Maeve had found a gentle current to propel her to Hogwarts and it deposited her just shy of what was left of the main gates. She brushed down her cloak and glanced about her, eyes widening at the destruction. When she had left with Ron and Hermione, it had been in a confusion of collapse and darkness. Now, in daylight, the true extent of what had happened was only too apparent. Brittle fingers of masonry pointed skywards, leaving her with a sense of loss that she had not expected to feel. The school had not been her home for much of her life yet she felt its destruction more than she when Abbeylara burned. What was even stranger was the knowledge that Dumbledore himself had been the indirect cause of the downfall of his own school, if Roderick was correct.
Steeling herself, she walked up the long drive and approached the remains of the main entrance. The doors were closed, although she didn’t expect much resistance when she pushed hard against them. As expected, they swung inwards with strange shudders, their great magical hinges struggling against the realignment of the walls. An odd silence resided within and she wondered that the inhabitants had been removed so quickly. Could a school full of students and staff be emptied so quickly or were they all simply shepherded away, too shocked to make any noise that might disturb the quiet? As if suddenly aware she was an intruder, and one that did not want to be seen unless it was by Ron or Ginny, she slipped into the air again, a shimmer of purity against a backdrop of darkness.
Moving through the corridors, she occasionally came upon one that ended with an exclamation of rubble or, even worse, a bright shaft of light where once a wall had been. The Gryffindor common room was the natural place to look for the errant Weasley siblings, but to her horror she discovered something she had failed to notice from the outside; the tower containing the common room had collapsed. All of this information seeped through the air and into her mind, yet she was blind to anything but vague points of geography. Shaking herself free of the air, she reformed in what had been the dungeons, and still were. Dungeons were natural survivors, buried as they were beneath the earth and free from so many of the adversaries.that buildings were prey to. Here everything was dank, drab, lacking life, yet she felt cloaked enough to be safe without disguising her presence. She had not sensed Ron or Ginny in the upper part of the castle, and down here all she could feel was an army of rats ready to scuttle out the moment she had left.
A small leather pouch was concealed within her cloak and she touched it to reassure herself of its presence. It contained the small flask of antidote that Neville had extracted, and if she did not find Ron soon, both it and its carrier would have to leave. She turned the corner to be faced with a door containing memories. Severus’ old office faced her and she stopped, brought short by the recollections. It was then that she heard the scuffle and instinctively hid behind the familiar statue of Jezebel Jenkins. There was a sharp shout, quickly muffled, and then a noise that could only have been the sound of someone being dragged against their will. Fighting instincts that screamed at her to remain hidden, she stepped from behind the statue’s protective legs and watched in astonishment as a red-cloaked figure drew back its fist and landed a sickeningly fierce punch right in the middle of Ron Weasley’s face. They became aware of each others’ presence almost simultaneously, for as Ron’s horrified face crumpled beneath hostile knuckles into a reddening mask of pain, he sent a flicker of recognition in her direction, which caused his assailant to look her way.
“Roderick!” She was too stunned to move, which gave the man before her the chance to grab Ron and Disapparate quickly. In seconds it was as if nothing had occurred, the dungeon lapsing into a noncommittal silence, and Maeve tried desperately to make sense of what she had just seen. Of course, Roderick had always been something of a troublesome friend in that his alliances had never been clear cut, but she had never believed he would stoop to harming anyone she knew, least of all one of Harry’s friends. Her thoughts trampled over each other in an attempt to organise themselves. Would he take Ron to Darkacre? No, she decided quickly. Darkacre was too much of a risk given that she knew to look for Roderick there. There were several other suggestions that she flirted with before settling uncomfortably on the one that suggested Roderick had taken Ron to Voldemort. But Voldemort wasn’t even in the country, if what Severus had told her still held.
With a dull ache in her chest that had more to do with betrayal than any physical ailment, she drifted once more onto a shaft of damp, malodorous air, and left the dungeon and Hogwarts’ grounds for the last time.
Grimmauld Place was slumped begrudgingly beneath a clear blue sky, the freshness of the morning contrasting sharply with the begrimed old square. She tapped on the door and was admitted a few minutes later by Severus, who was reluctant to trust her with keys of any sort after her recent encounter with the Horcrux. Although Maeve thought she had done a good job of rearranging her features into a semblance of normality, she realised she had failed as soon as Severus closed the door.
“What happened?” His voice was as sharp as a razor, but not quite sharp enough to draw the whole truth from her.
“I went to Hogwarts “”
“You did what?”
““ to find Ron, who decided that he had to find Ginny.”
Severus was furious. She could always tell when he was especially livid because his eyes looked blacker than normal, a fact most people would not have thought possible. She couldn’t be sure, however, whether he was furious with her or Ron, or, as was the likely case, both.
“Perhaps,” he began in the icy tone that he employed when he wished to make people particularly uncomfortable, “it would have been simpler just to contact the rest of the Weasley clan at the Burrow. I received an owl from them half an hour ago to inform me that Ginny was safe. It was meant for Harry, yet the owl turned up here. It seemed bewildered, I think, by there being two Harrys in existence.” He steepled his fingers together in an effective attitude of disappointment. “I presume from your expression that something occurred at Hogwarts which is giving you cause for concern.”
“Ron was taken, in the dungeons. A man dragged him out and punched him. When they saw me, he took Ron and Disapparated.”
“Did you recognise the man?”
Had Severus been talking to anyone but his wife, he might have been a little more alert and noticed the momentary hesitation before she delivered her reply. As it was he did not expect her to lie to him, even by omission, so the hesitation passed him by.
“No, he was cloaked and I didn’t get a clear view of his face.” She was evasive, not knowing why she chose, in the heat of the moment, to conceal Roderick’s identity when she should have been open about it. “I don’t know what to tell Harry, or Hermione.”
Severus gave one of his long sighs. “Don’t tell them anything just yet. They do not need to know until we are unable to conceal it any longer. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that they have taken him to use against Harry; to draw the boy out. He is foolish enough to do anything for his friends and I should imagine most people would be aware of that fact.”
“Maybe I could owl him and tell him Ginny is safe.” Maeve did not favour keeping Harry in the dark; lying to him had a habit of backfiring badly.
“Leave him be for now.”
He held out his hand; thin, tapered fingers crooked slightly in expectation of what she had brought. Carefully, relieved that she had been believed so readily, she withdrew the flask from its bag and handed it to him. He slipped it into his own robes and faced her.
“I have to leave immediately. The snake sleeps alone with its master absent, but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that Voldemort will return early. If that happens, killing the creature will be difficult.”
Maeve nodded. “He will not suspect?”
“Oh, he always suspects, but there are few of his Death Eaters skilled enough to recognise a poisoned snake. Nagini is not young, and things can happen that appear quite natural. There are things in those caves that even a snake like Nagini would find to be fatal eating. I highly doubt that Voldemort will suspect the person who delivers to him Harry Potter’s dead body.” He noted her shudder of distaste and shook his head. “Not the time to get squeamish about such things. We will not defeat him unscathed.”
“No, I did not expect so, but one can live in hope.”
“Sometimes hope is the only thing that propels us from our bed in the morning.”
It was rare for Severus to say such a thoughtful thing and they stood quietly for a few moments, uncertain again of each other.
“You should go now,” she said finally, a nod reinforcing her words.
“You would be rid of me?” There was the beginning of a smile on his lips, but he managed to check himself before it developed into anything serious.
“Of course not. I would rather you came back alive and successful than delay and not come back at all. I also have something to take care of that will keep me away from the house for a few hours. We should arrange to meet here again for dinner alone. The bunker grows very claustrophobic after a time and much as I love the people there, I love you more.”
He looked at her closely. “This is not something to do with the Weasley boy, is it? I forbid you to do anything regarding that matter. Weasley is a small piece of the puzzle we are faced with and it would not do to go off searching for him.”
“It has nothing to do with Weasley.” She found that if she told herself that this was about Roderick and not Ron, the lie would fall easier from her lips. “It’s a personal matter.”
“A personal matter that you cannot discuss with me in greater detail?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I need to see Roderick.” There, she thought, at least that was the truth.
His face darkened at the mention of the name. “Why?”
“He’s my friend. I want to ask his advice on something. Please, Severus. I think he can help us, but I need to clear something up with him first.” She injected as much depth of feeling into her words as she could manage in the hope he would give up. It worked.
“Well, you know him better than anyone, I suppose. At least I can be confident that he won’t harm you. Whatever his motives are, he seems to posses an extraordinary ability to keep you alive.”
Maeve ignored the scratch of jealousy in his tone and sagged a little with relief that he was prepared to take it no further. If she felt sad that she was not disclosing everything to her husband, it was nothing compared to the despair she felt that Roderick could really be the enemy.
They parted swiftly and Maeve found herself momentarily directionless. She had been confident in her assertion that she was going to see Roderick, yet she doubted she would find him at Darkacre; could not imagine him being there if he had Ron to dispose of. Still, Darkacre was the only place she had to look for him, so at Darkacre she would begin. If nothing else, there might be a hint there as to where he might be.
The house skulked behind the gate, which did little to trouble her because she drifted over it and materialised before the large door. All this flying was making her feel increasingly tired and breathless, so she leaned against the warm brick for a few minutes and inhaled a large quantity of clear air. It was so distant from other properties that only the occasional threat of birdsong reached her ears. It was easy to understand how a vulnerable young woman might feel isolated here, unable to do anything to save herself from a terrible husband.
She rang the doorbell and then felt, stupidly, as if she were paying a social call, checking that her robe was straight and patting at her hair. If Ron had been brought here then he would hardly be interested in tidy hair or neat robes. Unsurprisingly, no one answered her call, so she let herself in. Roderick was careless, leaving the door unlocked like that.
It had been a lifetime almost since she had been here, and then Severus’ father had been alive, stalking the place with his fury. It hadn’t changed at all, still overpowering and dark. As a young teenager she hadn’t been very aware that buildings had feelings, possessed a soul in their walls, but she felt it now. She rested her hand against the wallpaper and felt the shudder of memory and sorrow beneath the surface. There was no way she could ever live in this house, not with the ghosts it contained. Ghosts, she felt, came in several guises. There were the flashy ones like Nearly Headless Nick, inflicting their deathless state on everyone, there were physical manifestations with no soul left in them like the Inferi, and then there were feelings left behind. This house was like a sponge, soaking up years of resentment and waiting for unwary people on which to drip the pent up emotions of the past. Beneath her heavy cloak she could feel gooseflesh form, and her hearing strained for sounds beyond her own breathing.
It had been so long that her recollections of the layout had vanished, and she had to resort to pushing open doors in the vague hope of finding something of interest. After no success on the ground floor, she made her way to the first, ascending the dark wooden staircase reluctantly. The main corridor that ran the length of the upper floor was stale from disuse, even though there were signs of recent activity. Dust lay disturbed in some of the alcoves, ornaments removed leaving a shadow of their presence. There was a parchment on the floor, which she bent to pick up. Reading quickly she discovered that it was an old recipe for a beeswax polish so she replaced it where it had been found. Resuming her search she pushed open several doors until she reached the master bedroom.
This room was grand indeed, with wainscoting that looked original, and a beautifully draped four-posted bed in the centre. It was covered in red damask silk, the drapery drawn against intruders. A slight snoring came from behind the covering, and without thinking Maeve hurried across the room and grabbed the thick silk, yanking it back with little thought for its age. With a puff of dust, the whole thing came off its fixings and almost knocked her to the floor, the sheer weight of so much fabric pushing her out of the way.
“What in the name of the” ” Roderick shot up in bed, the sheets falling away from him as he struggled to grab his wand. “Maeve!”
Maeve dropped what was left of the silk from her hands, not looking at the man she had come to find. Her attention had been arrested by the other figure in the bed, the milky skin bare “ even barer now that Roderick had unthinkingly thrown the covers back to leap naked from their safety.
The woman had also woken, and looked at Maeve in horror before scrabbling for the sheets. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out!”
“I’m sorry.” Maeve finally looked to Roderick, who was struggling into the trousers he had been wearing earlier. “I didn’t… I rang the bell but no one came. Of course, I see why… I should have…”
“Maeve,” Roderick was now shrugging on a white shirt,” wait for me in the library.”
“What?” Jenny Fitzwilliam snapped her head around and looked at him with astonishment. “You should throw her out.”
“Shut up.” He hurriedly buttoned the front of his shirt.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you insolent man!” It was almost possible to see the sparks of her hatred for Maeve. “She’s trespassing. Do you always go around sneaking into people’s bedrooms?” This was addressed to Maeve, who had now recovered somewhat from the shock.
“I’ll be in the library.” Maeve addressed Roderick coldly, still not really understanding what she was seeing.
“You will leave.” Jenny’s face had turned pink with displeasure.
“I said SHUT UP!” Roderick seldom lost his temper, but he was losing it now.
“And I SAID DON’T TELL ME TO SHUT UP! This is my house and I will not be dictated to.”
“This is actually my husband’s house.” Maeve’s voice was as calm as Jenny’s was violent, and her face was much paler than the naked woman’s. “If anyone should leave, I suggest it be you. Roderick has permission to be here, you do not.”
“Your husband has given him permission to be here? I highly doubt that. Your husband thinks more of his precious house than to let anyone stay here. I don’t think he’s even brought you here in all the time you’ve been married, has he?” Her face could have been attractive had she not insisted on twisting it with jealousy.
“We’ve only been married a few months; this wasn’t a priority. As I said, leave. Roderick, the library, now.” She turned and did her best attempt to sweep from the room in a regal fashion, but she had a feeling that the nausea she felt in her stomach was hindering the affect.
A jumble of conversation from the bedroom followed her along the corridor, words of anger being deliberately muted to exclude her from the lovers’ tiff. Roderick and Jenny; it made sense, she supposed, although she would rather have been told then had to witness the aftermath. A door slammed, making her jump, and footsteps followed her down the corridor. Roderick caught her up on the stairs and they walked together in bristling silence to the library. He opened the door to allow her entry before him and immediately made for the tantalus on the desk.
“Whisky? Old Kentigern enjoyed only the finest single malts.” He did not smile; his face set in a grim frown that she felt was more for himself than her.
“No, thank you.” Her mind hurriedly took over as her body tried to shake from the shock of recent events. It steadied her, brought her under control.
“You have every right to be angry,” he began, not daring to try his usual flippancy. “I should have told you.” He poured himself a drink, making sure it was large one.
“You shouldn’t have let her stay here, or sleep here, or…” She trailed off in frustration, before finishing. “Or bloody well spend however long she spent here in that bed.”
“I can’t get her to leave.” He shrugged. “She covets this house so much that I honestly believe her heart would break if she left. I think it’s a mouldy old pile, but there’s no accounting for taste. You look shaken to the core, and I can’t imagine it’s caused by what just happened. I never had you down as the sort to be bothered by little scenes like that. Why did you come?”
“What have you done with Ron?” The question was like a slab of iron crashing to the floor.
He looked straight at her and not a muscle flickered on his face. “What are you talking about?”
Maeve felt the lie was almost as bad as the act. “What have you done with him? Is he here? You can’t have had the time to do anything with him since you fled Hogwarts, so where is he. Maybe you thought the cellars where the best place for him, or the attic?”
Roderick made no attempt to answer. He reached for another glass and half filled it with whisky before handing it to her. “Drink it.”
“I don’t want to.” She took the glass despite her protest.
“Drink it, Maeve. It will clear your head of whatever silly madness you have let in there.”
“You deny that you were at Hogwarts about an hour ago, then? You deny hitting Ron, in front of me, and Disapparating back here. I saw you punch him in the face, Roderick. I saw you do that. His face was a bloody mess and I know it was no illusion. I just haven’t figured out why you did it. Are you really working for Voldemort to the extent you would harm Harry in that way.” She took a gulp from the glass without realising she was doing so. “I can understand you like excitement and that you would do lots of things to keep your life interesting, including her upstairs, but I never thought that you would go to such lengths as take it out on Ron like that. Has Voldemort ordered him captured?”
Roderick allowed her go on, waiting for the well of allegation to run dry. When it did, Maeve looked exhausted from the effort of the accusations. She drained the glass and set it down, looking at him with reproach.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“When did you ever know me to punch anyone in the face? Do you know what punching someone in the face does to your knuckles?” He strode across and laid his hands out before him, the palms facing down.
“You could have easily used a spell to clean it up.” She dismissed his evidence easily, trying to keep her heart hard against his disloyalty.
“I could have, but I didn’t. Seriously, lovely, I am very disappointed in you. You have known me long enough to know that I never use physical violence on an opponent. It’s much easier to mess with their minds than their flesh. And if I was at Hogwarts, I was very efficient in leaving you, getting there, doing this deed, and getting back here in time to give her a good time and then fall asleep. Your timeline is a little messy, don’t you think?”
She shifted from one foot to the other, her mind quickly working through the scenario. But she had seen him “ it had been Roderick. He had looked her full in the face and there had been such a look of hate in his eyes, even worse than the look Jenny had given her, a look that she almost recognised.
His hands were still in front of him, as if in supplication. This was her friend “ could a friend have looked at her with such hatred? He had saved her life. He had saved Harry’s life. And yet her eyes had not played tricks. He had been in the dungeons at Hogwarts earlier despite his protestations, for if he hadn’t then her sanity was seriously open to question.
“I saw what I saw,” she said stubbornly. “It was you.”
“You may have seen me, but I did not see you.” He finally dropped his hands. “Because I was not there.”
“Then how…” Her eyes strayed to his hair, to the patch that she had so recently remarked upon and a terrible thought thrust itself to the fore of her mind. “Look at me.”
“What?” He looked at her in a puzzled way, which was not quite what she had intended.
“No, look at me as if you hate me. Look at me as if I am the most loathsome creature on the planet.”
“How could I” ”
“Act! I know you can act. Just do it!”
And he did.
“I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath that was eventually let out as a gulp, which became a little sob, and before she knew it she was clutching his shoulders and crying in a rather wet and half-hearted way into his shirt.
“Polyjuice,” he said, his fingers seeking out the patch of missing hair. “How in the world did someone get close enough to take my hair?”
“You have to get it cut. Maybe someone at the hairdressers took it.” Maeve had her legs tucked beneath her and was occupying a rather large leather chair by the fire, which Roderick had lit.
He was leaning forward in a slightly less comfortable-looking chair, regarding her with interest. “Sod it! Last time I went my regular chap was off sick. Some Neanderthal named Vincent cut it, stubby fingers and a terrible attitude. I remember thinking that the management must be off their heads to employ an Irish rogue like that, but his accent did remind me of you.” Now that his loyalty was re-established, so was his flirting.
“There you go then,” she agreed. “I bet he was the one that chopped off an extra bit for later use. He could have enough for lots of Polyjuice; that’s a sizable chunk missing.”
“Which leaves us with the problem of a kidnapped Ronald Weasley and an impetuous youth who will go running after him.” He tried not to look concerned and failed.
“Irish?” Maeve sat up.
“What?”
“You said he had an Irish accent. He looked at me and I thought I recognised the look, but because I thought it was you, I assumed I was just recognising you “ and I wasn’t. I was seeing Malachy Meany.” New horror rose within her. “Merlin help him if Malachy Meany is holding him.”
Roderick sat back and ran his hands through his hair, temporarily hiding the missing patch. “I’d better come back to Grimmauld Place with you. I think we need to start working together, Don’t you?”
“I always thought that. It was you that worked alone.” She tried to not to make it an accusation and only just failed.
“I think I need to take on a few partners.” He smiled and rose from his seat. “Come on then, I’ll take you along with me. I’ll let you explain all of this to the black gloom “ I don’t think he likes me opening my mouth all that much.”
And Maeve found herself going somewhere yet again.