With the thunderous noise of so many voices rattling her skull, Maeve tried to make sense of what lay around her. If she had been able to turn off the voices there would have been nothing remarkable about the grimy scrap yard. Cars towered around them, skyscrapers of scrap metal that reached towards the salvation of the crusher’s magnet. All of them lacked parts or boasted huge amounts of damage, and some had been leaking oil, which formed in several opaque pools around the yard. Inside the wall the smell of burnt rubber was stronger, a cloying thickness that poked at her nostrils.
In one corner a ramshackle hut sat on breeze blocks, its skin an old caravan. Additions had been made in the form of patches to prevent water leaking in through large holes in the fabric of the once proud vehicle. Someone had made an attempt to grow flowers in some plastic tubs, but their efforts had been in vain given the toxic atmosphere in this place of decrepit decay. A dented dog bowl had been kicked over, rolling to rest beside a pile of rusted tools that had seen little recent use.
The cacophony of voices, sensing the presence of new minds, rose as each individual tried to gain some recognition. Initially, Maeve could not separate them, crushed beneath the flat wall of sound, but eventually they began to separate themselves. Women’s voices became clear from the men’s, different tones separating into distinguishable voice. She struggled to blot out the women; an impossible task given the stridency of each individual voice that now became clearer. A variety of female voices echoed through her mind, each louder than the last.
Speak with me, stranger!
Listen to what I have to say. I have a message for Arbuthnot Gibbons.
Such pretty hair she’s got. My mother had hair just that shade but with a better cut.
What she doing here? Humans aren’t supposed to be here. They have still got their bodies.
“Enough!” Maeve yelled, cracking the air with her entreaty. “I can’t hear any of you if you all talk at once.”
Roderick wandered off, hearing some call that was not clear to her, and she could see the end of his cloak disappear behind a tall stack of Volvos. If she had thought for a second her cry would have brought silence she was very much mistaken. The souls contained within the Deathly Hallows had a lot of time on their hands, and some grudges against their captors for not allowing them to pass on to be with their relatives. Immediately there was a chorus of complaint from several hundred voices, swirling and sweeping through the air around her. Centuries of souls threw their indignation in her direction.
She clamped her hands over her ears and it was then that she fully realised where the voices were. They weren’t real in the sense that they were sound waves in the air; they existed on a different level to that, and she shouldn’t really have been surprised. Each voice existed in her head and none of them seemed prepared to leave her alone. How on earth was she supposed to find Dumbledore in all of this?
Child. This voice was stronger than the others, sweeter. You have not been invited to the Hallows, so what are you doing here?
“I seek a friend.” She looked about her, feeling rather stupid talking to the ether. “His name is Albus.”
Why do you think you will find him here? And how did you come to be here? Only the gods know of this location.
“Who are you?” It was like talking to shadows, and Maeve turned around, trying desperately to see a tangible sign that these voices were real.
It matters not who we are. Ah! Maeve felt ice rush through her, a rapid sensation that wrapped itself around her heart. You are not entirely mortal, child? You have a father that belongs beyond the human world. That explains much.
While this voice continued all the rest appeared to have been silenced. It came as a blessed relief for her to hear her own thoughts once more, although she soon realised they were not her own.
Be careful, immortal child, for I am in your mind and can see your thoughts. Do not curse the men that brought you here; one is human and the other indulgent, although he was not always so. It is a weakness for one of his status to grow soft over a human child.
“If you can bloody well see my thoughts then why bother asking questions! You know exactly why I am here.” She scowled at a bumper-less Renault Clio for want of a person to scowl at. Perhaps if she assigned a voice to a car she could somehow keep her sanity. The voice laughed in the region of her frontal lobes.
Clever girl. It pays to try to keep one’s sanity.
“Do you know where Albus is? My friend believes he was brought here by the Deathly Hallows.” She tried not to sound impatient and the voice laughed again.
In a hurry to be gone, I see. The few humans that have been this far are inclined to stay and converse with the departed. There are professional humans out there “ oh, not many of them “ but they prod and they poke their way into our world and grasp greedily at whatever they can. You are not like this. What is it that you need to ask Albus Dumbledore?
She shook her head and didn’t speak. If they could read her mind so thoroughly they had better get on with it because she was, quite literally, wasting her breath.
Very well. Remember what we can wreak when we choose? I am one of the Hallows who brought the man you seek hither, and I can arrange the same for you. Immortal or not, I think something could be arranged.
“I shall have to hope that Sarpedon does not choose to accompany this particular soul home then, shan’t I?”
The voice in her head grew sullenly silent and was replaced once again by the multitude, all giving her the benefit of their opinions. She began to fret that she had gone too far and offended it beyond all inclination to help her so she shouted at the voices to shut up again.
“I thought you were all supposed to be the cream of the thinkers in the wizarding world,” she cried, her annoyance getting the better of her tongue. “You all sound like a bunch of ignorant gossips to me! Let the men speak.”
I have NEVER been so insulted. This was a sharp voice, cutting through her front temple. No one EVER told Lettice de Venison Montmercy to stop speaking. The sheer gall of the creature!”
She is the absolute limit. Cheeky baggage, coming here and expecting us to be quiet for her. No less sharp, this one, but slightly more affronted.
Maeve.
Her mouth froze, the retort stung to silence. She knew that voice so well; had only ever thought to hear it again through a portrait. Turning, she fully expected to see her old headmaster standing behind her, but instead she faced the remains of a rotting Lexus.
Yes, you might as well focus on that vehicle. Particularly fine one, isn’t it, or was, in its time.
The old playfulness was still there; if she closed her eyes and tried hard she could almost see the familiar gleam of fun in his blue eyes.
“Albus. I didn’t believe that you would actually be here. You are here, aren’t you? You are real?”
What is real, Maeve? There are so many different realities that it is impossible to say.
Her throat grew dry as she regarded the Lexus intently. “I am so sorry, Albus, about what happened. I…”
You are not here to seek evidence of Severus’ innocence, for you are already convinced of it. That belief is in your heart and nothing will dislodge it. You know that he was acting on my instructions that night, so what can it be that you want to ask me?
She was lost for words, thoughts tumbling over themselves. Why was she here? She was here because Roderick had needed to be here. Albus was right, or course. She did not doubt Severus’ innocence and never would. Yet to admit this would seem terribly insulting to Albus, for she had no reason to be here beyond the enjoyment of hearing his voice.
“I…”
You would perhaps like to know that Severus made it clear he did it against his better judgement. He implored me beforehand that this was not something he wanted to do. He feared for you, feared deeply. I believe this gave him more trouble than actually killing me. There was a wry smile in his words and she found her own lips bending upwards for him. His innocence will be proved by more mundane means than chasing down people who have gone on. But it gives me pleasure to see you, tired though you are. Take care of him, Maeve, for he has only you.
“It’s so difficult, Albus. We are so exhausted and we are working blind half of the time. Grimmauld Place is compromised, Harry disillusioned, a Horcrux still in existence, Severus at the end of his wits. Voldemort grows stronger and we seem to grow weaker. What do we do?”
Hold fast to what you are fighting for. Evil always shows its weakness eventually, whilst love can only grow in strength. You will gain mastery over him and his Death Eaters if you choose to, even though the cost may be high. Even though it seems impossible now, you must prevail. Hogwarts fell to a different power, but I fear the Ministry will bow to Voldemort soon, and if that happens life will become treacherous for all.
“How can the Ministry fall?” she asked, knowing that so many people could not be Imperioused in one fell swoop.
Taking control of an institution is not difficult if you can strike at its heart and its head. Remember what happened at Hogwarts when Dolores Umbridge gained mastery.
“But the school rebelled! She failed because she could not break down the resistance to her rule.”
If only it were that simple. Hogwarts is full of young people, with no families to worry about and no livelihoods to protect. Young minds can afford the luxury of high ideals; unfortunately, as one ages, one finds one’s ideals perpetually compromised by circumstances. The Ministry will fall because the people within it do not have the strength and the freedom to resist. But we move ahead of ourselves; for now you must return and help your husband. He has need of you.
A roar of anger flew up from the pile of Volvos and Maeve looked in horror as the topmost car shifted. An ominous creaking sound filled the yard and the whole stack swayed.
Your friend is suffering from a breaking of his illusions. It is time to take him from this place, for he has been given the answer to his question and I do not think it is to his liking. Go, now. Be reassured that he is on your side. He has no other side to be on.
“How do you” ”
I know many things, Maeve; things that I could not have known before.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, feeling the word was somehow inadequate. “Will I ever…”
Most probably.
She made a move to the toppling stack, her wand drawn even though she knew it would be useless. Cars began crashing to the floor from other stacks, setting off a chain of collapses so that the whole place began to resemble a maze of falling dominoes..
One last thing, Maeve. Albus’ voice rose above the destruction. There will come a time when you must choose and that choice will be difficult. No matter what the circumstances, choose Severus. Always.
She stopped and looked around at the Lexus, but could already sense that Albus had gone. With a quick dash she located Roderick on his knees, his head resting on a green car that was now being freed from the weight above it.
“Roderick!” she yelled, dropping beside him and grabbing his cloak. “Come on. We have to get out of here quickly. The whole lot his coming down.”
He looked at her, his eyes swollen and filled with something she could only describe as self-loathing.
“What happened? Did you not find him?”
“I found him,” he replied in a voice quite unlike his own. “I found him.”
“Tell me when we get beyond the walls,” she insisted, trying to pull him to his feet. “If we get caught in this lot we’ll be killed.” A small explosion blew a blue Nissan over the wall, and its exhaust rolled to a halt a few feet from her.
“You can be so foolish for one so clever,” he snapped viciously, tearing his hand from her grasp. “This isn’t…”
But whatever it wasn’t was lost as the cars above finally toppled in one bracing rush of metal towards them. She screamed, a rapid sound that reverberated in her ears long after the stillness swallowed her.
Birdsong filled the air. The ground beneath her was solid and smelled sweetly of recently mown grass and honeysuckle. But that was ridiculous; who would be mowing grass at this time of year? Raising her head, Maeve tested her vision and found that it worked well, assuming that the sunlight filtering through a forest of oak and elm trees was real and she wasn’t merely imagining it. Roderick was hunched on the ground, leaning on the remains of an ancient tree trunk that was now occupying the space where the old Volvo had been. His shoulders heaved a little and Maeve sat up, brushing cut grass from her robes. In the distance a clearing opened out to reveal her father standing by the cart watching them closely.
The distant hum of voices confirmed that they still occupied the Deathly Hallows, albeit a very changed one; this was Maeve’s vision of it and one that was immeasurably more peaceful and pleasing than Roderick’s scrap yard. Her father raised his hand and beckoned them to him.
“Roderick, we have to go.”
He made no move, clinging to the stump with white fingers. Two nightingales swept downwards and cut between them before soaring upwards again. A family of rabbits bounced along the ground just a few feet from where they sat, and by a particularly large oak tree she could see a squirrel cocking its head in their direction.
“Bloody hell, all we need now is Bambi and my sickly vision of the afterlife will be complete,” she muttered. “My mother should never have let me watch those stupid films. Come on, you. Whatever is wrong, we don’t have time to get into it now.”
She placed her arms around his shoulders and guided him to his feet. He hadn’t been crying, but he looked utterly defeated, allowing her to lead him towards her father without protest. Lugh looked at them and nodded.
“The Deathly Hallows is no place for humans. It was unfortunate that you insisted.
It is a seldom event that one hears what they expect to, or what they want to. Get him into the cart and we will leave. I will take you directly to your hiding place.”
Roderick climbed in behind her and sat in silence on the wooden slats. His eyes stared ahead, fixed in blind incomprehension on the trees that were quickly fading. The cart rose, and by the time they had gained a degree of altitude what had been their visions of the Deathly Hallows had faded completely. Now they were presented with the darkening sky and a slow descent into the night. Maeve sat close to Roderick for comfort as the air grew cold. She wanted to discuss what Dumbledore had told her, especially regarding the Ministry given his knowledge of the place, yet he looked like a few words would finish him off so she kept her own counsel. He shivered once or twice, not bothering to pull his cloak tighter around himself. With a sideways look, Maeve saw that he had closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable loll of his head on her shoulder, but it didn’t happen. He wasn’t asleep, he had merely chosen to close his eyes to the world.
Lugh brought them down close to the bunker with a gentle sway as the cart made contact with the rough track. He held the reins close and looked back at his passengers.
“We must say farewell again,” he said.
“Considering you aren’t supposed to be communicating with me at all, we seem to do this rather a lot,” Maeve replied, touching Roderick’s arm. His eyes snapped open and he stood up without looking at her.
“Yes, that is true,” her father acknowledged with a defeated nod of his head. “It is proving more difficult to stay away than I could possibly have anticipated. I fear you have compromised me far more than your brother ever did.”
“I understand that daughters are always more trouble than sons,” she said, smiling as she followed Roderick onto the track. “Perhaps we should stop saying goodbye.”
“I fear that would not be a good idea. If anything should happen, to either of us, it would be unfortunate had we never said goodbye, don’t you think? So goodbye, daughter, for now. You are not far from your destination; it lies just beyond the trees.” He pointed ahead of them.
“Thank you, I think,” she said, with a glance at Roderick. She didn’t think he would be thanking her father for what had just transpired, even though he had no one to blame but himself.
“He’ll recover given time. It is hard for him to escape his past, I believe. Goodbye.”
She looked around to discover that Roderick was already moving off towards the path and turned to wave to her father. There was nothing where he had been and she smiled at his rapid disappearance. A crack in the trees did not initially alarm her, and she trotted up to Roderick, taking his arm despite his cold exterior.
A green light flew out from the trees and passed by them, narrowly missing Roderick’s head. With a screech of alarm, Maeve pulled him to one side and they fell forwards into the undergrowth. Her heart began to thud hard and fast against her chest. It had to be a Death Eater, at the very least. She had heard no voices or communication and hoped against hope that this was a solo attacker who had struck lucky. Pulling Roderick, who showed little interest in escaping or fighting, behind her she pushed through the undergrowth. The sound of rustling suggested that they were being followed, and another flash of green light confirmed that she was right. Roderick caught his leg on a root and pulled them both down, making her grunt to get him to move again.
“Do you want to die?” she hissed at him, keeping low. Red and green flashes now razed the air above their heads and several tree trunk splintered and fell.
His hate-filled eyes looked into hers. “Yes.”
“You bloody well don’t, you fool.” She hauled him towards her. “I have no idea if I have the strength for this, so if I drop you I’m sorry.”
Before he could protest she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and closed her eyes. Beyond her lids another flash of light lit the darkness and she felt Roderick go limp. Forcing the transformation, she didn’t have the chance to check on him. They disappeared into the night leaving their assailant to blunder further into the woods, firing his wand repeatedly as he tried to catch up with a non-existent prey.
She pressed on for as long as she could, but when she felt Roderick begin to solidify in her arms she knew she had to land. Dropping slowly towards solid ground, she allowed them to re-form and separate. With her wand out she quickly scanned their new surroundings.
“Sod it,” she said, as he slumped against her.
They stood in the far corner of a supermarket car park, the bright lights of the store illuminating the scene before them. With a swift movement she pulled them both back into the cover of some bushes and gently lowered him to the ground, fearing the worst and desperately hoping for the best. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and with sickening relief she could feel the force of a life not yet over.
“I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” she muttered with grim uncertainty. The last time she had been stuck in the undergrowth with an unconscious man she had had Roderick to help her; now that Roderick was the unconscious man it was down to her.
With a rather snappish “rennervate,” she brought him around from the Stunner, watching as the disappointment that he was not dead made itself apparent in his eyes.
“Why didn’t you leave me to die,” he said, self-pity making a mockery of his face.
Perhaps it was relief, or perhaps it was merely the rather less auspicious anger that made her do what she did next; whatever it was, she pulled back her hand and slapped his face. His head swung away from her at the force of the blow, and he did not turn back.
Waving her wand once more, she spoke clearly and a silver flash slipped from its tip, flying through the bush and away. That achieved she gave vent to her anger as she forcibly pulled him to his feet.
“You stupid, stupid, selfish sodding man! You could easily have got us both killed. Without my ability we would probably be dead and all you had to do was Disapparate. You don’t really want to die, you’re just in shock. I never expected you to do anything so utterly beyond comprehension.”
He continued to look away, his profile disguised by the shade of the bush that sheltered them.
“AREN’T YOU EVEN GOING TO HAVE THE DECENCY TO SPEAK TO ME?”
The bushes parted and a man’s face presented itself, a concerned look on his face. He quickly looked between the two of them and returned to Maeve.
“You all right, miss?” he asked, taking in her robes.
“Perfectly fine, thank you, sir,” she said, quickly grabbing hold of Roderick’s hand. Part of her almost expected him to bolt.
The stranger noticed her grip on Roderick’s hand and nodded. “Bit of an argument, is it? I’ll leave you be, if you’re sure you’re all right. He won’t turn nasty, will he?” Maeve shook her head in mute denial and with that silent confirmation, his head disappeared.
“Right,” she said, making her mind up to take some course of action. “We’re going for a walk and you will tell me exactly what happened.”
The river that ran behind the supermarket was high for the time of year, recent rains having swollen it to a fast moving pace. Streetlights found its surface and created a swaying orange light that was almost hypnotic. The path beside it was empty of fellow walkers, which was quite probably something to do with the now steady drizzle of rain; they were in a world made soft by the smell of damp earth and wet leaf mould. Roderick did not protest at Maeve’s course of action and walked beside her, sullenly silent. Maeve had the disconcerting feeling that she was walking beside a shell whose owner had gone on a permanent holiday.
“So, you spoke with your father?” His cloak now had a fine shimmer of water on the surface, droplets glistening in the night. At the mention of his father a muscle twitched in his neck, but he still said nothing. “And your father said something bad that’s upset you? I think it was worse than bad, though, wasn’t it? I always knew there was more to you than met the eye and I never quite believed that what you told me about your background was all there was to know.”
A dog bounded up, sniffed at their cloaks, and then moved away with a low rumble from its throat. From the road came the sound of traffic and they heard the occasional shout from some youths who had collected like flotsam around the steps that led down to the river on the opposite side.
“I could go on like this all night until you tell me,” she persisted.
Roderick stopped and looked over her shoulder into the depths of the water. With an effort of will he forced himself to look at her.
“He would not forgive me.” His whole demeanour was leaden with regret.
“Your father?”
A nod was her only answer as Roderick continued walking again.
“Wait. You can’t say that and walk away. Forgive you for what.” She caught up with him and held his arm, water seeping into the fabric at the pressure of her touch.
“For killing him.”
“Stop!” she barked, yanking on his arm and forcing him to stand still. “Your father killed himself in the fire, or was that not true? If you turn out to be a murderer after all this I may well have to shove you in that river and hold you under. Please, Roderick, don’t let me down.”
“I set fire to the house. My father was at a stage in his life when he couldn’t light a match, let alone a whole building.” He shrugged. “He disinherited me. If I couldn’t have the bloody place, then I decided no one could. Things like that used to matter to me. I didn’t know the stupid bastard was still in there, hiding away like the cowardly swine he was.”
It was strange to see Roderick Rampton so vulnerable and sorely wounded. His outward bravado was crumbling, threatening his sanity. “You weren’t to blame for his death, then.” Maeve tried to be ever practical.
“If I had not been so vindictive, so possessive, so stupid, then I would not have set fire to the house and he would not have died when he did. I could not have been guiltier if I had cut him in two with the Killing Curse. I had to find him. I knew that he’d been taken by the Deathly Hallows. There was a scar the length of the foundations; it was obvious the fire had not caused that. When I realised who you were, and that you had that connection with your father, then I had my way to ask for forgiveness. Only, it was a mistake. I didn’t get it.”
“You used me to get to your father?” Their fragile peace was in danger of being demolished.
“At first you were a business proposition, I can’t deny that.” He held up his hand to prevent her anger overtaking his words. “I saw the necklace, realised its design and significance. Then you grew on me and, although I never lost sight of the Deathly Hallows, I realised I preferred you as a friend. It might have been better if I had let go of finding the Hallows “ it’s done me no good. My brother wasn’t there. Father said he died under Sarpedon and had been taken.”
A spasm of pain flitted across his face and he turned away and walked on. Maeve stood there for a moment trying to digest this latest piece of information. He’d never mentioned a brother, not once in the whole time she had known him. Chasing again to catch him up she stumbled over the hem of her cloak and fell forwards, throwing her arms out to save herself. Her sudden cry of pain made him turn and for a second the old Roderick was back.
“Always knew you’d fall for me eventually,” he said with a brittle smile, picking her up and setting her right again. She held on to him longer than was necessary.
“Please, Roderick, for the sake of our friendship, tell me everything.”
He hesitated, wiping a smear of dirt off her face. “Not here.” With a swift pull Maeve found herself travelling through space as they Disapparated
Amongst the shifting panorama of the night’s locations, this had been the last place Maeve had expected to see. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the ill-lit place. At first sight it was a flat piece of dead earth with some jutting ruins in the distance, but it did not take her long to realise that they were at Rampton Court. They stood together as the wind lifted hair and cloaks with gentle caresses. Maeve could feel ghosts hovering on the boundaries of her consciousness, ever watchful. She stepped away from him towards the outlines of paths and hedges. There was rush of familiarity as she recalled what was left of Abbeylara. Two different houses on two different islands suffering the same fate; no wonder he sought her friendship, when they shared so much. His wand illuminated the scene fully, exposing their faces to honest interpretation.
“You see your own home, don’t you?” he said.
“And you see yours.”
They were both silent, seeing the past made real in their mind’s eye. Flickering images of destruction consuming houses and lives filled their heads until Roderick broke the spell.
“I see the consequences of my actions. I see something lost that cannot be reclaimed. I didn’t lie to you, the day I told you my name was all I had left. There is no honour in a name, though, is there, no wealth and status, no respect. You are what you do, not what you call yourself.” He scuffed the earth with his foot, dislodging sparse weeds and gravel. “It’s taken me some time to realise that.”
“You saved me and Harry at Abbeylara. I think that’s worth more than a house and a name.” They walked on a little, towards the darker area that signified where the foundations of the missing house had been sunk.
“My brother was the youngest. Our mother died a year after he was born and my father blamed me. I was a little jealous of him, resented him for the attention he took from me. More than once I tried to magically remove him; naturally this caused my mother a lot of stress. Her nerves, apparently, were never good. She died of something no one could name. Father sent me away as soon as he could. Hogwarts wasn’t the first boarding school I attended. I was incarcerated elsewhere from the age of four.” He paused, swallowing his desire to stop. “But my father never blamed himself. He never stopped to think that what he was doing might be causing her distress. That’s men for you.” There was bitterness in his small jest.
“And what was he doing? Other women?”
“Good grief, no.” A hatchet of distaste fell into the conversation. “There were other men. He couldn’t betray her in a straightforward manner, not my dear father.” He ran both his hands through his hair, meshing them there. “I think she would have forgiven him even that betrayal had he not fallen in love with one of them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, so was I. All in the past, though. What’s done is done and all that rot.” He let go of his hair and spread his hands wide. “Belongs to a Muggle developer now. Not much development, is there.” He laughed again and placed one of his arms across her shoulder, feeling her tense wariness. “Richard followed me to Hogwarts, carved out quite a niche for himself as Slytherin’s star Seeker for a few years. I left, moved to London and then one day read in the Prophet that he’d been killed in an accident with a helicopter. He’d been flying too close to an RAF base during an emergency and ended up being ripped apart by a set of rotor blades. The helicopter crashed and they found bits of him scattered all over a mountain. Our Ministry had to do some serious damage limitation with the Muggle Ministry over that little incident.”
Maeve was amazed at the unflinching way in which he delivered this information, mentally making note that she would have to uncover the facts about this particular story. “Your father never told you?”
“Not a word from him. He held a funeral with what they could find of the body, but I wasn’t invited. I found out from the paper that he’d changed his will on Richard’s death and left everything to this Muggle lot. That Skeeter woman has a way of getting information out of people.”
“You told me a pack of lies when I first met you,” she said. He hurriedly removed his arm.
“Now, now, I think I merely stretched the truth a little, and perhaps played with the timeline of events.”
“And what about the Fitzwilliam woman and Darkacre?”
“What do you mean?” His sudden evasiveness was enough for Maeve to know that she was right to be suspicious about his motives in that department.
“I’ve always maintained there was something odd about your relationship with her. Why is it so important to get Darkacre for her?”
Roderick looked at her for a moment, as if trying to work out if he could get around this obstacle, but he quickly realised she was insurmountable. “Jenny Fitzwilliam owns a company that owns Muggle companies. She’s very forward-thinking for someone who works for Voldemort. Naturally, she wouldn’t want that little secret well known. However, she does own the company that owns Rampton Court; so by default, she owns the patch of dusty, good-for-nothing earth that we’re standing on.”
“You’ve done a deal with her to get it back? Why not just tell Voldemort?”
“Tricky. She’s very well-covered, in more ways than one. I wouldn’t want to get publicly involved and possibly publicly humiliated if I messed up that particular web of deceit. It’s unnecessary, anyway. Once I get the black gloom to sign the house over I get my old land back free and gratis.”
“Aren’t you getting rather a bad deal there?” She waved around her at the cold emptiness of the land. “Only, there’s rather a large house at Darkacre and a distinct lack of one here. Besides, she could completely stitch you up and back out of the deal at the last minute. You don’t strike me as a person used to contracts.”
“I don’t have the money to buy the land back. There’s no other way.”
Her head shook slowly and then she smiled. “It’s such a simple explanation. And here was me thinking you merely wanted to get her into bed on a regular basis.”
“Well, there is that…”
“I give up. You know, Severus doesn’t really want Darkacre, but I think this Fitzwilliam woman is really trying to get one over on you. Speak to Severus about it before you finalise any deal with her.” The wind picked up a little, blowing their cloaks around their legs and forcing Maeve to hold her hood down. “Your father probably hates himself too much to forgive you, you know. It’s not you; it’s him.”
“I was stupid to go looking for forgiveness from someone who doesn’t have it in him to forgive.”
A light fragmented the dark, its silver form moving rapidly until Maeve could make out the form of a fox slinking towards them. It halted several feet away, glimmering against the ink-filled backdrop.
“We have Draco.” Severus’ voice snapped into the darkness. “Come back. All is safe.” And the Patronus was gone.
“Well, well, well,” Roderick said. “Draco seems to be on rather a spree, doesn’t he? First Narcissa and then he tried us. Interesting.”
“You are a fickle sod,” she replied. “An hour ago you would have let him kill you and now you’ve perked up beyond all belief.”
“It’s a good thing you were around then, isn’t it?” He smiled and took her arm again. “Hang on.”
And they Disapparated, returning to the place where, just a short while ago, they had faced green bolts of death.