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The Severed Souls by Magical Maeve

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Maeve pushed open the sitting room door, surprised by the heaviness that sat across her chest. Albert’s had been a natural death, not the result of the current evil that was riding roughshod across the world. Even so, it was a sad event and one that she would not have wished for. The curtains were still drawn, despite dawn’s insistence that it was now morning. Severus perched on the edge of the sofa like a bird ready to take flight, his fingers pinching heavily at the bridge of his nose. The injury on his forehead had been freed from the bandage before they left and was now a fading red line, the healing process speeded up by the poultice.

He looked up when she entered and she almost fell into the chasm of emptiness in his eyes.

“Is it done?” he asked.

“Albert died about ten minutes ago. It was peaceful at the end. I think he was happy to go.” Maeve watched as he gave a jerk of his head, which she took to be some kind of affirmation. Her hesitation before voicing her next concern was only momentary. “Have you thought this through?”

“In what way?”

“Albert belongs to this village. He’s lived here all his life and people are going to ask questions. I’m sure he had neighbours calling around to see how he was getting along. How on earth is he going to just disappear? Severus, we have wiped every trace of Albert Gryps from the planet. There is no body so there can be no funeral. People are going to ask questions. What if Voldemort finds out?” Her face was a picture of concern and her next words were laden with foreboding. “There will be consequences.”

Severus kept his eyes fixed upon her as he moved towards the over-burdened mantelpiece. He ran his fingers over the multitude of ornaments that cluttered the thin shelf, picking one up now and again before setting it back with its companions.

“You don’t like trinkets, do you?” he asked, and then continued, not waiting for an answer. “I never thought you did, and yet, people change, don’t they. Will you start consoling yourself with little animals carved from crystal and…” He picked up a small, shiny little girl who held a pail in one hand and a small crook in the other. “What is this?”

“It’s a figurine,” she said patiently, following him across the room.

“I know that.” He looked exasperated before returning to his train of thought. “Why do people buy them? What pleasure do people extract from such a cheap dust-collector?”

“Presumably because they have different tastes than yours. Severus “”

“I suppose I should take some of these things away with me. At the very least I should perhaps take a picture of the old man and his son. But what would I do with the rest of it? There’s so much.” He moved away from the mantel and opened the lid of the record player.

“Severus, I think we should leave.”

“Is there a cellar at Carrowdore? We could move it all there. Perhaps we could build an outbuilding of sorts.”

“Yes, or maybe you could just pick up the whole house and drop it into the gardens at Darkacre.” Her patience was rapidly evaporating into the tense morning light that was now very insistently seeping through the curtains. “Please, focus on what we need to do. I know you must be grieving, but we don’t have time for that now. We need to move the body.”

She couldn’t help feeling that Severus was a small pull in a piece of fabric, and if she tugged at him, he would unravel completely, yet she had to try. He didn’t respond to kindness, that much she knew, but he might response to a little straight talking. Severus snapped the record player lid shut, causing dust to spit into the air, and bowed his head for a moment.

“I know,” he said eventually. “I know what needs to be done. I’m not grieving.”

“No?”

“Not really.”

“It’s not a sign of weakness to grieve. I’m not saying don’t grieve, just not right now.” Maeve was beginning to feel she had been a little harsh.

He reached out for her and held her hands tightly. “I cannot grieve for a man who was a stranger to me. I might be tied to him by blood, but that is all. He made the right decision at the end. It is not particularly brave to do something that you will not be here to experience. Albert was an old man who felt he had allowed his life to run away with him in the end. He spoke of many regrets.” He kissed her forehead and pushed her hair back so that he could see the full expanse of her face. “If I grieve at all, it is for the life I might have known with a father that… well, dwelling on the past is not going to solve anything.”

Severus released her hands and stepped back, visibly pulling himself to his full height.

“I love you,” she said. “Don’t grieve for the past.”

It was as if fingers had snapped beneath his nose; his whole attitude changed back to what it usually was “ ruthlessly efficient. “I will Apparate with the body to Grimmauld Place. It is still secure. Potter must not see his dead self. Collect the potions things together and return with them to the bunker. Once there, I want you to make sure the others are safe then bring me the antidote to Nagini’s poison. I shall deal with the snake myself. The Dark Lord returns soon; if he loses a Horcrux but is presented with Potter’s body one might cancel out the other. Once this is done, Potter can destroy the Horcrux residing in the sword.”

Maeve’s relief at having the normal, decisive Severus back was palpable. “And then there is only Voldemort.”

“Indeed.”

“Do we have a plan for him?”

“Not yet, but I am sure something will present itself. I just need one thing from the kitchen and then you can start to pack up.”

He left her alone for a moment in the sitting room. From the street outside she could hear the jolly chink of milk bottles being set on doorsteps. An electric murmur indicated that a milk float was pulling closer towards the cottage. She peeped out of the curtain and saw the perfectly ordinary sight of a peak-capped milkman shifting crates about and sorting through bottles. It looked so innocent, so serene.

“We’ll have to cancel the milk,” she muttered under her breath as the man walked up the path and deposited a gold-topped bottle on the doorstep. He paused in his work, looked directly at her, and winked. With a sinking sensation in her heart she moved away from the window. Severus returned from the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

“I’ll see you at Grimmauld Place by lunchtime,” he said. “And be careful.”

“Do you want me to take anything else from the house or are we just abandoning it.”

“There is nothing here we need. Hurry up with the equipment. You must leave Godric’s Hollow as quickly as possible.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can be. Do you want me to tell Harry about the plan with Albert?”

Severus thought about it quickly. “Not now. I’ll tell him when the time is right.”

“You take care too,” she said, and with that he had disappeared up the stairs. There was no sound to indicate he had gone, but somehow she knew that she was alone in the house. She immediately went to the door and stepped out into the invigoratingly cold morning. Scanning the street quickly, she saw the milk float disappearing around a corner.

“You bloody man,” she cursed, nipping back inside to hurriedly stuff everything into the bottomless bag. She looked around the kitchen one last time as she did so. There was something missing from one of the shelves, but she couldn’t quite place it. As she moved back through to the sitting room with the bag slung over her shoulders, she stopped by the mantel. It was stupid, she knew, but…



Albert’s door closed behind her for the final time and she rushed off in the direction of the milk float. A few children were up and about, and the occasional dog walker passed her by, giving her the obligatory vague look of suspicion. It was easy enough to pick up the trail; she just followed the milk bottles that had been left. It appeared that the people of Godric’s Hollow were late risers and they were only just rousing themselves, so most bottles were still on the doorsteps. She was almost at the end of the village when the float itself came into view. It was parked outside the church, its load considerably less than it had been.

She approached cautiously, watching for anything unusual. Although, given the current circumstances, it would be harder to spot anything usual. In these disorderly times, even ordinary milkmen turned out to be not what they seemed. The crash of a bottle and a muttered expletive alerted her to the location of her target. She met him coming down the path to the church. He grinned and touched the peak of his cap with alacrity.

“Like it?” he asked. “I think it’s rather sexy. They do say that milkmen have a reputation with housewives, but I’ve yet to encounter any rabid females who wish to leap all over me. Still, you can live in hope.”

“Roderick, your appearance can only mean trouble. How do you always know where I am?” She didn’t comment on his attire. There was a faint smell of sour milk coming from him that erased any attraction caused by his uniform.

“Your perfume. Can smell it from miles away. Very magnetic.” He looked at the bag. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m always going somewhere. It would be lovely, for once, not to be going somewhere. Why exactly are you dressed up as a milkman? Come to think of it, what have you done to the usual one?”

“He’s having a well-earned lie in; so is his wife. Amazing how much quicker this job is when you are a wizard.” He smiled and linked his arm through hers. “Probably time I got the milk float back. All the Muggles have their milk, I think. How’s Gryps?”

“Dead.” She walked with him back to the float, the barked word following them doggedly.

“Sorry to hear that. How’s the black gloom taking it?”

“Severus is getting on with things, as he always does.” She watched him hop nimbly into the little cab at the front of the vehicle. “Are you allowed to drive that? Don’t you need a licence?”

“Probably. Jump in then. It’s not far to the chap’s house. No doubt he’ll wake up glad to have the round finished. Won’t have a clue that he didn’t do it, of course.”

“You want me to travel on that thing. It doesn’t have seatbelts.” She peered in. “It doesn’t even have seats!”

“There’s a perfectly good seat for the driver. Admittedly, it’s not made for passengers, but I understand the local lads like to hang off the back of it.”

“I’m not bloody well hanging””

“Calm your delicious self. You can stand up in the front. Won’t take more than a few minutes to get it back and then we can use more normal means of transport. I know something “ how do they put it in the Muggle books “ something which may be to your advantage.”

She squinted at him, the low sun catching her eyes. “You worry me. You worry me so much and yet you always intrigue me. If I fall off you’d better start running in the opposite direction very quickly.”

“I’d catch you before you hit the ground.” He tilted the cap to a rakish angle and winked.

“Turn off the charm, Roderick, it doesn’t work on me.”

“I don’t do it for your benefit, lovely.”


She stepped hesitantly onto the milk float, which shifted slightly beneath her weight. It moved off with a jerk and her bag clattered against the back of the cab. She gripped the side of the door and was almost tempted to close her eyes, but the curious stares of the villagers kept them open and alert.

“So what information do you have for me?” she asked.

“First thing’s first; let’s get this thing safely back.”

They hit a pothole and the empty bottles sang out in alarm from behind them. It was a ponderous vehicle, the few minutes turning into ten and then twenty before Roderick braked, sending her lurching towards the window. The gears clattered downwards and he put on the hand brake.

“Out you get,” he said, jumping lightly to the ground. He took the keys and jogged up a path that led to a faded front door. Roderick posted the keys through the letter box and headed back towards her. As he walked, the white uniform slowly transformed into more familiar blood-red robes that swirled around him as he marched in her direction.

“You don’t think anyone will notice that,” she commented as he drew level with her.

“They only see what they want to see. They see someone changing clothes walking down a street and, even though their eyes will see it their brain will tell them it isn’t happening. They’re a bit dense like that, Muggles.”

She looked unconvinced as he steered her away from the milk float.

“Eaten yet?”

“It can’t be much after half eight,” she said. “I’ll be lucky if I get the chance to eat before noon.”

He waggled a reprimanding finger at her. “You should always make room for breakfast; most important meal of the day. I know just the place. Ready?”

He didn’t wait for her to reply; he simply grabbed her arm and she felt herself tugged away from reality. Apparation usually didn’t leave much room for thought, but as a fugged room appeared before her the last few bits of the notion that she wished people would stop dragging her to unknown destinations filtered through her brain.

A bar faced them, its taps gleaming in the unnatural light. Tables were set for meals, but she thought it was rather early for pub grub. A beaming face greeted them from behind the bar.

“Morning, Mr Rampton. Not often we see you here with company. Now, this young lady we ain’t had the pleasre of before. Normally it’s Mr Waterbut what brings new guests. I think there might be a bit of a breach of that there protocol goin’ on.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, Johnny. Can we have two Full Englishes and a big pot of tea brought to the usual table? Ta very much. You can add it to my account.”

Maeve thought the man looked a little dubious about Roderick’s account, but he smiled and nodded despite the quick frown that had crossed his face.

“Over here,” Roderick said cheerfully, leading her to a secluded table right at the back of the pub. There were a few other travellers; one lady was crying into her coffee, while a man with what appeared to be rope marks around his neck swigged Firewhisky.

“What is this place?” she hissed. “Everyone looks thoroughly suicidal.”

“The Green Dragon. Place where people come to find themselves, in a manner of speaking. The landlord collects lost soul and sorts them out. Fine chap, he is.”

“And he collected you, did he?” She sat down on the chair that he had pulled out for her.

“You might say that. It was a long time ago.” He sat opposite her and rested his head on his steepled fingers. “We’re not, however, here to discuss my past.”

“What are we here to discuss?” she asked, moving back as Johnny the barman plonked a vat of tea on the table and clattered some cups and a bowl of sugar down.

“I’ll fetch you the milk,” the lumbering barman said, and Maeve was convinced he was trying to calculate how much milk would add to the final bill.

Roderick moved to pour the tea, offering her the sugar lumps with a glittering smile that almost matched the gleaming white cubes.

“Ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?” he asked, twirling the spoon in the cup and thanking Johnny for the milk which had now appeared.

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” She refused the offer of milk and peered at the tea warily. It wasn’t her favourite beverage, but she didn’t think Roderick’s account would run to coffee.

“Sarpedon’s comet?”

“Oh, yes of course I’ve heard of that. Anyone who has had to sit through Astronomy has heard of Sarpedon’s comet.” She did a quick calculation in her head and then let out a long sigh of resolution. “Which, if my maths are correct, would have appeared over the skies last night.”

“Clever girl. You are much brighter than I give you credit for, you know that?”

“So how does the comet connect to the “ what were they “ Deathly Hallows?”

“Very neatly.” They were interrupted again, this time by the arrival of their breakfasts. Maeve regarded the fat sausages and thin rashers of bacon as a Neanderthal would a woolly mammoth; it was far too much for her, but she was going to have a go anyway.

“And they are relevant in some way?” She chased a piece of sausage around her plate with some ruthlessness.

“The Deathly Hallows descend with the comet and search for the chosen ones. They take the recently dead or dying away with them, leaving much devastation in the process. Once they have what they came for, they vanish again to the place that they normally inhabit. Quite a neat bit of magic on the part of the gods.”

“And the dead people they collect?” Maeve had a vision of a Sidhe rath at Yule with the poor bewildered humans who had been picked up and taken underground for, as the gods liked to term it, a jolly good time.

“Live in perpetuity within the home of the Hallows, sharing their knowledge, their wisdom, their ideas, and so on and so forth. Sounds deadly dull to me; all in all I think I’d rather be properly dead then destined to spend eternity spewing forth my knowledge.”

“I agree,” Maeve said with a grin. “After all, you do enough of that in life.”

“Cheeky minx. Anyway, you see where this is leading.”

“Not the foggiest.”

“I know where the Deathly Hallows reside.”

“Remind me again why we want to know that.” She speared a mushroom on her fork.

He pushed his plate away and tutted at her in much the same way he had McGonagall earlier. “Do you think that what happened at Hogwarts was Voldemort?”

His name crackled through the room and caused a low murmur of disapproval and an extra loud sob from the crying woman.

“What else could it have been? Who would want to attack the school in that way? Had it been the Ministry, it would have been a complete failure “ so it must have been…” She stopped, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere again.

“The Deathly Hallows are spirits, and particularly violent ones at that. Considering they transport people to a place of everlasting rest and peace, they make a heck of a lot of noise doing it.”

“The gods had a hand in it?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Deathly Hallows obviously had some difficulty finding what they were looking for. I can’t think of any other reason they could have for ripping roofs of.”

Maeve nodded emphatically. “And because they are spirits created by the gods, the magical protection at Hogwarts would have had no effect on them. They could pass straight through. What a relief.”

He looked at her with incredulity. “Hogwarts is still in ruins.”

“Yes, but at least it wasn’t Vold”You-Know-Who.”

“Women’s minds work like a demon who has smoked far too many dangerous substances.” He finished his tea. “To sum up: I think we should pay the Deathly Hallows a visit.”

“Why?”

“Who do you think they took from the school?”

She sipped the dark tea and regarded him carefully. “Are you trying to tell me they took Dumbledore?”

“Bingo! Well done that girl. I think that’s exactly who they took. Eventually the busybodies at Hogwarts will realise that the tomb has been disturbed along with the rest of the school; they just haven’t made it that far yet. In fact, all that’s left of the thing is a mound of earth and some tiny specks of masonry. The rest dissolved when the spirits took him. So find Dumbledore, alive after a fashion in the home of the Hallows, and you can get a nice tidy conclusion to the matter of your husband’s guilt “ of lack thereof.”

“Why?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Why are you doing this? It’s not as if you like Severus at all, so why do you want to see him innocent?”

“Because then he will be happy, and a happy man is far more likely to be a little more generous with his inheritance if he’s content. I can get Darkacre released into the care of a certain Ms Fitzwilliam and everyone’s onto a winner.”

Maeve processed the information and still felt there was something missing. She still wasn’t sure why Roderick wanted the Fitzwilliam woman to have Darkacre so badly. It wasn’t as if this would benefit him. The only way to find out was to ask him directly, and even then she wasn’t sure of a direct answer. “Why does Jenny Fitzwilliam matter so much to you?”

“Oh,” he said, calling over the barman and asking for a top up on the tea front, “you know me; always like to see a pretty face happy.”

She didn’t believe him and lost no time in saying exactly that. “I don’t believe you.”

“I know you don’t, lovely, and it’s much more interesting when you don’t. Are you up for it?”

“I might be. I have other things to see to first though. There are some things I need to do for Severus first.”

“Voldemort left Nagini behind, you know. She’s in his empty lair finding succour in killing of the rodent population. I’m surprised there’s any left. If your man is going to bump her off, he’d better be quick about it.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “How do you always know these things?”

“No one ever notices a spider, Maeve. You know that as well as anyone.”

“Well all that time spent as a spider is wearing patches in your hair. You have a tiny bald patch at the back.” He looked as horrified as she had anticipated, immediately fussing over his hair like a mother with too many babies. “I think it’s time I wasn’t here. Thank you for the breakfast. I’ll repay the favour one day.”

“Now that,” he said, forgetting his hair, “is the best offer I have had this week.”

“Take me back to Godric’s Hollow,” she said. “I can find my own way home from there.”

“It makes no difference where you are. Go out the front doors of the pub and take the route you would have taken if you started in Godric’s Hollow. The Green Dragon is charitable like that.”

“How can I find you?”

“I’ll be at Darkacre.”

“But””

“I know, but you’re not going to tell him, are you?” He winked and vanished.

“One day I will kill him,” she muttered to herself, before getting up and heading for the door. As she walked past the crying woman, she drew a handkerchief from her robes and stuffed it under the woman’s nose. “Take this and stop that noise,” she said. “I don’t know how bad it is, but it’s not worth sitting in this place crying about it. Get out and face whatever it is and you’ll feel a whole lot better. Being miserable never did anyone any good.”

The woman took the handkerchief, her tears shocked into submission. Maeve patted her shoulder. “See, feels better already.”

She opened the main door and stepped out into a country lane. With a shrug, she closed her eyes and lifted into the air. Trusting Roderick was much the same as crossing a rickety rope bridge; it seemed highly unlikely that a person would survive the experience, but somehow they always did.



Had she made it back to the bunker just ten minutes before she did, she would have been in time to stop Ron Weasley leaving on a broomstick and flying back to Hogwarts. Had she not allowed Roderick to waylay her she would have been in time to prevent something that was doomed to lead to disaster. She did not arrive in time, however, and walked into the bunker in a state of mild anxiety rather than the usual out and out panic that was the norm these days.

She knew something was wrong the moment she faced Harry and Hermione. Their faces did not conceal their guilt well.

“Where’s Ron?” she asked, eyeing Neville, who was always guaranteed to be incapable of lying to her.

“Gone to look for Ginny,” he mumbled at the floor.

“And you let him?” Her anger found Harry first.

“I tried to stop him, but you know what Ron’s like once he gets something into his head.”

“Something that you probably put there.” She couldn’t decide what to do. If Ron managed to get himself captured and his captors extracted the information from him, then everything would have gone to waste, but Roderick’s information about what had happened at Hogwarts made her feel slightly easier about the threat from Death Eaters at the school. Although, Severus had told her to make sure they were safe and one of them clearly was not safe. A glance at the clock told her the time was only half past nine. She had a few hours before going to meet Severus; what harm could it do to go looking for Ron?