Harry. “Maeve left, last night. She’s gone home.”

“But Maeve can’t leave!” Harry jerked back, spilling some of Ron’s Butterbeer as he rocked the table. “She was helping Hermione… and me, indirectly. How can she just leave? Did something happen?”

“Not that I am aware of. She was influenced by someone, an acquaintance of yours, I believe.” And Remus recounted the visit from Albert and what had happened the previous night in Hogsmeade. Harry listened, incredulous that the old man could have known his way to Hogsmeade, let alone get into Hogwarts.

“But I thought he was non-magical?” Ron said, confused. He looked to Harry for confirmation, wishing he had listened more closely when Harry had told him of his meeting with his mum’s friend.

“He’s a Squib, so it would seem. Comes from a magical family but has nothing himself,” Remus explained.

Harry looked surprised at Maeve’s decision. “But how did he persuade Maeve to leave Hogwarts? I thought she was happy there. What’s she going to do in Ireland on her own?”

“She’ll mope,” Ron said gloomily. “He might be an evil git, but he’s still her husband and she must be missing him something rotten. I know I’m missing Herm…”

“And if she’s not at Hogwarts he might go looking for her,” Harry said, ignoring Ron’s imminent ramble about Hermione.

“Well, yes, there is a possibility that Voldemort will try…” Remus began.

“Not Voldemort! Snape… he might go and pay her a visit if she’s at home. And if he did the Ministry could catch him. Or I could.”

Remus was growing even more concerned by the gleam of revenge that was lighting Harry’s eyes. He moved to try and calm down the enraged boy with a placatory attitude. “I don’t think he would be that stupid, Harry. And I don’t think you would be either. Let’s just calm down and talk about Hogwarts.”

“I’m not going back, Remus. I need to go to Kent to see if this book is really Ravenclaw’s. I suppose Snape can wait.” The fire was still there though, and Remus was growing more concerned for both him and Severus by the second.

“Harry, please forget about Severus.”

“How can I forget about him? He killed Dumbledore in cold blood and now he’s running around with his Death Eater friends. Half the murders that have been recently committed are probably due to him. A kill here and a kill there, what’s that to a monster like Snape?”

“Don’t be daft, Harry!” Ron jumped in. “Snape will be too busy hiding to go around killing more people.”

“Ron’s right,” Remus agreed.

Harry was immutable. “He killed Dumbledore, he’ll kill again.”

“You don’t even know that he killed Dumbledore in the way you thought he did. You don’t know the facts. Allow the Ministry to bring him to justice and then we will know.” Remus had grave doubts about the Ministry being able to see justice if it were standing outside the building with a huge placard round its neck announcing in large red letters that it was indeed justice, but he had to show some faith in front of Harry.

“You almost sound like you believe he didn’t do it,” Harry said, his whole body growing rigid with disbelief.

“I don’t think we have heard his side of the story.” But of course Remus had heard at least part of his side of the story and a little of his conviction showed through. “Until then I think you need to put all thoughts of revenge out of your mind.”

“HIS SIDE OF THE STORY!” Harry yelled, standing up quickly. Both Remus and Ron tried to shush him, but he only lowered his voice a little. “His side of the story? How can there be an ‘his side of the story’? ”

“There always is,” Remus said.

“Well, then maybe I just don’t want to hear his pathetic excuses. I’m going. And enjoy Hogwarts. You said to me just a few days ago that you had finished with the place. Do you ever make up your mind? I mean really make up your mind.”

Remus pushed his own chair back, anger finally spilling from his shroud of restraint. He faced Harry furiously, now slightly shorter than the younger boy and far more careworn, but equal in his strength of feeling.

“Yes, I do make up my mind, Harry. And I usually make it up in order to help people. Some people, however, won’t be helped. Some people think that at the tender age of seventeen they know it all. Some people think that they can disregard the greatest wizard of our age, and perhaps of all time, by saying he didn’t always know what was right. Well neither do you, Harry. Neither do you. You should stop thinking about your own crusade and think about the wider world. If you do not go back to Hogwarts, then whatever happens as a consequence is on your head. I tried, and I failed. I can accept that. But please, Harry, take a more mature attitude to Snape and stop behaving like a younger version of Sirius. Use your head, not your heart!”

And it was Remus’ turn to walk away, disgusted at his loss of temper and at Harry’s need to exact revenge. He rushed out of the pub and allowed the door to slam behind him, suddenly aware that Harry was right; there were things he needed to make his mind up about, and now, before it was too late. Hogwarts and Potions would have to wait; he needed to make a trip to Ireland.




The previous night had been awkward for Maeve and Narcissa. Roderick had left soon after delivering them to Carrowdore Cottage, displeased to be back at Rathgael so soon. It struck him that they were all running round in ever-increasing circles, never getting any closer to anything. He had been tempted to hang around and watch the two women bicker and pick over old wounds, but he wanted to deal with the Severus question first. As soon as the man knew what his wife had done it would be out of his hands and he could allow them to get on with it.

After he had left, Maeve and Narcissa had sat at opposite ends of the sitting room, sipping coffee and trying not to look at each other. It was Narcissa who finally gave in to the need to talk and voiced her tormenting thoughts.

“He wasn’t even interested in Draco,” she said, picking at the biscuit that sat on her plate. “Not interested in Eastwrithe at all.”

“Roderick has something else to do before he even considers that hooligan child of yours,” Maeve muttered. “Draco was probably off to attempt to murder someone again, anyway. He’ll fail, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Sitting there with your place staked firmly on the moral high ground. Nothing in your past to be ashamed of, is there? No half-rotten skeletons in your closet?” Narcissa knew nothing of Maeve’s background beyond what Severus had told her, and that was a long time ago and had been brief. Just some schooldays crush, as far as Narcissa was concerned

“On the contrary, Narcissa. There are plenty of things in my past that I am ashamed of. I just haven’t let them mould my actions. You make too many excuses, and worse, you believe half of them. I’ve been fortunate in being born with my own mind and the capability to use it.”

“Your mind didn’t stop you loving someone unsuitable, did it?”

“I think Severus is very suitable. For me anyway.” She wondered if they were destined to repeat this squabbling until one of them actually killed the other. In some ways she quite enjoyed it, but it grew tiresome after a while and Narcissa always had the ability to make her jealous. “And I would hardly call your husband the pinnacle of manly perfection. He’s off trying to re-ingratiate himself with Voldemort.”

Narcissa felt the damp emptiness of being alone reach for her again. As long as she was worried about Draco she didn’t need to worry about the fact that she had seen her husband dead in a moving image on a screen. But here was this woman, throwing Lucius at her without even realising what she was doing. Candlelight was kind to her sorrow, disguising the creases of sadness that appeared on her face.

“Lucius is dead,” she said, tilting her chin bravely at Maeve. “He died doing what he was good at… Overreaching himself. He thought he was a clever man, but he just never knew when to stop and he never understood that once he had erred Dark Lord would never forgive him.”

The words of comfort that immediately sprang to Maeve’s mind stuck in her throat and she found she couldn’t say them. It would have been hypocritical to try and feign sorrow over Lucius’ demise. She remembered the occasion when he had left Draco to his fate last year and she found herself glad that he had finally received his true reward for his misdeeds.

“I understand something of what you are going through,” she said finally, realising it was inadequate but the best she could manage given the circumstances.

“Whether you understand or not is of little interest to me,” Narcissa replied coldly. “My only purpose now is to find and secure my son.”

“Secure? Isn’t that rather a strange choice of words? Surely you should be trying to save your son rather than secure him.”

“Secure, save. The difference is surely not worth quibbling over.”

“Secure implies that you wish to save him for some purpose,” Maeve reflected. “Are you attempting to preserve the rotten Malfoy line for the next generation?”

“I am easy to insult, but rather less easy to wound. The Malfoy line is no concern of yours. You would do well to worry about the tainted blood flowing through your own veins. Your father was a man of considerable reputation, was he not?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Maeve said, pleased to finally know something that Narcissa did not. “Has Severus not told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Niall O’Malley was not my father.”

“Then who was?”

“I rather think,” Maeve smiled bitterly, “that it’s really no concern of yours.”

Narcissa gave her a poisonous look and returned her attention to watching the fire burn ever lower. They sank back uneasily into their swamp of silence. Narcissa was itching to find an atlas so she could pinpoint Eastwrithe on the map while Maeve simply wanted to go to bed. She was unwilling, however, to leave Narcissa awake and alone to roam around Carrowdore. They both fidgeted, playing with cups and robes and the arms of their chairs rather than attempt conversation again.

The soft light and the gentle crack of the fire made the already exhausted women even drowsier. Lack of any stimulus didn’t help and, despite their best efforts to stay awake, their lids began to slip down over their eyes and before either of them knew it they were sleeping. The sweet, dusky smell of the peat fire wove a spell around them, smoothing the pathway to troubled dreams as they dozed in their uncomfortable positions.

Outside everything was still. The mountainside drew the cottage into its protective side and watched over them, waiting for something to break the silence. The dampness left by the rain lent a sweet smell to the night air and only the gentlest of breezes moved the scent of the stars and the grass around. Into this bucolic evening a figure popped, watching warily as its surrounding came into focus. It saw the cottage and frowned, moving towards the door swiftly in case something or someone should be aware of its presence.

The occupants of the cottage were so pre-occupied with their own nightmares that they did not hear the door slowly open. The beckoning chill of the heady night swirled in on robes that were black as the darkness they had just left. The latch clicked as the door closed, making the chill air eddy in the entranceway before it mingled with the warmth of the interior.

The visitor moved stealthily into the sitting room and drew an irritated breath as he took in the scene before him. Narcissa was closest, and he looked down at the sleeping woman. Even in such ungainly sleep she retained her natural elegance. Smooth cheeks blessed by the yellow candlelight were unlined now, as she relaxed her guard. Her blonde hair framed her beauty and he wondered why Lucius had always treated her so badly. Ah yes, of course, Lucius was a bully of the first order. He had never seen Narcissa as anything more than a pretty accompaniment to his huge house. But this was Narcissa sleeping, awake she was a much more difficult woman and in many ways she and Lucius deserved each other.

He found it painful to tear his eyes away and look to the other woman on the opposite side of the room. Moving with all the grace and furtiveness of a nighttime hunter he stepped over Narcissa’s outstretched legs and crossed the vast expanse of stone floor that separated him from his wife. Once there he knelt by her chair, his face close to hers. She slept differently to Narcissa, her face awkward in repose. Her hair had dropped over one half of her face and her lips were slightly parted. His soul felt wrecked on rocks of his own design as he listened to her breath crawl through her lips. Waking her without waking Narcissa would be difficult without using magic, but it would have to be managed. He didn’t think he could face them both, not tonight.

Severus reached out and pushed the thick lock of hair back off her face and brought his mouth close to her ear. In the lowest voice he could manage he whispered her name. Her eyes rolled beneath her tightly closed lids and he tried again, this time placing a cold hand to her flushed cheek.

“Maeve, wake up.”

In her dreams she was tangled in a swamp of Devil’s Snare, her legs kicking wildly as she tried to extricate herself. She knew she had to relax, knew that struggling was the wrong thing to do and still she fought against it. And then, as if by magic, she felt the thing loosen and she was slipping. Her name was called and she could feel a splash of ice against her face as the vivid scene in her mind faded to the low gold of the room. Her eyes opened and she instantly shot upright, afraid of the black figure beside her.

“Shhh!” he hissed. “It’s me, silly girl.”

“Severus,” she said. His name came gently off her tongue, wrapping him in the desire that she had controlled for long enough. “What are you doing here? I would have come to you. This is too dangerous.”

He put a finger to his lips and pointed to Narcissa, who stirred a little in her sleep. Nodding his head at the ceiling he reached out his hand and the cold was instantly sent fleeing by the warmth that she gave from her own. He pulled her to her feet and they crept past Narcissa, who growled a little and turned her head the other way.

It was colder the further up the house they went, and their bedroom was the coldest of all. The fire had not been lit for a good while and the bed was an iceberg adrift in the emptiness. She followed him in and he sidestepped her to close the door.

“Lumos,” he said impatiently, and his wand illuminated the room.

Maeve looked at him shyly, intoxicated, suddenly, by his presence. This was different to their meeting in Whitby, and in the Shrieking Shack, when she had been barely conscious. This was a man and wife in their own bedroom, and the atmosphere was beginning to rustle with anticipation. Her glowing eyes took in the damage that the past few weeks had done, the grainy look of caution that he bore and the way he stood, almost leaning against the dressing table. The love she felt for him hurt her, leaving her heart wounded. She just wanted to reach for him, hold him…

“What do you think you are playing at!” he spat. “What possessed you to leave Hogwarts? Why, with all that’s going on, can I not rely on you to do the right thing? Are you deliberately trying to make my life harder?” The smouldering fury in his eyes made her recoil, all thoughts of love dispelled by his bruising words. “Lupin, I could understand. Potter, it would be expected. But you? I thought I could rely on you to behave? I cannot worry about you now. I don’t have the time for it.”

“You’ll have to make time for it,” she said, not moving. His anger was a visible sphere that encompassed him and she was going to wait for it to lessen before attempting to go near her husband.

“I will not! You are going back to Hogwarts tonight. And what is she doing here?”

“What do you know about Eastwrithe?”

“What?” The question had thrown him from his battering ram of protestations that she return to safety.

“I asked what you knew about Eastwrithe?” she repeated.

“Stop asking stupid questions that you already know the answer to and listen to me. What is Narcissa doing here? If you are caught with her you’ll be in even more trouble. Although that trouble may be considerably less now that her husband is dead. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you? Do you want to be next?”

“I did, actually. She knows.” Maeve folded her arms across her chest and watched him formulate his next attack. “And If I’m going to die I’ll do it by your side.”

“By my side?” he spluttered. “By my… Don’t be so completely preposterous. Who has been putting these ideas into your head? Lupin, no doubt.”

“No, not Remus. But the sooner you get used to the idea that I am not going anywhere then the happier we will all be.”

Severus looked at a loss. He couldn’t help but feel that the Dark Lord was easier to deal with than an emotional female intent on self-destruction. What was he supposed to do with her? He couldn’t pick her up and carry her back to Hogwarts, nor could she stay with him. It would be easier if her skin weren’t so inviting, if those dark eyes didn’t look at him with such love, if she wasn’t his damned wife who he hadn’t shared a bed with for far too long.

“Please, Maeve,” he said, realising that the demanding tactic was failing him. “Return to where you are safe, for my sake.” The wheedling tone in his voice surprised her and she knew she was halfway to making him cede to her wishes.

“No,” she said. “I’ve burned my bridges as far as Hogwarts is concerned.”

“Think of the prophecies, then. Think of what you and Potter have to accomplish. Think of your bloody father if you have to… What’s he going to make of this nonsense?”

“Is the fact that I love you nonsense?” she asked seriously.

He whirled away from her and walked into the dressing table, cracking his knee against the hard wood. “For the love of…” He lashed out with his fist and knocked the contents of the table to the floor.

“Silencio,” Maeve whispered, pulling her wand from her cloak. She looked at his fury and said the wrong thing. “Well, that’s a handy thing to do if you want to wake Narcissa.”

He rushed across to her with eyes that were unseeing and he grabbed her arms, pinning her back against the wall. “Do you intend to bring me to the point of violence?”

“Do you intend to cross that point?” she asked, resisting the urge to kiss him. She had never thought she would see his father in him, despite her protestations of the past year, but for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, she thought she saw a monster lurking behind him. It was a phantom, something that wasn’t there, but in the vice of his grip she felt that someone else shared the room with them.

“You know I wouldn’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know I couldn’t, but you infuriate me with your quick tongue and you refusal to listen to me.”

“And you infuriate me with your refusal to listen to me. This parting will end. I was miserable at Hogwarts, even more miserable than I was at Abbeylara. I missed you so much that it was unbearable. I’d rather have death than life without you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Maeve, you would not. Stop talking like someone from the pages of a silly book. Your life is more important than anything, anything at all. You, Potter and Longbottom need to stay alive, and you can’t do that away from Hogwarts.”

“But Harry isn’t at Hogwarts.”

“He will be if Lupin does his job properly.”

“What do you mean?” Maeve was uncomfortable in his arms but was enjoying the close proximity to protest too much.

The long, annoyed blast of air that Severus exhaled covered her face like a blanket kiss and she squirmed contentedly for a moment.

“I have asked Lupin to persuade him to return to Hogwarts. He will be safe there.”

“Safe from what?”

“From me.” The look of suffering on his face was enough to make her pull her arms free and reach up to him, drawing his face to hers in an understanding of what had transpired between Severus and Voldemort. Her fingers smoothed back his hair from a forehead so ridged with worry that it seemed permanently scored.

“We can prevent this,” she whispered. “This will not happen.”

“And what if it does? What if I have to kill him? What if you come between the two of us?”

“Would you kill me too?” she asked. “Is that what you are saying to me? The man that cannot raise his hand to me in anger could kill me?”

“Love makes a person vulnerable,” he said softly. “You have always made me vulnerable. And yet, without you…” He left the rest unsaid. There was no need for him to say what life would be like without her because she had already experienced life without him.

“Then what are you worrying about?” she said, dropping her hands to his. “That you will come across Harry unguarded? I can’t believe you would kill him, Severus?”

“I might have to. There are other things going on with the Death Eaters. Rumours of discontent are spreading. Voldemort must be removed, but I worry about what will take his place. You cannot kill a movement simply by cutting off its head. Who will lead the Death Eaters if he goes?”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she whispered. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company for a few hours. I want to feel my husband again, want to touch him.”

“We must make plans,” he insisted. “If you are adamant about this silly idea of yours…”

“Plans can wait,” she said, pulling him towards their bed. “I, however, cannot.”

“You are a torment,” he said, not resisting her tugs at his arms. “But I can’t deny that it would be enjoyable to re-discover the pleasures of our honeymoon.”

They fell onto the bed, Maeve on her back and Severus arched above her, his cloak falling over them both in a tent of black ink that ran across them like a river. “I think you have always bewitched me,” he said, as his fingers roved across her neck towards the top of her dress. “Why I have I never been able to retain my self-control with you around?”

“Because you cannot resist my ample charms,” she smiled, reaching up to unclasp his cloak. The warm wool tumbled to the floor and her hands moved to his shirt, smoothly undoing buttons as his lips bent to meet hers.

The shaft of light that illuminated the room startled them both and they turned towards the now open door.

“Well,” Narcissa breathed. “How cosy.”



The silence that reigned as Maeve’s fingers touched her husband’s chest was profound. They were frozen, a waxwork exhibit that glistened in the false light from the landing. Maeve could feel her heart rate slow as the promised happiness disappeared with Narcissa’s untimely arrival. Severus was the first to speak.

“Narcissa.” Maeve had never heard his voice quite so cutting. “Would you like to explain what you are doing in my bedroom?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Severus.” Narcissa had a sickly smile on her face, the evidence of Severus’ love for his wife making her feel distinctly queasy.

“Get out!” he shouted, rising up from the bed, leaving Maeve to scramble up after him like a teenager just discovered by angered parents. “Get out of my bedroom and my house, Narcissa. You are nothing but pure poison.” He strode across the room to the blonde witch, who didn’t move an inch.

“Am I?” she said. “You didn’t used to think so, Severus.”

“Severus?” Maeve said quietly. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not, woman,” he snapped back at her. “I have no idea” — he turned back to Narcissa — “what fantasies this crazed creature has dreamt up, but they are just that, fantasies.”

“They were your fantasies too, Severus.” Narcissa’s voice was seductive as she reached out to stroke Severus’ shoulder, and then slid her hand down to make contact with his bare chest.

Maeve stood up slowly and waited for Severus to react to the taunting touch. When he did it was quick and decisive. He slapped her hand away and pushed her back out of the room. “GET OUT!”

“Or what?” Narcissa screech. “What will you do? Will you hit me? Will you allow that slut of a wife to see just what a brute you are?”

Maeve had followed them, unable to believe the change in the normally controlled witch. She watched as Severus raised his arm and she knew that he would hit Narcissa. Whatever protected her from Severus’ temper was not sitting between him and his new tormentor.

“Severus, no,” she called. “You will not feel any better for it.”

“No, go on, Severus. Prove you’re a man! It’s the only way men know how to prove their masculinity, isn’t it?” Narcissa was wild-eyed and was now flailing at Severus with her porcelain hands.

“You don’t need to prove anything.” Maeve was at his back now and he could smell her belief in him. “Certainly not to her.”

Severus began to back away from Narcissa’s blows, his anger subsiding to a numb disbelief that Narcissa could be so irrational. She had always been weak when it came to dealing with men, but this was ridiculous. He watched as his wife stepped between him and the distraught woman, watched her gently take Narcissa’s arms and force them to her side, watched her lead her away towards the head of the stairs, soothing words tumbling from her lips. And he staggered back into the bedroom, shaking with repressed emotion and wondering what he had done to deserve his life.

Maeve brought Narcissa to the sitting room and sat her down in the chair closest to the embers of the fire. She settled a cloak around the shivering woman’s shoulders and went to pour a tot of Firewhiskey to calm everyone’s frayed nerves. As she stood by the sink, lining up three glasses, she looked into the empty night beyond the cottage and cursed everything. She had just wanted one night of peace before they had to take action, one night of enjoying her husband, and Narcissa had broken it over her knee. She had behaved like spoiled child who had seen someone else playing with her favourite toy. The golden liquid slopped into the glasses carelessly, some spilling over onto the worktop, pooling in little splashes.

Leaving the mess she lifted one glass and carried it through to Narcissa, who took it from her and drank it back in one gulp. She writhed a little as the scalding liquid hit her throat, feeling the pain as a measure of her own stupidity. It was so unfair that Maeve still had her husband, had been about to do what husbands and wives did in the privacy of their own rooms, and that she was left with nothing. No husband and, at the moment, no child or home. It had been resentment and loss that had driven her up those stairs when the sound of footsteps above her had roused her from an uncomfortable sleep. If she could not have a husband she didn’t see why anyone else should. And now Maeve was looking at her with piteous recognition of what she was feeling. The wound was widening and Narcissa looked away.

“Go to him, then,” she murmured. “Go and finish what you were starting. I think I can control myself.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Maeve asked, holding back the urge to drag Narcissa out of the cottage by her hair and dump her in the stream.

“All right is such an abstract term, don’t you think? How can I know if I will be all right?”

“I appreciate your grief. But you are directing it to a place that will only cause you more harm. There is no point lashing out at people who are helping you, people who already think so little of you that they don’t even know why they are helping you.” She stood up and was about to return for the other drinks when the door was once again unlatched.

“Bloody hell it’s getting chilly out there,” Roderick grinned, shaking droplets of fresh rain from his cloak. “Everyone happy? I’ll bet you are.” He gave Maeve a salacious wink and nudged her with his arm. “Waiting for you, is he, upstairs?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Maeve followed his gaze as he took in the huddled figure of Narcissa through the open door.

“And do I detect a frisson of drama beneath your charming smile, lovely?” Roderick swung his cloak onto a coat hook before wandering through to the kitchen where he spotted the drinks.

“Ah, so you were expecting me,” he said, picking up one of the glasses and tipping it towards her in a mock toast. “Such a hostess. What’s the matter with her?” He cocked his head towards the door. “She’s wearing your cloak in the middle of the night. Not chucking her out are you?”

“No, although I see no reason why I shouldn’t. She has just thrown a tantrum and is now sulking. Lucius is dead.”

“I know, silly arse. It was only a matter of time, with his scheming ways. He never was that good in a battle situation. Much more cerebral was Lucius. Still, I suppose it’s hit her hard.”

Maeve heard a note of sympathy in Roderick’s voice that was at odds with his sardonic face. “Feeling sorry for her? I don’t feel sorry for her. She knew what Lucius was. It’s typical of her sort to think that nothing bad can ever happen to her.”

“Oooh, very catty. Been fighting again, have you?” He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “No scratches so it can’t have been that bad.”

“She called me a slut!” Maeve exclaimed. “As if she had just caught me with her husband rather than my own.” Her face was such a picture of indignation that Roderick couldn’t help snorting with laughter, which just made her indignation deepen.

“Oh, Maeve, you are so funny.” He moved towards the cupboards and after opening a few found a supply of glasses. With her frosty stare on him he poured a fresh glass and handed it to her, along with the one she had already poured. “Why don’t you take them upstairs and enjoy the rest of your night with Snape. Merlin knows you both deserve it. I’ll keep an eye on the old trout, see she doesn’t interrupt you again.”

“Stop winking at me,” she said, as he delivered another one of his trademark squints. “I’m beginning to think you have a permanent deformity.” She made to move away and then stopped. “And by the way, where’s Eastwrithe?”

“You already know that. Or at least I thought you did.”

“Severus said that. I have no idea where it is.” She shook her head to confirm her words.

“That’s my hometown. Rampton Court is just a few miles away from the village? Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” she stuttered. “Just heard it mentioned in passing, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you for a moment, but no doubt you’ll tell me the truth when you need to.” And with that he grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey and the glass he had drunk out of and slipped past her. “Well, go on then. He won’t wait all night. I’d give you the bottle but I think my need will be greater than yours.”

“You’re welcome to it,” she mused as she followed him to the foot of the stairs. “And I’m locking the door.”

“I shouldn’t worry. I’m not going to burst in and lay claim to you or anything so vulgar. I’ll be to busy keeping madam busy.”

Maeve raised an eyebrow. “A little old for you, isn’t she?”

“They’re never too old, my darling, only too penniless.”

Shaking her head she climbed the stairs, hoping they could pick up where they had left off.

Knocking the door handle down with her elbow, she pushed her way into the room. It was in darkness and she could just make him out, silhouetted by the window. He was sitting on the wide window ledge, looking out up the mountain with a strained expression on his face. The moonlight reflected back off his hair and gave him a ghostly look.

“Roderick is here,” she said. “He’s taking care of Narcissa.”

As she approached his perch he turned and looked up. “I don’t care,” he said flatly. “I’m not in the slightest bit interested in Narcissa and her exploits. She was wrong to call you what she did.”

“She was upset,” she reasoned, handing him the glass. “She’s lost her husband. I think I’d probably be even worse if I lost you. I certainly wouldn’t stop at calling someone a slut. I suppose we have to make allowances, even for her.”

“Allowances give people the excuse to take advantage. I find it is best not to make them at all. Especially with people like Narcissa.”

Maeve settled herself at his feet, resting her head on his knee and joining him in surveying the dim landscape. “But there must have been something between you and her for her to feel so strongly about you. And she did know about Spinner’s End.”

“Yes, is daresay you could say there was ‘something’ between us. But it was a long time ago and not something in that way that you are thinking. I knew her primarily through Lucius and for some reason she took me under her wing. I think she felt sorry for the poor, socially inept boy that I was.”

“You weren’t that socially inept. You did all right with me.”

“Yes. And I still don’t know why that was. But you are looking back with rose-tinted spectacles. I was socially reclusive. I shunned most people’s company. Narcissa helped me, brought me out of my shell a little. She certainly helped me come to the Dark Lord’s attention. Without her constant demands that I be at Malfoy Manor for weekend parties and suchlike I would not have had the opportunity to shine quite so brightly for him. It’s not something I look back on with fond memories. But still, those days are in the past and we are into even more difficult territory.” His hand found her hair and began to stroke it absently. “She always felt she had a certain power over me. She never really formed an opinion on you because by the time I got to know her, you had been back in Ireland for a few years. She never even knew that we had met again, the night the Dark Lord brought you to Darkacre. Perhaps she couldn’t understand why you turned up and a year later we were married. I don’t know. How does a woman’s mind work?”

“Why did you never tell me about Spinner’s End?”

“I was ashamed of the place. You’ve been there, would you be proud of that pile of stinking bricks?”

“You still should have told me about it. But that’s old ground. Tonight is not for pacing over past territory.” She took his glass and placed it in the window. Reaching down she pulled him to his feet and they walked together towards the bed. They both knew that this was the last time for the foreseeable future that they would be able to sleep soundly under their own roof and with Narcissa taken care of they were determined to enjoy it.




Remus arrived outside the cottage sometime after eleven. The clouds that had dogged Britain and Ireland for the past three days had moved on to pastures new and the sun was grilling the damp ground. He moved towards the door, so certain and yet so anxious lest his advances be spurned. What would he do if she was the one to walk way this time? And he couldn’t blame her, not after all that he had done and the mistakes he had made over summer. With a sense of nervous anticipation he knocked on the freshly painted door and waited, his heart beating rapidly, for someone to open it.

From somewhere he could hear the sound of sheep bleating, but he hadn’t seen any on the mountainside. In fact he had been rather surprised by his surroundings. A curlew rose high into the air with a mournful cry and he looked up, watching the bird wheel above him. Were curlews a sign of bad news, he thought, nerves making him slightly superstitious when he would normally have ridiculed such claptrap.

And the sound of the door opening brought him back down to earth, the bird forgotten. As he looked into her shining face his words came cascading out.

“I know this is a surprise,” he began. “And I would forgive you for closing the door in my face after all the silliness we’ve been through. And I know it was all my fault that it happened but I just wanted you to know, well, that I enjoyed our time together. Life is too short to spend it denying feelings and being noble. I wanted to ask you to come back to England with me. Times are difficult and I can’t promise you that it will be easy…but…well… will you marry me?”

The woman facing him was completely dumbstruck for a moment, both by Remus’ appearance and by his out-of-the-blue proposal but when she finally spoke it was with a yelp of delight.

“Of course I will, you stupid man! You should never have left like you did, giving me nonsense about being too long in the tooth and all. Come ‘ere and give us a hug, you daft ‘oul fool, you!”

And to Remus’ delight and immeasurable happiness, Felicia leapt into his arms and covered his warm face with kisses.

Remus Lupin had finally made a decision for himself and stuck to it.

Chapter Fourteen.

Changing Scenery.



“What’s the matter, now?” Ron asked.

He had found Harry in the drawing room, with a large, battered cardboard box sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He was peering into its depths and making a tutting sound. Ron was losing patience with Harry’s constant grumbling about not getting anywhere. The trip to Kent yesterday had been a complete waste of time. Ravenclaw’s supposed book had been a not-very-clever forgery and they had seen immediately it looked ridiculously youthful, covered in a modern binding with fake gold tooling.

“All this stuff, this Black stuff,” Harry began, twirling a silver bangle around in his hands with impatience, “really needs chucking out. I don’t want it and I doubt Sirius would want me to have it either. Most of it’s hideous anyway.” He dropped the bangle and picked up an ashtray in the shape of a dragon’s jaw, holding it up for Ron to examine. “I mean, what is that all about?” he said with a grimace.

“Get Mundungus to get rid of it for you. He’s bound to know some dodgy characters that’ll get you a decent price,” Ron suggested, his mind seeing value in the tat that filled the box. “I thought all of this had gone. Didn’t we clear a load of stuff out when Sirius… a few years ago?”

“It was Kreacher, wasn’t it? He hid tons of stuff everywhere. He must’ve got at the bin bags before they were got rid of. I can’t sell it,” Harry said. “And I’m not letting Mundungus anywhere near it. There’s no way he’s going to profit from Sirius not being here to take care of his family’s things.” He dropped a hand into the box and pulled out an onyx statue of a serpent coiled around a naked woman.

“Yeuch!” Ron said in disgust. “That’s horrible. Who’d have that on their mantlepiece?”

“The Blacks,” Harry replied darkly. “This should all just go into the attic out of the way. I wouldn’t feel right binning it without Sirius here.”

“I’ll hand it up to you, if you want,” Ron offered, walking across and bending to look in the box. He scrabbled around for a few minutes, picking through ornaments and trinkets until he finally pulled at a silver chain.

“Wonder what’s on the end of this?” he mused as the chain snagged on something in the box.

“Just leave it,” Harry said. “It’ll be high-class junk; the sort of stuff that Lucius Malfoy would probably put in his grand house.”

“Or round his wife’s grand, scrawny neck,” Ron laughed, finally freeing the item from its trap. It flew upwards, glinting in the sunlight that fell in shafts through the dust-laden window, and fell in a small heap by the fireplace. Ron followed it and picked it up with a strange look on his face.

“Harry?”

“What?” Harry stood up from the sofa and prepared to pack the things away.

“I think I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” Harry looked casually at Ron as he crossed the room in just a few paces.

“Slytherin’s locket.”

Harry looked at the necklace that sat in Ron’s hand and then snatched it up quickly, a look of hope on his face. “Bloody hell, Ron, you might be right. I remember this. We tried to open it before and it wouldn’t budge. We couldn’t have imagined at the time that it was, could be… Well, important.”

They both fell silent, looking at the locket with puzzlement. Now that Harry thought he knew what it was he could almost feel waves of darkness exuding from it. He had no idea how he was going to get it open considering that they had all tried during his fifth year at Hogwarts.

“You know what you should do,” Ron suggested. “You should take it up to Hogwarts and get one of the professors to have a look at it. They might be able to suggest something.”

“I can’t let one of the professors at it,” Harry replied with a dismissive snort. “I can’t have a professor opening a Horcrux.” He turned it over and over, tracing a thin crack that ran up the back of it with his thumbnail.

“You don’t even know that it is a Horcrux,” Ron pointed out with a doubtful smile. “But think about what Professor Lupin said yesterday. Not only would you be able to get help at Hogwarts, you’d be safe.”

“I don’t need to be safe,” Harry growled. “I’m perfectly safe here.”

“Yeah, but think about if for a few minutes. You could get help with the locket, you could still sit your N.E.W.T.s, which would mean you could still become an Auror and I know mum would be pleased to see me sit mine after what Fred and George did…”

“You can go back,” Harry said, annoyed at the implication that Ron was sacrificing his education to be with Harry. “I never asked you to give up school.”

“I know you didn’t, Harry.” Ron shrugged. “All I’m saying is give it some thought. Professor Lupin thought he knew a bloody good reason for you to go back to school and maybe you could kill two birds with one stone if you go back.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Harry asked. “Just walk up the drive and say, ‘Good morning, Professor McGonagall, I’d like to come back’?”

Ron nodded. “Why not?”

“Because it would be embarrassing, that’s why not. Not even Malfoy is at school now. And how could I track down Nagini while I was still at Hogwarts?”

“No one even knows where Malfoy is. And anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been embarrassed. Plus, Nagini is probably the least of your worries at the moment. Getting into this locket would be the first thing on the list, if I were you at any rate. And if you need help finding the other Horcrux you could always use Maeve to help you. Maybe she would come and stay here while you were back at school.”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking down at the locket. “Going back would seem like a defeat. Without Dumbledore there it wouldn’t the same. But I suppose if Remus did know something… How can I go back?” Harry looked at Ron desperately. “It would go against everything I have pledged to do. I promised Dumbledore I would stop Voldemort.”

“Dumbledore would have wanted you to carry on with your education, Harry. Maybe he didn’t mean for you to rush off like this. Maybe he expected you to stay at Hogwarts and work from there.”

“How can you know what Dumbledore meant?” Harry asked bitterly.

“How can you?” Ron said. “You don’t know everything, Harry. And if I’m honest, mate, the way you spoke to Professor Lupin was a bit out of order. I reckon he really knows something.”

“I can’t go back,” Harry insisted.

“You can.” Ron turned towards the door. “And I think you should.”

“I dunno. You just want to go back because of Hermione. You can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Just let me know when you want to start packing,” Ron said hopefully, his mind now drifting pleasantly to thoughts of Hermione.

Harry dropped the locket into his pocket and seemed to give it some thought before shaking his head. “I just don’t know.”

Ron closed the door quietly behind him as he left Harry to mull over what he had just said.




Maeve’s head rested comfortably against Severus’ chest. She was awake but unwilling to open her eyes and face the decisions that the day would force her to make. Her head rose and fell slightly with the rhythm of his breathing and she smiled in fleeting contentment. Looking up, she wished she could rub away the tightness on his face, tightness acquired from so many years of suppressing his beliefs and opinions from one master or the other.

Dawn had crept up on them, its light touch a treacherous reminder that their night was at an end. Pressing her lips to his skin, she kissed him softly and smiled as he shifted towards her, his left arm moving to rest across her shoulder. As if he could feel the tenderness of her thoughts he opened his eyes and they glinted down at her.

“Have you been awake long?” he asked, enjoying the heaviness of her against his body.

“No, just a few minutes. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Well, pleasant though this is, we need to think about moving, before the Ministry pay you a visit.” He pulled himself up, forcing her to forgo her human pillow and sit up too.

“Where will we go?” Maeve looked to him for guidance, her earlier bravado dissolving into uncertainty.

“Now you choose to think about the practicalities. It would have been better had you thought of them before leaving the safety of Hogwarts.” He sighed as he took a mass of red hair into his hand and coiled it around his fist. “You will need to prepare yourself for some hardship. It is not easy concealing oneself from over-eager Hit-Wizards and Aurors. It would be marginally easier if I did not have to hide you from the Dark Lord also.”

Her lashes hid her worry from him as she felt the insistent tug of his fingers through her hair.

“But you will know of places,” she said, trailing lazy fingernails across the line of his shoulder blades and up to his hairline. “Even if we have to sleep in caves, you will know of places.”

“I will never sleep in a cave like some mongrel with only rats for company,” he hissed, throwing back the bedclothes and preparing to leave the warmth of their dishevelled sheets. “We will survive on better pickings than that.”

“Stay a little longer,” she said, endearing hands slipping over his chest.

“Out you get,” he insisted. “If you wish to become my cohort then enough of this laziness. We need to leave in the next half an hour.” And before she could protest or hold him back he had slithered from her grasp and was crossing the room, unashamedly naked, to pick up his clothes.

“You do have a lovely arse,” she said, with a silky laugh, allowing her childish side free rein for a moment. He responded by throwing her clothes across the room so that they landed in a muddle at the bottom of the messy bed.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We leave as soon as possible.”

“Spoilsport.” But the words were filled with love and not meant to be chiding. “I suppose we had better check on Narcissa.”

Severus sucked in his breath at the mention of the spoiled witch who was occupying their sitting room. “You may check on her. I have better things to do. Cursing myself into oblivion, for instance, would be preferable to paying her any heed. I shall be out of the bathroom in five minutes, unless you would prefer to go first.”

“No, no… Go ahead. I’ll make some coffee.” She threw her bathrobe around her shoulders and padded from the room, alarmed at the easy way they had slipped into domesticity when they were about to embark on something so dangerous they could end up in the hands of the Ministry or, worse still, Voldemort.



When her feet reached the cold stone at the foot of the stairs she paused and looked at the now closed door of the sitting room. Roderick’s rich russet cloak hung by the door and she knew he must still be in the house. Although tempted to peek into the sitting room, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to see what lay beyond it so she turned her back on Narcissa and Roderick and went to boil some water.

Looking out of the back window gave her a view of a world so at peace with itself it was hard to appreciate the murk that was slowly engulfing the neighbouring island. How long would it be before Voldemort turned his serious and malicious intentions towards Ireland? And if – when – he did, how much further would he go? Were there really that many people that gave credence to his way of thinking? She already knew that the answer to that was yes. Maeve absent-mindedly set the pot to boil and spooned rich, dark coffee into two mugs, Narcissa and Roderick could take care of themselves, she decided. She would not be making breakfast for anyone that morning. Her feet had now grown accustomed to the coldness of the floor and she was unconcerned by the chilly draughts that blew through the house. She could see a family of grey-brown rabbits emerge from their burrow at the base of the large oak tree in the back garden. She became so wrapped up in watching this mirror of her own transitory home-making that she didn’t hear the sitting room door open or notice the fact that she was no longer alone, until fingers snapped in front of her face.

“Daydreaming at this early hour?” Roderick asked. His hair wasn’t its usual well-combed self and Maeve couldn’t help thinking it made him look rather more attractive than normal.

“Survived the night, I see,” she grinned. “And the dragged-through-a-haystack-backwards look suits you.”

He ran a self-conscious hand through his unruly waves and smiled back.

“Is milady fancying a bit of rough?” The question was accompanied by a wolfish smile and a wink. “Or have we already had it?”

“Don’t be so inquisitive,” she retorted, handing him a mug from the cupboard and half reaching up again. “Narcissa want one?”

“I shouldn’t think so. She’s still sleeping.”

Maeve brought her hand back down and closed the door. “Tired her out did you?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact, not that it’s anything for you to worry your pretty little head about, I slept like a chaste cherub on the sofa. You need a new one, by the way. The one you have is tremendously uncomfortable.”

“I highly doubt you’ll have cause to sleep on it again, so we’ll make do with that one for now.” She poured milk into the two mugs of coffee and felt an awkward break in the conversation. There were things she wanted to express, but she was unsure how to say them.

She finally settled on something that wouldn’t stir up any unnecessary emotion. “Did Narcissa tell you about Draco?”

“She did.” Roderick shifted position, his half-undone shirt revealing a smooth chest that was almost, but not quite, unblemished. “Stupid brat that he is. If he’s very lucky, Voldemort will give him another impossible task. If he’s out of luck he’ll be dead before he even has the chance to ask after the dark menace’s health.”

“Are you going to try and help him, for her sake?” She lined the mugs up carefully, readying herself to carry them upstairs.

“I rather think I’ll leave that particularly happy chore to your husband. There’s more potential for some entertaining conflict that way.”

Maeve tutted and gave him a disapproving look. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” He tipped hot water into his mug and tried to avoid the question.

“Why were the Death Eaters after you in Hogsmeade?”

“After me?” He looked puzzled. “They weren’t after me. They took the barman away.” He gave a derisive laugh. “They’re not going to catch me at anything, my lovely.”

“You need to be careful. Even clever cats run out of lives eventually,” she warned, wondering how it was she had managed to accumulate so many friends who were in seemingly imminent danger.

“Well then, it’s fortunate that I am a wizard and not of the feline persuasion, don’t you think?”

Maeve wasn’t convinced by his easy dismissal of risk and remembered Albert’s warnings about it being dangerous to serve two masters.

“Just be careful, more careful than you would think to be,” she said, looking at his youthful face and feeling a spasm of concern.

“I do believe the young lady is feeling protective!” he laughed, opening his arms to clasp her into a hug that pulled her to him. Maeve returned the gesture and slipped friendly arms around his slender waist.

“You will take care, won’t you?” she murmured into his shirt. “I lost you once and I don’t want to lose you again, even though I still think you are an incorrigible rogue.”

“I promise. I will take the utmost care of my personal safety so that I can always be around to harass and generally infuriate you,” he said into her hair, breathing in the soft scent of her recently vacated bed. “But you have to do the same. Promise me that you will allow that husband of yours to protect you. Don’t do anything rash, and for everyone’s sake don’t let Mr Potter and Mr Snape meet.”

“I know,” she said, pulling reluctantly away only to be pulled back into him. “I know they can’t meet, but I don’t know how we will destroy these Horcruxes without that happening. Severus knows so much that could help Harry but there is no way that Harry will ever see that.”

A gentle rustling of robes announced Narcissa’s arrival. She found Maeve still wrapped in Roderick’s arms and coughed impolitely. “Is one man not enough for you, that you have to claim another? I see I was right in my assessment of your character.”

Maeve leant up, ignoring Narcissa’s jealousy, and kissed Roderick on the cheek. Moving away from him she lifted the mugs and gave Narcissa a charming smile. “He’s all yours. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble. For some obscure reason I’d like to see him stay alive.”

“That’s because you love me and wouldn’t be able to exist without me in your world,” he said sarcastically, a cheeky grin making the words affectionate.

“You know, Roderick, you’re not entirely wrong in that assessment,” Maeve replied reluctantly.

“RAMPTON!” Severus’ voice roared down the stairs. “Stop trying to seduce my wife and get that Malfoy woman out of my house and to safety.”

Roderick made theatrical gestures with his hands and mimicked Severus’ words with exaggerated mouthing, which made Maeve laugh as she ascended the stairs to join her husband.

“You’ll just encourage him,” she grinned, as she entered the bedroom and set the cups down on the small table by the bed. Severus was now fully dressed and his hair was damp from having been recently washed.

“He shouldn’t speak to you like that.” There was a sharpness in his eyes that forced a more serious attitude from her. “And you shouldn’t allow him to.”

“It’s just his way, Severus. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Why don’t you collect together the things we’ll need and I’ll join you downstairs in ten minutes?”

“You have five,” he said, sweeping from the room.




Ron was sitting in the kitchen simultaneously eating a ham sandwich and playing Wizard’s Chess against the board. Fred and George had been working on a prototype for weeks and had finally given him the first model to play with. It seemed to be going quite well, and the board was extremely good at the game, but the pieces tended to be rather more vociferous than they would ordinarily be and he was getting a lot of backchat. The White Knight was regarding him with disgust because Ron had dropped crumbs onto his square but Ron was too busy sorting out a sticky situation with a bishop to worry about him. He wondered if Harry had thought any more about going back to school. Ron would have been happy never to see another textbook in his life, or write another essay. But he was beginning to worry about what Remus had said and he couldn’t deny the chance to see Hermione again would be welcomed. His mother was always going on about absence making the heart grow fonder and Ron had always disagreed, thinking absence meant you didn’t have to put up with annoying siblings quite so much. With the absence of a newly affectionate Hermione, though, he was beginning to see that it was a true enough adage.

He saved the bishop and waited for the knight to stop grumbling about crumbs before making his next move.

Harry burst into this scene of cerebral warfare and waved a piece of parchment at him excitedly. “Get packing!” he said. “Hermione’s found R.A.B.”

“What?” Ron tried to read the paper but Harry wouldn’t stop waving it long enough for him to do so.

“Look.” And he handed the parchment to Ron.

Dear Harry (and Ron),

I have found something, or someone, that you will be very interested in. Remember R.A.B.? Well, he’s here at Hogwarts. Can you come up and take a look?

Love, Hermione.


“And Ron?” Ron said loudly. “In brackets? How charming is that?”

“Never mind that, let’s go. If we can see R.A.B. then we may be able to find the secrets of this locket!” As he pulled the locket from his pocket he didn’t even notice the tiny metallic sound as something hit the floor. “If we hurry we can be there by nightfall.”

“You mean we should fly?” Ron was horrified. “Can’t we just owl McGonagall and get a Floo connection sorted?”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’ll do that now. Go on, what are you waiting for? Get packed.” And Harry rushed from the room, more optimistic than he had been for a few days.



“I don’t understand,” Professor McGonagall said to Percy Weasley as she paced the floor of her office. “Professor Rampton and Professor Lupin missing? How can that be? Is there any sign of foul play?”

“Nothing at all. Professor Lupin was supposed to be visiting Diagon Alley and coming straight back, but he wasn’t at lunch and now he is nowhere to be found in the castle. Professor Rampton was supposed to escort Professor Snape to her home and then also return immediately. But that was last night, so he has been missing even longer.”

The headmistress pulled her robes around her tightly and drew herself up to her full height. “This is impossible. How am I supposed to run a school like this, Mr Weasley?”

“It’s extremely difficult, Headmistress.” Percy set his clipboard down on the desk and sighed. “I did try to warn you that Rampton was highly unsuitable as a teacher. His time here last year was not the easiest and he did not prove himself as well as might have been expected. If you ask me…”

“I did not ask you,” she said sharply. “Professor Rampton was sent to us by the Ministry, Mr Weasley. I had no choice in the matter. Perhaps we should be more concerned than angry. After all, we live in dangerous times.”

She came to rest in the chair by the fire and looked deep into the flames for a moment, as if hoping to find something in the crackle of the fire that would explain the mysterious disappearance of two of her professors. As Percy fussed around with a notebook and several rolls of parchment the fire roared and she jumped up in surprise, forgetting that she had given permission to Harry and Ron to use the Floo network to get into Hogwarts. Opening up the fire had been risky but it was the safest way to get Harry here given the latest happening that morning. No one, least of all her, had expected the railway line into Hogsmeade to be sabotaged, and in such a spectacular way. The viaduct that spanned the swollen river Tweed had been blown to smithereens and it was lucky that the train had been ten minutes late or the casualty figures would have been high.

Harry was the first to step from the green flames and he brushed himself down as Ron popped up after him.

“Ah, Mr Potter, you made it,” Professor McGonagall greeted him with a warm smile. “So good to have you back with us. And Mr Weasley, you seem to have something in your hair.”

Ron reached up and pulled a white knight from behind his ear. “I wondered what that muttering was,” he mumbled, slipping the chess piece into his pocket. He caught sight of Percy, who was still trying to look busy and scowled. “Still avoiding doing any real work then, Perce,” he said harshly.

“My work here is quite fulfilling and keeps me more than occupied.” His face was stiff as he scooped up his things. “If you need me, Headmistress, I will be in my office.”

“Oooh, Percy got an office,” Ron began in a sarcastic tone.

“That will be enough, Mr Weasley. You will both find places have been allocated to you in the Gryffindor dormitory. You can take your luggage up and then I will arrange for the house-elves to bring you some supper. No doubt you have not eaten properly without your mother to cook for you.”

Ron perked up a little at the mention of properly cooked food and nodded.

“Thanks, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said. “It’s good of you to take us back.”

“That’s quite all right, Harry,” she replied. “I don’t suppose you have seen anything of Professor Lupin, have you? I understand he was down in London this morning.”

Harry blushed a little at the memory of the disagreement they had had. A needless one given the fact he was back here now. “He said he had something to do. We met him in the Leaky Cauldron this morning and he left us about half-eleven.”

“Did he give you any indication what it was he had to do or where he was going?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, he just went. Seemed fairly important though. Have you owled him?”

Professor McGonagall twisted her hands together in consternation. “No, not yet. I shall attend to that straight away. And Professor Rampton is also missing. Very well, off you go.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered as they went down the stairs. “Two professors missing and Percy lording it up with an office. Looks like Hogwarts is having a bad time.”

“They’ll turn up,” Harry said. “Let’s go see Hermione and find out when we can meet R.A.B.”

Ron was more than happy with this suggestion and they rushed off down familiar corridors to the Gryffindor common room.





Maeve stood in the lee of her house and screwed her face up against the cold wind that was now whistling over the mountain. Severus was exchanging hurried words with Roderick, who was now looking considerably more composed than he had earlier. They spoke in low, serious tones and she found she didn’t want to know what they were plotting. Narcissa remained aloof and wary in the kitchen doorway, a cup of tea burning her hands comfortably against the late September chill. Now that they were ready to go she just wanted to leave, having already said her goodbyes to her house and the mountain where she had planned to make her home. She was aware that there still might be time left for them to make a home there, but until they had finished this war with Voldemort she could not settle her mind to the prospect.

“We’re ready,” Severus said, walking away from Roderick with a sullen expression and a nod. He paused and looked towards Narcissa, something unsaid hovering in the air between them. It remained unsaid, however, as he veered away from her and made his way towards his wife. “Have you said your goodbyes?”

“I think so,” Maeve nodded. “I’ve given Narcissa the use of the house for the time being. There is no reason for anyone to look for her here and she will be safe for the time being. Roderick will keep an eye on her.”

Severus looked thoroughly disinterested in the arrangements that had been made for Narcissa and turned away from the house. Maeve walked across to Roderick and, rather formally for both of them, shook his hand and gave him a grateful smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for all you have done,” she said, her heart filled with sincerity. “And you know I think you are more than just a shoulder to cry on.”

“I know, lovely,” he replied, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “You look after each other. I don’t want to have to come and pick up the pieces of either of you.”

“We will. And don’t let her destroy my house while we’re gone.”

“You should give her a little bit of latitude, Maeve,” Roderick chided. “She’s been through a lot recently.”

“I suppose,” she said, her face doubtful. The path she trod to reach Narcissa was a reluctant one but she did it and even managed a small grin.

“I hope you won’t go chasing after Draco. Leave him to Severus,” she said.

Narcissa gave her a cold smile and arched an eyebrow. “And you, presumably, being as you are now glued to Severus.”

“And me,” Maeve agreed, resisting the temptation to rub Narcissa’s nose in her futility. “But Severus will do his best for Draco, even though he doesn’t deserve it. Take care of yourself.”

“And you.” The words were dragged from Narcissa, despite her best efforts not to say them.

“And leave my house in one piece.” Maeve turned on her heel and went to where Severus was waiting by the gatepost. With one last, sad look at her house she took Severus’ hand and prepared from the sickening sensation of Apparation. The scene in front of her disappeared and before she could blink she felt herself being thrust into a scene that was as far removed from Rathgael as it could be.



It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the unnatural darkness that surrounded them and she found her hand tightening around her husband’s. He allowed her to hold on for a few moments before withdrawing his wand and setting some light to the scene. She gazed in amazement at a wall overflowing with chunky, grey switches. It was a large room, made larger by the lack of any furnishings, but the ceiling was low and oppressive, a leaden sky above their heads. There was a smell of disuse and officialdom about the place and Maeve wondered where on earth they were.

Severus immediately began to walk towards the custard-coloured door, bidding her to follow him.

“What is this place?” she asked, as they moved from the room they had arrived in to a smaller, equally grey one.

“It’s a bunker,” Severus replied, moving through yet another door and forcing her to trot to keep up with him. In this room there was a line of industrial-looking sinks, some with ancient, half-used soap sitting on them. They exited this room and came to the place that Severus was obviously living in. There was a tidy bed made up with a few toiletries lined up on a shelf. She felt a sudden pang of sorrow as she saw his meagre belongings in this strange, unloved place. Through the open door at the end she could see what appeared to be a shower room with the minimum of fittings.

“Bunker for what?” she asked, as he began to pull some blankets from a cupboard.

“Some Muggle concoction. A long time ago, when I actively worked for the Dark Lord, I was asked to scout for these places. They were useful buildings either to attack or hide in. It’s built to withstand considerable force, but it will also block a lot of signals, even magical ones. I’m finding this one serves my purposes well.”

“Does Voldemort know you are here?” Maeve sat on one of the beds and felt its springy softness give beneath her.

“No. The Dark Lord knows little about these places, which is why I am happy to bring you here and keep you safe for now. But we will have to move eventually. You always have to move eventually.”

“And what about Draco?” she asked tentatively. “Will you bring him here?”

“No, Draco must not know about this place. As long as it remains somewhere only we know we can count ourselves reasonably well hidden. Draco is a thorny problem. I have asked Rampton to do a little investigation. Narcissa told me he was heading for Eastwrithe. I thought you knew where that was, but I was wrong. The Dark Lord has set himself up in Rampton’s old home once again, although with the minimum of fuss this time. So it would appear that Draco is seeking an audience with the Dark Lord and could get himself killed in the process.”

“Will Voldemort be that angry? I get the impression he likes to toy with people a little before killing them.”

He gave her a tired look, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave of a headache. “He did not toy with you, did he?”

“No, I don’t suppose he did,” she said.

“I have to go out. You will be perfectly safe here. There are protections around the place as well as its natural disguise.”

“I want to come with you!” she said, leaping up from the bed and walking across to him.

He grimaced and shook his head. “Not possible, not today.”

“This was about being with you, fighting with you.”

“Oh, just stop being so silly, Maeve!” he snapped. “I am going to see the Dark Lord. If you really want to help me you will remain here and stay out of harm’s way.” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her to him so that their bodies touched at the hips. “I know you are an intelligent woman so don’t let emotions cloud your judgement. I need you safe. I do not need to be worrying about you. If you wish to be useful you can read through those” – he indicated pile pf parchments that sat on a shelf – “and see what you can uncover.”

“I hate the idea of you going to see him.” She glared at the parchments. “Knowing that as I sit and read through that lot you are in the presence of someone who seeks to kill me, and you if he had a mind to. I can’t express in words how much dread it fills me with.”

“It’s not a prospect that I ever look forward to,” he admitted. “I walk a flimsy line between life and death in his presence. There isn’t anyone who is not expendable.”

“You’re not expendable to me,” Maeve insisted, reaching for his hand and running anxious fingers over his own, cool ones. “So you need to be careful.”

He gave her a withering look that stilled her concerns, if only temporarily. “I am always careful, Maeve. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Right, well, you’d better get going then. Please, Severus, I know that you have some sort of obligation to Draco. Just don’t pursue it to the point where you place yourself in danger.”

“Are you suggesting I should place my own life before that of a child?”

“Yes, when that child is Draco Malfoy. You are more important to the cause than he is. And he doesn’t deserve your protection.” Maeve couldn’t help the peevishness in her voice. “You should save it for people that matter.”

“Like Potter,” he spat.

“Yes, like Harry,” Maeve corrected.

“What makes you think Potter is any different to Malfoy? They both cause trouble in their own ways. The only reason I wish to avoid killing Potter is to finish this nonsense and get on with my life, with our life. Who lives and who dies is of no personal concern of mine.”

“You have a very subtle way of reminding me of how callous you can be.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

“Because I love you, warts and all.”

He twisted his lips at her in something that was neither a grin nor a scowl. “I need to go. Do as I say and do not leave or allow anyone entry.”

Maeve nodded and bowed her head, feeling they were parting on a sour note. He raised her face to his and managed a small smile that contained a colossal amount of concern. “You would try the patience of angels,” he said. “Fortunately for you, I have more patience than those fabled beings.” He bent to kiss her and she returned the gesture, the familiar feeling of warmth flaring somewhere in her stomach at the rare touch of his lips.

He pulled away and stroked her hair for a moment, content to admire her face, a face that always made him feel as though he had returned to the shelter of home. “I’ll be back soon enough,” he said. She felt sick as he walked away from her, the fear of loss paralysing her voice. As he reached the thick, iron door he looked back and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t go, his unwillingness was so overwhelming. “I love you, Maeve,” he said, before hurrying from the room and closing the door behind him.

“I love you too,” she whispered into the echoing space that was now achingly empty. His parting words brought anguished tears to her eyes as she allowed them to wash over her. With death weighing heavy on her mind she couldn’t help thinking that they would make eminently suitable last words, something to treasure if she never saw him again.

Turning to the parchments that awaited her, she realised that she had no idea what she was searching through them for. She opened the first roll listlessly and realised it was a list of furniture, so she tossed it back onto the pile and went to the door. If she was to be stuck in this place, she might as well explore her surroundings.




“Ron, Harry!” Hermione leapt from her chair and rushed to greet them. “It’s so good to see you! Are you staying?” She couldn’t help notice the two holdalls they carried and she looked to Harry for an explanation.

He grinned widely. “Maybe. At least, I think so.”

“That’s fantastic,” she exploded with delight. “I mean… It’s great. Everyone’s very friendly but it’s just not the same without you two.”

Ron was blushing slightly and looked ill at ease. Hermione turned to him and patted his arm affectionately. “You’re looking a bit flushed, Ron. Are you coming down with a cold? I’ll bet you’ve been eating rubbish without your mum there to cook for you.”

“Yeah, well, we did all right, didn’t we, Harry?”

Harry snorted and gave Hermione a look that said they didn’t do that well at all in the food stakes. “So,” he said, getting straight to the point. “What about R.A.B.?”

“It can wait,” Hermione laughed. “You two need to get unpacked and eat before I launch into a long explanation about my news.”

“All right, Harry, Ron?” Seamus had just stepped through the portrait hole and greeted them as if they had been there since the start of term. “You missed dinner.”

“We know, Seamus,” they chorused, in unison.

“Neville will be pleased to see you. Sure he’s been moping a lot lately. Some oul codger persuaded him to stay, ‘cos he was on his way to join you two down in London.”

“Really?” Harry turned to Hermione for an explanation. “Is that right?”

Hermione nodded quickly. “He was. He felt really useless and, well, what with certain things, he felt he should be with you.”

“Blimey.” Ron looked relieved. “Looks like we had a lucky escape then. Neville stuck in Grimmauld Place would have been depressing as anything. You were bad enough, Harry.”

The peace was shattered by Dobby, who made a loud entrance and arrived with a huge smile on his face. He scurried at once to Harry’s side.

“Oh, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is most pleased to have you back at Hogwarts. Dobby has been most miserable since you did not come back to school. Although Dobby completely understands Harry Potter has more important things to do than come to school.” Dobby looked a little cowed at the thought he may have inadvertently criticised Harry. “Dobby is fixing you some food and would like to know if you would like it here or in the Great Hall. Dobby can arrange for a table to be laid in either place. Whatever suits Harry Potter, sir.”

“Hello, Dobby,” Harry said, glad of the reminder that there were advantages to being at Hogwarts. “We’ll have it here, thanks.”

“Certainly, Harry Potter, sir. It’s on its way.” Dobby swept low in a bow and cracked from the room, leaving them to resume their conversation.

True to his word, Dobby produced a tasty spread for Harry and Ron and they sat by the fire with it all arrayed on a low table in front of them. Once the important business of eating was concluded the three of them huddled together and Hermione began to tell them the tale of the graveyard.

“I told Maeve about it,” she said. “But Maeve wasn’t entirely convinced, said it could have been anyone. But I’ve found proof of the identity.”

Harry was busily getting over the fact that R.A.B. was buried in the ground and was intrigued by Hermione’s tale. Whereas Maeve had been keen to disbelieve the connection, Harry was only too happy to strengthen it, and in his mind he was sure that the person in the grave was the person who had left the note in the fake locket.

“I found another book in the library. You know, that place is a real goldmine if Madam Pince leaves you alone for long enough. Anyway, it was a book written by a healer who spent a year in Hogsmeade called A Year in the Wilderness, which made me a bit unsure. Hogsmeade is hardly a wilderness. Anyway, he attended an incident here at Hogwarts at about the time that Regulus Black disappeared. A body was found in the grounds, the Killing Curse, apparently. The healer made mention of the suspicious circumstances and that the body was never formally identified. Although he did say something about a family crest stitched to the person’s undergarments.” She sat back, satisfied with her evidence gathering.

“But,” Ron sighed, “that doesn’t really tell us much, does it? I mean, Black’s dead and he’s taken whatever he knew to the grave with him.”

“But if he died here, then maybe some of the staff know something. I bet Filch would have a fair idea of something dodgy that went on back then.” Harry suggested. “The problem would be getting him to talk about it.”

“You’d need help, someone that Filch would trust.” Hermione’s suggestion was sound, but they all looked very doubtful that anyone could be found who Filch would take into his confidence.

“You could talk to Remus,” Ron said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Yeah, because Filch would really open up to a former Marauder.” Harry looked thoughtful. “It would need to be someone as dodgy as Filch, but everyone here is so… well… Upright.”

“What about that new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Rampton. He’s always seemed fairly odd.” Ron could well remember Roderick’s skulking around last year but was unprepared for Hermione’s sudden look of adulation.

“Oh, no. He’s fabulous,” she breathed. “He’s like Gilderoy Lockhart but with brains and a memory that works. I’m sure he wouldn’t have anything to do with Filch.”


“All right,” Harry said with a decisive air. “I’m going to send an owl to Maeve later anyway, so I’ll ask her what she thinks about Filch.”

They broke their little meeting up with nothing decided, but hoping that Maeve could come up with a solution to cracking the nut that was Filch. If she couldn’t then they would have to try other methods, and knowing Filch, they would fail abysmally. As Harry prepared to go up and get ready for bed the portrait hole opened and a red-haired girl stepped into the common room. As she looked across and spotted Harry and Ron her face broke into a huge smile.

“Someone said you were back, but I didn’t believe them.”

“All right, Ginny?” Ron asked.

Harry felt that familiar rise of adrenaline in his chest and as she walked across to him he really wished he had had the chance to talk to Maeve about what he was going to do regarding Ginny. She was standing before him with an expectant look on her face and he didn’t have a clue what to say to her.




Maeve was curled up on Severus’ bed, wrapping herself in a grey blanket that still bore his scent, reading through the parchments. They were mostly a roughly scribbled history of Rowena Ravenclaw and were meaningless to her. The parchment she was currently pretending to be interested in was a list of the possessions that Rowena Ravenclaw was purported to have left behind. Maeve had got stuck somewhere between the large oak door that had once formed the entrance to Rowena’s house and a vase that looked like a foaming wave on the ocean. How could this possibly mean anything to anyone? She flung them to one side and moved restlessly from the room to the outer fringes of the bunker. Severus had said she couldn’t open the door to allow anyone in, but he hadn’t said anything about opening the door to allow air into this stifling excuse for a building.

It was a huge door, sitting proudly on its well-constructed hinges, and it took most of her strength to move it. It pulled inwards slowly, teasing her with a gradual view of the world beyond; a world that was a tangle of overgrown trees and weeds. And there, sitting calmly on a branch blinking at her, was Hedwig.

“Now what could you possibly want?” she asked, reaching out for the bird.

Chapter Fifteen.

Delivering Draco.




Draco stepped away from the Knight Bus and immediately tried to get his bearings. He stood by the side of a road that skimmed the top of a swell in the land. It was not quite a hill, but it was enough to give him a view of the small village below. There were a few street lamps marching like an incomplete dot-to-dot puzzle across the valley, and here and there an assortment of houses broke the darkness with their comfortable lights. The night was cold enough to make Draco shiver as he debated which direction to take. Now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure where the place he was looking for was located. He had been here with his father, a terrifying and glorious night that had stalked both his waking moments and his dream-plagued sleep ever since. But his father had brought him here using Apparation, and this had given him no clues to the exact location of the tunnels and caverns that had become home to the Dark Lord.

Eastwrithe, he thought, was a perfect name for the sinuous village that snaked along the course of the steely river. He could see the grey water reflect the streetlights, broken in places by a bridge or half-hearted tree cover. He set off in the general direction of the village, hoping to find someone to prise the location of Rampton Court from. The path he chose dipped through fields to wind, idly, down to a small park, where it then diverged. One path led towards the river and the other away from the village. Favouring the river over the outskirts, he turned right and pulled his cloak tighter against his body, trying to preserve some of his own warmth in its woollen folds.

The place was as quiet as a tomb. No dogs barked, no car doors slammed, no voices disturbed the silence. All he could hear was the soft rustle of the water; even the dying leaves up above offered no sound. A path followed this section of river, a place for dog-walkers and ramblers alike. Draco made use of it and stepped away from the cover of the trees into the open. He walked confidently, bolting his fear away from view so that when he did find the Dark Lord he would be able to offer himself with no weakness showing. There was a slight ripple on the water and Draco snapped his head to the side. Nothing moved, but he hurried up a little, his feet carrying him towards a bridge that bowed over the river and would carry him to the other side if he so chose. He hesitated, wondering if this would be the right path to take. As he deliberated he did not sense the presence of someone else, did not smell the sudden whiff of evil in the air. Perhaps his own growing smell masked the greater one.

“You would do well to continue on the path,” a voice hissed from up above.

Draco looked around in panic, whirling on the spot as he tried to locate the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Where are you?”

“I said, follow the path,” the voice repeated. “You might find what you are looking for.”

Light flooded the night as Draco held up his wand and illuminated it, jumping back in shock as he saw a man clinging precariously to one of the branches of a tree that grew by the path.

“Put that light out!” the man hissed. “Are you after getting the Muggles out of their homes?”

“Who are you?” Draco asked, satisfied now that he knew what he was dealing with. He extinguished his wand and looked up again, picking out the man’s outline against the branches. “And what do you want.”

“I’m offering you a bit of advice,” the man repeated. There was a lot of rustling and something small landed beside Draco. In the next instant that small thing had grown into a man and was looking down at him in the ill-lit shadows. “You want to get somewhere, I’m guessing, and I can help you with that.”

“Why would you help me?” Draco asked suspiciously. “What do you want in return?”

“Clever lad, aren’t you? Just like yer ‘oul dad was.”

“How do you know who my father is? And what do you mean, was?”

“Have you not heard?” The stranger brought his face closer to Draco’s and the boy could see the pale, milky eyes glittering at him with malicious pleasure. “Your father’s dead. Got himself killed in a Muggle attack up North. Stupid mistake to make fer one so clever.”

“He’s not dead!” Draco snapped. “You stupid man. How can he be dead? My mother would have…”

“But you haven’t seen your mother recently, have you, wee man?” The man’s lip curled nastily. “Poor thing, running around without his mother to take care of him. I should imagine you’re a little lost without her to look after you.”

“I do not need my mother,” Draco said coldly. “And if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than stand here and talk to scum like you.”

Draco was about to cross the bridge and the man chortled to himself.

“Will you not even listen to sense? I’ve told you where to go. And I don’t want anything in return. Seeing you face the Dark Lord will be reward enough. What do you think he’s going to do, Draco Malfoy? Do you think he’s going to congratulate you for making such a mess of killing Dumbledore? More like he’ll be ready to take your eejit head from your shoulders. But still, if you want to risk that, prove your bravery, then carry on down this path. You’ll find it twists past a dead oak; take the smaller path that runs through the trees. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes but it’ll fetch you up at a small clearing with a statue of a satyr.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Touch the statue and tell it who you are. The rest is up to the Dark Lord.”

“But what…?”

Draco’s question was destined to remain unanswered, though, as the man drew away, and with a crack, Disapparated from the pathway, leaving Draco alone once more.

There was no doubt that the man’s words had created a pocket of ill ease within Draco. He wasn’t sure he believed that about his father; Lucius Malfoy would not have allowed himself to be killed so easily. What worried him more was the impression the other man had that the Dark Lord might not look on him so favourably. Could it be that he would not be forgiven for failing to kill Dumbledore? But the fool Snape had stepped in and succeeded. Surely the fact that the man was dead was all that mattered? If he were charged with such a thing again he would not fail, of that he was certain.

Redoubling his resolve, he set off in the direction that the man had told him to go. Sure enough, by following the directions carefully, he found the statue and did what he had been told to do. There was a thoughtful pause as the satyr moved its small head and surveyed him.

“And what have we here?” it said coldly, its voice a reflection of the material it was constructed from. “A child? Come to visit the Dark Lord?”

“I am not a child,” Draco spat. “I’ve been here before. Just let me pass.”

“You’re an annoyance, if you don’t mind me saying so,” the satyr continued, clearly not caring if Draco minded or not. It gave a twitch of its ears and narrowed its eyes at the pale boy. “But I shall enquire if you are to be allowed entry. One moment, please.” The statue resumed its position and all fell silent. Draco shifted uneasily on the carpet of grass, looking around him and wondering why it appeared to be so light in this clearing. There was no obvious light source and yet he could see perfectly. As he watched, a small furry creature scurried across his path and he jumped back to avoid it touching him, his distaste for all things of that kind springing from the occasion when Mad-Eye Moody had turned him into a ferret.

“You are to be allowed in,” the satyr announced, melting back to life, “but you will be held overnight. It is late and the Dark Lord is not seeing anyone else this evening. Come.” The satyr jumped down from its plinth and the heavy stone moved aside easily, revealing a long set of steep steps that descended into the bowels of the earth, away from the fresh night air and into something that Draco had smelt once before when he had visited with his father. He knew, by the bitterness in the air, that he had the right place and that the stranger had not lied.

“Well, down you go,” the satyr insisted. “What are you waiting for?”

Draco experienced a moment of indecision as he approached those steps. But he knew that in order to prove himself he would have to face the Dark Lord, and so he put a foot on the top step and prepared to go down. As he did so, the furry creature that had run past him just a few minutes ago, slipped between his feet and headed down. The satyr seemed not to have noticed and Draco decided that this was his first fear to be overcome. If he had to, he would blast the little rodent into oblivion with his wand.

He had got halfway down when he heard the scrape and thud of the plinth closing on his only direct means of escape and, with a large intake of breath, he carried on down to the bottom of the stairs and found it opened onto several corridors. He waited for a few moments, wondering if he was supposed to just walk on. He was about to take one of the left-hand corridors, chosen for its brightness, when a man’s whining voice stopped him.

“Now why would you be wandering off?” it asked, and he turned to find a scrawny-looking man surveying him with a sliver of saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth.

“I… I didn’t know… You’re Pettigrew, aren’t you?” Draco instantly looked scornful. His father had had nothing but contempt for this lucky little runt who had managed to stay by the Dark Lord’s side.

“Follow me,” Pettigrew replied, beckoning him forward with his silver hand. “You have been allowed a bed for the night and the master will see you tomorrow, when he feels adequately prepared to deal with you.”

Draco paled a little at Pettigrew’s choice of words, but followed him all the same. After all, what choice did he have now?





Maeve unfurled the parchment that Hedwig had brought to her. The owl had followed her into the bunker so that she could close the door on any eyes that might have strayed in its direction. With beady eyes on her, she read.

Maeve,

You might not believe it, but I’ve gone back to Hogwarts, for now at least. Hermione’s found something out about R.A.B. and we think we might be able to find some more information if we can get a certain caretaker to talk. Any ideas about how we’ll do that? We won’t do anything until we hear back from you on that score. I also wanted to say that Grimmauld Place is now empty and, if you wanted to, you could use it. It must be pretty lonely where you are and at least there you could get out and about a bit. Plus, the Ministry would probably be a lot happier knowing you were in the country. I can let you have the key, if you want. I don’t think I’ll be back at Grimmauld Place until at least Christmas, so it would be like yours for that time.

Let me know. Hope you’re okay.

Harry.


Maeve looked at Hedwig, who moved her head slightly.

“Well,” she said. “Grimmauld Place. I wonder.” Her mind began to race with possibilities. If Harry wasn’t there, then it would be a place that both she and Severus could be safe. Only the Order members knew where Grimmauld Place was. She knew that Remus had put a new Fidelius Charm on the building and that Harry was now the Secret Keeper, so it was as safe as it ever had been. They would be hidden from both Ministry and Voldemort. And if Harry did return unexpectedly, it would only take Severus seconds to Disapparate.

“Thank you, Hedwig,” Maeve said, opening the door for the owl to depart. “I’ll get in touch with Harry later.” The bird looked disappointed that it didn’t have a return missive to carry, but hooted gently and flew away. She closed the door again and leant against it. Grimmauld Place would be perfect, if only she could persuade her husband.





Draco had spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning on a stiff mattress with only one thin sheet for cover. He woke in a foul temper that was little improved when he realised he would not be presented with any breakfast. Pettigrew had checked on him and told him the Dark Lord had meetings all morning and would see him just before lunch. The implication was that lunch, for Draco at least, was just a way of marking time.

He prowled around his room, debating the many different ways he could approach the Dark Lord. He could go in with an attitude of abject submission, but this did not really appeal. He could be full of false bravado and admit he had made a mistake but it would not happen again, but this could backfire. He could lay the blame entirely at Snape’s door for stepping in too soon. Surely the Dark Lord would believe that. After all, Snape had been on the run from everyone too. How many conversations could he have had with the Dark Lord since it happened? Draco decided that if he could put a convincing spin on this angle, he might just get away with it. He rehearsed his little speech for the benefit of his room and the walls listened to him.

“So you see, my Lord, I was on the point of bringing the old fool to his knees and fulfilling my task, when Snape stepped in and snatched away the victory from me. It was I who had set up the old man and it should have been I who killed him. Snape has been after my glory for a few years now, always stopping me from doing things that would prove myself, always interfering with my life. He always held me back at school, never gave me the right opportunities. All it would take is for one more chance from you, my Lord, and I could prove how worthy of being a Death Eater I really am.”

A slight cough from the doorway made Draco stop abruptly. A grinning Pettigrew stood there, wringing his hands and looking amused.

“Well then, Draco. Time for you to tell that to the master.”

Draco couldn’t help the blush that crept up his cheeks as he tried to recover some poise.

“Good,” he snapped. “At last. I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

Pettigrew smiled again at the impudence and wondered how cocky he would be when he finally came face to face with the Dark Lord. “This way.”



The tunnels ran on forever, and Draco was beginning to tire of them. Just as he was about to voice his complaints, the tunnel opened out into a large cavern and he was amazed at its height. His amazement soon turned to apprehension as his eyes rested on the man by the fire, who had his back to him. Voldemort was terrifying, whether you saw him from the front or rear, and Draco once again felt the mesmerising power that the Dark wizard held within him. By the large chair closest to the fire he could see a giant snake and knew at once that that was the famed Nagini. But the thing that made him really panic, and which destroyed his earlier hard work over his speech, was the sight of his former Potions Master, who was standing with his arms tightly folded and looking at him with a frigid smile on his face.

No one said anything until Voldemort turned, watching Draco with a blank expression. He stared for so long that Draco felt molten fear run through him, preferring anger to this silence. Severus remained immobile and Pettigrew had scurried from the room after delivering his human cargo. Nagini hissed quietly, sensing her master’s anger, her body uncurling slightly. Draco, fortunately, had the good sense to remain silent and allow Voldemort to direct the confrontation.

The Dark wizard began to walk slowly across to his prey, his face a serpentine mask that gave away nothing.

“So, Mr Malfoy, you have returned,” he said. “How good of you to grace us with your presence once more.”

“Sir, I…”

“Silence.” The words, spoken so softly, were far more intimidating than any noisome bellow. “You will not speak until I require it of you.” He turned away from Draco and back to the fire. “Come and sit, Draco.”

Draco walked reluctantly towards the chair, looking at it as if Nagini would ensnare him there.

“Not afraid, surely?” Voldemort asked, his voice a silken web of malice that pulled Draco ever closer to his fate. “What do you have to be afraid of? Perhaps Snape can remind us.”

Severus did not move an inch, keeping his muscles firmly under control. “My Lord, I think it would be preferable for Draco to explain his own fears. I am not really in a position to do so.”

“Really, Snape. Well, perhaps you have a point. After all, it is Draco’s own failings that have brought him here. So explain yourself.” He turned his blood-coloured eyes once again to the cowed boy and waited.

“Sir, I… I was just preparing myself. I needed a little more time. I would have done it, but” – he looked at Severus with a venomous expression – “he acted too quickly. Didn’t give me the chance.”

“Is this true, Snape?” Voldemort asked, turning to Severus with eyes that already knew the answer.

“Had I not acted when I did, we would have had members of the Order upon us. They would have saved Dumbledore and my cover would have been compromised. Draco would most certainly have been captured. The boy does not yet understand the need for swift action. He does not understand the need to be able to kill quickly in order to make good an escape.”

“I see,” Voldemort sighed. “Such a shame for one who has so much promise. Because ultimately, Draco, you failed me. You did not carry out the task as intended. It took the prompt actions of Snape to save the operation. Tell me, in my position, what would you do? What punishment would you mete out?”

“I would kill someone that failed me,” Draco muttered.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I didn’t quite catch that,” his tormentor said.

“I said,” Draco repeated, raising his voice, “that I would kill someone who had failed me.”

The laugh that ripped from Voldemort’s lungs was ridden by a well-practised mockery. “But you failed to kill in the first place. You really think you could kill someone that crossed you!”

“I could kill Potter!” he insisted.

“I did not ask you to kill Potter,” Voldemort said, looking to Severus. “That is already being taken care of, should the opportunity present itself.”

Severus held his head high and stared back, aware that two pairs of eyes were now watching for any slight betrayal on his face.

Voldemort turned his attention back to Malfoy. “I think another target could be found for you, if you really wanted to prove yourself. You see, I have long had a Malfoy working for me, and now that the older one is dead I think I can find it in my heart to offer the younger one a second chance.”

Severus looked to Draco as he received confirmation of his father’s death. There was a slight sway and a clench of his jaw, but apart from that Draco betrayed no emotion. “That would please me, my Lord,” he said.

“It would please you, and yet you do not know your target?”

“Whatever target you choose, my Lord, will be acceptable to me.”

“Then why don’t you draw your wand and see how well you can do against your former teacher. Kill Snape for me.” Voldemort looked delighted by his little diversion, one that neither of his two guests had been expecting, and casually looked towards Severus. “Just don’t make a mess of the walls.”

Draco looked uncertain, not sure if Voldemort was serious or merely playing some sort of strange joke. Severus, meanwhile, was busily working out just what Voldemort was playing at. The Dark Lord did not want Draco to kill him, did he? Was the fact that Draco had offered to kill Potter making his life expendable? Surely not. His hand twitched on his wand as he prepared to defend himself.

“I…” Draco found himself hesitating, blood rushing from his face. “Are you sure?”

“Do I look the kind of wizard to be unsure of anything, Draco? Kill him.” Voldemort watched as Draco reached for his wand. Severus was quicker though and before Draco could say anything an “Expelliarmus!” had burst from his mouth. Draco’s wand was picked from his grasp and flicked towards Voldemort, who caught it smartly and dropped it into the fire.

“No!” Draco shouted, forgetting where he was for a moment. “My wand!”

“...Is no more, Draco,” Voldemort said. “Call that an added task, procuring a new wand. Perhaps you could retrieve your dead father’s. I did not expect you would manage to kill Snape, but it will perhaps make you think twice before you next doubt his motives in anything. He did not seek to take your glory; he sought to get a job done, a job that I had ordered. Now, you will kill Neville Longbottom for me. If you succeed in this then I have a bigger and better prize for you to claim. But first you must kill the boy.”

“But Longbottom’s still at school,” Draco protested. “How am I supposed to get into Hogwarts?”

“You think this concerns me? You have until the end of December and if Longbottom is not dead, you most certainly will be. And you will get no help from Snape, or anyone else, this time.”

“Okay,” Draco said, his palms and forehead drenched in sweat. “I can do it. I will do it.”

“Of course you will,” Voldemort agreed. “Now, get out.”

Pettigrew materialised once more, tripping slightly over something that caught at his feet, and prepared to lead Draco away.

“And I would not be surprised if you have made an enemy of your former guardian Snape today,” Voldemort hissed. “You did not do a very good job of convincing me that he should stay alive. You simply went to kill him. I might have lost a good servant. Still, you obeyed your orders, which is all that matters to me.” He gave a tight smile that made his face leer alarmingly.

Draco shot a glance at Severus and found nothing in his expression. If the man was angry with him, it did not show, but neither was their any understanding on display.

“Go on, I am done with you. Both of you,” he said, including Severus in the dismissal. “Try not to kill each other on the way out.”

Severus was about to leave when Voldemort called his name. “Actually, Severus, one moment.”

“Yes, my Lord?” he stood tall, waiting for more bad news.

“Keep an eye on the boy. Do not help him in any way; if anything, lay obstacles in his path.”

“Certainly, my Lord. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. I have been having some problems with a Death Eater named Holloway, Jacob Holloway. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say you have.”

Severus closed his eyes for a few seconds, searching his memory for a visual representation of the name. “He left Hogwarts three years ago, did he not?” he said finally.

“He did. He left with a grudge against you, for some reason.”

“It is not uncommon,” Severus answered. “Although it is more infrequent for students from Slytherin to hold a grudge.”

“He has been telling tales on you, tales that I disbelieve. But you should be aware of this fact. I would not object to you removing him. Disloyalty will not be tolerated, from anyone.”

“Of course not. I will see what action needs to be taken.” Severus allowed himself a flicker of anger. This explained the old man’s warning to Maeve.

“Very well, that is all.” And this time the dismissal was permanent. Severus walked from the cavern, glad not to have to deal with Draco at that moment. He just wanted to return to the bunker and shake away the strain of that meeting for a few hours before deciding what to do about the man who was trying to betray him.





Maeve had stacked the parchments back up on one of the beds, having gleaned nothing from them. The note from Harry was sitting on a shelf, its contents rumbling around her mind. She had taken Severus’ bed and the one he had allocated to her and pushed them together, welding them with a quick spell. If she were going to sleep in this place, she would do it in the same bed as her husband, although the prospect of Grimmauld Place was now tempting her away from the bunker, secure though this place was. She heard the heavy scrape of the front door being opened and slipped into the stifling cupboard that Severus had instructed her to use should she hear any noise. Breathing lightly, she waited until she heard his familiar footsteps outside the dormitory before stepping out of the dusty confines, hitting herself in the face with a broom handle as she did so. She rubbed her nose as she went to greet him.

“You should have waited until I spoke to you,” he said tersely. “I could have been anyone.”

“Severus, I would know your footsteps anywhere. They’re so irritable and impatient.” She reached up to kiss him and realised that he looked even paler than usual. “Bad meeting?”

He gave her a withering look and slumped onto one of the beds. Unfortunately it was the one containing the parchments, and they scattered in all directions across the tiled floor. He made to pick them up but she stopped him. “Don’t worry about them, they’re just paper. I’ll pick them up in a minute. What happened?”

“What always happens at meetings with the Dark Lord?” Severus hunched his shoulders over, striking a weary and defeated pose. “I have to use every ounce of my strength to prevent him from peeling back the layers of my mind, and he invariably does something nasty to someone.”

“Someone? You?” Her face bled with concern as she sat next to him and took his hands in hers.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he grimaced. “But more accurately, Draco.”

“Draco found him then? And he didn’t kill him?” Maeve looked surprised and Severus managed a smile for her.

“You underestimate him. He can show mercy if he thinks it will be either useful or amusing. In this case I think he found it was both. Draco has his new target, is wandless and I have been instructed to impede him to further test his resourcefulness. All in all, I don’t think it could have been worse.”

“Who’s the target?”

“Neville Longbottom. And given that boy’s capacity for defending himself, I don’t hold out much hope for his survival.”

Maeve twisted his fingers anxiously within hers. Poor Neville. It seemed that every day there was someone else with a price on their head and today was Neville’s turn.

“And will he be able to kill, Severus? He failed with Dumbledore.”

“He almost killed me, but his reactions were too slow and I deflected him.” Severus stilled her hands and placed them on her lap, freeing his own. “I think it was the Dark Lord’s idea of humour, to order him to kill me.”

“And after all you’ve done for him, he was prepared to kill you? I thought he liked you. Those holidays, taking the place of Lucius.”

“He’s spent too long in the company of others for childhood attachments to matter to him now, Maeve. He is corrupted by the glory of the fight and serving the Dark Lord, as I once was. How can I blame him for the course he has taken? He sees more in the Dark Lord’s employ than he does in doing what is right. But he will have no more mercy from me. If he is prepared to kill me like an adult then he must accept the consequences.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” Maeve said sadly.

“And I also know what your old man was talking about, with the person prepared to betray me. Someone by the name of Jacob Holloway. That will have to be dealt with.”

“Did Voldemort believe what he was telling him?”

“Would I be here if he had?”

“No, of course you wouldn’t. So what will you do about it? You won’t… You won’t kill him will you?”

“I might have to if it comes down to it. But we shall see. Contrary to popular belief I take no pleasure in killing.” His spirit looked so battered that she almost didn’t mention Grimmauld Place, thinking perhaps he would be angry at the whole thought of it. She really didn’t want to burden him with an extra worry. But she couldn’t hold onto the secret of Harry’s offer and so she showed him the parchment. He snorted as he read and she watched his face lighten a little. He tossed the parchment onto the floor and smiled at her.

“So, the little man needs my help does he?”

“He needs my help,” Maeve corrected.

“But you can’t give him the help he needs, can you? I know Filch. I know what it takes to part him from his secrets. Leave that to me and tell Potter to do nothing. As for Grimmauld Place, I have heard worse ideas. This way the only people we would have to worry about are Potter and the Order, and I can make my escape easily enough from them if they turn up there. The Dark Lord need never know I have been at the house. Contact him and tell him that the offer is acceptable. Now, I find myself in need of some comfort to take my mind off the events of this morning and as there is no lunch forthcoming perhaps I will have to make do with something more basic.”

And, unusually, he reached for her first, pulling her into him with a need that was so apparent it made her heart ache for him. And as they fell together, entwined on the bed, she knew she had made absolutely the correct decision joining him. Albert had been more than right.




The impatient Pettigrew had hurried Draco along the corridors, wanting him out of the tunnels as quickly as possible so that he could get back to work. Draco was taken out a different way and was surprised to find that the entrance they left from opened out onto a once grand courtyard. Pettigrew flapped hands at him and turned tail, muttering his goodbyes.

The courtyard bore none of the stains of the fire that had gutted the main buildings. It was constructed from solid grey stone and only a rusting gate provided an exit. As Draco approached it he realised it was locked, providing him with his first challenge of the day. The walls were high but not impossible and he found the roughest looking surface to climb. Seeking out hand- and footholds, he began to ascend the steep walls, looking up rather than down. Sweating, he reached the top and was able to throw his leg over the thick stone. He could see the remains of the house from here and the unkempt drive that led from the main part of the estate. It appeared it would be easier to find a way out than in.

Struggling down was easier, and he let go of the wall to drop the last few feet to the grassy surface below. Draco straightened his cloak and began the long walk up the weed-infested gravel towards the dull, double gates that connected the two ends of the perimeter wall. He had no idea where his mother was, but he was sure he could manage to make it back to Malfoy Manor. Whether she was there or not was of no consequence. Somewhere in that house there would be a wand, one of his ancestors’, perhaps, that he could use until such a time as he could acquire a new one for himself.

The gates opened out onto a small track that looked like it had once been a road, and Draco turned left, in the direction of the village. As he walked he could see that this was not the picturesque place he might have imagined. By the side of the rough road he was walking along he could see the rusting hulk of an old car, its doors hanging open and its glass lying in sparkling piles of ice by tyres long since punctured. Strings of old plastic tape hung from the trees and a dirty blue tarpaulin had wrapped itself round a lamppost whose bulb had been smashed.

He approached the heart of the village, his face in a permanent frown of distaste. There was a pub on the corner, the Crooked Billet, but it didn’t look very welcoming. Its windows were filthy and an emaciated dog hovered in the doorway, growling at Draco maliciously. From somewhere he could hear the thudding of music that didn’t sound at all pleasant, and now that he could see the river in daylight he realised it was a most putrid ochre in colour. A rotund man in shirtsleeves opened the door of one of the houses by the pub and glowered at him with an unshaven and querulous face.

“What you want?” he snarled. “Not from round here, are you?”

“Of course I’m not!” Draco replied, as if the thought of coming from such a dump was the most ludicrous thing imaginable. “I had some business to conduct. How do I get out of this place?”

“You got in, so you can get out,” the man grumbled, slamming the door loudly in Draco’s un-amused face.

He made it as far as the end of the street when a group of youths rounded the corner and looked at him with interest.

“Well, what’s this then. Guy in a dress?” the first one sniggered, approaching Draco with a smirk on his face.

“Go away,” Draco said coldly, forgetting he was wandless, “or you’ll regret it.”

“Regret it, will we?” said the red-haired one, his freckles almost obliterating his nose. “And you’re gonna make us regret it?”

“You WILL regret it,” Draco insisted, instinctively reaching for his wand, not caring that these were Muggles. If anything that made it more fun.

“Why, dress-boy? What you gonna do about it?” the first one growled, reaching for Draco’s embroidered cloak.

“It’s not what he will do about it, it’s what I will do about it,” a new, deeper voice said

The three thugs and Draco looked around and Draco instantly frowned, too irritated to be grateful.

“And who are you then?” the skinny one asked. “You a girl too?”

The one who had spoken first hesitated, a smart remark frozen on his lips. The boy seemed to have recognised something in the newcomer’s face and flinched when he spoke.

“You know, I can understand your lack of manners, living in a hole like this. What I can’t understand is you inability to recognise trouble when you see it. I suggest you turn your scruffy little bodies around and bugger off now, before something nasty happens to you. Although from the looks of what you’re wearing, something already has.”

“You clever bast…” but the red-haired one didn’t get the chance to finish. He was lifted off his feet and slumped against a wall, the wind knocked out of him.

“Now, why don’t you do as I suggest and get out of here, before I do something even worse.”

Without waiting for their friend to recover, the two of them that were still standing bolted back round the corner, leaving the winded one to crawl around after them.

“I know you,” Draco sneered, instantly forgetting about the danger he had been in. “You knew my father. I’ve seen you at Hogwarts too.”

“Yes, you do know of me. Roderick Rampton, unfortunate friend of your mother’s.” Roderick gave Draco a filthy look. “Unbelievable that you find yourself facing Muggle children in broad daylight without a concern in the world. Had you attempted to use your wand you would have been in serious trouble.”

“And I’m not already?” Draco said scornfully. “Besides, I don’t have my wand anymore. The Dark Lord had an accident with it.”

“Voldemort doesn’t have accidents. We both know that.” Roderick grabbed his arm and pulled him into a dirty alcove. “I don’t much care for you. I think you are a whiny brat that needs a good hexing. However, I have promised your mother to bring you to her and I’m fulfilling that promise. After that, you’re on your own.” He paused and allowed his fingers to bite harder into Draco’s arm. “And if you give me a minute’s trouble you will share the same fate as your father. Do we understand each other?”

Draco nodded, his face rigid with suppressed anger. He wasn’t fool enough not to know that this man was his best chance of getting out of Eastwrithe quickly.

“And what did Voldemort have to say to you?” Roderick asked, his cold manner suddenly turning to charm.

“That’s between me and him,” Draco shot back.

“Oh come now, Draco. We are both servants of his after a fashion. I think you can share this with me. After all, I am a very good friend of your mother’s.”

“Well,” Draco hesitated, trying to read something, anything, in the man’s face, and failing. “He just gave me a new task, that’s all. Don’t ask me what it is. I can’t tell you.”

“Another target, perhaps?” Roderick suggested.

“Maybe,” Draco looked him in the eye. “Yes, another target. Someone at Hogwarts.”

“Is that so? Well, tell me no more, young man. It’s your secret.”

Without further conversation, Roderick Disapparated from the seedy hiding place with Draco still in his grasp and was only too pleased to let go when they arrived in the kitchen of Carrowdore cottage.


He strode to the foot of the stairs and called up, “Your child is in the kitchen, Narcissa. I have to get back to Hogwarts. Deal with him as best you see fit. I don’t think there is any reason you can’t return to Malfoy Manor now that he has made his peace with Voldemort.”

A clatter of footsteps was heard on the floor above them and Narcissa hove into view, her dress billowing behind her like a ship in full sail.

“Draco!” she shrieked, almost falling down the stairs in her eagerness to get to her son. “I was so worried about you!”

Roderick was gone by the time Narcissa reached Draco, who squirmed under her tender attentions.

“I was so worried about you! I saw you on the Knight Bus yesterday but didn’t want to say anything. I knew you wouldn’t have… Well, you wouldn’t have listened to me. I thought the Dark Lord would kill you.” Pretty tears welled up in her eyes and dropped onto Draco’s cloak.

“Mother, please get off me,” he said, in his father’s voice. He pushed her away and she stood stricken.

“But, Draco, my darling, I missed you so much. And here you are, safe. We could return to Malfoy Manor now, if you wished. I am sure the house-elves will still be there. It would be like…” She was about to say old times, until she realised that there would never be anything like old times again. “It would be good for both of us to gain a little perspective on things. I have some bad news for you.”

“My father is dead,” Draco said, his icy face not warmed by her concern. “But I’m afraid I just don’t believe that, Mother. I think he’s playing a game to get himself free of the Dark Lord. He will pay, eventually.”

“He is dead,” she said, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I saw it myself.”

“But how…?”

“Don’t ask,” she stumbled over the words. “You must believe what I am telling you.”

Draco looked a little shaken by this confirmation. Whatever scorn he had in reserve for his father, he hadn’t really believed he was dead. “Well,” he pronounced, “serves him right for not being clever enough.”

“Let’s go back to Malfoy Manor,” she said again, hoping he would see sense.

“That would be so sensible, wouldn’t it?” he said mockingly. “With the Ministry wanting to talk to me about my part in Dumbledore’s killing and all.”

“You were a child when it happened, Draco,” she said. “You could easily talk your way out of it. It was Severus who killed the man, after all. Perhaps it would be better to get it out of the way. If you did, you could go back to Hogwarts and finish your education. You could sit your N.E.W.T.s.”

“I have never had any intention of sitting those ridiculous examinations,” Draco laughed. “Why would I do that, with the Malfoy fortune at my disposal. The only qualification I need is being the Dark Lord’s servant.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, horrified that her son might be following his father at such a tender age. “He has forgiven you for Dumbledore. You are free of him for now.”

Draco’s laugh was so dry it sucked the moisture out of the air. “I will never be free of him, nor do I want to be. I have taken on a new task, one that I will fulfil.”

“Oh no, Draco,” she said, the tears beginning to flow again. “Not after all that has been done, after people have suffered for you.”

“Did you think I would just turn away from the Dark Lord, Mother? Did you think that I was just doing it for fun?” Draco was shaking with his own importance. “I want this more than anything. I want to be better than my father, to prove that one Malfoy can serve the Dark Lord consistently. Father only ever did what was right for him. I thought he was being clever when he abandoned the Dark Lord after his little accident with Potter, but I see now that he was just looking out for himself. There is no glory in looking after your own wealth.”

Narcissa was looking at her son with horror. “But Draco, your father did everything for you. He worked hard to give us the best of everything. You should be grateful to him. Are you not in the least bit upset that he is dead?”

“Are you, mother?” Draco said. “Are you really going to miss him? What did he ever do for you besides give you a big house and some fancy clothes?”

Narcissa’s dismay was mounting and she tried to prevent her son from saying the things that deep in her heart, she knew were true. “Don’t say such things,” she protested. “Don’t besmirch his memory in this way. Please, Draco, for me.”

“Do yourself a huge favour,” Draco snarled, “and stop pretending.”

He opened the front door and sniffed at the air. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked.

“Maeve O’Malley’s house,” Narcissa said from behind him.

“What?” Draco turned back. “What are we doing here? Tell me you didn’t reduce yourself to taking help from her.”

“She was the only person that would help me. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. But if you go to the Ministry and tell them what you know, then I won’t need to depend on her for help. I can return home safely, with you.”

“Now that I have sorted things out with the Dark Lord, there is nothing stopping you returning. I’ll come back briefly, but I will not go to the Ministry. I have no broom, so we will have to Apparate.”

“Very well,” Narcissa said, pleased to have won half the battle in getting him to return to home, no matter how brief his stay. “Let me get my cloak and we’ll leave.”

“Hurry up,” he snapped. “I’m getting hungry.”

Narcissa unhooked her cloak from its resting place behind the front door and knew that she could no longer pretend that her son was any different to his father. All the time spent with Severus as a boy had been wasted; he was his father’s son through and through. He might cloak his true ideals with fine words about glory, but ultimately he wanted exactly the same things has his father had done: money and power. Slamming the door to the cottage behind her, she could feel her heart finally breaking into pieces. There was no one alive that really cared for her, cared about her well-being and safety. No one, that is, except the Rampton man. As she held Draco’s arm gently, preparing to Disapparate, she thought back to the look on his face as she had poured her heart out about Draco earlier that day. There had been genuine care there and something else.

Narcissa smiled to herself as she pulled Draco through space towards their home. She was a foolish witch, distracted by grief and seeing things that were impossible. There was no reason for her to see Rampton again, and he must have been twenty years her junior. But as she arrived in the dusty, disused hallway of Malfoy Manor she found she couldn’t quite get the man from her mind.

Chapter Sixteen

A Small Case of Bad Timing.





Maeve adjusted her rumpled clothing, smoothing down creased skirts over the pleasure of the past hour. Severus remained lying on the bed, his body covered by the rough, institutional blankets, and a look of fleeting ease on his face. She bent to scoop up the spilled parchments that he had disturbed earlier and piled them neatly back on the empty bed, her hair falling over her face in a tangled mess. There was a natural comfort to be had in the aftermath of their lovemaking, a sanctuary from whatever was going on around her. She wondered how she had lived without the intensity of this contact, this steadfast love.

“I’ll send Harry an owl.� Her sudden drift back to reality almost broke the languid mood, as she walked over to her meagre pile of belongings and picked a brush from her bag. “We could be in Grimmauld Place by tonight.� The prospect of the relative comfort of the old house was making this drab place look more and more uninhabitable by the hour.

“Allow me,� Severus said, watching her raise the brush to her unruly hair. He sat up, blankets falling from him to reveal a chest free from the confines of clothing, and she settled herself on the bed to luxuriate in the sensation of having her hair brushed like a child. How much he had changed, that he would share a moment like this. That he would be so tactile. It would have been unthinkable just a year ago.

“I will pop out for a little while later. I need to deal with Filch.� His words, more than hers, reminded them both of what was still left to be accomplished.

“Do you think you will be able to get the information from him?� She moved her head gently, swaying against the motion of the hairbrush. There was an uncomfortable pause before he replied. The brush stilled against her head and she felt the uncertainty in his fingers.

“I need to prevent Filch disclosing what he knows to Potter.� The brushing recommenced but it was her turn to halt its progress with a jerk of her head.

“What do you mean?� she asked, turning to him, doubt flitting across her features. “You know something, don’t you? You always know something.� There was power in his knowledge, power that never failed to unnerve her.

He looked at her bleakly for a moment, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his indecision. She loved him, was his wife, but how much of his past did she really want to know? And how much could he risk telling her before he poisoned her mind with the taint if his memories?

“I know that Filch keeps many secrets for many people,� he said, placing the brush carefully on the bed, his fingers teased by the long, red hairs that were caught in its bristles.

“For you?� Maeve felt the nasty stench of the Hogwarts caretaker in the room.

“For me.�

She stood up, agitated by the prospect of a new revelation. “You don’t have to tell me,� she said, “if it will cause harm.�

“You once said you were sick of secrets,� he pointed out. Could he not tell her, his own wife? Would it be fair to unburden his darkest secrets to her?

“And so I am.� She stood by the door, her hand resting discouragingly on the handle. “I want you to be able to tell me things without having to fret over my reaction. We’ve revealed the worst of our secrets to each other. What more can there be?�

“I’ve killed people, Maeve,� he said. The words demanded a significant reaction, but she allowed no hint of fire to taint her response.

“I know you have.� She nodded her acceptance of this sad fact. “I always knew. You could not have been a Death Eater and not have killed people.�

“I killed people who did not deserve to die.� The admission sat uneasily on his lips.

“Does anyone deserve to die?� Her matter-of-fact attitude was a defence against having to think too deeply about her husband being on one end of a murderous wand. That those fingers, which paid her such tender attention, could have been the channel for unforgivable death was an ache she could not dull. She knew that Dumbledore’s demise had been something apart, convinced as she was that there had been complicity between Severus and the dying man. But innocent people? She released the door handle, clenched her fingers into her palms fiercely in an attempt to halt any words she might have that would wound.


“Perhaps not.� He bowed his head, looking down at the grey fabric that covered him. “Perhaps some do. Perhaps I do, for what I have done in the past.�

“Your introspection is pointless,� she said, freeing her fists. “What’s done is done. It can’t be undone. I accept that you killed people. I am not innocent of that charge myself.� Her hands weakened further and she moved back to him, sitting on the edge of the creaking bed. “What is it you want to confess to me?� Her head was inclined towards him, eyes strafing his for the secrets he kept. “Is it something to do with Filch?�

“I killed Regulus Black.� The admission just fell out of him, a simple sentence that could easily have been a request for a cup of tea or for her to pass him his shirt.

Maeve’s eyes widened just a little and her lips parted slightly, waiting for words to come from her mouth. “I see,� she said finally, looking away from him. “You killed Sirius’ brother.�

“Yes. I killed Sirius’ brother. But it was pure coincidence that Sirius hated me.� He watched her expectantly, waiting for her response.

“Why?� The question was simple, and deserved a simple answer.

“Why did I kill him? Because I was ordered to do so. I had little choice in the matter.�

“There is always a choice.� Her voice was colder than she intended it to be. She did not want this to become another of their scenes. Maeve understood that these small confessions where a way for Severus to examine his past, and to try and show her the depths of his degradation before she had been brought to him, dying. He wished to bare his soul for her, and she wished to cover it in her comfort and allow it to rest.

“It is easy to say that,� he said, “with the benefit of distance between the event and where we find ourselves now. At the time I was impressionable, rising through the Dark Lord’s ranks.� He saw the distaste on her lips and in her eyes and wished he could alter what had been, if only for her. But he could not, and she had expressed a wish to know, needed to know at least some of the truth behind what had happened that night.

“Why did you not tell me this when I told you about the locket?�

“I needed time,� he admitted. He pushed his hair back, gripping it tightly away from his face, as if to clear his vision of more than just a physical obstacle. “I was distressed by the news that the locket had been damaged. I needed to understand the connection between his death and what Potter had discovered.�

“And do you understand?�

“I was summoned to Hogwarts by the Dark Lord,� he began, allowing himself to move his memory back to that night, a night he had done well to forget, along with all the other killings. “He told me he had something, someone, that needed taken care of. When I arrived in the Forbidden Forest he was there, with Filch and Black. Black was on the ground, pleading for his life.� For all his remorse, Severus couldn’t help the curl of a sneer at the image of Regulus Black pleading for his life. He tried not to compare the image to Dumbledore’s dying face but found he couldn’t, and the sneer dissolved. “Filch was given a whispered instruction by the Dark Lord, who then turned to me to finish him off. I think, had Filch not been a Squib, he would have been given the task. I still don’t know why the Dark Lord did not do it himself, but, for whatever reason, he ordered me to do it.�

“And so you killed him,� Maeve looked at her fingers as they knotted themselves in her skirts. “But you had to. You had no choice. Had you refused, you would have been killed.�

Severus looked at the top of her bowed head, wishing, as he always did when faced with her brutal understanding, that he could change his past for her. He reached out a hand and rested it on her cap of shining hair, feeling the soft strands beneath his fatal fingers.

“I am sorry,� he whispered.

“I know,� she murmured. “I know you are, Severus.� She raised her head and his hand slid down to her cheek, staying there for a moment, fingers brushing at the start of a tear that pressed up against her eyelashes.

“What happened then?� she asked, wanting to get this over with so that she could stop feeling so wretched. Severus dropped his hand completely and sighed.

“The Dark Lord left. Disappeared into the forest like a thief into the night, leaving me with Filch, and Black’s dead body. And if killing Black had been an act of cowardice, what I did next was even more so. I left Filch to take care of the body, instructed him to make it look like an accident, that something from the forest had been at him.� There was another shaking sigh as he tried to finish the tale. “And then I scuttled off to Hogsmeade, pleased that I had ingratiated myself even further with the Dark Lord.�

“You were young, too young to understand what you were doing. You were involved in something that gave meaning to your life. You don’t have to make excuses for your behaviour, not to me.�

“Your understanding leaves me at a loss,� he said. “I wonder what you are doing with someone like me, someone so damaging.�

She shook her head, trying not to give in to her emotions as she faced her husband’s fears. “I love you. You can’t account for that.�

“And I still don’t know why.� His dark eyes were overcome by self-loathing, and he looked away from her, but not quickly enough for her to miss the settling of the darkness on his face. “I believe that the Dark Lord had discovered what Regulus had done and had summoned him under false pretences. Perhaps Regulus still believed some of his lies. I think that the Dark Lord retrieved the Horcrux and transplanted it somewhere.�

Maeve had grown accustomed now to knowing when he was being evasive. She saw it in the obscuring of his eyes and the tilt of his shoulders. “Where?�

“I don’t know,� he said, looking at her once more. She knew he was using Occlumency then, saw it in the deep curtain that fell over his face, and she was suddenly furious.

“How dare you!� she hissed. “How dare you try and shield your thoughts from me? You think I would use Legilimency against my own husband? You think I would stoop that low?� She stood up and backed away.

“No, Maeve, please.� He followed her, desperate to make amends for that moment of weakness when he had once again tried to protect her from something she did not know. She had reached the door and was struggling with the handle when he caught her shoulders, wrenching her free from her escape route. “I did not mean to hide something from you. It is an instinctive reaction now. It was not meant to deceive you, but to shield you.�

“I don’t need shielding,� she spat. “Have you not learned that yet, after all this time? You come to me with tales of your killings, and I offer you understanding. What else is locked away in that mind of yours that you think can cause me harm? Is it worse than what your father did to my mother? How can it be worse than that?� Her face blazed with indignation and Severus felt himself curl up beneath her fire. The wound of his father had still not healed, as he had suspected it would not, but this was the first time she had used it in such a way, a way designed to hurt.

“There are some things you should not know about, for your own protection. You will find out eventually, but not now. That is the way it is, Maeve. I did not make it so, would not have it so, but there it is. You need to accept that. Since that day in the forest, when you brought me news of the Horcrux, I have made my investigations and have been rewarded. I know where that Horcrux is, but I cannot tell you until the time is right. It is for your own sake, not mine, that I keep it from you. It would be easy for me to share my fears, but I do not.�

She raised her face to him, anger being leeched away by the realisation that she had used his father against him in the heat of an argument. Shame mingled with sorrow as she reached for his hand, clutching at it to stop herself from crying. Albert had never said anything about the emotional turbulence that being with her husband would cause her, but then, Albert didn’t have the first idea about their shared past.

“I’m sorry,� she whispered. “I’m sorry for making this harder than it needs to be. I know you wouldn’t hide anything to delude me. I know that. I just don’t understand why there are things I can’t know.�

“Leave your burdens be, until the moment you need to carry them,� he said gently, squeezing her hand tightly and making her nails dig into his palm.

“And save your Occlumency for Voldemort,� she retorted. “It is not something you will ever need use with me.�

“Let’s place this to one side for now, and get on with the things we need to accomplish today. You need to let Potter know you want Grimmauld Place, and I need to arrange a meeting with Filch.�

“You need to be careful, Severus,� she cautioned. “He’s hardly trustworthy. How will you be sure any meeting you arrange is secure?�

“Because Filch has as much to fear from the Ministry as I do, at the moment. If I am captured, he will be in serious trouble. I know far too much about him, and him me. He would also not like his status as a squib to be widely known.�

Maeve accepted the reassurance, but she did not do so lightly. It was never advisable to be bedfellows with someone as shadowy as Filch, and dangerous when your life was part of that equation.

They parted on better terms than they could have hoped for, given he nature of their conversation. Maeve held him for many minutes longer than was necessary as he prepared to leave their shelter for the second time that day. She bathed in his smell and the comfort of his robes as he rested his chin on her head. Severus took her own, softer, odour to his heart as he prepared to leave for a meeting with someone who was the exact opposite of everything his wife was. With murmured goodbyes, they parted at the entrance to the bunker, and Maeve waited a moment, knowing that her owl was hidden amongst the trees. Bran came swooping low, flashing through the trees as quickly as he could. Maeve closed the heavy door and took the bird down to their living quarters.

“I think we may be on the move again, old friend. It seems like we are going for the wizarding record of the most homes lived in in one month.� She produced a smile that was not true, and reached for a piece of parchment. In her head, she was already rearranging the furniture in the drawing room or Grimmauld Place, and choosing her bedroom.




One of the first frosts of the season had settled over Hogsmeade, as Remus and Felicia arrived in the slumberous village. They popped gently onto the street that ran past the Shrieking Shack, Remus having chosen the destination carefully. He wanted no secrets from his new fiancée, and this felt like the best way to introduce him to his life. Sparkling beneath its hoary cloak, the decaying building didn’t look quite so forbidding, and Remus led her towards the hanging gate with an easy smile on his face. She looked up at the building, her breath fogging the air in front of her, and rested her hands on the fence that cordoned it off from the pavement.

“Sure, it’s not so bad,� she said, her lilting voice warming Remus’ chilled ears. The cold had become biting in a very short space of time, and they were not well enough muffled against it. “Although I’d maybe think differently if you wanted me to live there.� She looked up at him with a grin. “You don’t want me to live there, do you?�

“No,� he said, putting an uncertain arm around her shoulders, still not quite accustomed to being able to hug her at will. “I most certainly don’t want us to live there. We won’t be living anywhere secure until all this is over. You know that, don’t you?� Remus was still waiting for her to fling her arms in the air and say that this was all a huge mistake and that she wanted to go back home as soon as possible. He had found himself repeatedly giving her points of return throughout all their conversations, and each time Felicia had laughed it off.

“I’m not bothered about safety, you big lummox.� She wriggled in the cold and moved closer to the warmth of his body. “So long as I’ve a roof over my shoulders and a bed to rest my head, I’ll be fine. And you, of course,� she added, with a wink.

“You don’t feel we’re rushing things?� Remus asked guardedly.

“Not at all,� she replied. “Can’t do it soon enough. Did you not say there were married quarters in the big house for us?�

“I did. If you are absolutely sure, I can arrange with an official and we can be married this week.�

“I think that’s just wonderful. And in the meantime, I’m sure there are some rooms to be had here. Sure, we’ve even heard of Hogsmeade in Ireland. It’s a grand place, by all accounts.� Felicia pulled him away from the sugar-coated shack and back into the middle of the street. He cast one look at the place, and found he could now disconnect himself from the events that had marred his time at Hogwarts. The Shrieking Shack no longer had the power to cause him discomfort, not with this spark of a woman at his side. He resolved to find Harry just as soon as he got the chance. Without that disagreement, none of this would have happened.

They made their way towards the Three Broomsticks. Remus was aware of a shift in the atmosphere as they moved closer towards the main part of the village. There was no noise of any kind, no one out in the streets. Houses were firmly closed against the world and, down a side street, they could see, and hear, the swinging sign of the Hog’s Head. The pub itself looked shut, its windows emitting no light.

“That place looks like a kip,� Felicia commented, as they took in its barred doors. “No wonder it’s closed.�

“It’s not usually closed,� Remus muttered. “It’s usually one of the busiest places in the village, if you’re of a certain type. But something happened there, a few nights ago, something that must have affected it more than we thought.�

“Doesn’t look like business would be brisk anyway,� she said. “This place is deserted. What’s happened?�

“There was an attack. Looks like everyone’s bolted to their holes.� Remus hurried her up a little, aware that the quiet was unsettling. “The Three Broomsticks should be open. Madam Rosmerta wouldn’t close her doors for anything.�

They moved quickly and found that the Three Broomsticks was the only source of either light or sound in the whole place. Its rosy windows gleamed, and the door opened occasionally to allow a hasty, swaddled figure in or out. Felicia smiled to hear the occasional burst of music, although there was no cheery laughter spilling into the night along with the candlelight. Remus pushed open the door and allowed her to step out of the cloak-penetrating breeze.

Once inside, Felicia grinned with delight. This was her type of establishment, with its wide, well-lit bar and the plethora of chairs and tables that huddled through the main bar area. She had hold of Remus’ hand as she dragged him towards the bar, eager to sample what the pub had to offer. Madam Rosmerta was busy with a young, round-shaped wizard, but turned as the door banged shut behind the new arrivals. As soon as she saw Remus accompanied by a young lady, she raised an eyebrow with surprise, and it flew even higher when she realised the young lady was holding his hand. In all the time she had known him, she had never seen him with a woman, certainly not one as perky-looking as this.

“Good evening, Remus,� she said, her face wide with happiness at the prospect of some juicy gossip. “And this is?� She turned to Felicia, who slipped up onto one of the rickety stools that lined the bar and smiled, sticking out her hand.

“Howya?� Felicia grinned as Remus stepped forward, almost shyly, to make the introductions.

“This is Felicia, Rosmerta,� he said, coughing before adding, “my fiancée.�

“Really?� The landlady’s smile grew even wider. “Well, well, well. Congratulations, both of you! When did this happen?�

“Yesterday,� Felicia grinned, waggling the finger that held Remus’ mother’s engagement ring. “He’s such a sly old dog. Came over to Ireland to surprise me.�

“How marvellous!� Rosmerta reached behind her and took a large, shimmering bottle from the back of the bar. “I think this calls for some Fiesta Fizz, on the house, of course.�

As Felicia and Remus looked on, she poured the bubbling, frothing liquid into three, long-stemmed glasses, and re-corked the bottle, looking at them expectantly. “Well, come on then. Let’s drink to your future.�

As they all raised their glasses, and the cheery clink signified the sealing of a ritual completed, a hooded man sat in the snug, watching them carefully. He grimaced as the newly affianced couple kissed gingerly, before breaking away to converse with Rosmerta again. He sipped from his glass, irritated by the moustache that caught the froth of the beer. It was only when the door opened, and Argus Filch entered, did he move, crossing quickly to the embittered caretaker, and shoving him back out into the crisp night.

Remus secured Felicia a room for the night, although she insisted on paying the bill in advance ‘to avoid any fuss later’ and was shown up to her room, with a rapidly tiring Remus in tow. Once Remus was certain that she was happy, he announced that he needed to get back to Hogwarts. Felicia grinned, and reached up to kiss him.

“And you’d better see to it that we get this wedding out of the way soon,� she insisted. “I want to move in as soon as possible. This is all very nice, but it’s not the same as being with you. Not like we were in France.�

And suddenly, for Remus, the memories of their time in France were warm again. They no longer held the misery of regret in their sun-soaked days; they held the promise of something new and wonderful, of a re-birth of sorts. He found himself kissing her with a little extra fervour, as he prepared to take his leave.

“Take care,� she warned. “How will you get back to the castle?�

“It’s not far,� he said. “I’ll Disapparate to the gates and walk from there.�

Felicia looked a little concerned as he closed the door behind him, remembering the uneasy atmosphere that had stalked the streets of the village below her. But it was a short distance; surely he would be safe.



Hurriedly exchanged owls had brought Maeve the welcome news that Grimmauld Place was hers for as long as she wanted it. Harry was pleased to think that he would know where she was if he needed her for anything, and that Grimmauld Place would be lived in. He felt almost sorry for the house that had known nothing but sadness and anger within its old walls. He’d also received a surprising owl from old Albert, asking him if he wanted to spend Christmas in Godric’s Hollow. The old man’s letter had been quite poignant in its tone and Harry was finding it hard to refuse his request. It would be different, of that he was sure, and it would get him away from any thoughts of the current state of affairs. But Christmas was a long while away yet, and there were more important things to think about, like Filch.


Maeve had been quite specific in her letter; Filch was not to be approached under any circumstances, but he couldn’t figure out why. The old caretaker was quite the cantankerous so-and-so, but it wouldn’t harm to ask a few questions, surely.

Ron had disagreed with Maeve and said they should ask him anyway, but Hermione had stuck up for the former teacher, pointing out that her advice wasn’t to be taken lightly. Although Hermione could be awfully persuasive when she put her mind to it, both Harry and Ron looked sceptical about dropping the Filch matter. It was only when she pointed out that Filch was the most unapproachable person in the school, and that their chances of getting him to talk were slim, did they drop the subject. Ron and Harry had eventually gone back to poring over parchments and old books in an attempt to find out more about the death of the man that lay buried in the cemetery, while Hermione tackled her homework.


Maeve, meanwhile, was eager to leave the drab bunker for Grimmauld Place, but was being thwarted by her husband’s absence. She couldn’t just leave without him, and yet, he hadn’t said when he would be back. Leaving him a note saying ‘Gone to Grimmauld Place’ was probably rather rude and no doubt he would give her a telling-off for doing it. Her shoes made an irritating crack against the concrete floor as she paced from one end of the bunker to the other. Her boil of impatience was almost ready to burst when she heard the door scrape open, and she was there in front of him almost before he’d finished closing it.

“We can leave straight away!� she called, almost leaping into his arms. As she looked up into his face she realised he was suddenly looking very fragile and she took a step back. “Are you all right? You look a little strange.�

“I’m fine,� he muttered, brushing past her to find the retreat of their living space, calling over his shoulder, “I’m just not going anywhere tonight, so we should make ourselves comfortable.�

Whatever Maeve had been expecting, it hadn’t been this frosty attitude, and she wondered if it was in some way related to their earlier contretemps. She hurried after him, her happy dreams of sleeping in a comfortable bed evaporating along with his rapidly moving back.

“What happened? Did you meet Filch?� she asked, breathless from catching up with him.

“In a manner of speaking.� He undid his cloak and flung it onto the bed, his normal fastidiousness forgotten. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I just want to sleep.�

Maeve scooped up his discarded garment, feeling his warmth in the material, and instead of hanging it up, held the cloak to her, a replacement for the man who seemed to want little in the way of comfort. Severus was releasing his shirt from his trousers as Maeve watched him, uncomfortable with his agitation. There was something in the insipid atmosphere of this bunker that was making them blend in with its nondescript surroundings. She began to feel if they stayed there long enough they would indistinguishable from the pallid walls.

“It would take us no time at all to get to Grimmauld Place,� she pleaded. “We would be more comfortable there.�

“I do not wish to venture into the world of Potter tonight,� he insisted, kicking shoes at the floor with force. “Although you may go, if you wish.�

“I don’t wish to be anywhere without you.�

“Spare me the sentiment,� he said, ripping the covers back and preparing to slip beneath the sheets.

“Severus, I know this meeting with Filch must have been hard.�

“You have no idea.�

“But there is an opportunity for us to be comfortable. We could take it. I don’t want to go alone.�

He continued to settle himself in the blankets, not looking at her. “You cannot be comfortable with just me? You need the trappings of that gloomy house?�

“You know that’s not true,� she said, holding tighter to the cloak. “You know I am happy enough wherever you are.�

“Then why the urgency? Why can you not just be content to lie here tonight and move in the morning?�

She hesitated, watching the harsh Muggle light of the bunker mutilate the curving lines of his shoulders. His hair skidded across his neck as he turned and prepared to settle down for the night. “I wanted us to be comfortable,� she said weakly. “But perhaps I was being stupid. I have the comfort I need here.�

“Are you sure this life is for you, Maeve?� he asked, testing her with his penetrating gaze. “Would you not be happier at Rathgael? Is this too much reality?�

“Don’t be so ridiculous!� she snarled, her sudden anger making her throw his cloak down. Unbuttoning her shirt, she glowered at him in the harsh light, and then, tiring of it, extinguished the glare and left them in darkness. Severus was left to snatch the sounds of her clothes being cast aside, as she moved to prove her commitment to reality. He moaned a little as she slid into the bed with him, her warm skin bringing life back to the body that had been made frigid by Filch’s games.

As her warmth brought his flesh back to life, she sighed and the thoughts of the re-arranged furniture at Grimmauld Place dissolved into the much more pleasurable prospect of curling up with her husband.


The following morning restored her excitement at the prospect of moving. Unfortunately, it also brought Severus a headache that she attempted to remove with a quick potion cobbled together from the things she could find in the undergrowth surrounding the bunker. It wasn’t up to her usual standard – something he lost not time in telling her about – but it seemed to clear his brow of the heavy furrows that it had had when he first woke. She busied herself with having a shower in the temperamental Muggle contraption that clung to the wall of the stale-smelling cubicle. It insisted on scalding her and then promptly freezing her, as it struggled to cope after years of disuse.

She stepped back into the dormitory, a grey towel the only thing between her and the cold air. Severus was busying himself with a parchment that looked like it had seen better days, and he tutted over it with alacrity.

“Are we going to Grimmauld Place this morning?� she asked. “Or do you have something to do?�

Severus regarded his wife, finding it not too difficult to tear his eyes away from the dry paper in his hands to take in the steam rising from her pale flesh. He was reluctant to return to Grimmauld Place, not because of any danger he might face there, but because he hated the stench of Sirius Black and the memories he contained. The walls would close in around him, brimming with Potter and all he had come to signify.

“I have things to do,� he said slowly, almost, but not quite, lying about it. He did have things to do, although they were not, strictly speaking, the most pressing matters he had ever dealt with. “But you may go on ahead. I will see you there tonight.�

She didn’t object to going alone, but she would rather he had offered to accompany her. The house could be a dark, brooding place when you were alone in it.

“No, that’s fine,� she said, chasing the moisture from her limbs with the rough towel. “I can travel by air anyway. You can Apparate down when you’ve finished doing what you are doing. Will you bring our things with you?�

“If I must,� he grumbled, taking his eyes from the sight of her naked legs. “It will be late though, you should not hesitate to eat or go to bed.�

“Don’t leave it too late,� she insisted. “It’s a lonely place without company. I’d like to spend some time with you without having to worry about Voldemort popping up.�

“The Dark Lord will not ‘pop up’. Not yet anyway.� His black eyes flicked back to her as she dropped the towel completely and went to pick up her clothes.

“Severus...� She paused in her actions, holding her undergarments loosely in her hand. “Why do you still refer to him as the Dark Lord? It’s vaguely unsettling to hear you speak of him as if he were still your master.�

“In a sense he is,� he replied, distracted from his reply by the curve of her stomach against the white cotton in her hands. “He will remian my master for as long as I try to defeat him. Only when he is gone will I be free of him.�

“But do you have to call him the Dark Lord?� she pressed, stepping neatly into the skimpy garment she held.

“Maeve, do we have to have this conversation with you naked?� He stood up and placed the parchment back with the others, trying to control the surge of desire he felt. Life was going to get very difficult if she insisted on this brazen behaviour. “I have to call him the Dark Lord. I need it to be a habit. It would not do for me to slip and refer to him as Voldemort in his presence, would it?�

“I suppose not,� she admitted, not entirely convinced. Throwing the rest of her clothes on, she quickly kissed him, made sure she had her wand, and asked him one last time if he was sure he did not want to come with her.

“No, you go on,� he insisted. “There will be no danger for you there.�

Maeve nodded and they made their way to the door, Severus feeling slightly guilty that he was sending her out on her own. They said their goodbyes before opening the door, enjoying one last embrace before she stepped into the bright sunlight of the late autumn day. Severus watched as she slowly disassembled before him, his last solid image of her was the fluttering mane of hair that seemed to hover in the air, even when the rest of her had gone. But eventually it too disappeared and he was left with nothing but the bunker for company. He strode back inside and sat heavily on one of the chairs in the room that he assumed must have been their recreation room. A wobbled-legged pool table stood in the middle of the floor, evidence of nesting mice in its pockets. A dust-laden clock on the wall had stopped at two thirty and he wondered why it had chosen that moment to die. His guilty fingers stroked the chair arm’s faded upholstery as he tried to decide whether he had been a coward in not wanting to face Grimmauld Place immediately. But it was done, and he did have things he needed to get on with. The parchments he had were worthless; he would have to try to find a way of obtaining more information. Perhaps a visit to Malfoy Manor was called for again.




Maeve was as cold as the streams of air she settled herself on, penetrating the molecules of damp air on her journey. She eventually dropped back to earth in a quiet corner of Grimmauld Place, behind a short wall of dustbins. The smell was appalling and she quickly patted herself down and hurried away from the smell of rotting vegetation and dirty nappies. The run-down square looked the same as it always had; peeling paint and scruffy gardens were the order of the day. She approached the wall where she knew the house would appear for her and felt the small key in her pocket. Harry had owled it to her when he had received her positive response and had told her to keep it safe. There was only one in existence, and without it the house would be almost impossible to get into. She pulled the small piece of black metal from her pocket and slipped it into the keyhole that magically appeared in the door’s flaked paint. There was the sound of clicking and of bolts drawing themselves back. The door shuddered slightly as the key disappeared and Maeve watched it slowly open in on itself, allowing her the first whiff of the stale air behind it. She quickly shot up the steps and looked for the key, but it seemed that the house had taken ownership of it for the time being.



The house was as she remembered it. Someone, Molly presumably, had tried to have it re-painted, but the damp was working its way through the bright white paint and, once again, the house looked like it was beginning to fester. The portrait of Mrs Black was still covered by a coat stand, but there were no coats hanging there, a measure of how lonely the house had become. She moved to rectify this and hung her coat over the curtains that covered the old harridan. She moved almost gingerly through the house, peering through doors and half expecting something or someone to shoot out of the dark corners. It was the most unnerving place she had ever been in.

The drawing room was in darkness, and she hauled back the curtains to let in some light. There were signs of Harry and Ron’s recent occupation: a sweet wrapper crumpled on the table, a dirty glass left on the mantlepiece, where it had left a ring as a calling card. Molly would have been furious that they had left this mess behind. She could almost hear the echo of the older witch’s shrill voice screeching for them to clear up after themselves. Maeve dropped herself onto the sofa and surveyed her new home critically. It was shabby, although during its heyday it must have been quite elegant. She felt a little like a trespasser, being here alone. In the past the place had always been alive with life and others. Now it seemed like it was hers, and Maeve wasn’t sure she was comfortable with that.

She got up again and moved through the rooms, a phantom in what felt like another world. In the study that Harry had used so extensively, she could smell the lingering odour of cigars, a taint that had eaten into the very fabric of the room. If buildings could express feeling, she thought to herself, this one would be pure melancholy. Pulling down the old books, she ran a finger over the spines, wondering how long it had been since they were read and loved. What use is a book if it isn’t being read? These were redundant, and she could feel their wretchedness.

She found herself lost for a time in this world of dying books, turning pages that were thinned with age slowly and carefully. It was only when she looked at the clock and realised, with astonishment, that it was already just past two in the afternoon, did she snap the book that she was browsing closed and made her way down to the kitchen.

Here, as in the rest of the house, a feeling of lethargy prevailed. Even the clock’s ticks sounded slower and less urgent than any other clock she’d heard. Opening a few cupboards soon revealed a few tins of food, but a trip to the shops would have to be made a priority at some point. She flicked her wand at the large cooker and one of the hobs flared into life. Clattering about, she opened a tin of soup and poured the contents into the heavy pan that she had pulled from a shelf. Deep down, Maeve was still mildly annoyed at Severus for not coming with her, but if he had things to do then he had to do them. But it would have been nice to share this simple meal with him.

The flame slowly warmed the chicken concoction and she set the table for one, a lonely setting, in her mind. As she moved to get a spoon from a drawer her foot connected with something that rang metallic against the floor. Looking down, Maeve could see the glint of a black key and, with some relief, bent to pick up what she assumed was the house key that the door had so rudely swallowed.

As her fingers made contact with the metal she could feel instantly that this was not the same key. It had carvings on the side and was sending a warning tremor up her arm. Instead of heeding the cautionary quiver, she brought the key closer to her and could pick out ravens down the side of its length, ravens that were distorting and bleeding into one another. She frowned, wondering why her throat suddenly felt it was in a vice.

The kitchen began to grow dim as her eyes failed to pick up the light. Something was trying to consume her; she could feel its jaws snapping at her soul. Now she tried to act on the warning, tried to cast the key away, but it was welded to her fingers, pinching at the skin, trying to be absorbed into her. Hard fear began to clog her veins as the green shade of something rose up around her. And then she was screaming, the agony of this attack finding an outlet in her throat.

Whatever it was required more fight than she had. She thought of Severus, of the husband who would not come with her. She tried to understand what was happening — why would a key have this affect on her? — but she couldn’t think. All she could do was try and flee from the pain that was spreading from her fingers to every part of her body with alarming speed.

Her legs gave way, as she was flung to the floor, and she knew she was dying, knew that whatever had chosen her body to wage this battle in was stronger, more powerful. It felt as if her lungs were filling with fluid and the seeping death that was turning her fingers bluish reached her heart. As convulsions ripped through her, the key finally detached itself from her fingers. Her twitching form finally came to find some rest as the hob she had lit was blown out by the flight of the energy that had been released into the room.

As the chicken soup congealed in the pan, so, it seemed, her blood congealed in her veins. As her breath began to be more wraith-like, the clock struck the half-hour, heedless of the fact that there was, once again, no one to hear it.

Restoration.



The light had long since faded from the sky when Severus Snape finally kept the promise to the wife he had temporarily forsaken. Grimmauld Place was as he remembered it, right down to the penetrating stench of the sewer that ran beneath the old streets, and he hurried towards the place he knew the old headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix to be. The longer he spent in the open, the longer there was a risk to his safety, and Apparation itself was becoming more hazardous by the day. But here he was, unharried by either side, and the faded grandeur of the black Georgian door was beginning to make itself known.

He reached out to knock lightly at the paint but looked down in amazement as the door coughed out a small key that fell at his feet with a tinny clatter. His fraught nerves were jarred even further by this unexpected turn of events and, as he reached down to collect the house’s gift, he felt the beginnings of panic set in. Maeve should have been here to open the flaked door with a welcome etched in the soft lines of her smile. But perhaps she was in bed. He had, after all, told her not to wait up. Although a glance at his watch told him it was only eight o’clock and he was sure she would have waited up until at least ten. Fidgeting the key into the lock, he knew that for this house to spit out such an obvious means of entry was extraordinary. What event had prompted this, he wondered, as he pushed open the door and dashed through into the hallway.

Heedless of the shade that was old Mrs Black, who slumbered behind her moth-eaten curtain, he bellowed Maeve’s name into the murk. Instantly the curtains flew apart and the wizened creature’s face began screaming obscenities into the silence. Disregarding her completely, and therefore depriving her of the only audience she had, which caused her to lapse back into a begrudging silence, he caught the scent of something poisonous in the air and followed his well-equipped nose towards the source. With Mrs Black muttering in the background about how insufferably rude he was for not listening to her complaints, he approached the kitchen door, telling himself that the smell that assailed him was merely the results of Maeve’s attempts at cooking. Cooking, in itself, required the same set of skills as Potion making and should have been a simple task for her, and yet, for some reason, Maeve never quite managed to get it right. But he knew by the itching sensation of gooseflesh up his arms that much worse than a burnt pan would face him when he entered the room.

As soon as the door opened and he was allowed a view of the room, he knew exactly what had happened. He had no idea, none whatsoever, how his wife had managed to trip over a Horcrux in the safety of Grimmauld Place, but trip over one she obviously had. Her face was ripped in the same way it had been at the Shrieking Shack, flaps of skin loose, and her hands were at her neck, seemingly trying to rip that damned necklace from her throat. Bending to her limp form, he could see that her chest appeared completely still and he felt numbed by the possibilities of what might be happening. He did not know how long she had been like this, or what the fragment of soul had actually done to her before it had been banished into the ether. The power contained on Maeve’s person was sufficient to deal with the collision of another, weaker, piece of Voldemort’s soul but what price it may have demanded had this piece been stronger than the last, he could only speculate upon.

She was not breathing, of that he could be sure. His hand rested on her still chest as he bent to her mouth to feel for the expulsion of air. But breathing, while important, was not the end of a witch's life in itself. Somewhere on her torn body he could feel a fragment of her life force still squirming, pleading for help. Withdrawing his wand he began to work, steadily and with a single-mindedness that precluded all else.




“I think we could have waited,� Ron complained, as they moved through the dark evening towards the place that Hermione had insisted the cemetery would be. “It’s not like Regulus Black is just going to pop out of his grave and offer us the right answers now, is it?�

“I just want to see the place,� Harry said. “Better get it out of the way, and the less teachers that are around the better.�

Hermione led them, feet finding the now familiar path even in the ill-lit gloom. She resisted the urge to tell them to be quiet, trusting to the assumption that no one would be around at this time of night. She had yet to encounter anyone on this route anyway, let alone in the cemetery. It seemed the wizarding world had better things to do than worry about visiting their dead, when so many of the living were dying.

“I still think early morning would have been better than late night,� he grumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “There’s bound to be spiders and things lurking in these trees.� He eyed the low branches anxiously, expecting to see Aragog’s descendants emerge from the spindly arms of the wintry trees.

“The trees disperse soon,� Hermione informed him. “And once we get to the wall that circles the cemetery you’ll be safe enough from creatures. The cemetery is charmed to keep wildlife out, and that includes bugs. The grass is enchanted to remain green and trimmed all year round, to save people having to do it by hand and disturb any mourners, I suppose.�

“And how do you know all this?� Ron asked, and then he immediately groaned. “Don’t tell me; Hogwarts, a Bloody History.�

“Actually it wasn’t. It was a book about wizarding cemeteries and their construction.� She gave him a little satisfied smile that made Ron pull a face and turn his attention back to Harry.

“So what are you expecting to find?� Ron slowed down to wait for Harry to catch up with him.

“I dunno,� Harry admitted. “But then I don’t know very much about any of this and I don’t think I’m doing a great job so far. We’ve only found one Horcrux and Voldemort’s getting stronger all the time.�

“I hope this isn’t going to one of your moments of doom, mate,� Ron said in a light-hearted tone. “One Horcrux is better than none and it’s not like we haven’t done anything.�

“It’s Hermione that’s done all the work,� Harry said generously. “Without her research we wouldn’t be any the wiser.�

Hermione had stopped and was now waiting for them, readying herself to turn along a different path. She knew they were almost there and the rarefied atmosphere of the cemetery was already making her feel calmer. “Come on,� she urged, jollying them along. “Almost there and then you’ll see what I mean about the air in this place.�

“You know, Hermione, that’s a bit fanciful for you.� Ron grinned at Harry, who nodded his head.

“Ron’s right. Next thing you’ll be going on about how sweet the birdsong is and you’ll be getting mushy on us.�

Hermione treated them to a good bit of eye rolling before heading off towards the white wall that was emerging like a wide, flat moon from the darkness in front of them. As soon as Ron and Harry were abreast of her, they all walked towards the wrought iron gate that formed the link between the two ends of the wall. Hermione raised her hand and the gate moved magically inward without the need for latch or key. Soundlessly, they moved into the grassed area, the gravestones rising from the close-cropped carpet like small splinters of ivory. The place was gently lit from a source that was indiscernible, and in the bathing white light they realized they were not alone. Walking along the third row of graves, its head bowed and a cloak hiding its face, a figure moved slowly towards the furthermost gravestone. It was a short, stocky figure that none of them recognized, and Hermione was immediately anxious lest they should be seen.

“It’s okay,� Harry whispered, as she voiced her concern. “I have my cloak with me.� Reaching a hand up his sweater, he pulled out the mercurial fabric that formed his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over their heads. Relieved by the sudden anonymity, Hermione began to express some interest in the identity of their unexpected companion. She had never seen anyone here before, had almost begun to believe that she was the only person in the school who had any idea how to get into the place.

“What if it’s Filch?� Ron asked, not too unhappy with Hermione's unexpected close proximity.

“What would Filch be doing here?� Harry replied. “It’s not like he’d have any relatives buried in this place, is it?�

“You don’t know that,� Hermione said. “And keep your voices down. I get the feeling that whoever it is doesn’t want to be disturbed. Maybe it’s another teacher.�

“It’s too small for any of them, and it’s too big for Flitwick,� Ron observed. “Besides, why would a teacher be sneaking around?�

“Hang on,� Hermione hissed, pulling them both back. “Whoever it is, they’re heading back.�

And sure enough, the figure had paused by the end grave, ran a hand over the cool marbled edge of the stone, and was now returning the way it had come, its tweed, torn cloak dragging at its heels. Hermione clutched Ron’s arm as they huddled beneath the Invisibility Cloak, pulling him closer to her and causing the unfortunate Ron to wince with discomfort at his predicament. Being close to Hermione was one thing, but being close to her with Harry in the vicinity was not altogether welcome.

Harry was too busy concentrating on the approaching figure to take much notice of what his friends were doing. His breath became shallow as the shape drew closer and closer, and he tried desperately to get a glimpse of the face that was concealed by the hood, but it was impossible. The creature must have been looking through the smallest of openings to navigate its way from the cemetery. As it passed them it paused and cocked its head into the air, as if searching for something. When it failed to find it, it moved away and towards the gate, the cloak’s skirts catching on a low-hanging branch and pulling it back. Harry chose that moment to lose his footing and stumble over Ron, a desperate scramble to remain concealed ensued and in the melee not one of them noticed the silver hand that reached out to tug at the cloth and pull it back around the figure’s head.

“For goodness’ sake, Harry!� Hermione remonstrated. “You know how to pick your moments to fall over. I really think we ought to be getting back. It’s only a piece of stone anyway, not worth getting into any more trouble for,�

“We’re here now,� Ron said, glad to be relieved of the Invisibility Cloak, “may as well finish the job. And considering you’ve not stopped going on about this bloody grave for ages, least we could do is take a look.�

“Ron’s right,� Harry agreed. “Which is it?� He looked out at the corralled graves and waited for Hermione to lead them to the right one.

But when they got there they found that Hermione had been right; it was just a pale stone bearing a carefully carved inscription that told them nothing. Their late night excursion had been in vain and they had almost been caught in a place that would surely be deemed out of bounds. Harry once again felt the tight limits of the school around him and wondered if he had done the right thing coming back to a place he no longer felt at home in. A grave was just a grave; secrets were not to be found there.




The kitchen reeked of magic. The walls were soaked with unspoken spells that were all that kept Severus' wife's battered body from the next world. He worked feverishly, silently chanting incantations and wielding his wand with a purpose that surprised even him, with his general dismissive attitude to foolish wand waving. Suddenly it didn’t seem remotely foolish.

Although the facial wounds appeared to be the worst, he ignored them in favour of the more serious darkness that gnawed at her heart, paralyzing her. This was really Healer’s work, a task better suited to the starched wards and controlled atmosphere of St Mungo’s, but there was no time. Severus was almost immobilized by his crushing fear, made utterly vulnerable by the prospect of a loss that would be unbearable. And he could have summoned help. He knew that Lupin would be at his side in an instant if he thought there was danger to the woman that lay limp at his feet, but Lupin would be a hindrance rather than a help now. Only the feverish spell-weaving and concentration of a love under threat could help. His brows meshed together as he focused, focused a mind already weakened by years of duplicity at a task that was the most important he had ever undertaken.

Just ten minutes after he had arrived, the last words of a final, precautionary invocation slipped from his mind and he knew he had done all he could do. If Maeve wanted to live, it was within her to do so. If she truly wanted to battle the dire anger that had taken up temporary residence in her heart, she would. But would she do it for him? Was he enough to raise her strength?

He slumped back against the kitchen cupboards, not wanting to touch her, not wanting to feel her coldness or her life leaving her body if he had failed and she decided to leave him. Silence reigned in the hollow room, a silence that stealthily robbed him of all sense of time or place. He cowered away from the body of his wife and willed something, anything, to happen. When it finally did, it was the last thing he could have expected.

Light filled the room and the door rattled on its hinges as Lugh Lamfada strode in, his face angered and his shoulders set hard against the man before him. In his few meetings with his father-in-law, Severus had never seen him quite this angry. Flecks of fire erupted from the man’s eyes and Severus had the grace to look away, back towards his wife.

“You allowed her to come here on her own!� he said, the accusatory tone making Severus flinch. “You knew that danger was everywhere and yet you allowed her to come to this place alone.�

“She insisted,� Severus said, his voice empty. “I had things to…� But he broke off, knowing that to try and hoodwink a man like Lugh was futile. “I did not want to come here at all,� he admitted. “This place contains memories.�

“We are nothing but memory,� Lugh replied, ignoring his stricken daughter. “You shy away from remembrance and bring about even worse recollections. What was it she touched? What tarnished object collided with her own?�

“I don’t know,� Severus admitted. In the rush to save her he had not even given a thought to what it was that had been a Horcrux.

Lugh cast his eyes to the floor and their sharp pupils immediately picked up on the now perfect key that lay by the table’s solid leg. He cradled it in his large hands for a moment before handing it to Severus, who had now risen from the floor.

“Is it known to you?� he asked and Severus nodded slowly.

“It is the key to the front door of Darkacre.� He turned it over a few times, as if expecting it to reveal something other than the fact it was just a key. The blackness of the ravens made his skin crawl, remembering the brooding house and his responsibility for it. “How could this have been a Horcrux?� But he knew. There were only three keys to that ancient front door, a door that was not original to the house. His father had bought it in Borgin and Burkes many years previously and had been particularly proud of the raven carvings on the wood and the lock’s keys. This one had been lost many years ago on a fateful night - the fateful night - when Potter had received his mark. It had been lost in a small village and now Severus knew that in losing it he had made sure it received its own particular curse.

“And what is it doing here?�

“I don’t know,� Severus snapped. “It was lost at Godric’s Hollow on the night the Potters died. It may have been used after James Potter was killed. Perhaps the Dark Lord thought it fitting.�

“You have failed my daughter,� Lugh said, his voice chilly despite its natural heat. “I did not expect that of you.�

“I often disappoint expectations.� Severus turned his attention back to Maeve and lifted her from the floor, deciding he needed her protection against the frigidity of her father. “And while you are dealing out your disappointed frowns, I would like to make what’s left of my wife comfortable. It seems that she has once again become a tool in your eyes. You have not stooped to verify her health.�

Lugh narrowed his scorching eyes and still did not look at his daughter. “She will drag herself through this. Your weak wizard’s spells are emboldened when there is real love behind them. You do not need me to restore her vitality this time.�

“Then why are you here?�

“To ensure that this does not happen again; and it will NOT happen again.� He brooked no argument as he finally threw a glance at his daughter, a glance that was tempered with love. “She is no pawn to me. She is my child. You will keep her safe, Severus Snape, or you will have me to deal with. And you will NEVER allow her to travel alone again.� He turned away and paused. “Give her your strength tonight. The way back will not be easy for her and she will feel much pain. Riddle’s potency lies in his hatred and fear and that hatred and fear will thrive on her love and desire. Keep her close.�

And he was gone. No fanfare announced his departure, no door rattle or sighing wind. He just vanished.

Severus felt her dead weight press against his arms and felt the pressure of years spent without her crowd around him. He was rudderless with her gone, aimless and vacant and stupefied. And he hated himself for it. Hated the part of him that was weak enough to love another. But he felt the fall of her hair across his arm, the curve of her hip against his own, and his doubts were routed from his achingly tired brain.

This woman was his future and without her he would be swept away by the needs and concerns of the wider world. All the minutiae of life mattered when she was here — he mattered. They could exist independently of the world if they so chose, and this utter dependency both terrified him and excited him. He could not walk away from her again.

Stumbling through corridors that were ill-lit, he made his way to one of the bedrooms and placed her body on the bed. Holding her close he once again used his wand to repair the wounds that were at her face, not knowing this time if he could stave off the scarring. He succeeded in repairing the skin but could not quite staunch the softly seeping blood. He allowed her to fall back, watching her limbs drape themselves into a semblance of normality he removed his outer robes and sat on the bed, waiting, watching. The greyness of the room overtook his dulled senses and caused his eyelids to droop, but he wrenched them open time and time again to take in her unquiet beauty.

He eventually drifted into a weary sleep and was only vaguely aware of the moans that haunted his dreams. But the piercing scream that called to him caused him to leap into wakefulness and he looked to her newly-scarred face with horror. Terrified brown eyes looked at him, seeing beyond him and into a vista that was filled with the darkest imaginings of a tormented soul. His sweat-laden brow was furrowed as he realized that the second Horcrux had exacted a greater price than the first. She was absorbing it, and it seemed to be feeding on her as she battled the demons of Voldemort’s soul.

And this should have been Potter’s job, he thought bitterly. But they had deemed him too young to fight the preliminary skirmishes; too hasty, too rash.

He caught the sweep of her hand as it raised itself against some unknown assailant. She fought him, felt the burden of him on her as she tried to expel the hatred that was in her.

“MAEVE!� he pleaded, thinking that volume would attract her rather than the peace of a calm voice.

She screamed in response and drew away. Pulling herself further into the darkness that had impinged upon her, she couldn’t see her husband, couldn’t see the love that was hers. She could just feel the ice of a hatred borne for many years in the heart of someone who was far removed from her.

“Maeve,� he repeated, calmer, more controlled. “Maeve, whatever you see, it is not real. It is the Horcruxes, the soul fragments. It is the Dark Lord’s corruption. He has stained your mind and you must fight it.� She was pulling away, crawling up the bed and pressing herself against the headboard in agitation. “This is not real! It is him, but you can get rid of him if you try. The Dark Lord should not cling to you.� She stared at him blankly. “Voldemort is naught compared to the power within you.�

And then Maeve saw him, heard him, cried for him, as the word Voldemort struck her consciousness. Tears threw themselves, reckless, down her wounded face. She slid down into a crumpled heap on the bed and he reached for her, tentative at first and then gradually more urgent, pulling her to him.

In the must of the fading room they clung tightly to one another. Maeve allowed the wickedness in her vision to clear, the hangover of the destroyed soul trying to cling on and failing as she absorbed the heat from her husband’s body. Eventually, as the night died around them and dawn raised her victorious head, Maeve succumbed to the comfort of Severus' company and fell asleep against his reddened shirt. Her blood still seeped from the wounds and he let them seep, some part of him hoping that with the seepage some of the blackness of Voldemort’s soul would depart too.


As light taunted their weary heads, Maeve moved against him and felt the safety of his arms. Her sight was clear and she could see lightness and not shade. She could see his haggard face and long nose tightened in sleep and wanted to dispel the tiredness. This would all pass, it had to. But she knew now what had happened, knew instinctively that it had been a Horcrux. And Maeve wondered if she could handle another. Wondered what drew them to her with such surety.






Harry slept well, despite the inconclusive visit to the Hogwarts cemetery. He woke to a day that would be filled with lessons, something he had never expected to happen this year. His first of the morning was with Remus, and he approached the classroom with a sense of anticipation. Their work on non-verbal spells, that had been covered the previous year, was to now extend to wandless magic. The depleted body of pupils waited patiently outside the classroom for their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who was uncharacteristically late. The corridors felt particularly cold, as if the year had woken up to the fact that the days were now considerably shorter and should be correspondingly chillier. Seamus was wearing a thick jumper beneath his robes and was smiling in a very smug way at Neville, who was flapping his arms in an attempt to warm himself up.

“Maybe Luna was wrong,� Ron said, looking both ways along the corridor to try and spot the tatty figure of Remus Lupin. “After all, she did say he had a woman with him and that they were snogging.�

“You know, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Professor Lupin would have a girlfriend,� Hermione pointed out. “After all, Professor Snape now has a wife.�

Harry gave his usual scowl at the mention of Severus Snape and snapped at Neville to stop acting like a bewildered chicken and keep his arms still. Neville looked slightly hurt and turned his back on Harry to strike up a conversation with Seamus. “Well, I just wish he’d hurry up,� Harry said to no one in particular. “It’ll be warmer in there than out here.� He nodded towards the classroom.

“Maybe we should just go in,� Ron suggested. “It’s not a rule that we have to wait out in the cold for a teacher, is it?�

“Hang on,� Seamus said, “I reckon I can hear him now.�

And sure enough there was a sound of hurried footsteps and Remus’ slightly red face came into sight. He puffed a little as he approached them and gave a rueful smile before opening the door to the classroom.

“Sorry, sorry,� he apologised, ushering them in. “An unexpected owl arrived and required attention.� He gave Harry a loaded look that made him hang back until the others had filed into the room.

“Anything important?� he asked hopefully.

“I’ll speak with you about it later,� Remus promised, glancing around to make sure they would not be over heard “But it’s good news. Another one has gone.�

“Another?� The full question was left unasked; the look on Remus’ face enough to confirm Harry’s suspicions. “But how?�

“Maeve, but I can’t really explain much now. The owl was very brief and had only sketchy details. But she’s all right and the thing is destroyed.�

“But she’s at Grimmauld Place.� Harry could feel his face grow hot at the thought that Maeve had once again succeeded with a Horcrux when he had failed. Again, he felt a burning sense of injustice as his tasks were usurped. “I found nothing there that could have been a Horcrux.�

Remus shushed him gently and shook his head. “No more, Harry. Wait until later.�

Harry stalked into the room and sat down heavily beside Ron, who immediately wanted to know what he and Remus had been talking about.

“Maeve got rid of another one,� Harry said, keeping his face forward and his brows furrowed.

“But that’s great!� Ron said in a voice that was a touch too loud. He immediately grimaced and lowered his tone. “One less to have to worry about. Where’d she find it?�

“Grimmauld Place, apparently.�

“You don’t sound too pleased about it,� Ron said, watching Harry’s mouth purse. “You’re not sulking because Maeve did it and not you?�

Hermione turned her attention to them, having fished her book from her bag. “What’s the matter?� she asked.

“Harry’s sulking because Maeve’s got rid of another You-Know-What.�

“You’re kidding? That’s great. Is she okay? She was in a pretty bad way after the last one. Maybe it gets worse each time you do it.�

“I wouldn’t know, would I? No one has seen fit to let me at one yet.� Harry was too annoyed to even look at Hermione.

“Right, class,� Remus began, taking his position at the front of the room. “Today we will begin a very interesting journey into the most difficult of all magic, the wandless variety. It must be said right at the outset that most, if not all of you, will find yourselves unable to perform wandless magic and under no circumstances should you see that as a reflection on yourselves. In the main this will be a theoretical journey into the subject because I myself cannot perform it.� He gave a little shrug that indicated he was in no way bothered by this failing and in doing so put most of the class at their ease. “Turn to page forty-five of your textbooks and we shall look at the origins of this specialised branch of our craft.�


The morning dragged by as Remus found himself droning on about the history and peoples that had first practised wandless magic. Only when he got to the De Danaan did Harry perk up a little, but at the reminder of Maeve he soon sank back into a little bubble of gloom. It was finally over and the students burst from the room, feeling as if they had been in Professor Binns’ class rather than Professor Lupin’s. As they made their way along the corridor to the slightly more exciting prospect of Charms, a snivelling student dashed past, tears flowing down a creased face.

“Another one had a trip to McGonagall’s office,� Ron remarked, his face settling into a miserable glower. Trips to the headmistresses’ office had become synonymous with bad news. “Bloody You-Know-Who is really getting around now. If you ask me, Harry, the sooner Maeve gets the rest of the Horcruxes, the better.�

“I didn’t ask you,� Harry replied testily. “And if this carries on, I’ll be leaving again.�

“Oh, Harry, you can’t!� Hermione exclaimed. “You’ve only just got back. If you think about it rationally, Maeve is saving you an awful lot of trouble. You saw how badly she was affected by the last one; well imagine that being you, twice over. Just think about the state you would be in when you finally did get to meet Voldemort.�

“She’s got a point, mate.� Ron turned off towards the Charms classroom, leading them neatly away from Harry’s truculence. “Gives you more time to learn more stuff and stay healthy. No idea what you are complaining about. Here we are.� He grinned, refusing to be downcast by Harry and his out of joint nose. The classroom door was open and Professor Flitwick was perched in his usual position.

Harry smouldered his way through an hour of learning to cast the Venomente Rescidiun Charm on one of a number of flaky-looking Castilian Cobras that Hagrid had provided. He grasped the general idea fairly quickly, along with Hermione, whose cobra was so tired of having his venom neutralised that he stopped spitting at her in protest, and settled back sulkily on her desk.

The day rumbled on, like so many before it, with warning clouds dragging themselves across the crisp sky and bringing a sense of oppression to the castle. Any thought of an after-lesson walk was quickly dispelled as the clouds shed their heavy load of water across the grounds and Harry abandoned his friends in order to catch up with Remus for the promised further explanation. He was only to get a quick sketch though, for as he arrived at Remus’ office, he found his professor muffled up and ready to go out.

“Harry, come in,� he said effusively, looking pleased with himself for some reason. “Just popping out for a little while so this will have to be a flying visit I’m afraid.�

“Going anywhere interesting?� Harry asked, ignoring the offer of a seat.

“Into Hogsmeade for a little while, and then I’m going to check on Maeve.� There was a guarded look in his eye, but Harry was pleased the conversation had turned almost immediately to the reason for his visit.

“You’re going to Grimmauld Place?� he asked. “Perhaps I should come too.�

“No need for that,� Remus said hurriedly. “It’s tricky Apparating at the moment, and the Floo Network is out for casual visits. I’ll go alone and report back to you. No sense taking foolish risks, Harry, surely you’ve learnt that by now.�

“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve grasped that by now. No sense having Harry take a foolish risk and try to dismantle a Horcrux, is there? Let’s save Harry for the final sacrifice.�

“Enough, Harry. This is not the time for being petty-minded. I’m sure Maeve is just as cheesed off as you are about being the one to tackle the Horcruxes.� There was a critical look in Remus’ eyes that Harry didn’t like and he immediately tried to appear more even-tempered.

“So what exactly happened, and is she alone now?�

“As far as I am aware,� Remus began, his words still measured, “she is alone. She found the Horcrux on the kitchen floor and it released itself, apparently.�

Harry looked thoughtful, aware that Dumbledore had never told him exactly how to release a Horcrux. But it couldn’t be as easy as just picking one up, could it? If that were the case then the Horcrux in the temple would have attacked him. So what did Maeve have that he didn’t? Why was she able to release them with such ease?

“What was it trapped in?� Harry asked.

“A key,� Remus replied. “A black key, but that’s as much as I know.�

Harry’s face blanched as he recalled the key that Albert had given him at Godric’s Hollow. It must have fallen out of his pocket while he was at Grimmauld Place; another Horcrux that had slipped through his grasp.

“Well,� he stuttered finally, as Remus asked if he were feeling all right. “The most important thing is, it’s gone. I suppose that leaves just two and Voldemort himself.�

Remus, despite his earlier disapproval of Harry’s jealousy over the Horcruxes, was pleased at the matter-of-fact way that Harry spoke about it all. This outlook would stand him in good stead when a cool head was required for the inevitable confrontation.

“Well, I must be off,� he said, reassured by Harry’s weary acceptance of the situation. He knew that the boy would not follow him to London.

“Why are you going to Hogsmeade?� Harry said, as he wandered towards the door. “Surely you can just Apparate from the gates.�

Remus suddenly looked a little bashful, as he smiled a strange smile, filled with light and happiness that was not normally found on his face. It puzzled Harry for a moment, until he realised it was the same smile that Ron sometimes wore whenever his thoughts drifted towards Hermione. Luna had been right; he had been with a woman

“There’s someone I need to see before I set off for London,� he replied, his eyes shifting evasively. Remus hadn’t quite got used to the notion of having a fiancé himself yet, so was finding it difficult to tell others.

“Someone female?� Harry asked, a little mischievously.

“Yes,� Remus said, following him to the door and standing, framed by the opening. “I should tell you, I suppose. You remember the girl at Maeve’s wedding, the hairdresser?�

Harry nodded, thinking, surely not. Felicia had been young and fun, and the perfect antidote to Remus’ miserable existence, but Harry thought that Remus had completely convinced himself that a relationship with her was a bad idea. He had never said as much, but it was the impression they had all got.

“Felicia, of course I remember her,� he said. “Is she visiting?�

“We’re engaged to be married,� he said rather formally. “I asked her the day that we had the disagreement in the Leaky Cauldron. We hope to tie the knot this week so that she can move into the castle.�

“That’s great!� Harry said, extending a congratulatory hand. “I’m pleased for you, Professor Lupin, really pleased.�

“Thank you, Harry. There are obstacles, but I think we can overcome them, if we get through this war. Anyway, must go.� And this time there were no more revelations as Remus and Harry walked down the corridor in an easy silence. They parted company at the main staircase and Remus stepped through the great oak doors with a spring in his step, despite the inclement weather outside.

Harry watched him go with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. Since being back at school he had not allowed himself to give Ginny too much thought, not allowed himself the luxury of turning over his feelings for her. He thought pushing her away would be the right thing to do, for her own sake. He knew she disagreed, but he though he had been right. And yet it seemed that others were doing exactly the opposite. Remus and Felicia, Ron and Hermione, even the murderous Snape had found himself a wife in the end. What was it that made them think differently? Did he believe the love he had for Ginny was strong enough to endure a forced separation while they did not? No, that wasn’t the answer. Perhaps the answer lay in the war on their doorstep. It was forcing decisions, making time short and opportunity slim. Harry knew what he had to do and the only way to do it was to find Ginny. Haring off up the stars he missed Percy Weasley, who was hovering in a doorway, looking very lost.



Sleep had claimed the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place for most of the morning; time suspended as they recovered from the night. When Maeve’s consciousness eventually reasserted itself, she found Severus already awake and watching her carefully. They listened to the silence together for a little while, unwilling to speak of what they had experienced. Severus knew that when she did speak, she would want answers, and Maeve knew that when Severus spoke it would be to give them to her. She noticed his blood-stained shirt and her hand automatically went to her face. He winced as she raked over her latest set of Horcrux-inflicted cuts and saw the worry in her face.

“I don’t know,� he admitted. “They may leave scars this time. The harm was more extensive, and I was…�

“No.� She shook her head, knowing what he was thinking. “You could not have known.�

“I should have been with you.�

“Should have is such a silly little phrase.� Her voice was light, but her face was heavy with concern, for him and for her. “It won’t change anything. You were not here. I was impetuous and insisted in coming before you were ready.� The little shrug she gave hurt Severus more than her words. It implied the same lacklustre attitude that had kept him away from her when she most needed it.

“Nevertheless, I was wrong. I am sorry.�

“Don’t apologise, Severus. You have no need to. I am alive, so there is little harm done.�

“But your face,� he began, reaching a hand to her cheek and feeling sick as she pulled away.

“Don’t touch it,� she murmured. “There is no need to prove anything by touching my damaged skin.�

“Prove anything?� he queried. “You think I feel the need to prove anything? Why should I not touch your face? It is your face.�

“Don’t,� she said, sensing the beginnings of a squall. “You know what I mean.�

“No, I don’t know what you mean. I reached for your face; it was a natural reaction. I think it is you who is placing the unnecessary emphasis on what may or may not be left there. Do you not think that I know my own physical limitations? Do you think that each time you touch my sallow cheek or my too-large nose I am thinking that you are pitying me?�

“Of course not, because you are you. If this scars then I am not what I was. I am not what you agreed to. Things will be changed.�

“You foolish woman!� His words whipped at her. “I married you, not your skin. Would you abandon me if I suffered a physical defect beyond what I am already burdened with?�

His self-deprecation made her smile in spite of herself. “Of course not, that’s just ridiculous.�

“Then listen to how ridiculous you are being.� There was a shared smile then, and the room relaxed as hostilities ceased. “Besides,� he added, “I’m sure paper bags big enough to fit over your head are cheap enough.�

“Why you!� She lifted herself up and hit him hard with the pillow, forcing him to roll away from her. And so some semblance of normality returned. Maeve was weak from the Horcrux, but the power of Severus’ spells had returned her to life sooner than she could have expected given what she had been through. She tied her hair away from her face, avoiding the mirror. It was easier to be blasé about something when you knew the effects were not permanent; with this uncertainty she found herself not wanting to know what she looked like.

Restored, she drifted towards the drawing room and its gentle warmth. Severus had lit the fire in here and made a commendable effort at creating a small platter of food for her to pick at. For an hour she was content to nibble and feed off the fire’s heat, but as she put the plate down she knew the time had come to ask the questions that he would undoubtedly know the answers to.

“Tell me,� she said, not being specific, allowing him the space to hand over the information as he wished.

He gathered himself, mentally running over what he would tell her and what he would omit. She could not be told, not yet, exactly the nature of the power she wielded. Sighing deeply he told her about the key to Darkacre.

“I have no idea how it came to be here,� he concluded, “but it managed it. It was unfortunate you came across it alone.�

“But I don’t understand why the soul fragments just throw themselves at me. It can’t be that easy. And what was the key doing getting lost in Godric’s Hollow anyway. What would you be doing there?�

“I knew what was going to happen. I – I was the one who told the Dark Lord of the original prophecy. I still worked for him, was still loyal, and it was my duty to tell him.� He could have expected a horrified reaction from him, given her relationship with Lily, but instead she nodded.

“The nature of what you did was wrong,� she began, “but you don’t need me to tell you that. Your loyalty was misplaced, that is all.�

“I understood what was going to happen, from Wormtail of all people.� He gave a vicious laugh. “And I made my way to Godric’s Hollow that night to warn them, warn Lily… for your sake, I think. I never hoped to see you again, but in the back of my mind was the thought that, if I did meet with you again, I would have been instrumental in killing your friend.�

“That’s rather at odds with your Death Eater ethos of the time,� she remarked, curiously warmed by the influence she had had on him, even though she had not been there. “Did you know Pettigrew had betrayed them?�

“He couldn’t resist the chance to gloat about his cleverness in tricking Black into making him the Secret Keeper. Unfortunately, odious though he may be, he is also clever and dogged. He had no idea that I would try and thwart his plans, but in the event, I was too late. The Dark Lord had already killed them when I arrived. It was a very awkward moment for me, as I am sure you can appreciate.�

“Very troublesome,� she said, her irony lost in the tragedy of the tale. “But it doesn’t explain how the key became host to a part of his soul.�

“I don’t know,� he said honestly. “I must have dropped it at Godric’s Hollow, but the Dark Lord sent me away before he left. He had already killed Potter and Lily, but who knows how long a man has to create a Horcrux?� A hideous image of Voldemort picking over the dead bodies of Lily and James rose in Maeve’s mind, Dark Magic flying around in the remains of their home. And then Harry. He’d tried to kill Harry and was himself destroyed. The truth of what happened that night might never be known. The manner in which Lily had saved Harry was known, but what had caused the stutter in time from the story that Severus was telling and the story that Harry had imparted via his memory of the night was unclear.

“And then it ends up here?� Maeve said, bringing herself back to the Horcrux. “There is much to that part of the story we don’t know. But that aside, why am I able to wrench the souls from their resting places?�

He hesitated, and Maeve knew he was formulating something. “The truth please, Severus.�

There was a tension in the air as he wrestled with not telling her what he knew, but ultimately, after the night they had shared, he couldn’t keep it from her. Quietly damning her father, he parted his lips and told her what he knew.

Just as she was preparing a response, there was a gentle knock at the door and alarm replaced Maeve’s disbelief. “Hide,� she said hurriedly. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.�

“There is no need for such melodramatics,� he said smoothly. “It’s your pal, Lupin. Come to play the long-suffering friend, no doubt.�

“He knows?� Maeve said. She loved Remus dearly, but right at that moment she wanted to absorb what her husband had just told her and come to terms with it.

“I had to tell him. If anything happens to us, there needs to be someone else informed of the current situation. You had better go and admit him, before he wakes that irrational portrait.�

“Severus.� She paused before she stood up to answer the door. “Will this affect me? Will this prolonged contact tarnish me? I saw things when I was recovering, things that were horrible. I felt evil.� She shuddered harshly, despite the heat. “I’m frightened by this news.�

“You need not fear something whilst it is contained.� He stood up and took her hands. “It was necessary for the gods to do what they did, surely you can see from the ease with which the souls are released? But it is done with now. Potter must take over from here on in. You have done as much as you can.�

“And I must still carry this around with me?�

“Until the end, the Dark Lord’s end.� Severus tightened his jaw as he said the words.

“What if I can’t?�

“You have done an admirable job so far, before you knew what it was you carried. I see no reason why you cannot continue.�

There was another knock at the door, more insistent, worried.

“Go and answer it,� Severus said, turning back to the fire.

Maeve walked from the room and reached her hand to touch the thing she had bourne for so long. How could they do this to her? Making her carry around a piece of Voldemort’s soul in order to destroy the others seemed to be the ultimate act of cruelty. Her instinct was to tear it from her throat and throw it to the ground, but she knew that was not possible, knew she would let down so many people by giving in. She reached the door and threw back the locks to allow Remus entry.

He smiled down at her, managing not to flinch at the new wounds, and stepped into the house. Maeve closed the door feeling that she was suddenly two people; Maeve Snape and Lord Voldemort. As she moved past the mirror in the corridor she almost convinced herself that looking back was not one badly scarred person, but two, only one bore mental scars while she bore the physical.























.

Weddings and Woes.





“Don’t you think Neville’s looking a bit peaky?� Ron asked Harry as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Probably a bit of a cold,� Harry said, approaching their table with a wistful expression on his face. He hadn’t been able to find Ginny the previous night and she didn’t seem to be in evidence at breakfast. Now that he had decided to make his feelings plain, he rather wished he could get it over with.

“Although, come to think of it,� Ron continued, “you’re looking a bit pale yourself. Coming down with something?�

“Nah, just tired.� Harry looked away from Ron, knowing that they would have to have the conversation soon in which he would inform Ron of his feelings for the youngest Weasley, and Ron would get outraged for a little while before seeing sense. At least, that was the plan.

“So, you thought any more about talking to Filch?� The plate in front of Ron filled with toast and scrambled egg and his face brightened.

“I don’t see what good it would do. Hermione was right – where is Hermione anyway? – we should leave him alone for now. I’m more interested in finding out who the person was at the cemetery yesterday.�

“What does it matter who it was?� Ron started ploughing into his breakfast with gusto. “It’s not like they would have been after the same thing as we were.�

“Maybe, maybe not,� Harry cogitated, picking at his toast. “Hermione said that the cemetery is always empty… So why was that person there when we were?�

“C’mon, Harry! Unless Hermione has turned into a cemetery-haunting lunatic who stalks the undead morning, noon and night, then she can’t know how often people visit. It could be the star attraction of the school for all we know.�

“Hmm… You all right, Neville?� Harry called, changing the subject and addressing the nearest Gryffindor to them.

Neville started a little and spilled some of his pumpkin juice onto his plate of cold beans. Harry was pretty sure they hadn’t been cold to begin with, and wondered how long Neville had been sitting there staring into space.

“F-f-f-ine,� Neville spluttered, having been hauled out of his reverie. “Just thinking, you know.�

“About what?� Ron asked dubiously. Ron didn’t mind thinking, certainly not when Quidditch or wizard chess was involved, but he didn’t think Neville had been thinking about sport.

“Gran… and Mum and Dad. I think she’s getting a bit obsessed about going to the hospital. All her letters ever talk about now is Mum and Dad and the state of the ward and how it’s not like it used to be.� Neville looked down at his plate with a gloomy expression on his face. He poked at the orange globules listlessly with his fork, as Harry and Ron stared at him, not knowing what to say for the best.

“It’s hard,� Harry said, looking at Ron for help.

“Yeah, mate,� Ron agreed. “It’s probably just something she feels she’s got to do. Mum spent forever at the hospital when Dad was sick. She’ll come round.�

“But your dad got better though,� Neville said, placing the fork carefully on the plate and making to stand up. “My parents are there for good. Does that mean Gran will be too? I’m beginning to think she’s forgotten she has a living relative.�

He stepped away from the table and gave them a rueful smile, absolving them of the need to offer him any further comfort.

“Poor bloke.� Ron looked genuinely sympathetic as he wiped tomato ketchup from his chin. “His Gran was a bit of a monster, but at least she cared about him.�

But Harry had already stopped listening. As Neville walked through the great doors he gave a wan smile to a red-haired girl, and Harry’s heart was dancing in his chest. Ginny was walking straight towards them with a smile of greeting on her face and a parchment tucked under her arm.

“Morning, you two,� she said, flopping down a little too close to Harry and placing the parchment down. “Muggle Studies homework,� she explained. “Forgot all about it last night and it needs to be in first lesson.�

She asked her plate for a bowl of cornflakes and pulled a quill out of the bag that she had slung to the floor. Her head bent over the work and she didn’t notice Harry’s discomfort. Ron did, though, and he once again enquired after his friend’s health.

“I’m fine,� Harry snapped.

“All right,� Ron snapped back. “Bloody hell, no need to bite. I’m off to find Hermione. Coming?�

Harry gave a grimace. “No, thanks. You and Hermione can have the time alone.�

“Cheers. See you later,� Ron grinned, and grabbing his last piece of toast, disappeared from the hall.

Ginny was engrossed in her essay on the various types of entertainment in the Muggle world and looked up to ask Harry a question about television. She was surprised to find him already looking at her, and even more surprised by the anxious expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?� she asked immediately, her work temporarily eclipsed by his face. Ginny had been trying to come to terms with the fact that Harry was happier without her for now, and was planning on playing a careful waiting game. She knew Harry, and knew that pestering was not going to make either of their lives any easier. She had resolved herself to only being with him when it really mattered, and she trusted herself to know when it would really matter.

“I was…� Harry once again found himself at a loss for the right words. “I just…You know that Professor Lupin is getting married?�

“Yeah, I saw him on the way back from Hogsmeade last night. She must be something else; he looked exhausted.� She gave a smile at the insinuation, but Harry just looked even more worried.

“And Ron and Hermione seem to be getting closer…�

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, although what she sees in that dolt of a brother of mine, I will never know. I would have thought she would have gone for someone with a little bit of class, at least.�

“Ron’s got class,� Harry said, taking time out of his dilemma to stand up for his friend. “It’s just a different sort of class. Hermione could do worse.�

Ginny placed her quill down carefully on her parchment and looked at him closely. “What are you getting at, Harry? You seem very down.�

“I just wondered why everyone was suddenly getting close to someone. Even Seamus is seeing a fifth-year on a regular basis. Is it the war?� He searched her face for answers to a question the he could not properly articulate and her eyes softened a little.

“Maybe it is,� she said. “Who knows? Perhaps everyone is just getting older.� She didn’t dare hope that her patience was paying off so soon.

“But that doesn’t explain Lupin…or even that murderous bastard Snape. Why are they getting involved, now of all times?�

“I guess it’s because they think it’s the last chance they’ll get. I mean, Snape doesn’t have much chance of a life when the Ministry catches up with him. The war is making everyone’s lives really precarious. I often wondered why you never talked of it, of us, again after the summer… at Maeve’s wedding. We became really close then and I thought… Well, you probably know what I thought.�

“But if I get involved with you now…� He sighed. “Ginny, there is so much danger. I have to face Voldemort and you know how cunning he is. He has spies everywhere and if it became known that I was seeing you…� He paused and amended his phrasing. “If he knew that I cared for you…�

“Are you worried for my safety or are you scared about what he will make you do because of me if he ever captures you?� Her question was a leading one, and Harry didn’t feel like being led.

“I don’t know,� he said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore, Ginny. When Dumbledore went, I felt really sure of myself; knew what I had to do. But things have happened that have made me feel out of it. And then Professor Lupin came home with a girl and, well…�

“You’re feeling a bit useless.� Ginny finished his sentence for him. “I don’t know all the details – you’ve been distant since summer – but if you ever wanted to talk to me, Harry, all you had to do was ask. I know there are things that I could help you with if you would let me.�

“I know. I’m beginning to think I made a mistake. If you – if you love someone, or care for them, then I think instead of shoving them away, maybe you should hang on to them a bit harder instead.�

Ginny leaned towards him, her elbows on her knees and her earnest face looking up into his. “I think shoving is always a bad idea. I’ve never liked being shoved anywhere, myself. If you want to hang on though, well, I can cope with hanging.� She was carefully resisting the temptation to touch him in any way, although she would have dearly loved to reach up and give him a hug. “Harry, if Voldemort finds out about us, so what? You know that I feel the same way as you do about this war. We are just little pieces of it all. If he wants to threaten me then fine, but I’d rather have a few weeks or months, or years even, of… well… of being your girlfriend than nothing. People want to be happy, and being with people they love makes them happy. Why don’t you allow us to be happy and let me worry about what happens if Voldemort’s spies get to hear of us?�

Harry moved closer towards her and was about to hesitantly touch her hair when a little cough made him sit up sharply. Percy had obviously just finished his breakfast and was now walking past, not looking at them, but acknowledging their presence in a derogatory manner all the same.

“You want to get that cough looked at, Percy,� Ginny growled after him. “It might just kill you.�

Percy’s retreating back stiffened slightly and Ginny turned her attention back to Harry.

“We might not have much time… Make what little we have matter, Harry.� She rose from her seat and allowed her hand to rest on his shoulder for a moment. “I’m here.�

Harry watched her scoop up her parchment and quill, powerless to say anything. There were, he reflected, some things worth sacrificing your good intentions for. Ginny Weasley was worth any sacrifice.




Severus was diligent in his attentions were his wife was concerned. With her father’s disapproval still echoing in his ears, he was going to great lengths to see that she was comfortable, and Maeve was becoming irritated by it. The last few days, in which Severus had refused to leave her side, had become troublesome for both of them as they snipped and sniped at each other.

She sat in the drawing room, her feet resting on a well-padded footstool, with coffee and a beautifully baked slice of cake by her elbow. She watched the sun travel across the narrow view that the window afforded her and felt dissatisfied with everything; her husband’s efforts seemed too much, the house too still, the world too narrow for her to breathe. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she was being haunted, but in a much more profound way than by any conventional ghost. Severus brought her a salve for what was left of her wounds and she almost gave him a tongue lashing for no reason other than that he was there.

Severus saw the haze that sometimes clouded her vision and wondered if the gods had been wrong in their assurances. They had told him categorically that no harm would come to her from that necklace, and yet she was changed. Two Horcruxes, two pieces of tainted soul had entered her being and she had defeated them, but at what cost? And worst of all, on more than one occasion he had felt himself preparing to draw the veil over his thoughts in the way he did when in the Dark Lord’s presence. But what really convinced him all was not well was the fact he really didn’t think she would have noticed if he had used Occlumency to block her. Was her mind becoming as obscured as her vision?

She had been polite with Remus Lupin the previous night, on yet another of his visits, but Severus knew his wife well now, and it had not been a normal interview. Lupin had told her of his impending nuptials with the Forfex woman and Maeve had smiled blandly and offered her congratulations, but there had been nothing behind her eyes. It had been a relief when Lupin had left, but Severus had still not been able to get through to his wife in a way that he would have liked. She had gone to bed alone, tugging protective blankets around her to keep him at bay.

And today she was getting even more quarrelsome.

“I want to sleep,� she snapped, as he moved to clear away the uneaten cake.

“Then sleep!� he found himself hitting back, the last of his patience scraped from the bottom of his being.

“How can I sleep with your infernal noise? Clattering plates and going on and on about how I’m feeling. You never used to whine quite so much.�

“Go to bed!� He snatched the plate and cup from her side and turned.

“If you would leave me in peace maybe I would go to bed. Always here, always interfering; it’s a wonder I put up with it.�

Severus stopped and looked back at her, the cup and plate balanced precariously. This was not right — she was not right.

“Look at you! Mr Perfect, trying to make up for things with stale cake and bitter coffee. You think you can make up for my scarring with a few futile gestures?�

He watched her, his black eyes recognising what he saw. There was an echo of Voldemort’s cold calculation lurking on her face, a reverberation of his vindictive spitefulness. This was something that should not be happening and he was sure it was to do with the thing that hung around her neck. In the back of his mind he saw Potter’s face, cocky and confident and full of itself. Well, if Potter wanted the fight, he could have it.

“Maeve, this is not you.�

“What would you know? You don’t know me. You never knew me!� Her voice was filled with poison and Severus found himself recoiling from it. The Dark Lord was here, was filling the air with his hatred, and now, more than ever, Severus felt sick with it.

He moved so quickly that Maeve didn’t have the chance to drag her tainted mind into action. With one swift movement he had ripped the necklace from her neck, causing the magical clasp to give and release her from its bonds. He felt the jewel burn him, sear the skin on his palms, but he dropped it to the floor and looked at her.

Maeve had taught him many things in the past year. She had taught him that unconditional love was a secret only available to a few lucky souls and she had been his talisman. Without her he was a hapless drifter and with her he was anchored. For all his studied ideals and his promises to Dumbledore, he realised with a lurch that none of that mattered. He would give it all up just to retreat into hiding with this woman, and he could not stand by and see her poisoned by the Dark Lord, by Voldemort. The one thing he could do for her was release her from her fate. The gods, her father, had gifted her this burden, and he was unburdening her. If this brought their censure down on him then he would have to deal with it, but for now he wanted his wife back.

Maeve looked down at the floor in astonishment, watching the magical, milky jewel glint against the rug. She was astounded at his audacity and yet brought her hand to her neck to feel the liberating sensation of having nothing weighing at her throat.

“You can’t do that!� she exclaimed, bending to retrieve it. He caught her and pulled her away from it.

“I just did,� he snarled. “I don’t care what grand schemes these beings have constructed. You will no longer be tainted in this manner. It was bad enough when the thing was weighted with their own power, but now it contains a Horcrux… Now it contains a part of the Dark Lord.� He released his grip and swept a hand through his limp hair. “That last piece of soul… It must have triggered something within the jewel contained in the centre of the pendant. You are becoming more like him, more malicious, more spiteful.�

“Just like you then!�

He looked to her with dread in his eyes, wondering if he had been wrong, if the hardness was deep in her already, but her own bewilderment at what she had just said made him realise that it was the fading effects of the Horcrux leaving her.

“I’m sorry,� she gasped. “I don’t know what made me say that.� She glanced once more at the necklace. “But I have to wear it, Severus. We both know that.�

“No, not as it is. You have suffered too much. We will find a way to remove the jewel and let Potter take guardianship of it. Lupin tells me he is sulking about this whole business anyway, so it is time for him to prove himself a man. Once the Horcrux is removed you can take it back.�

“I’m not sure,� she began, thinking of the disappointment that would be evident on her father’s face when he learned of what Severus had done, “that we can do this.�

Severus seemed to draw himself up in stature, his natural height giving him an advantage over many. “What we can and cannot do is irrelevant. I have done it and it will not be undone. We will arrange for the ruby to be removed and for it to be given to the spoiled child who desires it so. I will not see you eaten away by a hatred that is unnatural to you. I will face your father if need be.� He recalled Lugh Lamfada’s stinging anger and could imagine how much more intense it would be the next time they crossed verbal swords, but his true loyalty lay at his wife’s door. Destroying Voldemort’s soul to recoup the immortality loaned by the gods was secondary to the need to protect Maeve. There were other ways of bringing the Dark Lord down, and he would put all his strengths into exploiting them. Already there were murmurs of discontent on the part of some of the younger Death Eaters. Severus would have to be very careful and find their ringleader. Rumours abounded that Nathaniel Derhem was one to watch, and watch him he would.

“It cannot be this easy,� Maeve said, feeling her naked neck creep with the air that was now allowed to flow around it.

“It can,� Severus insisted. “I was just a fool for not realising it sooner. Walking away from an unlooked-for destiny is quite simple when you realise that the way you have been shown is not the only way. The Horcruxes must be destroyed; the gods’ will must be acted upon… But theirs is not the only way of accomplishing the task.�

She shook her head still, wanting it to be a realistic prospect but knowing her father was determined to see this fulfilled. “If it can do this to me, what will it do to Harry?�

“Potter is determined to find out, so I suggest you share the burden. I will find a way to have this stone returned to the artefact it came from.�

“Filch?� She looked at him with a look of inevitability on her face. “It always seems to come back to Filch.�

“Filch will probably be the method I choose. I can trust no other who could gain access to the school.�

“You could trust Remus,� Maeve said with indignation.

“No, Maeve, I could not. At least, I could not trust him to deliver the object to its home and then allow Potter to get at it. I rather fear he may try to interfere. Lupin has proved to me already that he lacks the required measure of detachment to do things that involve or endanger his friends.�

“I think you could give him a little more credit than that,� she said, rubbing her hands together to encourage the heat that seemed to be returning to her veins.

“I have seen his weakness with my own eyes,� Severus insisted. “He would not be able do it. Filch can be persuaded and has no interest in who is put at risk by any of his actions.�

“Apart from his cat,� Maeve said.

Severus nodded and removed his wand from his robes. He pointed it at the necklace and watched as it began to glow with a soft violet light. Lifting it up, secure in the knowledge that he had rendered it temporarily impotent, he placed it in his pocket and looked at her once more. “I need to take care of this quickly,� he said, “and with as little fuss as possible. It may take me a night or two. You will be safe here now.� It was not a question and she knitted her hands fingers together anxiously.

“Very well.� she agreed with some reluctance, her mind awash with all sorts of possibilities that may arise from her husband’s action, and she couldn’t say she found any of them attractive.

Severus was gone within the hour, having redoubled the strength of a few of the Charms that protected the house and made sure she would be comfortable in his absence.

“And do not,� he said, as he prepared to depart, “open that door for anyone, even Lupin. I will communicate with Lupin myself and tell him to use only the Floo to speak with you.�

“This is risky, going back up there. What if you are recognised?�

“I will not be. Now, no foolishness. I will find you here, intact, when I return.�

She kissed him warmly and for the first time resolved to do exactly as she was told with no deviation from her instructions. Worry would be a constant enough companion, without seeking other nuisances.




Felicia was nervous, as any bride would be on her wedding day. She paced her room at the Three Broomsticks impatiently, her eyes constantly dragging to the clock that ticked pleasantly on the wall. Almost ten, and Remus said he would collect her at half-past. She played with the little tendrils of hair that she had teased from its prettily arranged knot and fretted over the dress she had chosen. Now that she had it on she wasn’t sure the delicate shade of blue really suited her, and was her make up a little overdone?

Once she had finished worrying about her appearance she turned he attention to what she was about to commit herself to. She was in love with Remus Lupin, and had been since she had first seen his sheepish expression in the summer. There was a delicacy about his eyes that was completely at odds with his ravaged face and they had captured her with an immediacy that was surprising. The time she had spent with him in France had been magical and she had enjoyed every moment of it, well, every moment until the time had come for her to return to Ireland and Remus had delivered his little bombshell about not being ready to be with someone else in the way that she might envisage. There had followed a tearful (on her part) and mumbling (on his) parting in which she had accepted that he meant what he was saying and she had been furious that he had allowed her to have such a wonderful time, unconvinced that he hadn’t planned this all along.

He had expressed a hope that they could still be friends and she had replied, rather indelicately, “Friends, my arse!� At which Remus had been genuinely upset and Felicia had relented, promising him that if he ever found himself back in Ireland he would be more than welcome to look her up. She had scribbled her address down on a small piece of paper and Disapparated to the terminal from where the magical Flying Ferry sailed. It would have her back in Ireland in under an hour as long as there weren’t too many people wanting to get off elsewhere, although at that time of year the Flying Ferry was always fairly packed.

She smiled now as she thought back over their parting and subsequent reunion. Life could be very surprising sometimes, she reflected, crossing to the window once again to look outside onto the street below for any sign of him. He had certainly surprised her with his dramatic reappearance and proposal. She wondered how much the war was really affecting him and whether it had somehow prompted him to do what his heart dictated rather than what his head did. Still, he had gone through the last war and not gained a wife, and he must have been younger then, less unsure of himself.

There was a knock at the door that broke her away from her little world of concerns and she opened it to reveal a tall boy whom she instantly recognised.

“Mr Potter,� she said, opening the door a little further to allow him in. “To what do I owe this pleasure?�

“Remus is going to be slightly late,� Harry said apologetically. “He’s asked me to come along and escort you to the village hall.�

“Oh.� Felicia looked so disappointed that Harry grew quite concerned.

“It’s all right,� he said quickly. “Remus really has had something very important crop up, but it won’t take long. With the war and everything… these things happen. Don’t worry, it’s not like he’s changed his mind.�

Felicia looked even more agitated at Harry’s words and Harry couldn’t help wishing that someone else, someone with a little experience with brides-to-be, could have passed in the message. “Look,� he said, “my… my girlfriend is downstairs. Why don’t we have a quick drink before we set off? May calm your nerves, and Ginny would be much better at this sort if thing than I am.�

“Sure, and that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a good while,� she breathed, relaxing into herself a little. “And won’t it serve himself right to be kept waiting a wee bit.�

“I suppose so.� That wasn’t really what Harry had intended. He didn’t want to get the blame for delivering a half-cut bride to the hall. “But just the one drink,� he added, to be on the safe side.

“Aye, just the one,� she said, picking up a small handbag and leading the march to the bar, where Rosmerta hadn’t even opened the pub’s doors yet. “And maybe one for the road.�

“It’s a very short road,� Harry called after her. “Not even a road really.�



Rosmerta was more than happy to supply the three of them with an early drink, and watched with satisfaction as Felicia and Ginny cooed over the bride’s outfit. This was exactly what Felicia needed, the friendly input of another female to set her mind at rest. As Ginny began to insist that she had seen Remus that very morning and he looked full of beans and ready and raring to go, Harry began to lose concentration. His eyes drifted to the windows and the street beyond as a dark-cloaked figure passed by, swiftly followed by someone that looked suspiciously like Argus Filch. He excused himself, although he didn’t think that Ginny or Felicia noticed him going, and slipped out of the door that was Rosmerta was just unlocking.

“Good idea, Harry,� she called after him. “Get a bit of air. These ceremonies can go on for ever and I hear it’s Maximillian Tubthumper that’s officiating… his ceremonies have been known to go on for hours.�

Ignoring Rosmerta’s unsettling information about the length of time he could be cooped up in the tiny village hall, he headed off in the direction that Filch had gone. For a moment he thought he had lost the odious little man, but he caught a glimpse of him turning down Hackett’s Lane and hurried to catch up. He followed into the gloomy lane and once again saw Filch, who had now caught up to the figure and Harry held his breath, perching in a doorway lest he be seen by either of them. Just as the other person was about to turn and acknowledge Filch’s presence, the door behind him was flung outwards, buffeting him out onto the street.

“What the ‘ell d’you think you’re doin’!� a wizened old witch asked in a high-pitched squeak. “Lurkin’ in my doorway like it was some sort of a hidey hole. Gerrout of it!� And a broomstick was wielded at him, jabbing at his face with prickly menace. Harry looked away from the grey-haired harridan and found that Filch and his erstwhile friend had disappeared, no doubt alerted by the screeching of the banshee, who was still wobbling her broom at him.

“Thanks,� he mumbled, “thanks a lot.�

The witch glared at him before pulling back into her house and slamming the door. Harry contemplated going to the end of the lane to see if he could catch a further glimpse of them, but he knew it would be pointless. Filch and his friend would be long gone now they knew they had been rumbled. With a discouraged sigh he turned and headed back to the Three Broomsticks, suddenly aware that he had left Ginny and Felicia with a full bottle of Firewhiskey on their table.



Fortunately for Harry, Ginny had managed to calm Felicia’s jangling nerves down to the point where she didn’t need Firewhiskey. Their mouths had been too busy gossiping to drink, and so they were in good spirits as they left the pub. Harry walked warily ahead of them, wishing that Remus had shown up earlier and that he didn’t have to traipse through Hogsmeade in such an exposed fashion. As they stepped into Sheepscar Avenue they could see the open doors of the village hall ahead of them and Felicia increased her step, eager to see if her intended had finally turned up. She overtook Harry, leaving him to fall into step with Ginny.

“Exciting, isn’t it?� Ginny grinned, linking her arm through his in a very comfortable way. “Good on them both, I say.�

“Yeah,� Harry agreed, feeling the warmth of her arm through his coat. “Who’d have though that Remus would get married?�

“Shame on you!� she admonished. “Remus is not an unattractive man.�

“Fancy him, do you?� Harry asked, suddenly in playful mood.

“You know I don’t.� Ginny grinned widely as they finally made it to the open hall and looked into its musty depths.



Inside, it looked considerably larger than outside. A ceiling loomed over them, at least twice the height of the outside, and its dark walls appeared to have doubled in size. Remus had claimed Felicia and led her up to the small stage that rose from the wooden floor. Harry was curious to see how this wedding would work after the rather grand affair in Ireland in July — an event, he remembered sadly, that Dumbledore had attended and had presided over with patrician glee. From the looks of things, this would be a completely different kettle of Grindylows. A few small wooden chairs had been lined up before the stage, and a lectern placed up on it. The Ministry official who was in charge of things stood by the lectern, talking earnestly with Felicia and Remus, who both wore expressions of intense concentration.

No one seemed to be directing the guests, who numbered just Harry and Ginny at the moment, so Harry ushered Ginny to the first row of seats and they sat down, finding the chairs to be hard and uncomfortable.

“Rosmerta said this bloke goes on forever,� Harry said gloomily. “I don’t fancy sitting on these chairs for long.�

“Shhh!� Ginny mouthed, nodding towards the door.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had just entered along with a pale-looking Tonks and they made their way towards Harry and Ginny. Kingsley gave Harry and Ginny a quiet hello while Tonks sniffed slightly and nodded towards them before sitting in the row behind them. There followed a very light flurry of people through the door: Professors Rampton and Sprout, Seamus Finnegan, Luna Lovegood, two men and a woman that Harry didn’t recognise, but given their resemblance to the bride he assumed they were her family, and finally Madam Rosmerta, who had managed to get her pub watched while she slipped out for an hour. She took a seat next to Tonks and Harry could hear the two women talking in hushed tones. He couldn’t pick up all they said but it sounded like Tonks was upset about something and Rosmerta was telling her she shouldn’t have come. Ginny was looking straight ahead as the bride and groom stood on either side if the lectern and didn’t seem interested in the hurried talk behind them.

“Good morning, delightful ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this very special and, hopefully, joyous occasion when this witch� – Tubthumper nodded to Felicia – “and this wizard� – the nod went to Remus this time – “will be joined together by the special and unending bond of marriage. In my opinion this is one of the better aspects of my job and one I undertake with the greatest of pleasure. To see happy people declaring their commitment to one another in these dark times is a reminder that though evil stalks the land, love still endures and blossoms. It takes a great deal of courage to declare your love for another person in such a public manner…�

Harry realised that Madam Rosmerta had been right and that Maximillian Tubthumper was indeed a verbose man with at tendency to wander. He slipped his hand into Ginny’s, who gave it a quick squeeze, and settled himself as best he could on the hard chair, preparing to be here for quite some time.




Narcissa watched the sun setting through her drawing room window and tried to hold her tears in check. The Minister of Magic, pompous woman that she was, had visited that morning and informed Narcissa that should she hear from either her husband of son – a son who was, at the time of the Minister’s visit, hiding in the cellars – she was obliged to contact the Ministry straight away. Narcissa had looked on as she was given a lecture on the rights and wrongs of hiding criminals, even if they were related to her, and that she must bear the full weight of her civic duty and help the Ministry out with these matters. She was in no way a suspect, but of she were found to be harbouring fugitives, she would be treated as such. Narcissa had almost exploded as the foolish Bones creature had droned on about the leeway that the Malfoy family had been allowed over the years, and that it had to end. It was obvious that the son had now followed the father, and the Ministry had to act accordingly.

Narcissa had been so outwardly incensed that she had not even offered her visitor a cup of tea, and had sat there with her hands in her lap, stiff-backed, waiting for the woman to leave. All the while she had been inwardly cursing her recalcitrant son and her foolish, careless husband. Once the Minister had left, she had stomped down to the cellars to find Draco readying himself to leave, a small bag in his hand. There had been a brief discussion that had descended into an argument, which Draco had walked away from with a backwards shout that he didn’t give a damn about her and that she was a stupid woman for trying to stand in his way.

And so Narcissa had let him go. She had gone over things in her mind all afternoon and had repeatedly come back to the fact that she had been unwise to allow Lucius a free rein with their lives. She had been ridiculous to allow herself to enjoy the trappings of his lifestyle while ignoring the possible consequences, consequences that had led to her sitting alone in the shell of a house that had once been a celebrated as the place to be invited to for the weekend. No longer did the halls ring with the sounds of guests enjoying themselves. The kitchens were cold and the bedrooms unaired. Narcissa wondered if it was time to give up this grand house and move to something more suited to her reduced state. She had no income now and no idea how much money sat in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. Narcissa had never thought herself to be practical before, but she soon found that once left to her own devices, with no men to consider, she could take control.

She got up as the last orange tinge left the sky and swept up to her bedroom. With a few efficient movements she had packed her bag and was standing before the large fire in the master bedroom with a set look on her face.

“Time to get on with it, Narcissa,� she said, as if trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. “Time to admit he doesn’t want or need you anymore. Let’s wait until he comes back to you for help, begging.� The last word was a strangled mutter, as she finally accepted that that was the only way her son would come back to her. The anger in his rigid face as he had left had done much to convince her that her child was gradually moving further beyond her reach.

With a flick of her elegant wrist she clutched at some of the powder that sat by the fireplace and tossed it into the fire. Stepping in after it, she called loudly, “Grimmauld Place!�




The light had completely faded from the room that she stepped into, although the curtains had not been drawn. Shaking her clothes free of any dusty residue, she almost smiled to be back in this grand house, although it didn’t appear to be so grand now. There had been some lovely weekends here, with her Black relations and their friends. It would break the dead woman’s heart to see the state of the place now, Narcissa reflected as she ran a tapered finger over the dusty sideboard. And how useful it was to have the ability to drop in via the Floo network when this was supposedly the most heavily-guarded house in London – it proved that Severus had many uses. She doubted even Dumbledore knew that she had the ability to use the Floo network to access this building, but Severus could be exceedingly clever when he chose and had bypassed the complex Charms on her behalf many years ago, just in case she was ever in need of a safe haven. Narcissa had never been in real need of one during the time she could have got away with turning up here. She rather thought that had she turned up while the Potter boy was here, she would have been treated very badly indeed and so she had never used this little route. But Severus had told her Potter was gone and that Maeve was here alone. Much as Narcissa disliked the woman, she might prove useful again; time would tell.

Narcissa slowly opened the door, wincing at the lazy creak it gave. Memories drifted down the corridor to greet her; Lucius, alive and smiling with his blond hair casually lying over his shoulder, his blue eyes made relaxed with the rivers of wine that always flowed in the house. This was where she had told him she was pregnant with Draco all those years ago. He had been delighted, immediately talking about the son they would have; Draco had always been a boy, long before Lucius had really known the sex of the baby. The corruption had passed directly down the family line, probably from both families. They were all cursed with what she had once thought a blessing.

The stairs were also unlit, and she took them slowly, wishing that the O’Malley woman had lit the gas light in the hallway. Once she reached the covered portrait of Constance Black, Narcissa found herself tempted to pull it back and look on the old matriarch’s face one more time, but she resisted. Light seeped from under the study door so she moved towards it slowly, wondering if she should knock or just open it. Politeness dictated she should knock, but she wanted to see the surprise on the woman’s face when she realised her fortress was not impregnable.

She grabbed the handle and pushed the oak door inwards, stepping into the gentle candlelight and scanning the room for its inhabitant. Narcissa might have decided she was up to this skulduggery, but in reality she was hopelessly out of her depth, a fact she realised when the wand pressed into her back as Maeve stepped out from behind the door.

“Who else is with you?� the Irish witch’s voice asked.

“No one,� Narcissa replied haughtily. “I’m completely alone.�

“Why should I believe you?� Maeve snapped. “And how on earth did you get in?�

“Your husband gave me a little present quite some time ago. It seems it still works.�

“What do you mean?�

“He bypassed the Charms that protect the house to allow me, and me alone, to use the Floo network.�

“I don’t believe you!�

“I don’t care.�

“Well, you should care. It’s not me with a wand at my back. If you can get into Grimmauld Place at will, why didn’t you? Think of the damage you could have done on behalf of Lucius… And ultimately Voldemort.�

“It was a secret between Severus and me. There are some things that should never be sullied by using them for a purpose for which they were not intended.�

Maeve felt her guard slipping and relaxed her wand hand, which gave Narcissa the opportunity to step away from her and turn around. Both women regarded each other for a moment, neither really knowing what to say, both feeling like they had something to lose if they conceded anything. In the end it was Narcissa who spoke first.

“I have nothing of value left,� she said, the words simple.

“Has the Ministry taken Malfoy Manor from you?� Maeve thought the idea was faintly ridiculous, but given the way the Ministry was operating at the moment, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

“There are more valuable things than bricks and mortar,� Narcissa replied, the incredulity at finding herself expressing these opinions clear from the despondent sag of her face.

“Have you only now realised that?� Maeve was unprepared for a repentant Narcissa; it was a side to the high and mighty woman that she had so far not really seen. “Did it take losing your husband to make you wake up to the fact that being rich and pure of blood means nothing.�

“Not jut my husband; I fear I have lost Draco too.�

“How so?�

“He left today and I really do think he meant the horrible things he said. I think I allowed Lucius to influence him too much. But it is done and I don’t wish to talk about it. I am here to offer you my help, should you need it.�

“Your help?� Maeve was reduced to two-word questions by this volte-face on Narcissa’s part. “How can you help?�

“I know what Draco’s latest task is.�

“So do I,� Maeve said. “You forget who my husband is.�

“How could I forget, with you flaunting it at me every time we meet. What happened to your face, by the way?�

“It’s nothing.� Maeve felt heat creep into her wounds at the thought of Narcissa’s appraising gaze.

“The scars look painful. Has Severus looked at them?�

“Of course he has!� Maeve was snappish, having been put on the defensive.

“Do you know how he intends to achieve his new task?� Narcissa graciously allowed the subject of Maeve’s face to drop and moved back to Draco. She had to admit that she had a certain vested interest in Draco’s task; preventing him from achieving it would help him without her having to help him, which satisfied her sense of indignation at his behaviour and Draco’s refusal to be helped by her.

“No,� Maeve admitted, “we were waiting for more information or a sighting.� Although, in truth, she hadn’t given Draco a second thought since coming to Grimmauld Place.

“Well, it is no secret that he has spent the past few days perfecting the Imperius Curse.�

Maeve’s eyes widened. “And who is he intending to use it on?�

“That I don’t know. For that we will have to work together.�

And the thought of them working together filled both women with an awkwardness that they couldn’t quite shake.