Chapter Twenty-Two
Confrontation.
“You have to leave!” Maeve leapt from him, struggling back into her clothes and making the torn seam split even further in the process. “I can’t risk anything happening “ to either of you.” Her hair caught in a button and she tugged at it viciously, pulling several strands of it out, which made her wince with pain. “He’ll try to kill you, Severus, or you will be forced to kill him.” She looked at her husband, who was quickly pulling on his trousers, not even a hint of dismay on his face. “Severus! Are you listening to me?”
“I can hardly fail to hear you,” he said quietly. “You are making enough noise for the whole of London to hear you.” He shrugged his shirt onto his back, deftly refastening the buttons that Maeve had earlier teased open.
“Then hurry up!”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He finished tucking his shirt in and reached for the robes that had been so recently discarded. “I see no point.”
“Do you want Harry to attempt to kill you?” Maeve was still shrill, and yet Severus remained calm, the effects of the Potion still flooding his veins with benevolence. “Or even worse, for you to have to defend yourself and end up killing him. This is exactly what Voldemort would have wanted to happen. How could they have brought him here?” Her desperation was making her face work furiously, her anxiety finding an outlet there.
“My dearest wife,” he said, turning to her with a smile, “your little ruse with the potion was effective enough to keep me from getting annoyed with you, even now, when you are becoming increasingly irritating.”
“How did you…”
“I could smell it as soon as I put the whiskey to my mouth. Lycium is unusual and subtle, but it could not get past my nose.”
Maeve’s face stilled itself at the irony of his last statement and she managed a smile, despite her desperation at the situation they were about to be plunged into. “Then why did you take it?”
“To please you.” He stopped his efficient movements long enough to place a hand against her cheek. The connection lasted just a moment, fleeting and intense, before he pulled away and walked over to the large sideboard that dominated one half of the room.
“Thank you,” she said, staying where she was. Professional pride overcame her worry. “Was it a good potion?”
“One of the better ones I have tasted. Usually love potions are a little too vulgar, assailing the senses and overpowering the soul. A recipient is numb to the subtleties of passion with most of them. Yours was different; it contained something else.” As he spoke, he was opening the drawers of the sideboard and assembling various items: a large black bag, a small silver cauldron, flasks and jars. “What was it? Feverfew?”
“Severus, why are we discussing the finer points of love potions now? And what are you doing?” The presence of potion-making equipment brought her back to the present, and their predicament.
“You started the discussion on potions by enquiring after your own,” Severus said in his defence, “and Potter needs help, which is why I am collecting my things together.” He blew air out of his lungs forcibly and faced her. “You could help me, instead of standing there with your skirts tucked into your undergarments.”
She blushed as she looked down and unhooked the green cotton, allowing the skirt to fall smoothly. He gave her a look that suggested he preferred the exposure of flesh and then returned to gathering together what he had set out.
“How do you know that Harry needs help?”
“Rampton is no Occlumens.”
“Oh, Severus, you didn’t!”
“I do what I have to do, even when my mind is made sluggish by Irish magic.” The sideways glance he gave her wasn’t quite an admonition. “They have brought him here because they need our help, not for afternoon tea and crumpets.”
She took the cauldron from him, and allowed him to hook the bag over her shoulder, staggering slightly under the weight. “What on earth is in there?” she complained.
“Come on,” he urged, ignoring her question, “let’s go and see what damage Nagini has done to the boy.”
“Nagini? Harry has been attacked by Nagini?”
“I’m sure your friend Lupin will explain everything.” He opened the door, balancing equipment in his hands as she passed through it ahead of him. “At the very least, I’m not expecting him to be in any position to make an attempt upon my life.”
“And what about you? Will you make an attempt on his? How will this square with your promise to Voldemort?” Maeve’s control over her anxiety was slipping by the second.
“You will have to trust me to worry about that small matter,” he said, overtaking her and following the muffled sounds of alarm that were now coming from one of the bedrooms. “Events appear to have rather spoiled our attempts to prevent Potter and myself encountering one another, do they not?”
Remus had unintentionally Apparated straight into Narcissa’s bedroom in his haste to get there. She was standing by her wardrobe, looking at the bleeding Harry in horror. Remus was desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood with spells, but when they failed, he resorted to using Narcissa’s new damask sheets. It was this scene of panic that faced Severus and Maeve when they flung open the door and entered the room. Severus moved to the side of the bed quickly and placed his things on the bedside table, arranging them in neat rows. Remus looked from husband to wife, desperation rendering him temporarily mute.
“Bring the bag,” Severus said, beckoning Maeve over to him. “Set up the cauldron over the fire and fill it with two parts water to one part dew. The dew is in the bag. Use the whole amount.”
Maeve unbuckled the leather bag and did as she was told, pulling out a large glass flagon containing the precious, clear liquid. With sure hands, she set a fire in the grate, rested the cauldron over it, and poured the contents of the flagon in first. The dew would warm slowly and then the water could be added to temper the raw effects of the natural liquid. She had never thought herself particularly good in an emergency, but the smoothness with which she completed her task impressed even Narcissa. Maeve suddenly realised that her hair was hanging around her shoulders, ribbons of red waiting to taint the potion. She cast around, looking for a suitable binding, and soon spotted an elastic band, which was holding together some parchments on Narcissa’s dressing table. With a small rumble of protest from Narcissa, she took the band, the parchments falling to the floor in a cascade of paper. Her hair was soon caught and safely out of harm’s way, although she knew it would hurt when she came to take it out.
The black bag had now disgorged its contents, thanks to Severus’ swift unpacking, and he was busy inspecting the gaping wounds that Voldemort’s serpent had inflicted on Harry. He frowned in concentration at the jagged skin that flapped uselessly over bare flesh, unaware that Maeve was now at his shoulder. She reached over him and her fingers, which had so recently been engaged in rather more frivolous activity, felt for Harry’s pulse.
“He’s failing, Severus,” she said in hushed tones. “There’s little of him left.”
“I know that,” he snapped back. “I do not need a feeble pulse to tell me what my eyes already see.”
She picked up the lady’s mantle, along with the agrimony, and began to break the dry leaves off the stem. Severus did not need to instruct her in this stage of the proceedings; the most important thing was that they stop the blood loss. They would worry about the vileness of Nagini’s venom when that was dealt with.
Maeve dropped the leaves into the now-bubbling liquid in the cauldron, watching as they slowly began to decoct into a pale stew. It would take five minutes “ ten minutes would have been preferable, but Harry couldn’t wait ten minutes. Severus, in the meantime, had pulled strips of willow from his bag, breaking it into thin fronds ready to take the concoction that Maeve would have for him. Remus and Narcissa felt they had taken on the role of theatre-goers; the act they were watching would have seemed so well-rehearsed, were it not for the fact that it was real.
It took a painfully long time for Maeve to be satisfied that the decoction would be strong enough, and she strained the contents of the cauldron quickly over the small basin that Narcissa had in her room. A mush of leaves settled into the bottom of the silver strainer and she set them aside for later use. Severus handed her the bark and she quickly soaked it into the liquid, trying to glean every drop of healing that she could from it.
When she took the compress back to Severus she was horrified by just how much blood had soaked into the bed. It didn’t seem possible that Harry could have any left in him, and she could not fail to notice that Severus appeared as bloodless as the patient he was supposed to be treating. With hands that could not have been gentler, Severus began to pack the wounds with Maeve’s treatment, taking care that every ragged piece of skin was covered by the green-grey mush. Maeve watched as he did this, her heart flushed with pride that her husband could be so tender with someone who, in other circumstances, would have sought to kill him. Here was the man she had married, the man who was brave enough to take on tasks that should not have been his.
“Get the indicia,” he said, his work with the compress done. “Mix it with the comfrey, add a finger of dragon’s blood, two pinches of powdered moonstone, three drops of belladonna essence, and two black beetles. Crush it well and then add the remains of the decoction. Stir it twenty-six times widdershins, and then place it in the cauldron with the last flask of dew and bring it slowly to the boil. Boil it too fast, and it will be useless. Do you understand?” He was barking orders at her now, and it was a measure of Maeve’s grace that she didn’t hit him over the head with the bag that she once again had in her hands.
“I understand,” she said, pulling ingredients out of the bag, which seemed to be providing them with whatever they needed. Once she had the ingredients, she carried them to the cauldron and again began potion-making. Severus stood up and crossed to the basin to wash his hands of the compress. Already he could feel the blood flow in his fingers being slowed by the potent potion that his wife had created, and he was grateful for the strength she was able to put into whatever she created. He had felt it at school, and her skill was undiminished by time. He glanced across to see her hands working the mortar over the collection of ingredients in the cauldron and he wondered how she would react when he instructed her to add the final ingredient.
If the circumstances had not been so dire, Severus found he would have quite enjoyed watching the concentration on her face, the silent counting as she brought the brew to the boil and began to stir. Her shining eyes, as she turned to ask him what he wanted next, made his throat constrict. For the first time he understood something fundamental about a marriage that was more than just a physical manifestation; this was the exchange of your whole being, the willingness to trust another completely. His head stung from the implications of this. Maeve knew that he was infallible in this field, and she did not argue with his instructions. Yet, she argued with his decision to fight against the Dark Lord with this group of rebels. What did that mean?
“It’s ready,” she said, interrupting his musings. “What next.”
He looked into her steady face. “A finger of harpy blood.”
And she suddenly joined him in looking pale. “But you know what that could do?”
“Of course.”
She paused for just a moment, before taking the paste that had formed in the caldron and scraping it into the bowl that Severus was now holding out to her.
“And where is it?” she asked. Maeve had never handled harpy blood before. It was one of the most toxic ingredients that a witch could work with; spilling it onto the skin would certainly mean that that part of the body died, and it could go on to affect the whole body, fatally.
“You hold the bowl still, and I will pour it in,” Severus instructed, having had no intention of allowing her to handle the foul ingredient. He knew, however, that it was the only thing he could add to this potion that would stop Nagini’s poison from continuing to harm the boy that lay dying on the bed.
“Severus,” she began, moving closer to him, “please be careful. We both know what it can do.”
“I will.” He nodded, taking a silver vial from his bag. With steady hands, he removed the top, and a foul stench penetrated the air, making Narcissa dash from the room, her hand over her mouth. Remus looked ready to do the same, his face turning a strange, ash colour, but he was made of sterner stuff than Narcissa and held his ground.
Maeve cast a protective charm over her fingers and was about to do the same for Severus, until he shook his head, a few, insubstantial beads of sweat suddenly in evidence.
“I prefer not to have my hands impeded by unnecessary magic,” he said, moving towards her with great care. “And I have yet to encounter a charm that could deflect unadulterated harpy blood successfully.” He glanced at her, noting the band of worry that was constricting her face. “Thank you for the thought, though.”
She nodded, shifting her weight so that she could hold the bowl as steadily as possible. Their heads bent together, a flurry of concentration pouring into the bowl, along with the unnaturally dark blood of the harpy. Instantly, the pungent odour was calmed, a spitting, spiteful bubble of reaction erupting in the cauldron as the ingredients already there absorbed the poison. Maeve exuded relief as Severus replaced the tight seal on the vial, preventing any further escape from within its silvered confines. She knew that she now held a powerful healing potion in her grasp, one that would not kill, but cure.
All their attention was once again turned to their patient. The bleeding had slowed to a steady trickle, but still it flowed, life seeping away. Maeve was once again about to feel for his pulse, but she caught Severus’ disapproving glance and allowed her hand to drop.
“It will need to be poured into his mouth,” Severus said, looking expectantly at his wife. “I think you will be better suited to this task than I.”
What he really meant, Maeve reflected, was that if she administered the potion, he could not be said to have saved Harry Potter’s life. Indeed, as he slipped a small, hard item into her hands, she knew that, for all intents and purposes, he had been intending to kill Harry. Her eyes flicked to Remus, who had not seen the sleight of hand, and she carefully dropped the tiny ball of Puffskein Bladder into the cauldron. Severus stepped back, an unfathomable look on his face, and watched as she began to ladle the thin liquid into Harry’s mouth. As she spooned, she realised she had not connected the addition of the indicia with the harpy blood. Together, the two would have proved fatal, but the Puffskein bladder had neutralised the indicia.
Twenty minutes, and much mopping, later, the cauldron was empty and she turned to her husband with relief.
“It’s done. You must leave, Severus. If he wakes and finds… “
“He will not find me here,” Severus replied. “He will never even know I was here. I must speak to you, Maeve.” His sly glance at Remus indicated that he wished to do so alone.
“Remus, will you watch Harry for us “ me?”
“Of course, but what if his condition worsens?” Remus looked doubtfully at the injured Harry.
“It won’t,” Severus snapped. “Come, Maeve.”
And like a child obeying a command from a parent, Maeve followed him from the room, more concerned that he avoid detection than by Remus’ worries for Harry.
They stepped out of the room and almost immediately collided with a waiting Roderick.
“All right, is he?” he asked, his eyes lingering on Severus’ face just a little longer than he might ordinarily have done.
“He will be. What are you skulking around for, Rampton?”
“Just keeping an eye on things. You know how it is.” He grinned and broke his study to look at Maeve. “You need to clean up a bit, sweetheart. Blood-red is all well and good as a colour, so long as it isn’t the real thing. I’d advise you to get your miserable string of a husband to give you a good rub down.”
“Interesting, Rampton,” Severus said, before Maeve had the chance to reply, “how you covet that which you cannot have.”
Leaving Roderick floundering for a rejoinder, Severus ushered Maeve down the corridor and away from the company of others.
They ground to a halt beside the portrait of Mrs Black, both as bloodstained as the other. Maeve’s first inclination was to reach for her husband and steal a kiss, but he stayed her with a frown.
“There is an advantage to be had here, if you can persuade Potter to play the game.” Severus withdrew his wand and performed a quick Scourgifying spell on her, leaving her bloodless.
“And that advantage would be?”
“He is dead?” Severus carefully removed his robes, casting another spell and binding the blood to them. “Or the Dark Lord believes him to be dead. Lupin has no idea I handed you something that would render the potion as effective as it has been. If he recites that potion to those who know, they will believe it to be deadly. If the Dark Lord believes Potter is dead, it will elevate me still further in his eyes. This is the perfect opportunity to make him complacent.”
“Harry won’t play dead,” Maeve said, knowing that Harry was too hard-headed for that. He would want to confront Voldemort, not hide from him.
“Then you must convince him to do so. With the Dark Lord believing him to be dead, he will grow even more reckless. It will make it all the easier to ferment the discontent that is brewing in the ranks.”
“Oh, Severus, please, not that again.”
“I said nothing about being the head of that fermentation, did I?”
“The implication is clear enough,” she said, disapproval evident.
“I will not join Ms Fitzwilliam in the way she wishes me to,” he said. “There are other ways to achieve what we need to achieve. You will convince Potter to remain hidden here, and you will stay with him. In this way we…”
“No.”
“What?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No means no.”
“No means no? Why are you talking in riddles? What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said through gritted teeth, “that I will not be cooped up here any longer. If you leave, I am coming with you. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”
“I understand what you are saying, I simply do not comprehend the logic you have employed to come to this conclusion. You will stay here.”
“Then you will stay with me.”
“I cannot.”
“There you go then, you have your answer.”
“Maeve, must we always have this discussion? You will stay here.”
“I will not.”
Severus looked as though he was about to give a sigh that would have blown Grimmauld Place into the Thames, but before he had the chance to consign the house to Davy Jones’ locker, Roderick appeared.
“Tiff, is it?” He dropped down the last few stairs carelessly, and draped a hand across Maeve’s shoulder in a way that made Severus rankle. “I suppose you have been married a good while now. Better make sure someone doesn’t steal her away.”
“Get off, Roderick,” Maeve snapped, pushing his hand away. “Go and play your word games elsewhere.”
“Ooh, snappy, aren’t we?” But, all the same, he kept his hands off her. Instead, he turned his attention to Severus. “And how are things in the Snape household. Visited your father’s grave recently?”
“Roderick!” Maeve intervened, irritated at the mention of Kentigern Snape. “What a ridiculous question to ask.”
“Not at all,” Roderick said with a smile. “Just enquiring. Visited your mum’s grave recently?”
Neither man anticipated the lighting reaction from Maeve’s hand. It whipped across his face before Roderick knew what had hit him. She stared defiantly at the red mark that rose on his cheek, willing him to contest the blow. But Roderick, being Roderick, bobbed his head at her, dark hair covering the welt.
“I deserved that,” he said from beneath the cloak of hair. “Still, it’s nice to know you can get angry. Did you know you’re beau…”
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Just don’t. Why don’t you go and treat Narcissa to your clichés.”
“They’re not clichés, my lovely, they’re truisms. And I know that you know that.” He turned, with one last look at Severus’ nose, and glided back up the stairs.
“Interesting,” Severus said, looking at her with renewed admiration. “I didn’t know you had the capability to be quite so violent.”
“Something you would do well to remember. So, go and do whatever you need to do before we leave. You could pack a few things for me, too.”
“I thought we had decided you were staying?”
“You thought that, unless you’d like to see me caged here with Sirius Black’s portrait.” It was a low blow, and one designed to have the maximum impact, which it did.
“Black? There is no portrait.”
“There is,” Maeve replied calmly. “It’s here and it’s chatting for Britain. Now, you could either leave me here to be influenced by Mr Black, or you could haul me away from his insidious talk. Which is it to be, Severus?”
If Severus had ever doubted her ability to be cunning and manipulative, those doubts were now dispelled, as his inbred hatred of Sirius Black took over.
“You should not even be entertaining a discussion with that man, even in portrait form. He is poisonous in any incarnation.” Maeve thoroughly appreciated the flare of his overly large nostrils, as indignation overtook sense. “And in any case, why would you want to talk to him?” Indecision pecked at him for a few moments, while Maeve stood by, her face a model of innocence. “I’ll get our things.”
And she knew she had won.
But before he went, there was one last thing to clear up.
“Severus, what will we do about Harry?”
“He will have to be seen to die. You know the potion that will do that. The ingredients are in my bag. You have half an hour to make him appear and get rid of Lupin. Then we leave.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.”
“Does that include Harry?”
“It will have to, won’t it?”
She swallowed the pride she felt in him. Pulled away from the impulse to crush him against the wall and press her lips to his. Her heart bellowed out with love, but she silenced it with a rustle of her skirts as she turned and went back to the bedroom, readying herself to kill Harry Potter. “Half an hour, Severus?” she called back over her shoulder. “You know I never could resist a challenge.”
His snort of amusement was still in her ears as she pushed open the door to the bedroom and once again entered the blooded bedroom.
Remus was circling Harry, not quite a vulture, but not quite a concerned relative. Maeve nodded in his direction, suddenly feeling very adrift from him, as if their previous relationship had never been. Was this the price you paid for not claiming ownership of real bonds, she wondered, as she unbuckled Severus’ bag, her loyalty lying in one place only.
“What are you doing?” Remus asked, the atmosphere of the room making him alert to anything out of the ordinary.
“A tonic,” she lied, the falsehood falling from her mouth easily. “He needs something to restore him after what he has been through. And he is by no means out of danger.”
“But I thought…”
“You know the nature of potions, Remus. And you know the nature of the monster that has allied itself with Voldemort. This is more serious than any of us could have realised.”
Remus stopped his pacing and watched her quick assembly of ingredients. “But Severus is.capable. If anyone would know, he would.”
“Severus is not infallible. He has done his best, but it may not be good enough. Harry has suffered great wounds.”
Remus never doubted for a second her honesty, as she quickly brewed a potion that would slow Harry’s breathing, and stopper his life for a time. He watched with complete trust as she slipped the glass flask to Harry’s lips and poured the mixture into his throat. He was unprepared, therefore, when, ten minutes later, Maeve suddenly looked at him with a grave expression.
“Remus, go and get Roderick,” she said, undertones of dread in her voice. “This does not look good.” She allowed the gentlest tremor to distress her lower lip, her wide eyes watering only slightly. Had anyone told her she had the ability to be an actress, she would have laughed in their impudent faces, but here she was, acting herself, and Harry, into the realms of the unknown.
“What do you mean?” Remus moved closer to the bed, not taking his attention off Harry. “You can’t mean…?”
“I’m afraid I can. Go, Remus!” Her whippet-fast words forced Remus into action, and he left her with her hand on Harry’s brow, the very image of care. The second Remus was out of the room, Maeve summoned every ounce of strength in her body, and forced her hands beneath Harry’s prone form. She was on the point of attempting to lift him when Severus entered the room with a large bag in his hands. His look of alarm caused her to relinquish her hold on Harry as he moved quickly to relieve her of her burden.
“Foolish girl,” he hissed. “How could you hope to carry him?” With a grimace, he quickly thrust his own arms under their patient and lifted him into the air. Harry’s head lolled uselessly against Severus’ chest, and Maeve was struck by the care that Severus took in handling him. “Take the bag. It’s time we left.”
“How?” Maeve grabbed the bag, turning back to Severus. “We can’t Apparate with all three of us. A Portkey is too risky.”
“Have you ever tried to use your skill with others?” Severus asked, and Maeve realised he was asking the almost impossible.
“I don’t think it would work, and even if it did, I don’t think I would have the strength to do it. Could you not Disapparate with Harry, and I’ll follow you?”
“I do not want us separated as we leave Grimmauld Place. You only need to do it until we are free of this place. Maeve, if you value Potter’s life, and mine, you will at least try to attempt this.”
She was backed into a corner. The came corner that had seen Severus commit to acts that he probably would have shied away from without her involvement bringing his sense of obligation to the fore. Stepping forward, bag still in hand, she reached around and wrapped her husband and Harry in the magic that had been handed to her by her father. With no idea if this would turn out to be a disaster, she willed them all into the ether.
Remus had found Roderick in the drawing room with Narcissa. From their irritated expressions he had the distinct impression that he was an unwelcome intruder. Roderick quickly dropped the thread of conversation and rose at Remus’ hurried entry. Narcissa merely looked bored, flinging her arm across the side of the sofa with annoyance.
“Maeve wants you,” Remus barked. “I think it’s serious.”
“Maeve always wants everyone,” Narcissa said petulantly. “And everyone inevitably goes, poor damsel in distress that she is.”
“Is it Potter?” Roderick stood up quickly and was out of the door before Remus had the chance to elaborate. Remus was about to follow him, but Narcissa’s smooth voice detained him.
“Is the Potter boy dying?” she asked, almost unable to believe that Severus could have failed.
“I hope not.” Remus had no time for Narcissa now, not that he had ever had much in the past. “I need to find Severus too. Do you know where he is?”
“It’s a small house, Lupin. I’m sure he can’t be far.” Her face was once again a glacier, her interest suddenly distracted from him by the glass at her side. She had almost been prepared to feel some sort of sorrow for the Potter boy, but she had quickly wiped any such thoughts from her mind. If Potter died, her son would be in a better position to succeed. And maybe, just maybe, she would have to stop relying on the kindness of these infuriating people.
“You always were a cold-hearted bitch, Narcissa,” Remus growled, feeling years of hatred rumble to life inside him. “I hope that one day you meet with the fate you deserve.”
He slammed the door on the way out, his unexpected fury checking his anxiety for a moment. He had to find Severus. It wasn’t possible that Harry could die. Despite the world Harry had inherited, Remus had always firmly believed that the boy would survive, and now his beliefs were being tested to the limit.
He called Severus’ name loudly, a frenetic note to his voice that should have brought the man from wherever it was he was lurking. But Severus, naturally, did not appear. Instead, Roderick appeared at the end of the corridor, his face a little flushed.
“They’ve gone,” he said between hefty gulps of air. “Bloody buggered off! Why did you leave them?” He looked like a child whose playmates had left him and taken all the toys.
“Maeve asked me to come and find you,” Remus said, stung by the implication that this was his fault.
“Why would she want me?” Roderick had reached Remus now and they seemed about to disagree in a rather spectacular way.
“I don’t know, but I had no reason to distrust her. Harry was getting worse, and she must have wanted you for a reason.” Remus ran a coarse hand through his hair, wishing that life would stop throwing up gaping holes in the normal fabric of things in this way.
“It’s obvious what has happened; Snape has taken Harry’s body as proof that Nagini has done his work, and either Maeve was complicit, or he’s taken her by force too. The Ministry will have to be informed, and Hogwarts.”
“Is that it?” Remus looked at him bleakly. “We just assume Harry’s dead and move on. You can’t expect the wizarding world to accept that, Rampton. It will be the end of their hope.” He was also terrified that Roderick might be right and all their suspicions about Severus were about to be proved as well-founded. Could he have taken them both?
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure.” Roderick managed to make it sound as if Harry’s apparent death was just a minor inconvenience. “You’ll soon discover they find some other sap to latch onto. The wizarding world is fickle at the best of times. Most of them probably never really understood Harry’s significance anyway, despite what the papers said.”
“I’m going to Hogwarts,” Remus snapped. “I’ll deal with everything at that end. I’ll let you handle the Ministry and their idiots. No doubt they will want to question me. If they do, they know where to find me.” He was only just holding back the mixture of pain, fear and despair that Harry’s disappearance had created in his heart. “And after that, I shall be looking for them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lupin!” Roderick snorted with derision. “Where will you start looking? You have no idea if Snape doesn’t want to be found, by you or anyone, he will not be found.”
“You forget, Rampton, I have spent time with the werewolves. I can just as easily slip back into that world and discover things. You are not the only one with some form of access to Voldemort.”
“Boys, boys!” Narcissa appeared from the drawing room. “Arguing over the Dark Lord? How sweet. How touching. He would be so pleased. Did I hear the boy has vanished?”
“You can explain it to her,” Remus said with disgust. “I’m leaving.” And, without waiting to hear any more, he Disapparated from the house.
Maeve managed to keep all three of them in the air for just ten minutes before she realised that she couldn’t continue. She brought them down without knowing where they would land. With a huge effort, she disentangled their molecules and fell to the ground gasping. Severus staggered slightly under the weight of Harry, and then looked around him with horror.
“Maeve,” he hissed, “what have you done?”
“What?” she mumbled, resting on her haunches with her head drooping to her knees. She could vaguely hear the rumble of something mechanical; no, more specifically, something mechanical that was moving at speed. Even more precisely, lots of mechanical things moving at speed. She raised her head at the same time as Severus cast a Disillusionment spell over her and then Harry to try and minimise the damage.
“Oh,” she squeaked, as the sensation of water flowed down her back and she tried to stand up. “Oh no. It’s the M25!”
“I presume,” Severus said acidly, “that the M25 is Muggle code for an extremely busy road. Do you know how many Muggles are now speeding past us?”
“We’ll be all right,” she said, still a little groggy from the effort of transporting them from Grimmauld Place. “They barely notice the road in front of them, let alone anything else. And it’s dark. They’ll never spot us.”
“We will need to separate for a moment. I will use Apparition to transport Harry and then return for you. You are in no state to move on your own, even using your little talent.” Severus could never have anticipated the amount of energy it would need for her to complete the task he had set her, and he was angrier with himself for having to rely on her in that way. But the anger let itself loose on her. “Why you never learned to Apparate, I will never understand. It should have been simplicity itself for a witch such as yourself.”
“Severus, please, do what you have to do.” She dragged herself to her feet, using his cloak as a rope with which to pull herself up with. He glowered at her, the orange Muggle lights that illuminated the motorway casting strange shadows on their faces. He still had Harry in his arms, and without another word, Disapparated, leaving her alone.
She rubbed at her arms, the Disillusionment charm making her feel the late October chill even more. Headlights created ribbons of light on the road beside her, rivers of white and red colour in the night, and she pulled herself further away from the roadside. She didn’t know where Severus was taking them. Perhaps back to the bunker, or some newer hiding place that he had discovered. Wherever it was, a confrontation between Severus and Harry would be inevitable, and she knew that she needed to start preparing for that.
Within minutes, an exhausted-looking Severus returned, grabbing hold of her arm and roughly transporting her away from the danger of being spotted by a Muggle.
Just five minutes later a police patrol car turned up at the spot, the occupants parking the car on the hard shoulder and stepping into the night to look for the people that had been reported clustered on the grass verge. They scratched their heads as they walked, not finding any trace of a man, woman or a prostrate body. Relaying their findings back to their control centre, they shrugged their shoulders and got back into the warmth of their vehicle.
Hermione and Ginny had staggered back to Hogwarts, shock draining their faces of any emotion or colour. Each had tried to offer the other comfort, and muttered “he’ll be all right”s and “Maeve will take care of him”s passed between them. They made it back to the castle, and slipped in unnoticed by man or beast. Both girls broke into a run when they reached the foot of the staircase, willing their feet to carry them faster to the headmistress’ office. When they reached it, they were amazed to find the door behind the statue standing open and the stairs rotating gently. Hermione looked at Ginny doubtfully, before stepping on first.
The office door was also open, and they began to feel their first tremors of unease.
“Where is she?” Ginny asked, peering around the gloom of the office. “The place looks deserted. Maybe we should just owl someone?”
“Owl who?” Hermione asked, realising, horribly, that they were running out of people to turn to. “Owl the Ministry and say what?”
“We could owl Dad,” Ginny said. “Someone needs to know what happened to Harry. Someone needs to know that Nagini is on the loose at Hogwarts.”
“Someone does know.” The voice that came from the corner was not unknown to either of them. Percy stepped from the shadows with a strange expression on his face.
“I informed the Ministry myself. But it was too late to prevent what happened.”
“But how did you know?” Hermione asked, surprised by his presence.
“I happened to see something earlier that aroused my suspicions. The headmistress is with the creature’s first victim now.”
“There was another victim?” Ginny temporarily forgot that this was the brother who had caused the family so much grief. “How can there have been. We saw Professor McGonagall enter the castle as we headed for the cemetery? We saw no one else.”
“You should have opened your eyes then, shouldn’t you?” Percy snapped. “Believe me, there was someone else. I alerted her straight away, and she went to try and prevent it happening. She took that idiot of an ex-Auror with her too.”
“Professor Rampton? But we saw Professor Rampton. He can’t have been in two places at once.”
Percy mustered up his most supercilious face, always glad to impart some knowledge that others did not know. “You know, there is a tomb not far from the cemetery. There are lots of them around Hogwarts grounds, but most are concealed. It seems that Nagini called there first, to bite the first student. There is a reason that you are not supposed to go wandering after dark.”
“Where exactly is Professor McGonagall?” Hermione asked.
“She’s in the Hospital Wing. Where else would she be?”
“And who was bitten?” Ginny asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Neville Longbottom.” Percy said this with such a coldness that Ginny finally knew he had lost all the heart he ever had.
“Come on, Hermione,” she said, looking at her companion. “I can’t stand to be in its presence any longer.”
“But…” Hermione hesitated, wanting to push Percy for more information. “How did Nagini get into the grounds? And how did you know about it? You don’t just come across a dirty great serpent by accident.” She felt a natural distrust of Percy that was now spilling over into questions.
“I have patrols to make. Sometimes I come across things on these patrols.” he said. “But it really is none of your business, anyway. It should be enough that I prevented a more serious injury to Mr Longbottom.”
“But you didn’t prevent a serious injury to Harry, did you, you little sneak!” Ginny was becoming incensed by her brother now, wishing she could pretend he was not of her family.
“Harry Potter?” Percy pressed his fingers together nervously. “There has been an injury to Harry Potter? When did this happen?”
“Roughly the same time that Neville was bitten,” Hermione said. “Which is why I wondered how Roderick Rampton could have been in two places at once. Or Nagini, for that matter.” Hermione’s brow furrowed as she tried to eke out a solution to the conundrum put before her. Something wasn’t quite making sense about the whole situation, she just didn’t know what.
“He doesn’t know anything else?” Ginny said with contempt. “We need to find Professor McGonagall.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Hermione agreed, suddenly snapping out of her thoughtful mode and back to worrying about both Harry and Neville.
Harry and Neville. Why did that sound so ominous to her? The earlier prophecy, of course! She looked to Ginny, even more alarmed than she had been.
“We need to find McGonagall, and we really need to contact Remus. I think Maeve might be next.”
“Hermione!” Ginny cast a warning glance at Percy, but Hermione shrugged away the doubts.
“I think Voldemort has decided to act against all three of them. We need to make Maeve aware that Neville has been bitten too.”
Without another word to the now redundant Percy, they rushed from the office and headed directly for the Hospital Wing.