Severus resented anything that even approached mollycoddling, and Maeve was most definitely attempting to mollycoddle him. She had slapped a huge poultice over the wound on his forehead, wrapping an overlarge white bandage around it to help draw out the dirt. He was now trouserless, his pale legs hanging over the bed, and was being harassed by her constant dabbing at the wound on his shin.
“A simple clarifying charm would have sufficed,” he snapped.
“There is nothing to replace water for cleaning a wound, despite what Poppy Pomfrey might think,” she bit back. “Sit still and it’ll be over before you know it.”
“How can I sit still when all I am wearing is my underwear?”
“I would have thought that was all the more reason for sitting still, and at least it’s clean underwear.”
“It’s still underwear. What if someone walks in?” He eyed the door nervously.
“Stop being ridiculous. There!” She stood up and waved her wand at the wound. A large sticking plaster immediately covered the place where the cut had been.
“What in the gods name is that?”
“It’s a plaster to keep the cut clean,” she explained, as if talking to a five-year-old. “There are some fresh trousers on that chair and a new robe in the cupboard. I need to go and check on Neville and that potion.”
As it happened she didn’t need to go anywhere to check on Neville because the door flew open and Neville stood there, his face bright with triumph. It immediately became bright with embarrassment when he spotted Severus’ undressed state.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and beat a hasty retreat.
“I told you!” Severus hissed at his wife, leaping up to grab at the trousers.
She sighed away his told-you-sos, kissed him on his disgruntled cheek, and went after Neville.
“It’s ready!” Neville said as she caught up with him in the corridor. “All we have to do now is find Nagini. You think this will really work?”
“I do. It’s our only hope of getting rid of that creature without incurring serious damage to one of us. I think Severus knows how to find Nagini.” In the corner of her mind the dark thought that Severus would know everything about Voldemort stirred, sending a shiver of darkness down her spine. “Severus will join us soon, of that I’ve no doubt.”
The first thing that hit her as she opened the door was the smell of over-boiled cabbage. Strangely, it rather matched the dull-coloured walls, as if the two went hand in hand.
“Damn!” she yelped, as she whipped the hot cauldron off the flames with her bare hands and set it on the floor. Instead of a nice, green soup, the cauldron was filled with a strange sage-coloured sludge. “Over-cooked it again. You’d think I’d learn not to leave things on the heat for too long.”
Neville was much relieved. He had thought that was what it was supposed to look like. He bypassed the green gloop and picked up a small flask from the table. “It’s all there, every drop. I did think about splitting it into two measures, but I decided you’d need it all in one place.”
Maeve nodded and took it from him. Severus should be the one to do this, for he would be the one who could gain access to the snake… and yet. Something deep within her drew Harry’s face from her subconscious and she knew this was not for Severus to do. It would compromise him too much. Besides, Harry was supposed to be dead; no one would be looking for him and no one would suspect him if the snake died.
“Hermione and Ron told me what happened at Hogwarts,” Neville said, changing the subject. “I’m glad I wasn’t there. Hard to believe it’s gone, isn’t it?”
“It’s not really gone. It’s still there, even if it’s shattered and broken. It’s there in all our hearts, too. The school will survive if we make sure it stays with us.” Maeve carefully tucked the flask into her robes and raised her head to smile.
“You always sound so certain. I’ve never been much good at optimism. We could make a real mess of this and Voldemort could win. What would happen to the world?”
“It’s not worth thinking about the worst when it hasn’t happened yet. If we don’t win, we will die trying, and then it won’t really matter to us, will it.”
Neville thought that this was a very good example of what his gran referred to as cold comfort. However, he didn’t tell Maeve this. Instead he returned her smile and put on the bravest face he could manage, which, all in all, wasn’t very brave looking at all. They left the room together and made their way towards the main hub of the bunker. Neville would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was becoming rather attached to the dour maze of corridors and snug laboratory. He liked the concentration that seemed to seep from the walls, and he loved the fact that there were no professors and students disturbing his work. If Neville had been asked to design his own workplace, he wouldn’t have made many changes to the location he currently found himself in. By the time they had reached the others, he was contemplating asking Maeve what would happen to the place if they all got out of this war alive.
Remus was sitting with Harry, Hermione and Ron, their heads bent together in nervous conversation. It was clear that Harry was making some sort of demand and that the others were disagreeing. Hermione was making placatory noises, while Ron was hovering between the two camps. Remus looked very relieved to see Maeve, shooting to his feet to draw her into the argument.
“Harry wants to find Ginny,” he said bluntly. “We don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“It’s not,” Maeve agreed. “Ginny will be fine. I’ll send my owl to the Burrow to see if she is all right. Failing that, I’ll try an get hold of Roderick Rampton; there’s nothing he can’t find out when the mood takes him.”
“I want to see for myself that she is okay,” Harry protested, rising to join them. “From what Hermione and Harry have told me, Hogwarts is a ruin. Ginny could be buried there and no one seems to care.” He ignored the wince that Ron gave at this image. “I could be there and back again in hours. What harm could it do?”
“I can’t believe you are asking such a question,” Maeve said, raising a weary eyebrow. “All manner of things could happen. What harm could it do is the sort of thing you read in a book and then a million and one awful things happen. It’s ridiculous.”
“Professor Snape was going to come and find you when he thought you were still at Hogwarts,” Neville said, bringing all conversation to a standstill.
“That’s completely different,” Maeve replied after a pause. “For one, Severus is a grown wizard with many years experience of this sort of thing and for another” ”
“What? You and him are married and so you count whereas Ginny and I don’t?” Harry was furious with the implication he had drawn. “I love Ginny. I can’t swan around chasing after snakes without knowing if she’s all right!”
Remus dropped his head, while Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. Maeve looked for support and suddenly found none forthcoming. “You were telling him he should stay here a moment ago,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage.
“Love complicates things, doesn’t it, Maeve.” Remus looked at her and shrugged. “If it will make him happier, I will go back to Hogwarts and find out where Ginny is.”
“This is madness,” she said.
“What’s madness?” Severus strode into the room, resplendent in new trousers and a clean robe.
“Remus is going to Hogwarts to look for Ginny Weasley.” Maeve turned to her husband with indignation scrawled all over her face.
“Is he? Well he’d better hurry up; I need him for something else.”
Maeve glared from one man to the other. “I give up.”
And there would have been an impasse had in not been for the sudden shiver in the air. They all stared as a crack appeared in nothing and a small, beige thing fluttered into the room.
“What the bloody hell…” Ron was the only one who spoke as they all watched the fluttering parchment make its way to Severus.
To Severus’ credit, he did not seem remotely surprised that what appeared to be a memo had penetrated the magic surrounding the bunker. He stepped away from the group and unfolded the parchment, reading quickly. Maeve moved towards him and placed a hand upon his arm.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer, merely folding up the paper and pocketing it. With bold steps, he approached Harry and gave him a strident apology before reaching up and pulling out several hairs from Harry’s head. This behaviour was so peculiar that no one spoke, not even when he billowed from the room at a great rate of knots. Maeve looked to Harry, whose hand was massaging his head in a bemused manner before running to catch up with her husband.
“What has got into everyone?” she asked, slightly breathless from her little jog. “Severus, stop.”
“Get the potions bag, Maeve,” was all he said. “We’re going out for a while.”
“But, Severus, who was that note from.” She stopped and thought about the note. “And how did it get here?”
“Stop asking pointless questions and get the bag,” he repeated over his shoulder. “We have important work to.”
“Funny, I always thought the important thing was killing Nagini and making sure one more Horcrux was destroyed. Now everyone is going off on complete tangents.”
“Damn!” he snapped, stopping dead. His sudden halt almost caused her to career into him. “The Weasley girl will have to wait.” With that, he strode of in the direction from which they had just come muttering something about Darkacre under his breath.
Maeve reflected that, no matter how much mind-changing and nonsense went on about her, it always fell to her to pick up things, be they bags, people or spirits. With this in mind she hurried off to the laboratory to gather together their potions things, her general demeanour suggesting that even a Hungarian Horntail would come off worse if it decided to meddle with her right at that moment. Trying her best to take care with the delicate potions ingredients, she scooped everything together, peeled the dried cabbage off the inside of the cauldron and placed the now empty receptacle in the bag along with everything else. This done, she stomped back to the entrance, where Severus was exchanging some parchments with Remus. The latter gave her a brief nod before opening the door and disappearing into the darkness. It was still a few hours before dawn, a fact that Maeve welcomed. They could move to wherever Severus was going with the benevolent disguise of night hiding them from pursuers.
It soon became apparent that Severus had decided quickest was best, and disregarding any potential dangers in Apparation, grabbed her hand and she was tugged along with him. She staggered slightly beneath the weight of the bag as they materialised into a night as thick as the one they had just left. She squinted against her lack of vision, but could make nothing out.
“I give up. Where are we?” she asked, exasperated.
“Godric’s Hollow,” he replied. “We have something to accomplish and we don’t have the luxury of time.”
“What?” She kept her question short because Severus had become the very embodiment of sombre, something which could only be connected to the strange message he had received.
“We need to see Albert before he goes.” He lit his wand and began to lead her away from their arrival point.
“Goes? Where is he going?”
“He’s dying, or had you forgotten.”
She was glad that he could not see her expression of horror. She hadn’t forgotten, she just hadn’t expected him to be quite so specific about Albert going. “I’m sorry, you know I haven’t. You just made it sound as if he were leaving soon.”
“He is.”
Silence followed them to the now familiar front door. Maeve reflected on the fact that old people often seem to know when their time has come, sometimes to the day. Yet they didn’t really know, did they? Albert wasn’t even a wizard, so how could he predict anything so precisely?
“How can you be sure the time is almost here for him to die?” she asked.
“He told me so and I happen to believe him.” Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and ushered her into the hallway.
A smell was stalking the house; it drove itself into her nostrils the moment she entered. It was the sweetly sour scent of death and it was everywhere. She caught Severus eye and saw no recognition of the sadness that death brings, instead there was a vat of determination that simmered slowly.
“Set up the things in the kitchen. We need to brew Polyjuice Perpetuous Accelerantium. I’m going to find Albert.”
“Severus…”
“Yes?” He had already made to leave her to it, but paused at the foot of the stairs.
“This is beyond me. Polyjuice Perpetuous is something I have never made, let alone the accelerated version of it. I’m not sure I can do it.”
His face stiffened with impatience and then relaxed at her apprehensive stare. He nodded slightly and offered her a small crumb of comfort in the form of encouragement. “If anyone but me can make it, it will be you. You have everything you need in the bag; I have made sure of that.”
“Including something from another person’s body?”
“Ah yes, of course.” He reached into his robes and pulled out the robust hair that he had pulled from Harry’s head. “We only have a few hours so you need to hurry. It must be ready before Albert leaves us.”
It was only then that Maeve understood what Severus was planning to do. It was horrific, but she understood that it was probably the only option they had. Yet it was wrong.
“You can’t do this to the old man. His body shouldn’t be used in this manner. He’s your grandfather, for goodness’ sake.”
“Maeve, it was Albert who suggested it. I have spoken with him about my problem with Voldemort and Harry. He said…” Severus stopped for a moment and sighed. “He said it would be a waste of a good body for him to rot in the ground when he could be of use in the fight against Voldemort.”
She paled visibly, the whole subject of using recently deceased men never having been in the upper reaches of her mind. Everything about it felt wrong, disrespectful, but if Albert was happy enough “ but Albert was an old man; how could they be sure he was of sound mind?
“Is that you, Son?” The voice was weak and limped down the stairs to greet them.
“It is,” Severus called back, not seeming to object to the use of the word son.
“And do you ‘ave the potion, lad. I don’t think I’m long fer this world now.”
Old and dying he may have been, yet Maeve had to concede that Albert sounded in full possession of all his faculties. “I’ll get started,” she said flatly.
She flicked the switch and light pounced on the darkness, sending it scuttling away. It was a sad little room, really, and she hoped the sadness wouldn’t affect the potion. Severus had always laughed away her fears that atmosphere could affect potions, while Maeve hung on to the belief that they could. In an effort to dispel the heavy sorrow that hung over the place, she attempted to whistle, which had only limited success. Her concentration soon put a stop to the tuneless noise, however, and she bent her head over the bag to pull forth the necessary ingredients. The potion she was attempting was one of the highest level potions known to wizards. If she got it wrong, the opportunity that had presented itself would be lost; if she got it right, then Albert could be turned permanently into Harry by dawn. Of course, the Ministry had banned the creation of such a potion. Useless of them, really, she reflected as she added vetiver root to the shaved bark of the silver fir. They could only act in retrospect, by which time it would be much too late for the intended victim. At least in this instance there would be no victim, unless you counted Voldemort, who hopefully would be well and truly hoodwinked.
The smell of herbs quickly replaced death as the most prominent odour. Maeve stirred the herbs together and prepared to add the Lacewing Flies, carefully dropping the Antimony in first. From above her, she could hear the low rumble of voices and hoped that Severus was being kind. He was not much good with sensitive situations, especially dying. A picture of him at the bedside of his dying mother flickered into her mind and she shook it away. The clock ticked away the minutes as she continued with the troublesome potion.
Just after four in the morning she tapped on the half-open door. Severus beckoned her in and it was with a great deal of effort she managed to conceal the shock at Albert’s appearance. His eyes had sunk deep into his skull, as if pulling away from the world around him. Gone was his pink pallor, leaving a waxy grey deadness to his face. His lips were dreadfully dry and cracked, closing slowly as he finished what he had been saying to her husband. Maeve knew that she was looking at someone who should already have been dead. He was hanging on for the precious substance she held in her hands; a substance she could not be sure would work, because she had never seen a successful attempt at the potion before.
“Is that it, lass?” he asked, his voice loaded with gravel.
“It is, Albert.” She fought against the lump in her throat. “Severus told me what you plan to do. It’s a very brave and generous thing.”
The old man’s hand lifted feebly from the cover and waved away her praise. “It’s nothing. What use is my old body? If it ‘elps young Severus ‘ere, then I’ve no choice.”
Maeve looked to Severus and found him unreadable. If the death of his grandfather was affecting him in any way, he was carefully concealing it. She made to hand him the potion, but he stood up quickly and backed away.
“Would you mind?” he said, gesturing hopelessly towards Albert. “We have said our goodbyes. Albert would like you to administer the potion.”
She looked towards the man on the bed, who nodded slowly. There was a surreal feeling to the whole scene. Once he sipped the potion, he would transform into Harry. She wondered if Severus had considered this. For her, it would be like seeing Harry die, not Albert.
“Very well.” After all, she thought, it isn’t Harry, it’s Albert. What the eye sees isn’t necessarily what’s really happening.
Approaching the bed, she didn’t hear Severus slip from the room, but she knew he had. She sat on the edge of the bed and took Albert’s cold hand. Already it felt as if life was slipping from his grasp.
“Is there anything you would like me to do afterwards?” she asked, watching him sadly.
“There is.” His words came at great cost to him. Pain prowled across his face as he forced out his wish. “Find out who killed my lad. Those bloody fools at the Ministry couldn’t manage it. You could, you and that grandson of mine. Find out what happened to Stephen for me.”
Maeve sighed, wishing she had never asked. What did it really matter who had killed Severus’ father all those years ago? The dark thought twisted inside her and she immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
“I promise,” she said. “Severus will want to know too.”
“Good lass. Now, I can’t ‘old on much longer so let’s be ‘avin’ this potion of yours.”
Maeve wanted to say something comforting and profound. Death beds were not something she was adept at dealing with, especially when the person on it was someone she barely knew.
“I’m glad I met you, Albert Gryps,” she said finally.
“I’m glad I met you too, Maeve Snape. Look after that grandson of mine.”
“I will.”
The conversation, never the most free-flowing thing, hit a dam and stopped completely. Maeve uncorked the potion and helped Albert to sit up. His papery lips sucked at the top of the flask and she watched the liquid disappear.
“Bye, lass. It will be a welcome thing to be with my wife and son again, I can tell you that for nowt.”
She gripped his hand tightly and felt the skin change. The thinness grew firmer and less wrinkled. When she looked at his face she could already see his hair was growing and darkening. Albert disappeared and was slowly replaced by Harry; a Harry that was as sick-looking as Albert had been. His eyelids fluttered open to reveal those familiar green eyes, causing Maeve’s stomach to leap painfully.
“’As it worked?”
“It’s worked, Albert.”
“Good.”
And with that, Albert slipped gently from the world, leaving Maeve holding the hand of a dead Harry Potter
The dust was quite literally settling around what was left of Hogwarts. Dawn was still a distant promise and a charm was the only thing lighting the grounds of the school. Professors McGonagall and Sprout stood together surveying the grains of sand and slivers of herbage that had once formed the great greenhouses. Professor Sprout sniffed once or twice and buried her nose repeatedly in the now rather soggy handkerchief that she held in her hand. A sullen silence had replaced the riotous noise of the night, and only the sound of people leaving disturbed the feeling of deep malaise that clung to whatever remained standing.
“Will we ever know how he did it?” Professor Sprout asked in a dull whisper. “No one saw anything apart from the nasty weather, but it wasn’t weather that brought Hogwarts to such ruin.”
“No, indeed it wasn’t.” Professor McGonagall allowed her shoulders to sag ever so slightly, her ramrod back bending a little in the middle. “I had expected there to be more Ministry men here by now, but there’s two Aurors left out of the five they sent and a junior minister from the Odd Weather and Other Miscellaneous Phenomena Department arrived in the early hours. Of course, He was behind this, but how He managed it…”
Professor Sprout looked at her with a worried frown. Minerva McGonagall never left a sentence trailing if she could possibly help it; it was a sign she was as bemused as anyone. “Perhaps with Albus gone the magic weakened. We both know he had his own way with certain kinds of magic. No one could cast a shielding charm or a repelling spell like Professor Dumbledore. Maybe the Death Eaters knew how to strike at the weakest part of the magic.”
“Albus Dumbledore would never have left the school under-protected. This is something that the Death Eaters have been planning.”
Professor McGonagall suddenly had the look of someone who has remembered something important, and with a muttered excuse, left Pomona Sprout rueing the demise of her domain. The headmistress’ robes flapped about her in an aimless manner as she neatly stepped over large deposits of cracked masonry and the occasional broken desk. With the aid of Professor Vector she had strengthened what remained as soon as the storm had passed, including the tower that contained her office. She had to face re-entering the school; she had to try and get Professor Dumbledore’s portrait to speak.
Hagrid was standing by the shadowy remains of the great oak door, looking up at the splintered wood with dismay. It appeared that all anyone could do was stare at ruins, something which was beginning to irk Professor McGonagall slightly. Surely, despite everything, now was a time for doing rather than waiting. But what could they do? Harry was gone, several students were missing, including Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, and many of the staff had put as much distance between the school and themselves as possible. Cassandra Trelawney had been seen running down the drive, clanking bracelets and crystal balls as she went. For someone who claimed to have no other home but Hogwarts, she had been remarkably quick to scarper when she felt there was nothing left for her.
Nodding to Hagrid, she stepped into the huge, fractured entrance hall and walked with as much confidence as she could muster to the entry of her office. The staircase was still operating, and she ascended with impatience. Here everything was untouched. If she sat in her chair and placed her hands on the smooth desk, she could close her eyes and imagine none of it had happened. If she tried especially hard, she could dream that Albus had arranged a meeting and would walk through the door clutching a paper bag filled with confectionery and a twinkle in his eyes at any moment.
Thinking about Albus brought her to the reason for her visit. She looked at his portrait with stern eyes and the resolution to make him speak, even if it meant threatening harm to herself. Had she actually been speaking, she would have left a thousand sentences trailing; the portrait was empty. The purple backdrop within the frame fluttered slightly, as if the echo of a person’s leaving still disturbed it. In the corner, almost out of sight and half-hidden by the book that the creator had artfully added to give some gravitas to the image, there rattled a small silver key.
“Of all the bloody times to go walkabout, Albus!” she shouted in dismay. “What in heaven’s name am I supposed to do now?”
“Perhaps I can help you with that.” The voice was as smooth as a particularly slippery charm, and twice as effective. She turned sharply and eyed Roderick Rampton with distrust.
“Mr Rampton. I am surprised to see you here. I understand you do not work for the Ministry any longer.”
“Professor, the Ministry have employed me and dismissed me so many times, even I am never quite sure whether I work for them or not. I do know, however, exactly how the Death Eaters managed this. Perhaps you should have been paying more attention to the stars. If the Centaurs had not been so infuriated by the actions of that odious Umbridge creature and wizards in general, they could have been relied on for a portent.”
“Don’t speak to me in riddles, Rampton! What exactly do you want?”
“No need to be so tetchy, Prof,” he replied with a smile. “I don’t want anything. You, on the other hand, are probably wondering what hit your school last night.”
“Mr Rampton,” she began, her voice so low that had Roderick been the sort to be bothered by tone of voice, he would have taken an apprehensive step back, “either tell me why you are here or leave. I never knew if it was wise to trust you when you were an Auror; I am even less certain now.”
“You’ve heard of the Deathly Hallows, I suppose,” he said. There was a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes that Professor McGonagall tried to ignore.
“And what exactly are they?” she asked.
“Tut tut, Headmistress. I thought everyone had heard of the Deathly Hallows. Neat little thing they are; they only occur when Sarpedon’s Comet can be clearly seen and they transport the chosen dead or dying from their earthly rest to a higher reality. I would have though you’d have heard of them.” He ran a finger across her desk. “Dust is terrible today; anyone would think the house-elves were on strike”
Professor McGonagall had gone from merely riled to outright angry. “Please, do not twitter nonsense at me when I have a school to repair. I have never heard of these Deathly Hallows, which, may I add, sound like something only the Quibbler could dream up. Romantic nonsense; bearing away dead souls. If that is all you wished to tell me, then good day to you Mr Rampton.”
Roderick looked a little doubtful for a moment. He was well aware that sometimes he packaged things in such a way that his credibility could be questioned, but usually people actually believed him. “You seemed to have missed my point, Prof. They transport the dead or dying. Don’t you want to know where?”
“I do not believe for a moment that the dead or dying are transported anywhere but to their eternal rest.” She paused and wrenched open her desk drawer to pull out a small potion that would shift her headache. Her headaches were becoming all too frequent and she wondered how long it would be before she had to drink this potion almost continually to be rid of them. “Now, off you go. I have people to contact.”
Roderick blinked slowly for a moment. “You know, if you don’t listen to me now, I will be forced to approach Maeve Snape with this information and then it might just get back to that rogue of a husband of hers.”
“GET OUT!” Her shouted words bounced of surprised walls, and somewhere in the castle another piece of masonry detached itself from a column.
“Very well,” he said. “But just remember, I offered you the information first and you turned it down. Whatever happens now is on your head.”
She had stopped listening. The potion was soothing her mind, leaving her momentarily incapable of responding. With a quick flick of his brain, Roderick took advantage of the fact that no one had repaired the charms that made Hogwarts impervious to Apparation and disappeared.