Chapter Four
Malfoy Manor.
Maeve raised reluctant arms and gave Narcissa a loose hug that was frigid with apprehension at receiving news that may not be welcome. She hoped against hope that Narcissa had not received bad news about Draco, because the implications for Severus wouldn’t be good. Blond hair blew into her face and she jerked her head away from the blizzard of white to allow her eyes the chance of taking in the elegant, black-glossed open door and the graceful hallway beyond. It was not unlike Abbeylara had been, but there was more money here, more attention to detail. With a burst of impatience she pushed Narcissa away and looked at the woman with a matter-of-factness that stilled Narcissa’s sobbing.
“What’s happened?” Maeve asked, her eye suddenly caught by a flicker of movement in the pale-wooded corridor that sat sullen behind the door.
“Death Eaters,” she said, squeezing the words out with some difficulty. “There were Death Eaters here.” The wind stirred the tall birch trees that flanked the front of the house, their leaves brushing together in a whisper of alarm.
“Interesting, Narcissa, but hardly unusual. This is, after all, the home of a Death Eater, isn’t it?”
Narcissa flashed her a look of intense loathing that rose from her distress like a Hydra. “I don’t think…” she began. “I’m not sure that Lucius is… I don’t think he’s still…” And the weeping began again with renewed vigour, a torrential tempest of sorrow that almost made Maeve feel some sympathy for the woman.
The movement in the house was suddenly explained by a fretful house-elf, who hovered in limbo at the top of the steps with a starched, folded white tablecloth tied around its work-weary body.
“Mistress needs to come inside in case the bad men come back.” Its little face glanced between the two women, unable to decide if the newcomer was friend or foe. “Mistress will not listen to Colly; mistress is too upset. Colly has offered to make her a nice cup of tea but mistress is having none of Colly’s tea-making.”
Maeve looked into the worried face of the house-elf and thought about Dobby, who was happy as a sand lark back at Hogwarts. Was life as bad for this poor elf as it had been for Harry’s loyal little friend? Colly seemed genuinely concerned for Narcissa, but House-Elves often displayed a remarkable loyalty, despite the harshest of treatment.
“I’m sure your mistress would love a cup of tea, Colly. Why don’t you pop back inside and make one while I have a quick chat with her?”
Colly looked to Narcissa for confirmation of the order but Narcissa was dabbing at her delicate face with a lace-edged handkerchief and ignored her, so the house-elf took it upon herself to obey the order of another and scurried off back into the house.
“Inside, Narcissa, and tell me what they wanted. Must have been fairly dire for your house-elf to call them ‘bad men’.”
Maeve refused to give in to her natural inclination for sympathetic understanding as they walked up the steps together, Narcissa stepping back into the lofty hall first as Maeve closed the door behind her with a firm crack, shutting out the natural light and suffocating them in the sophisticated grandeur of the house. Glancing around the hallway the faces of the motley Malfoys stared down at her with critical stares from their well-executed paintings. A rustle of conversation began that extended right up to Siegfried Malfoy, Lucius’ great-great-great-great grandfather, who smirked a little before strolling from his portrait with an appreciative glance down at Maeve. The robust-looking man (Marcus Malfoy b.1921 d. 1982) who was in the portrait closest to her gave an appraising glower and muttered to his companion, a fragile-looking blond woman, that he had always preferred redheads. “More substance to them, more fight!” he said in a loud voice that carried up the stairs and was met with a ripple of agreement.
Maeve blushed slightly as Narcissa gave a strangled cry and swept away through a large white door, flooding the hall again with sunlight as she did so. Maeve looked towards Marcus and wondered why he looked vaguely familiar; it must have been his close resemblance to Lucius, she decided, as she followed Narcissa into what appeared to be some kind of refined day room.
Colly bustled in behind her holding a clattering tray filled with delicate china and a packet of biscuits. She set it down on the low table by the large sofa and then, to Maeve’s astonishment, sat herself down on a Chippendale chair and helped herself to a butter-thin, rustling it from the carton and nibbling the sweet pastry delicately as she waited for her mistress to ask her to pour the tea.
Narcissa seemed to gain temporary control of her crying and instructed Maeve to sit down, before joining her on the same crisply expensive sofa, a proximity that was just a bit too close for Maeve’s liking. For some reason Narcissa was still wearing some of that perfume that Severus had made and it was as nausea inducing as it had been before. The room was a perfect reflection of its designer; pale colours, highlighted here and there with a muted green or pink, delicate watercolours of washed-out country scenes hung from the walls, an arts and crafts fireplace guarded an empty grate, beech furniture was placed in an expert formation around the room and nowhere was there any sign of either Lucius or Draco. This was definitely Narcissa’s room.
“So, what did the Death Eaters want?” Maeve asked, making Colly choke on her biscuit at the abrupt mention of Death Eaters.
“They came to tell me.” She almost faltered but regained her voice. “That Lucius has been punished by the Dark Lord for Draco’s failure.” She punctuated her speech with a haughty sniff. “And that Draco is now wanted by the Dark Lord, to receive his punishment.”
“And what of Severus?”
Narcissa looked thrown for a moment before realising that Maeve had other concerns beside that of her own errant husband and son. “Oh, Severus will be all right; he always is. He married you and got away with it, didn’t he? Somehow he will make Voldemort believe that he killed Dumbledore in order to see the deed done because Draco had failed. He’ll twist it so that he looks the best he possibly can.”
“I hardly think you are being fair, do you?” Maeve snapped back, stung by the dismissal of Severus in such an easy manner.
“FAIR! There is nothing fair in life, you feeble-minded woman. I haven’t know a fair day since I was born.”
Narcissa’s frenzy of bitterness was an unpredictable fire that was starting to fan out of control. With this in mind, Maeve didn’t think it was the time to give Narcissa a lecture on the life and its capricious nature, though she knew she would probably beat Narcissa on the lack-of-fairness scale. But it didn’t stop her venting her anger over Narcissa’s ungrateful attitude towards Severus.
“Severus took an Unbreakable Vow for you and that brat of yours,” Maeve hissed. “Or had you conveniently forgotten that? He stepped in and did something he hated to do for the sake of that glory-grubbing son of yours. I didn’t see Lucius helping him. Has Lucius ever helped him?”
“Of course Lucius helped him! He gave him good breeding, an impressive home, the best things that money could buy. Lucius has given Draco everything a father possibly could.” Narcissa’s peaked face was now tinged with the blush of anger, or was it shame?
“Except, it would appear, love and a good moral grounding. Or were you too busy molly-coddling him to notice that Lucius thought of his son as another trapping of a successful life rather than a human being? I saw what happened when Severus killed Dumbledore. I saw the fear in Draco’s eyes, the lack of conviction in what he was supposed to be doing. I saw your son fail at being his father and you know what, Narcissa? I was so pleased for him. It was probably the bravest thing he has ever done, falling short of imitating his father.”
“Have you quite finished?” Narcissa spat.
“No, actually, I haven’t finished. Draco is an ill-mannered little toad. He surrounds himself with fawning idiots too scared of the Malfoy name to stand up to him. He pretends to be a better wizard than he actually is, because in reality he is barely passable with a wand. He has no moral fibre, no compassion or care for others and I believe that is all caused by you and your husband making him believe he is better than he really is. And what’s even worse is that you dragged my husband into your seedy little schemes and made my life difficult in doing so.”
“Severus didn’t need enticing into it,” Narcissa said, sitting ramrod straight on her seat with a threatening expression on her face. “Severus has always been there to help me, and Draco.”
“Why?” Maeve asked. “What was it that Severus felt he had to protect?”
“He owed my father a favour. I don’t know what it was but there was something there, something binding. Oh, not as binding as an Unbreakable Vow,” she said, as she saw Maeve’s look of alarm. “Some gentleman’s agreement made when Severus was much younger. You know what Severus is like for rules and those in a greater position than himself. He bows to it, makes sure he obeys. Well, he obeyed this gentleman’s agreement all these years. That and the fact that we were lovers, of course.”
Colly gave a startled squeal and shook her head vigorously, the old wood of the chair shifting fretfully beneath the house-elf’s excitement.
“Were you?” Maeve asked, monstrous jealousy seeping up through her heart and twisting in her throat. “Well, I suppose we all have our weaknesses. Severus could hardly be faulted for finding you attractive. Still, he didn’t think to marry you, did he?” Her lips became thin clamps of self-control as she bit back words of anger.
“He couldn’t. I was already married at the time. Lucius was away a lot. It was inevitable. We had always shared a connection, Severus and I.” Narcissa was lofty in her attitude, waving a commanding hand into the air to chase away Severus’ fidelity to his wife.
Colly was now looking frantic and shaking her head even more fiercely in Narcissa’s direction.
“Mistress, really -”
“Shut up, Colly!” Narcissa snapped, her earlier grief replaced by something else, some fight that she had dragged up from the depths of her past. “Severus would have married me if he had had the courage to ask me before Lucius did. But Lucius was a catch, an even larger one than Severus, so what’s a girl supposed to do?”
“Marry the man you love; that’s what I did.” Maeve was livid, disgust at what Narcissa was saying making her shake inside, but she maintained her composure.
“Love!” Narcissa smirked. “Love is for fools and dreamers. Love doesn’t get you anywhere.Look at you and your sham of a marriage.”
“One day, Narcissa, I will be able to prove to you that you have no idea what you are talking about. I find it very difficult to believe you cuckolded Lucius. He may be morally reprehensible but he is fairly astute. How did you cover it up?”
Narcissa looked away, her face pinked again by her own uncontrollable blood. “Details do not matter. It’s sufficient that you know what your husband is capable of. He can fool Lucius, he could fool you.”
“Oh for Mercury’s sake, Narcissa, listen to yourself. You are carrying on like something from one of those melodramas on the Wizarding Wireless. I have better things to worry about now than whether Severus has been eyeing up the legs of some woman who works at The Leaky Cauldron! He’s not trying to fool me. When I see Severus again I will speak with him of this... this drivel. Until then I suggest you give me some helpful suggestions as to where he might have taken Draco.”
Colly slipped from her place on the walnut chair and scurried out of the room with the two women watching in silence. Neither of them moved for a few minutes, breathless from accusation and counter accusation. It was a returning Colly, with her high-pitched voice, that broke their reveries.
“Mistress’ son left this behind when he vanished; perhaps it means something. Perhaps mistress and mistress’ not-quite-friend would like to see it?”
Maeve snatched the creamy parchment out of the house-elf’s hand before Narcissa could stir herself and Colly stepped back in surprise at the ferocity of the movement. She scanned the crude map quickly but soon realised this would offer no clue to their whereabouts.
“This is Godric’s Hollow,” she said, handing it over to Narcissa. “It’s his plan of attack.”
“How do you know?” Narcissa said, flinging the parchment back at her after giving it a cursory glance, not wanting to see proof of the task Draco had been asked to perform.
“Because it says so. Look.” Maeve tapped impatiently at the top left hand-corner of the parchment where the words “Godric’s Hollow” were written in cramped schoolboy script. “This is a waste of time. I should have known you would know nothing.” She cast the map onto the sofa and allowed herself the luxury of feeling a small sense of defeat.
“I didn’t say I didn’t know anything,” Narcissa parried. “I just haven’t got around to telling you everything, yet.”
Maeve was growing increasingly impatient and restless with this round-the-houses conversation. She disliked the restrained atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, with its after-taste of evil, and most of all she wanted to get back to Grimmauld Place, to Remus and to a night of companionable wine consummation with her best friend.
“When Draco was a very small boy Lucius had little time for him, he didn’t understand the workings of a young child’s mind. Severus had a place he went to during the summer months, when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. I’m not sure exactly where it was but it was on the Northeast coast somewhere.” Narcissa’s fragile grip on her own normality was loosening by the second. Her hands moved to her throat in a plucking gesture as she touched her own cool skin for reassurance that there was still flesh on her tormented bones.
Maeve watched Narcissa unravel and carefully examined her many memories of the things Severus had told her about his childhood and tried to think of a place name, a fragment that would lead her somewhere. She rifled through the leaves of her mind but nothing presented itself and Narcissa continued her clutching and her conversation regardless of her rival’s contemplation.
“Severus took Draco with him sometimes, just to get the boy out from - from out of the house. I don’t know why, but the two seemed to get on.” A red mark had appeared at her throat from the contact with her searching fingers.
“Just to get him out from under your dainty feet, I bet,” Maeve bit back. But then a new and horrible thought suddenly occurred to her, seeping from the bowels of her discontentment. What if, what if Severus was Draco’s father? What if that was the reason for him indulging in the Unbreakable Vow? It was so unlike Severus to take an interest in a child, anyone’s child, without a reason that was extraordinary. But Draco looked so like Lucius that it couldn’t be possible, could it? She looked warily at Narcissa. To ask her would be to risk further pain and ridicule. This was another doubt that would have to be wrapped in newspaper and placed in a box until the time was right to ask the one person that would surely tell her the truth.
“Draco was a demanding child,” Narcissa said, trying to excuse her lack of mothering. “I love him dearly but he can be very tiresome. Severus could control him, interest him. Anyway, that’s the only place I can think of. Lucius never knew where they headed off to, and even I only had the scantest notion. I don’t suppose you would know. Why would you when you know so little else?” She was happy to slight Maeve, would have been even happier had she known of Maeve’s doubts over Draco’s paternity.
“Can I see Draco’s room?” Maeve asked, ignoring the barb.
“Why would you want to see Draco’s room?” she replied in a petulant voice.
“Because there maybe something that would give a hint.” She tried to sound confident but she knew she was clutching at a flimsy hope. Colly was pleased with this idea though because she immediately bounced up and down a few times with a good deal of vigorous head nodding.
“Colly,” Maeve ventured. “Do you know anything about Draco? About where he went?”
Colly looked uncomfortable, her sharp, saucer eyes darting from Maeve to Narcissa. “Master Draco forbade me to say. But Master Draco is in trouble, and though Master Draco is terribly rude to Colly, Colly does not bear grudges. Colly can’t say but Colly knows.” She once again scuttled from the room and Maeve hurried to follow her, leaving Narcissa alone with her qualms.
The staircase was formidable, a huge trunk of wood and marble stretching from the ground floor to the first in a shimmy of style. Maeve took the marble runners two at a time as the elf set a dashing pace. Colly turned right at the top and hurried down a long corridor that stretched away into the impressive distance. As Colly came to a halt outside a large black door she sank into herself a little, struggling with her loyalty to the family and the betrayal of a secret. Draco had always been rude to her, but never cruel like Lucius. He had never beaten her or sent her out alone into the dark night when she displeased him. Colly remembered the one occasion when she had been shown true kindness, not the condescending contact that her mistress tolerated, but real kindness. It had been a wild night, bold winds crashing against the house, snatching at the trees with reckless violence. A foul mist had descended into the darkness and Colly had been sent out to collect the storm-charged root of the Salvati that grew in the herb garden. Draco had needed it for something in the Potions kit that Lucius had bought him for Christmas that year.
She’d struggled against the wind, clutching her tablecloth as if her life depended on it, and battled with the large, iron gate that signalled the entrance to the walled herb garden. As she had undone the latch the gate had forced itself forward, caught by the buffeting of the wind. She had crashed against the hedge, the bars crushing her tiny form into the thorns of the bramble. Her cries of pain and fear had gone unheard, until the six-year-old Draco had grown tired of waiting and slipped out into the night to find her. He had discovered her plight and pulled her from the thorns, speaking softly and gently in the way that young boys sometime have. And then he had called for his father to help, and the kindness had been cruelly cast into the shadows along with her feelings.
She flung open the bedroom door, memories of the kind Draco over-riding the memories of the more recent, angry one.
“Thank you, Colly,” Maeve said, as she stepped into the unusual tidiness of a teenage boy’s bedroom.
She had seen enough of Harry’s sleeping arrangements to know that boys generally kept their bedrooms in a state of perpetual disarray, driven by the need to surround themselves in the assorted debris of their lives. This room bore no resemblance to anything she had seen from Harry. Every surface was clear, every bookshelf ordered alphabetically, every piece of magical equipment tidy and polished. Maeve was astounded by it, and she also knew that finding something that Draco didn’t want anyone to see in this straight-jacketed organisation would be almost impossible.
She walked across to the bookshelf and pulled out a few volumes, nothing much interesting there, just some textbooks and a copy of Darkness Beckons; Find the Dark Wizard Within in Ten Simple Steps. Shaking them she was unsurprised to find nothing fluttered loose from the pages, no conveniently placed map of this unknown place in the north of England. She bypassed the Hand of Glory that sat, gnarled and obnoxious, on the desk and sniffed suspiciously at the plant that was flowering furiously on the windowsill. The room was as vapid as Severus’ office, nothing personal, no tokens of existence, just a few posters. Good grief, she thought with disgust, was that really a poster of the Dark Mark?
Shaking her head her gaze moved across to the bed, a masculine concoction of dark ebony and stiff sheets. And then she saw something sticking out from between the tightly tucked sheet and the mattress. Did people really still hide things under their mattresses, she wondered with wry amusement as she moved to reach the object.
Her fingers worked at the thin gilded wood as Colly bounced again, making Maeve wonder if Colly had tweaked the item a little to allow her to see it. It was a small gilt frame that contained a photograph. A young, smiling Draco was standing on a cliff top, two huge, pale-ivory bones arching in to the air above him, his blond hair ruffled by an incoming breeze. Behind him summer-soft clouds scudded by, the sun a rich red as it rose from its sleep. They must have been there early in the morning looking at the way the sun bounced from the underside of the clouds. Below Draco she could see the short sweep of a beach that gave way to a tight cluster of houses. On the opposite headland stood the weathered stone of a ruined building looking out across the bay back at the camera, its jagged teeth of stone defiant against time and the harsh salt that came in off the North Sea. Its topmost point was a sharp arch that was an echo of the two bones that stood proud above Draco’s head and she knew, knew without ever having been there, where this place was. Recognised the arch as the great ribs of a whale, understood why Severus would be drawn to such a place, a place of myth and darkness, a place of great thought, a place where he would not look out of place, even in his dark robes. And she knew where she had to go.
Maeve placed the picture carefully back under the mattress so that nothing could be seen, charming the photograph into blankness as she did so. If anyone else searched for it, they would see just a blurred image that would not give up its secret easily.
“Is that the place, Colly?” she asked in a low voice. Colly nodded her head and only just stopped herself speaking. Master Draco would be very angry with her if he knew she had given away his secrets, but as long as she had not opened her mouth and spoken the words he could not prove that she was the one who had allowed another person to have a glimpse of his private world. “Thank you,” Maeve said gratefully. “Thank you so much.”
Colly nodded, wringing together careworn hands as Maeve prepared to depart. The house-elf bobbed along behind her as she left the room, the occasional gulp of something unsaid trying to escape her mouth. Maeve was so intent on getting out of the house that she didn’t notice Colly’s sudden distress. As she reached the day room she popped her head around the door and found Narcissa exactly where she had been left, staring into the black fireless chimney.
“Have to go,” she said. “I forgot I had an appointment back in London.”
Narcissa raised a weary head. “You didn’t forget. You’ve found what you were looking for, or haven’t found it. Either way you have no further use for me or my house and so you’re leaving.”
“Erm.” Maeve hesitated for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, you’re right. So I’ll be off. Hope I don’t see you again quite so soon.” And she withdrew her head from the room and headed for the door. It was the gentle tug on her skirt that halted her in the act of escape. She peered down and saw Colly’s tear-stained eyes looking up at her.
“What is it?” she asked, her tone more gentle than that she had used with Narcissa.
“Please, Miss, I don’t know your name or anything; Miss never introduced herself. But Colly is frightened, Miss. The mistress is not a strong woman and those men are very bad. Mistress thinks she will be safe and that she only has her husband and Master Draco to worry about but Colly knows differently. Colly has spoken with another house-elf who works for another of Master Lucius’ friends. Mistress is in great danger and they will come back for her. Mistress needs help and Colly can’t do it on her own.”
Maeve’s conscience was tugged at but only by the genuine worry of the house-elf, not by Narcissa’s plight. As far as she was concerned if you played with the Dark side you could only expect darkness in return. But her new knowledge gave her a benevolent feeling of hope and made her more indulgent than she otherwise might have been.
“I don’t know what you want me to do, Colly,” she said. “It’s not as if I can spirit Narcissa away into hiding.”
Colly’s drying eyes widened and she nodded her head tentatively.
“But Miss could do that. Miss is obviously a very clever witch and would know of somewhere that the bad men couldn’t find the mistress. Please, Miss. Your husband would be very happy if you did this, very happy indeed. He is a fine man, your husband, not like the others. He never had a bad word to say to Colly and always remembered his manners.”
Maeve’s right eyebrow shot up so far it met her hairline. She didn’t know what surprised her the most, the fact that Colly knew Severus or the fact that Severus had deployed the unexpected use of manners towards a house-elf.
“You know Severus?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And when did you last see him, Colly?”
“Oh, not long ago,let Colly think.”
Maeve’s heart once again sustained another bruise. If Severus had been here recently it would fuel Narcissa’s claims to a hold on his affection. Why else would he be visiting Malfoy Manor when there was no Lucius here?
“Six years,” she said finally. “It was Master Draco’s birthday, June 5th, and he came for the celebrations.”
Maeve chastised herself for not remembering that house-elves' grasp on time was slightly different to humans. The thought that Severus had not been here for all that time filled her with some hope and made her forget about the neat bedroom at Spinner’s End, if only temporarily. She grappled with the dilemma over what to do with Narcissa as the house-elf continued to gaze at her hopefully.
“I don’t know, ” she muttered. “It’s not easy. I have nowhere that is completely secret.”
Colly continued to stare at her, offering no escape or easy option. Maeve didn’t even know if Narcissa would agree to leave Malfoy Manor with Draco and Lucius both in trouble. She couldn’t take her to Carrowdore Cottage” the Ministry were aware of its whereabouts so chances were that Voldemort would too. Spinner’s End was not an option, Abbeylara was ground into dust and, again, Voldemort knew about that place. Darkacre was known and Hogwarts couldn’t be considered. Maeve realised she had a very short list people that she could call on in an emergency who knew of suitable accommodation. The only person who would be willing and able to help her was Remus, but it wasn’t really helping her, it was helping Narcissa, and she didn’t think even Remus would stoop that low given Draco’s recent actions.
What did you do with the wife of a disgraced Death Eater whose son had just tried to kill the most respected wizard in the wizarding world? And the answer came as she caught the portrait of Marcus Malfoy watching her, his leering, confident stare reminding her of another.
“I’ll do what I can,” Maeve promised the now quivering house-elf. “But I can’t promise miracles.”
Colly nodded enthusiastically. “Any help would be appreciated, Miss, even though mistress may not seem to be pleased about any help she gets but didn’t ask for.”
“And what will you do while she is gone?”
“Colly will wait here until the family returns. Colly can’t go anywhere else and doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Colly will keep the house nice until Mistress comes home.”
“And what if the bad men come back?”
“They will not find Colly. Colly has lived here longer and knows more hiding places than even Master Draco. Colly knows that even Dark wizards cannot find a house-elf who wants to remain hidden. But mistress, mistress is too big and too - too talkative to hide where Colly would hide.”
Maeve nodded and reached down to pat the poor creature on the shoulder. Colly began to cry again and dabbed at her eyes with the tablecloth.
Narcissa was still sitting there, looking for all the world like a martyred swan, when Maeve re-entered the room. Crossing to the tea tray Maeve pointed her wand at the delicately folded, now-empty biscuit wrapper and said “Portus”. Narcissa inclined her head towards the light as the wrapper rose into the air before falling gently back down, the Charm complete.
“What are you doing?” she asked abruptly. “I though you were leaving the way you came.”
“That won’t be possible,” Maeve said, leaning across and touching Narcissa’s shoulder. “Because this time, you’re coming with me.”
And as her fingers made contact with the soft silk of Narcissa’s robes she reached for the wrapper and felt the uncomfortable tug as they were transported away from the rotten core of Malfoy Manor towards a slightly more welcoming, if equally dangerous, destination.
Rathgael was unsurprisingly deserted when they arrived. It was never the busiest place, only a few farmers trundling between their fields on ancient tractors, but the rain had forced them away from the harvest and towards more domestic matters. As the two women dropped into the sheltered coppice they were already arguing, one trying to calm the other. Moving away from the protection of the trees, the rain quickly seeped into their clothes and neither of them took the time out from quarrelling to cast an Impervius Charm.
“I didn’t want to leave! I never asked for your help, nor do I want it.” Narcissa whipped her eyes around the depressing canvas that stretched out on every side of her. “Where is this miserable place anyway? It looks like the end of civilisation.”
“This is my home,” Maeve snapped.
“Well that explains a great deal.” She gave a little snort of contempt and swiped her heavy, sopping hair from her face. “Only you could live in a place this wet.”
“And only you could live in a place that was that cold and evil-smelling.” Maeve hated the way that Narcissa could push her into a sharp reply, but she was more than equal to the goading. “This is a temporary stop until I find you somewhere safer.”
“I don’t need a personal guardian, especially not one with your kind of dress-sense, anyway. I’d like to go home and you have managed to drag me out without my wand. So if you would please create a Portkey, I can get out of this swamp.”
“Shut up, Narcissa, and follow me. You’re not going home. I happen to believe your house-elf and I think you are in danger if you stay at Malfoy Manor. Your best course of action would be to do what you have always done and let others make your decisions for you. Weakness is, fortunately, not one of my over-riding traits.”
Narcissa’s hand was itching to reach out and strike what she saw to be smugness from Maeve’s face but she stopped herself. It was too damp and she was too miserable and worried to start an un-ladylike fight in the middle of nowhere. She would bide her time and find the appropriate moment to wipe that satisfaction from Severus’ wife’s smile. Now was not it.
“Where am I following you to?” she asked, narrowly avoiding a particularly large and soggy cowpat.
“Carrowdore, my cottage. Mine and Severus’ cottage.” Maeve couldn’t help giving her a little reminder.
Narcissa gritted her teeth against the intended rub. “And is this twee little building far?”
“Ten minutes, but I could take you the scenic route if you carry on twittering.”
“There’s a scenic route out here? You do surprise me.”
Maeve’s wand twitched and Narcissa found herself slipping on the sodden grass, her robes rising up as she fell down onto the welcoming Irish grass.
“I know. I surprise myself sometimes.” Maeve gave a small smirk of satisfaction and carried on walking through the mizzle. Somehow the rain was welcome, a reminder that normality was everywhere and that nature could overpower most things. She reached the wooden gate that led to Rathgael Lane, drawing back the bolt and tugging it open. From behind her she could hear a squeal followed by hurried footsteps slapping against the waterlogged ground. Maeve turned to see an inquisitive cow wandering up the field in the direction of Narcissa, who had recovered from her fall and was now picking up her skirts and running as fast as she dared in the wetness to reach the security of the gate.
She reached safety and gasped her relief, leaning on the now closed gate and panting slightly.
“Narcissa, how can you live in a village and be scared of a cow?” Maeve could not deny that she was enjoying this.
“We don’t have cows!” She looked scandalised by the very idea. “We aren’t farmers.” Narcissa managed to make farmers sound like the most undesirable group of people in existence.
“And what’s wrong with farmers?” the harsh voice came out of the rain and both women turned to see a wintry-faced, rugged man staring at them.
“Oh, erm, well, nothing.” Narcissa looked to Maeve for support and failed to find any. “It’s just that my husband is, well, he’s not a farmer.”
“No, he’s a criminal,” Maeve said, finding the situation quite amusing. She knew the farmer; he had a large flock of sheep that he grazed up the mountain and had occasionally supplied her with milk and some eggs from his chickens. Coupled with the cows in this field he made a modest living from his farm. “You’ll have to excuse my companion, she’s not used to normal people.”
Narcissa spluttered something unintelligible and the farmer looked her up and down, appreciative of her slim figure beneath the swim of soaking silk. Narcissa shivered at his leer and began to back away towards the freedom of the lane. Maeve let her walk so far downhill before telling her she was going the wrong way.
“Is she all there?” the farmer asked. “Only, she doesn’t look quite right in the head, so she doesn’t. I’d be after taking her to the doctor, myself like.”
“She is a little bit simple, but we try and do what we can,” Maeve said, her face a picture of saintly self-sacrifice. This information elicited a sympathetic nod from the burly Irishman.
“Aye, we’d a bull like that. Finest in the herd he was until he went a bit quare in the head. We had to shoot him he turned so bad.” He looked towards Narcissa as if trying to decide whether she was ready to be put out of her misery just yet.
“Well,” Maeve said, slapping her arms against her drenched sides in a brisk, must-be-going movement. “Better get her home before she does herself some damage. Be seeing you around.”
“Aye, you will that lass. I’ll drop some milk by for ye later if you’ve a use for it like? And watch that stream; this rain has it running like the River Liffey.”
“That would be lovely, Mr. O’Grady. Thank you.” She grabbed Narcissa’s arms and steered her up the lane towards the dry comforts of the cottage, while Narcissa meekly allowed her to do it, fear of strange men wandering the countryside making her suddenly pliant. As they passed the fast flowing stream, Maeve only barely resisted the temptation to push Narcissa into the grey waters.
As soon as Maeve decided the cottage wasn’t being watched she ushered Narcissa in out of the rain and told her to wait in the kitchen so that she could drip onto the stone floor. Bran was perched in the porch at the rear of the house, slumbering out of the rain, and she opened the back door to wake him. Quickly scribbling a note she whispered its destination in his ear. With a soft hoot of pleasure at having his mistress back the owl rose into the rain and disappeared from view.
“I have some spare clothes,” Maeve said, walking past Narcissa and heading for the stairs. “You may borrow something if you wish, or you may opt to die of hypothermia rather than wear something of mine. The choice is yours.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but went to her room and changed swiftly, aware that when the owl reached its destination she would probably have a visitor very soon. She sorted out her hair with a quick drying spell before returning to the ground floor, the scent of Severus still in her nostrils from the bedroom.
Narcissa was drip-drying onto the sitting room carpet, her eyes fixed on the mantlepiece and the photograph that stood there, guarding the cottage in its owner’s absence.
“Its my favourite,” Maeve said, sitting down and watching the hurt on Narcissa’s face. “He looks quite handsome, doesn’t he, and happy, Narcissa. Severus looks happy because he was happy.”
The older witch wheeled away and walked towards the door with something other than rain on her cheeks. The look of bitter regret and pain on Narcissa’s face made Maeve slightly ashamed of her catty behaviour; just because Narcissa indulged her cruel side was no reason for Maeve to follow suit. She took comfort for the fact that she was going out of her way to try and save Narcissa’s flawless skin. She had got up again and was looking into Severus’ painfully smiling face when she heard the front door open and a cheerful voice call, “Only me. Nice weather for the old feathered pond-skimmers, isn’t it?”
She quickly replaced the photograph and turned to see the ever-smiling face of Roderick and watched as he first winked at her and then glanced to her right, and the photograph that was on the mantlepiece.
“Oh, how sweet of you, my love, a photograph of me on your mantlepiece. I really didn’t know you cared so much.” He swaggered across and planted a firm kiss on her cheeks, ignoring her look of confusion. “And to what do I owe this summons? You don’t look very distressed. A little soggy in places, perhaps.” He lifted a lock of damp hair that her hurriedly applied Charm has missed. “Been out for a walk?”
“After a fashion,” she said, trying not to grin at his radiant smile. “I have something I need you to protect.”
“Well, I’m your man. I protected you for long enough.”
“That’s debatable,” she argued, remembering some of Roderick’s lapses from the previous year. “I don’t need you to protect her, I just need you -”
“Her?” Roderick interrupted immediately. “A lady? You want to entrust a woman to my care? How delightful!”
“I just need you to find her a safe house to stay in until some of this Lucius business blows over.” Maeve ignored the sudden delighted expression that he wore.
“Well, well. So the lovely Narcissa is in need of protection? It must be terribly galling for her to have to ask for it from you of all people.”
“I didn’t ask.” Narcissa stood in the doorway, her hair back to normal, her face free from either tears or pain, and a dry dress belonging to Maeve hanging from her frame. “I was brought here.”
She made no move to enter the room but stood against the wall waiting for an explanation as to why Roderick was now present. Her face had resumed its usual bored mask and Maeve saw the performance for what it was. Narcissa needed to regain some control, and the only thing she could control any longer was her own demeanour.
“So, what’s the full story, girls?” Roderick asked, sweeping his cloak to one side and sitting down. “I hear old Lucius has finally come a cropper with the Dark Lord. Has he killed him yet, do we know?”
“No,” Narcissa said coldly and Maeve was amazed at her restraint after such a callous comment, doubts rising over her decision to ask Roderick to help. But she didn’t have any choice; he was the only one with sufficiently dubious alliances who would handle any of the Malfoys after all that had happened. “We do not know what has happened to him. But I do know that the Dark Lord wants my son back, and I cannot give him back. Not that I would if I could, obviously.” The obviously felt a little tacked on to the end and had it been Lucius speaking Maeve wouldn’t have believed it.
“So, you need to get out of the way. If they can’t find you they can’t torture anything out of you, is that it? And how do you think I can help?” Roderick looked to Maeve for an answer, as she was the one who had summoned him.
“I know that you have safe houses. You’re an Auror and could get Narcissa somewhere to stay, no questions asked. And for some completely ridiculous reason I actually trust you to do it.” Maeve’s smile was austere and provoked a stab of honesty from Roderick.
“Well, I don’t know why, darling, after some of the things you’ve seen me do,” he drawled.
“I trust you,” she repeated, as if by repeating the sentiment it would somehow solidify the trust between them. “You may have done some selfish things but I like to believe that if I asked you to give me your word you would do it. I gave you my word not so very long ago, in a certain garden.”
He gave a you-got-me roll of his eyes and looked towards Narcissa.
“Will she give me any trouble?” he asked, speaking about her as if she were an insentient being, an animal that had to be transported somewhere.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Maeve said, frustration once again making her snappy. “She’s standing in front of you after all.”
“I see I am reduced to a piece of furniture to be disposed of at your convenience.” Narcissa’s words were soaked with bitterness over her predicament. She wanted so much to believe that her husband could protect her and he had abandoned her to a fate of the Dark Lord’s choosing. “I am not a foolish woman, despite what you think.” The words were aimed at Maeve. “I understand that perhaps it is too dangerous for me to remain where I could be found. I will give you no trouble.”
“Good,” Roderick said. “I suppose that seals it then. Nice of you to think of me at a time like this,” he said, smiling at Maeve again. “Thought you would have got one of your other friends on the job.”
“Most of my other friends would like to see Narcissa answering for the actions of her son.” She avoided Narcissa’s face as she spoke.
“I see, so, last chance rather than first choice. Story of my life.” His good humour still intact he gave Narcissa one of his friendly winks. “Come on then, old girl, let’s get going. Do you want to know where I’m taking her?”
Maeve shook her head. “The less I know the less I can tell. Just let me know somehow that she is safe.”
“Why?” Narcissa asked stiffly. “Why are you doing this for me? You must know I hate you.”
“Hate is a strong word, Narcissa, and it’s as overused as love. You no more hate me than Severus loves you, and we both know that. I’m doing it for Colly and for Severus and perhaps in some small way I’m doing it for me. I don’t have to give in to your standard of life. I’ve asked myself what Severus would do in this situation and I think he would do what I am doing.”
“How quaint,” Roderick muttered under his minted breath.
“And because I want you to be somewhere out of the way so you can’t hinder me. The last thing Severus needs is you blundering into a situation because you think you might find Draco.” Maeve added the practicality at the end just to shut Roderick up.
“I’m not as brainless as I may appear, you know.” Narcissa was back on the defensive. “I did very well at school.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did, my lovely. Come on, I have somewhere else I need to be.” He shooed her towards the door and once she was outside he turned back and gave Maeve a strange look.
“You had better take care. You are involving yourself more than you need to. I know he’s your husband and all that rot, but hiding some woman that has a vague connection to him is taking the wifely duty thing a bit far.”
“They were lovers. I suppose I’m doing what he would want,” she said quietly, expecting Roderick to say something consoling. What she hadn’t expected was the huge wave of laughter that broke from him.
“Lovers my delightful arse!” he stepped forward and gave her a hug that fitted her well. “There’s none of that between those two. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear! Cheerio, I’ll be in touch!”
And he was gone. The cottage was swaddled in silence again and before she had the chance to take a breath Bran returned, accompanied by a snowy owl that she recognised as Harry’s. Unfurling the parchment she gave Hedwig’s head a quick stroke before bending her head to read. He was leaving for Hogwarts that night, travelling back with Professor McGonagall and wanted to know if she wanted to go straight back to Hogwarts from wherever she was. If this were the case Remus would be willing to travel to collect her and provide an escort. Poor Remus, she thought, always running around escorting people hither and thither.
“I suppose the answer is yes,” she said to Hedwig, scribbling her reply on the parchment before re-attaching it. The owl gave a quick bow of its head to Bran before flying straight off again without so much as a sip of water.
Rain continued to run down the windows as she waited for Remus to arrive. The small stream that ran past the front of the cottage was swollen and she assumed they must have had quite a few downpours since she had left a few days ago. How like the weather to so accurately reflect the general frame of mind of things. The light shifted, darkened, and the mood of the mountain became sombre and reflective. Hedwig must have flown into the worst of the weather because it was a full four hours before Remus arrived, his hair messy and clothes dishevelled. It was then that she realised it was he who had hit turbulence.
“There are things happening,” he said, as he took off his cloak and hung it on the peg behind the door. “A theatre full of people in Sheffield sank into a giant pit that opened up beneath them. Sixteen dead. The Muggle government are blaming it on mine shafts from the old coal workings, but we know differently. As I Apparated up I could feel things in the air. It wasn’t as smooth as it normally is. I hope with everything I have that they haven’t found a way to disrupt our ability to Apparate, not that that would affect you too much,” he smiled at her. “And then there was a sandstorm on a beach in Bognor - a sandstorm of all things! Two pleasure boats lost at sea on the same day too; twenty-five people gone on the same small stretch of coastline.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dismayed by the ferocious attacks on the Muggles. “I’ve been so immersed in my own life for the past month that I haven’t had the time to notice the increasing trouble. It’s only been these last few days in London that I have realised the extent of Voldemort’s new campaign.”
“It will get worse,” he said ominously, wandering into the kitchen instead of the sitting room and automatically switching on the kettle. “Do you want a drink before we leave?”
“Coffee please. So why has Harry gone back to Hogwarts tonight?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He went back with Minerva. He’s been very secretive these past few days. Did you find anything out from him today?” Remus looked hopeful and Maeve hated not being able to tell him. All she wanted to do now was head for the coast to try and find Severus but she knew she had to get Hogwarts out of the way. Thinking about Horcruxes and Harry was not at the top of her list of things to do.
“Nothing important. He showed me the memory of Dumbledore’s death.” Her face didn’t so much as twitch as she thought back to the scene she had witnessed and she knew she was becoming immune to the horror that was surrounding her.
“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult, seeing Severus like that.”
“No,” she replied, surprising him. “Not really. It proved to me more than ever that he is innocent.”
Remus sighed and poured the steaming water into the two cups on the worktop. He was hoping that Harry would have managed to stop some of this Severus-is-innocent nonsense and yet - Remus didn’t like to think too hard about it. He didn’t want to accept the possibility there could be another explanation for what had happened that night. He wasn’t party to whatever it was that passed between Dumbledore and Severus down the years and so he couldn’t judge. But as he watched her soft lips touch the cup and her eyes flick up to catch him watching her he felt the first inklings that perhaps, just perhaps, she could be right in some way. Not that he would tell her this, of course. They had to get through the funeral, if she did decide to attend, and she needed to know that she mustn’t defend Severus. It would not be the time or the place.
“You’re wondering, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re wondering why I trust Severus so much when the evidence is so clear.”
“I know why you trust him, Maeve. He’s your husband. If you were my wife I would trust you and believe in you no matter what you did. To a certain degree I do that anyway, but I wonder if your loyalty in this instance is not flawed?”
“That’s your job, to wonder. My job is to believe.” She smiled enigmatically. “I’m not attending the funeral, you know. It wouldn’t be fair, no matter what you said about Dumbledore wanting it. I can attend without being there, and there will always be a tomb to visit when the crowds are gone. I’ll go back to Hogwarts and collect my things in the morning and then I have somewhere to go in the afternoon.”
“Where?” he asked, growing tired of being on the periphery of people’s plans.
“I need to find something, Remus. Don’t ask me what.”
He saw the sadness in her eyes, the will to tell him and the fear of doing so. Remus felt caught between loyalty to the Order and to his friend and he hated it.
“Let me come with you,” he said. “Whatever it is, let me come with you. I can’t stand having you running around any longer, unprotected and in danger.”
She shook her head. “You can’t, Remus. It would compromise you too much. You would wish to do what the Ministry wanted, not what is right.”
He banged his cup down, tea slopping over the edge and making a copper stain on the marble. “Since when have I been a Ministry man!” he shouted, his voice rose in a way that Maeve had never heard before. “When did you ever know me bow to Ministry pressure in ANY WAY?”
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Maeve began; upset at his anger and sorry that she had provoked it. “Perhaps I didn’t mean Ministry, perhaps I meant Harry. You will do what is right for Harry.”
“I will do what is right!” he lashed back. “I will do what is right under the circumstances. That is all I have ever tried to do. I did it for Dumbledore, I’ve done it for you. Why should that change?”
“Because I’m going to find Severus,” she explained unsteadily. “Because you will not allow Severus to go free and I can’t hand him over to the authorities. I can’t take the risk that Severus will go to Azkaban.”
“You think I will allow someone to go to Azkaban who doesn’t deserve it?”
“You’ve said yourself that Severus is guilty. Why wouldn’t you send him there? I have to do this alone, Remus. I have to find him, and I know where to look. I can’t risk it. Please don’t be angry with me. Please understand.”
Remus couldn’t hide the feeling of hurt that made his face shrink back from her. He had thought she was the one person who would have faith in him to do what was right, to not be swayed by false opinion and hearsay. And here she was refusing his help, refusing everything in order to protect her husband.
“I’m coming with you,” he said in a firm voice. “You will not go alone. I promise you that I will do nothing to harm Severus’ chances with the Ministry. I will do nothing to apprehend him. I just want to know that you are safe. I’m giving you my word, Maeve, but you have to let someone help you.”
She watched him, watched the gentle brown eyes take on a fierce light she had not seen before and felt shame that she had pushed him away. She had been affected by his manner when he had come to break the news of Dumbledore’s death, had been prejudiced by the two Aurors’ presence that day. In her mind Remus had become the Ministry as far as Severus was concerned and that had been wrong of her. Could she possibly take him with her? The thought filled her with pleasure, that she wouldn’t have to make the trip alone, but it filled her with foreboding over what Severus would say when he found out.
Fortunately the decision was made for her as a light flashed towards the large kitchen window, made bright by the dim candlelight that illuminated the room. As they both turned towards the disturbance in the darkening twilight they could see clearly the outline of a fox, glimmering ghostly and looking straight at Maeve.
“Well, that’s that,” she said as the form faded into the night. “We’d better get going. Severus wouldn’t have sent his Patronus if he didn’t feel the time was right for me to look for him.”
“I’ll get my cloak,” Remus said, sealing himself to her with a decisive air that left no room for protestation.