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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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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.