Chapter Seven.
Grave Secrets.
“Master?”
The word was weak, a submissive call that echoed through the halls of the subterranean world that Voldemort had reluctantly returned to.
“What is it?” The reply came back clear and hard, a hammer striking an anvil in the bowels of the earth.
Pettigrew shuffled his way to the central chamber of the mass of tunnels that were empty of all life apart from Voldemort and his reptilian companion. He had just heard back from Mulcahy, the Death Eater that had been sent to the place where they believed Snape’s wife to be and he knew he had to tell Voldemort what he’d learned about the woman and her strange way of getting around. Much as Pettigrew would have liked to see others humiliated, he knew he would not be forgiven for keeping this information from his master.
“I need to speak with you about the woman, master.”
Voldemort stood by the intricate carvings that adorned one wall of the whitewashed cave and glared at Pettigrew with undisguised distaste. He felt revulsion both for the simpering man that grovelled around, trying to eke out some self-worth by bringing him scraps of information, and for the woman he knew he referred to.
“Will it bring me the boy?” Voldemort hissed, as Nagini slowly uncoiled beneath the large, crudely made table that dominated this corner of the cavern.
“Not directly,” Pettigrew spluttered. “Not immediately, at any rate, but it might help explain why Mulcahy and Tompkins lost sight of the woman.”
“She has learned to Apparate? If this is the case we shall not have too much trouble disturbing her movements.” Voldemort felt Nagini move to his side, felt the loathing that the snake contained within its scaly skin for these detestable creatures that tried so hard to raise themselves to impossible heights in his eyes.
“No, she has not learned to Apparate, master. I don’t quite know what she does but she disappears into the air slowly.”
The tall man looked at Pettigrew closely, trying to detect any signs of duplicity in the man’s eyes. “What do you mean she disappears slowly?”
Pettigrew seemed to bow even lower, excited at the prospect of being able to deliver something to Voldemort that he did not already know. He scratched at his face in agitation as he formed his words carefully.
“It’s quite a strange thing, master. She seems to dissolve into the air. Her body glows brightly and turns into the finest fragments that hover like…like… a thousand tiny…erm… bees and then they move upwards, just like a swarm of…glowing, no… glittering insects and then…”
“Spare me the poetic!” Voldemort snapped in impatience. “So, she has had another visit from her father then? He has been teaching her new tricks. Well, fortunately I am expecting a visit from her husband later. Perhaps then we will find out exactly what she has learned.”
“You think Snape is still trustworthy?” Pettigrew asked, his mind hopeful of a negative answer.
“I will see. Certainly the killing of the old man indicates he was not working for him. My question is, is he working for me?”
“He married her, master, he betrayed you with that woman.”
“Don’t tire me with your ridiculous babble. Snape has always had a weakness for her. In an earlier time I would have been able to see her attractions myself. He has given me his explanation for giving in to temptation and I’ve accepted it. And of course it is useful to have a hand in the enemy’s camp.”
“But Snape will try and save her. Do you not think she divides his loyalties?”
Nagini raised a threatening head and hissed loudly at Pettigrew, who scurried back a few paces.
“Do you not believe that I know who is trustworthy and who is not? Are you suggesting that your mind is more acute than mine?” Voldemort’s hand found the head of the great serpent and his skin felt the cool relief of the room reflected in the snake’s scales.
The cowed man recognised the dangerous look that had settled itself onto his master’s face and he knew the time had come to make himself scarce. With Nagini rearing up at him he muttered a no, which he quickly followed with profuse apologies and the vague explanation that he had to go and see to some more Death Eaters who would be returning from Cornwall. They had been sent down to create some problems for the Muggles and he was expecting them back at any time.
Left alone once more, Voldemort began pacing the room. His crimson eyes brewed malice behind their opaque fog as he formulated his plans for the meeting with Snape. There would have to be an adequate explanation of what had happened to the boy, or Snape might not survive the encounter.
The students that filed into the Great Hall were not as boisterous as they usually were at the start of term. Horror upon horror had piled up over the summer and they all knew that the attacks would increase in both number and severity. The fact that Dumbledore was now gone seemed to just add to the rising calamity for a considerable section of the wizarding community.
They made their way to their tables in such a subdued manner that it made the teachers frown at the uphill struggle they faced motivating these young minds. It was especially worrying for Professor McGonagall, for whom today had already been extremely difficult. It was bad enough that she had to address them at all but the situation was made worse by the notable absence of several pupils and staff. There was no Harry Potter or Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table, although they were still in the school they had opted to dine in their rooms, and the Patil twins were also absent along with the two Creeveys. The Slytherin table had been particularly badly hit, with many students not returning. The familiar trio of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere in evidence, understandably in Draco’s case, and Pansy Parkinson looked pale and grief-stricken.
The staff table also suffered, more so perhaps because of the fate of its most prominent absentee, Professor Dumbledore. The teachers that were present looked out across the choppy sea of uncertain students with sorrow at what had gone before and what may yet come. The only un-filled chair, apart from that of Aileen McKenzie, who was bringing in the First-Years, was that of the Potions professor and the headmistress frowned as she took in the unexpected gap.
The door to the Great Hall opened and a petite witch with unremarkable brown hair ushered in a much-reduced new intake of students. She led them quietly to the front of the hall, where they stood shivering in anticipation of what would happen next. Professor McGonagall had pared down the opening of the school to the bare minimum. There would be the Sorting, followed by her truncated speech and then the first meal of the year. The old witch didn’t have the heart for anything other than a business-like approach, not after the emotion-filled funeral of the morning.
She glanced to her left as she heard the little side door open. With relief she saw Maeve’s apologetic figure hurriedly walk to her chair, giving a nod of recognition to the other teachers. There were thin, puzzled tear-tracks on the new Potions Professor’s face that she had tried to hide but failed. Professor McGonagall turned her attention back to the First-Years and didn’t see the slack-jawed look of amazement on Maeve’s face as she saw the robed man who was sitting quite comfortably between Professors Trelawney and Flitwick.
The Sorting was quickly underway and before too long the young children had been allocated houses. As they made their way to their allotted tables there was none of the cheering happiness as in previous years. Hermione Granger, who was now Head Girl, was doing her best to keep her chin firmly in the air, attacking her new role with her customary conscientiousness. She prodded and ushered the younger ones into some sort of order, glancing occasionally at the place where her friends should be. Maeve hauled her mind back from its tailspin at seeing the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and admired Hermione’s fortitude, knowing how difficult it was to come back to a place alone and unsupported by your dearest friends.
“And so,” Professor McGonagall began as she climbed to her feet, “we begin a new year at Hogwarts. I think all that needs to be said about my much-respected predecessor was said at his departing this morning and I would not wish to repeat myself. So, straight on to school business.”
There was a murmur of discontent through the hall. The students who had not been present at the funeral were disgruntled that they did not get the chance to hear glowing words about the man that they had all respected.
Rufus Norton, one of the few remaining Slytherins, coughed loudly and received the undivided attention of the new headmistress.
“Yes, Mr Norton?”
All eyes turned to the usually unobtrusive student as he smiled politely.
“Some of us didn’t attend Professor Dumbledore’s funeral, Professor McGonagall. Perhaps a few words for us.”
Percy Weasley, who was once again clinging to the teachers’ table as if his continued presence would elevate him beyond his now defunct position, glared at Rufus in disgust. “I hardly think there would be enough words to make you really understand the greatness of the man who was the headmaster at this school,” Percy said stiffly.
“That will be enough, Mr Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said, her fingers clutching at her lectern as if it could give her more than just physical support. “Mr Norton, this has been a trying day for many of us. Please allow me to get through this evening with the minimum of fuss.”
Rufus nodded his head and gave Percy a glare that made the young man turn away in disgust.
“Now, as you can see there have been a few necessary changes to the staff this year. Professor McKenzie, who joins us from Ringing the Changes, the well-known transfiguration company that specialises in rejuvenating old furniture, will now take my own lessons. Indeed, I have a rather splendid desk that was once a ship’s mast, which Professor McKenzie produced for me.” She almost drifted from her train of thought, finding the discussion of furniture far less taxing than her current topic.
The small, mouse-faced woman that was Aileen McKenzie waved cheerfully to the children and there was a small wave of murmured acknowledgement from the assembled students.
Professor McGonagall sighed, as if her next words would not be what anyone wanted to hear, least of all the woman sitting along to her left.
“Of the other two new appointments one professor will already be familiar to you as your old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. This year Professor” – there was the slightest hesitation as she almost stumbled over the name – “Snape, formerly Professor O’Malley, will now be conducting your Potions lessons as she feels unable to return to her old post for her own reasons.”
Maeve gave the weakest of smiles to her old students and watched as the new ones goggled at her for a few moments. Everyone knew who she was, even the eleven-year-old newcomers who had seen her face in The Daily Prophet over the past week.
“And finally, your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year will be Professor Rampton. Professor Rampton comes to us direct from the Ministry where he has been an Auror for the past few years. We asked the Ministry for their help in fulfilling the position and they were kind enough to send us one of their men. I hope you make all three professors feel very welcome in their new positions. Now, the usual rules apply. There will be no Hogsmeade visits for the second year in succession. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students, particularly at this most dangerous of times. You will obey all instructions given to you by members of staff and you will report anything unusual. I think that is all I need say. Please enjoy the meal you are about to receive – yes, what is it, Mr Filch?” She turned her sharp eye to the caretaker’s squirming figure.
“About them new rules I gave you, about my office,” he prompted.
“There will be no need for those new rules, thank you,” she said, her voice snapping with strain. She turned back to the main hall and addressed the students once again. “Very well, what are you waiting for? Sit down and eat.” With a weary sigh of exasperation she sat down and waited for her food to appear, only vaguely aware that there were a lot of raised eyebrows and widened eyes being exchanged by her Potions professor and her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
The meal passed quickly, no one really in the mood to enjoy their food. As lacklustre spoons scraped the last few dishes, Professor McGonagall once again got to her feet and dismissed them with a stern instruction that they go straight to their dormitories. There was no argument from the students and the hall emptied rapidly, subdued by a jaded silence that extended all the way to the teachers’ table. No one spoke as they relieved themselves of the need to put on a brave face, each professor wrapped up in his own thoughts as he abandoned his place at the table.
Maeve purposefully hung back, impatient for an explanation from the dark-haired man who was fussing with his cloak. He tried, and failed, to ignore her because as he made to walk past the glowering woman he felt her hand firmly take his arm.
“What,” she hissed, “are you doing here?”
“Well, I do think you could be a little more pleased to see me, my darling!” he said jauntily. “Considering the favour I did you.”
“Did you know?” she asked. “When you took Narcissa did you know you would be coming here to teach?”
“I had an inkling.” He rested against the table, one leg casually crossed in front of the other, his arm supporting him. “But nothing was confirmed.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
He twinkled at her, charm radiating from every pore. “Should I have?”
“I suppose not, but even so…”
“Oh, cheer up, lovely. I’m here now so we make as well make the most of it. Fancy a walk down to Hogsmeade for a drink?”
“No, I do not fancy a walk to Hogsmeade for anything, let alone a drink, and if you wink at me again I will hex you. Why are you here?”
“Tsk, well really! I’ll have to find someone else to accompany me then. Sure you don’t want the honour?”
The hall was now completely empty and they were alone with just the tables and the floating candles for company, or so they thought. In the corner, just out of sight, was a small and shaking house-elf with a purpose. She hadn’t expected her quarry to be curtailed by this stranger though.
“Roderick, tell me what you are doing here, now.”
“You’re a clever girl. Work it out.”
She twitched her hand in the direction of her wand and he rolled his eyes in defeat.
“Ministry want you kept an eye on. That’s why my appointment wasn’t confirmed, because we didn’t know if you would take the position. I know the school, I know you and they want me out of the way for a bit. Natural choice, wasn’t I? And I’m pretty hot with the old Dark Arts too, of course.”
“Of course,” she repeated weakly. “And how is Narcissa?”
“As well as can be expected considering she is living well below her usual standard. She’s making her own cups of tea now, in mugs. She was scandalised when she realised that was how low she had sunk.”
This information produced a smile from Maeve, who would have given anything to see Narcissa drink from a mug.
“Well, if you aren’t going to accompany me I had better get going on my own, hadn’t I?” He stepped away from the table and ruffled her hair slightly in a gesture that made her grimace with annoyance. “See you later, my darling!”
As he strode from the Great Hall a patter of footsteps brought Maeve’s attention away from the exit and back into the room. As she looked down to find the source of the footsteps she found Colly’s furtive face looking back up at her.
“Forgive the intrusion, Miss, but Colly has a message from your very special friend. Your very special friend would like to see you.”
Maeve crouched to the floor very quickly and put her finger to her lips. The little servant could only be talking about one person and if anyone overheard them it could prove disastrous.
“Colly understands the need for secrecy,” the house-elf said, a hurt look creeping across her face. “Colly would not shout her news from the very top of Hogwarts tower.”
“I know, Colly, and I’m sorry, but you must be very quiet.”
Leaning towards the crouching witch, Colly whispered in her ear and Maeve stood up swiftly. Her mind battled over whether she should feel happy or worried and it failed to negotiate a satisfactory truce between the two.
“Thank you,” she said as she squeezed Colly’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of him. If I leave now I can make the meeting.”
The house-elf bowed low and with a crack was gone, leaving Maeve alone again in the Great Hall. She couldn’t go unaccompanied, of that she was sure; the danger would be too great. Given the location Severus had chosen for their meeting there was only one person she could take with her, only one person she trusted, and in some small way it would go to make up for what she had done when she abandoned him in Whitby. Clattering up the staircase she headed straight for Remus’ room and hoped he would be willing to accompany her.
“You know, this place doesn’t exactly have happy memories for me,” he said as he helped her in to the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. “I had envisaged a glass of Firewhiskey and an early night.”
“I’m sorry, but I thought you might get a little tetchy if I left you behind again.” Maeve pulled the strands of a spider’s web from her mouth and resolved to talk as little as possible on the journey through the insect-ridden gloom.
“Oh, very amusing,” he said, his voice muffled by the confined space. “And what is he going to say when he realises you have company?”
Maeve shielded her mouth with her hand before she spoke again. “He’ll have to live with the notion.”
Remus wasn’t convinced that it would be so straightforward but he continued along the familiar passageway until it opened out and he could see the first glimmer of light that indicated they had reached the Shrieking Shack. “Are you ready for this? He may get volatile. There’s something about this place that brings out the worst in Severus.”
“Just hurry up, Remus,” she urged, wanting to be out of the spidery darkness. Insects had never been her strong point and throughout her years at Abbeylara they had been one of the few reasons she would use magic. Far better to remove a spider from the bath with a quick spell than scoop up the scurrying arachnid.
The tunnel lifted upwards, towards the weak light, and they were assailed with the nasty odour of rotting wood and stale air. Remus climbed up through a small hole that led to the source of the faded light, momentarily blocking it out, and then turned to help Maeve up into the room that he knew so well. He frowned at the reminder of what had happened here during his school years and his mind reluctantly returned to the events of just a few years ago when he had finally learned that Sirius was not the traitor he had believed him to be.
Maeve hesitated, unsure of which direction to take, but a movement on the floorboards above them sent her straight up the stairs in a flurry of movement that took Remus by surprise.
By the time he had caught up with her she had flung herself into the arms of her husband and was wallowing in his embrace, suddenly oblivious to anything but the man whose cloak enfolded her. Remus hesitated in the doorway’s shadow, embarrassed to be witnessing something so private. It was Severus who broke the connection first, pushing her back and examining her face, as if expecting to see more signs of darkness there.
“So, there is once again a Professor Snape teaching Potions at Hogwarts. How very appropriate,” he said, his words sarcastic but tempered by his tone.
“I should have spoken with you about returning to Hogwarts properly. I wasn’t sure whether to take up another teaching position.” She toyed with his cloak gently, enjoying the feel of the well-made fabric between her fingers. “Potions seemed my only option, and Professor McGonagall was desperate.”
“I would imagine so, still, this will work to our advantage.”
At the reminder that they were here to deal with something other than their own longing to be together again, Maeve realised she needed to alert him to Remus’ presence.
“I did not come alone,” she said warily.
“Oh, tell me you didn’t.” He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and looked towards the door. “Come in, Lupin, and stop skulking in the shadows like the half-man you are.”
“Severus!” Maeve jerked her hands away from him. “Stop being so ridiculous.”
“Stop being so high-minded,” he snapped back. “I have so few pleasures in life, allow me this last one.”
“No, I won’t allow it. Apologise.”
Remus had crossed the threshold into the room and immediately tried to defuse the situation.
“There’s no need,” he insisted. “It’s a habit Severus has that can’t be broken. I have long since learned to overlook it.”
“Apologise!” Severus exclaimed, as if apologising were the lowest thing a wizard could ever stoop to. “To him?”
“Yes,” Maeve stood her ground between the two of them, Severus’ implacability vying with Remus’ inherent goodness. “Now, please.”
“No!” Severus was equally as insistent.
“Maeve, there’s really no need for this.”
“There is a need for it, Remus, and he will bloody well apologise.”
“Why do apologies mean so much to you?” Severus asked in bemusement. “You wanted me to apologise to Potter and now this… Nonsense.”
“Just do it or I will walk out of here and you can find the Horcrux on your own.” Her face was hot with indignation and she was moving back towards Remus, as if physically shielding him from Severus’ ire.
“Maeve,” Remus took her by the shoulders, making Severus bristle with indignation. “I do not need you to fight my battles. Severus is a pompous man; we all know that. If he chooses to use the crutch of name-calling to make him feel better then so be it. I do not need an apology, nor will I actively seek one. Now, let it be.”
Maeve looked at him from under affronted lashes and then turned on her heel and focussed her attention on her husband once more. “So,” she began, as if nothing had happened. “What do you have to tell me about this cup?”
Torn between being relieved that he no longer had to apologise and annoyed that Remus had come out of the exchange better, Severus pulled a parchment from his robes and handed it to her. “I spoke with the Dark Lord today. I gleaned a little more information that could help us locate the location of Hufflepuff’s cup.”
“You spoke…”
“Yes, it is no concern of yours what passed between us.” He rubbed at his arm and Maeve knew that whatever had passed between master and servant hadn’t been pleasant. “What’s important is that I know roughly where the cup can be found. The details are there.” He nodded to the parchment. “It’s possible, but inadvisable, that you could retrieve it alone. I think taking Potter with you is the best plan, considering he is so intent on fulfilling Dumbledore’s quest personally. He must not know that the information is coming from me; it could jeopardise the whole thing.”
“Where do you think it is?” she said, about to unroll the parchment. He placed a hand over the creamy paper and prevented her from opening it.
“Not here,” he said. “You will only be able to read it safe in my old office. Needless to say, I believe a journey through the trees will be necessary to retrieve it, a task in itself if the creatures that inhabit the forests hereabouts are anything to go by.”
“It’s in the…” He put a finger to her dry lips.
“You need to know when to keep your own counsel,” he advised. “Mouths are often the cause of seeped secrets. Take this back, use him” – he nodded towards Remus – “if you need to. But be wary of how much you involve others. It is not just moles that stumble around blindly in the dark; wizards can do the same amount of damage with their futile mound making.”
Maeve nodded, wondering if this would become their regular meeting place. Her eyes slid to the remains of a four-poster bed that stood on the corner. It was damaged but with a few simple charms and some clean linen it could be habitable. He smiled into her eyes, a lascivious smile that recognised her intent.
“It would be pleasant, but I fear not practicable. Now, go back to the castle and rest. Use Potter while he remains at Hogwarts. Use the Granger girl also. She may be intolerable but there is a brain in that head of hers that could be employed well if you chose to.”
“I’m well aware Hermione has a sharp mind,” Maeve retorted, remembering Hermione’s skilful way of drawing people into her S.P.E.W. net.
“It’s time for you to go,” Severus said. “Lupin, if you wouldn’t mind I’d like a moment alone with my wife.”
“I’ll wait downstairs,” Remus said softly, backing out of the room with reluctance.
Severus drew his fingers through her tangled hair, luxuriating in its familiarity. He wondered, as her life-brightened eyes looked up at him with naked longing, how many times they would part like this over the coming months, never knowing if each lingering kiss or guarded smile would be their last shared moment. Life, he reflected, was one long blizzard of irony. The many years they could have had together, basking in slowly passing time, and instead they had been given this helter-skelter of fear and uncertainty.
“I don’t need to tell you that I love you,” he said.
“You don’t, but it’s always nice to have the affirmation.”
“Very well, I love you. You know that I would take your place if I could, would risk my own life rather than yours.”
“You risk your own life enough as it is,” she reflected. “Severus?”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you still worked with Voldemort?”
He winced visibly. “It wasn’t expedient for me to do so,” he said. “It would have made you unhappy and made me feel ashamed.”
“Ashamed?”
“Yes, Maeve, ashamed. Ashamed that I had not been my own man all those years ago. Ashamed that I placed my self in a position of vulnerability were both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were concerned. Ashamed that I did not have the courage to follow you back to Ireland and bring you back, bring you back and marry you when we were young enough for it to make a difference to the past.”
“But you did marry me, and it has made a difference.” Her face shone into his, its light bringing comfort to his over-worked mind. “And it will make a difference, it has to.”
“Such trust in fate. Where do you get your certainty from?”
“From ourselves, ourselves alone. I should go.” It was Maeve who broke their closeness now, pulling away and wiping the sentimentality from her face. “I love you too.” She paused, trying to regain her composure. “How will I contact you?”
“For now, you can’t. There is nothing secure enough. I will send the house-elf if I need to speak with you.”
“I need to be able to contact you,” she insisted desperately. “I can’t bear being apart.” Her wedding ring closed around her finger, its carefully crafted gold tightening the bond.
“Maeve, we can’t always have what we want. I want to – well – it is of no consequence what I want, but you will have to get through this as best you can.”
She gave him a numb nod, blinkered by her love for him. Severus reached forward and ran a gentle hand down her neck, enjoying the smooth skin. He allowed his cool fingers to walk across her collarbone and traced the line of her breastbone into the centre of her chest, where his fingers connected with the necklace that had been the cause of so much pain. Curious, he touched it, felt the latent power within, and then he withdrew quickly, looking to her for a reaction. But Maeve was too wrapped up in her sorrow and he recognised it was time to leave.
“Go back with Lupin. If you are in danger, if you believe your life is threatened, then send me your Patronus, but only if you are in danger.”
“I understand,” she said in a too-quick voice. “I’m going. I can’t bear these partings.” With a swift brush of her lips to his she turned and was gone, leaving Severus alone and friendless in the ruins of the Shrieking Shack.
“What do you know about the Forbidden Forest?” Maeve asked Hermione as they walked through the grounds during the lunch break the following day.
“It’s forbidden,” Hermione said, and then immediately blushed as she realise how stupid she sounded. “And it’s home to several creatures that we know about and a lot more that we don’t. If you want to know about the forest you should ask Hagrid. It’s his domain.”
“I know, but Hagrid is rather – how shall I put it – indiscreet.”
“Why do you ask?” Hermione looked at Maeve, curiosity only just held in check.
“Has Harry spoken to you about what he and Dumbledore were doing over summer?”
Hermione immediately looked to the ground, memories of Harry’s pain over his recollections of summer fresh in her mind. “If you mean the Horcruxes, then yes, he has.”
“Good, because I think there is one in the forest.”
Hermione’s head shot back up and she looked at Maeve with renewed interest. “What makes you think that? They could be anywhere.”
“I think there is something in the forest, something that was important to Voldemort. Something that would make him use it as a place to store a part of his soul.”
Hermione shivered slightly in the early September chill. “Where are you getting this information from? It’s driving Harry mad that he can’t get at anything.”
Maeve faltered, although she had anticipated the source of her information would be called into question. “Hermione, are we agreed that the most important thing is to get to these Horcruxes no matter where the information comes from?”
Hermione looked as though she was being lured into a trap and didn’t immediately answer. Just talking about the Horcruxes with Maeve seemed to be somewhat of a betrayal of Harry and the efforts he was making to find the things that Dumbledore had been searching for,
“Hermione?” Maeve prompted. “We have to find them. Harry can’t do this alone and I think he is beginning to suspect it. If the information comes from you he will think nothing of it. He has always trusted your faith in books and research. A few hours spent in the library and a convincing-sounding theory will make it seem as if you have figured it out.”
“Harry’s not that stupid!”
“No, but you are that clever.”
Hermione was silent as they headed back towards the castle. She had an idea that Professor O’Malley was getting her clues from her husband. It had to be. Harry would be incensed if he thought that was the case – would he be so incensed that he would ignore good information?
“This is worse than I imagined it would be,” she said as they approached the main doors. “I knew there would be death and sorrow but I never imagined this division amongst friends. Harry can hardly bear to look at you because you have become Professor Snape.”
A look of intense frustration crossed Maeve’s face. She wished she could throw Harry’s head into a cauldron and haul it out freed from his biased notions. Harry had to accept some level of guilt in this.
“I know that Harry has difficulty… Hermione, will you help me help Harry find this Horcrux?”
The wind stilled as Hermione stopped and looked at the older witch. She wanted to trust her, wanted to hand over the responsibility for finding the Horcruxes to someone else. But the more Hermione thought about it the more she realised she couldn’t lie to Harry.
“Harry should know everything,” Hermione said stolidly. “He needs to be aware of where the information is coming from.”
“What? Like Remus knew the source of his Wolfsbane last year?” Maeve was growing angry at Hermione’s double standard when it came to honesty. She didn’t like having to fight to get her own way but was prepared to use whatever means necessary to get Hermione to comply with her.
“That was different!” Hermione said.
“Can lies and omission ever really be measured, Hermione? You and I both know that we use the truth to suit our own needs… altruistic though those needs may be.”
Hermione now found herself cursing Harry for cajoling her into making the potion that had almost caused Remus’ death. Had he not done that she would have had a stronger case to put before the badgering professor who was now watching her with shrewd eyes.
“You want me to lie to Harry,” Hermione said in a helpless voice.
“You lied to Remus.” Maeve’s riposte finally struck home and Hermione felt her walls of self-righteousness crumble.
“What do I need to tell Harry?” she asked, her capitulation sudden and complete.
“You need to tell him that you have found a connection with Tom Riddle and the forest. You need to mention the Temple of the Four Winds. Harry needs to be sufficiently interested to want to find this temple.”
“How can you be so sure that this information is correct?” Hermione was not to be easily swayed.
“Because it came from Voldemort himself,” Maeve said in a whisper. “I don’t deal in shaky information.”
“When did you become so hardened?” Hermione asked, surprised by the flinty look in Maeve’s eyes.
“When my husband was taken from me by circumstances he could not control.”
Hermione looked her in the face, not really understanding the weight of feeling behind Maeve’s words but wishing she could.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Maeve left her standing on the steps, her objective accomplished, and returned to Severus’ dungeon to prepare for her afternoon classes.
Hermione missed her afternoon lessons, pleading illness. If Professor Rampton was put out that the Head Girl chose his lesson to miss he didn’t seem to show it. Madam Pince had looked over the note from Professor Snape very carefully, double-checking the authorisation for the seventh-year to access the books. Hermione had assumed that life would be a lot easier as an advanced student, but Madam Pince still ruled her library with implacable ferocity that meant even the Head Girl needed explicit permission from a professor to enter the restricted session. Madam Pince was finally convinced by the note’s authenticity and pulled back the ropes, giving Hermione unlimited access to the books that loomed high on the shelves.
And so Hermione now found herself sat at a small desk with several books piled around her. Foul Forests and their Denizens kept sprouting root-like legs in an attempt to return to its shelf and Hermione found she had to pile all the other books on top of it to keep it on the table. She had spent an hour looking fruitlessly through A Study in Stone; Temples of the Wizarding World when she finally found something that could be of use.
Chapter fifteen was casually exploring the siting of ancient temples of recognition within sacred forests when the words ‘four winds’ leapt out at her. She bent her head low over the page and drank in the information.
“Have you any idea what time it is?” Ron growled as Hermione burst into the room he shared with Harry. He saw the book in her hand and groaned. “No exams, Hermione, no reason to study at all… so what are you doing with a book?”
“Where’s Harry?” she asked, ignoring Ron’s incredulity. “I need to speak to him.”
“Nothing I can’t pass on?” Ron’s face was hopeful. He had missed Hermione over the summer and had been looking forward to spending time with her back at school. The last thing on his mind had been Dumbledore getting himself killed and the ensuing chaos.
“Where is he?” she repeated, looking around the room as if the answer could be found behind the heavy curtains.
“He’s gone to speak to Maeve,” Ron said reluctantly. “They seem to have things to discuss.”
“Thanks.” Hermione made to leave the room and Ron almost stopped her, then he had an attack of severe doubt and allowed her to go.
Hermione had never been privy to the location of Severus’ private rooms so she headed for the dungeon where he had once taught, hoping that she would find Maeve there, and she was lucky. As she pushed open the door she found a red head and a black head bent low over a table, the smell of the last lesson of the day still heavy in the air.
They both looked up and Maeve gave her a conspiratorial smile as Hermione said a brief hello.
“Harry,” she began, looking at Maeve as if she could offer some direction. “Do you have a moment?”
Harry looked pale with defeat. He was aware that his period of grace at Hogwarts was running out and he had discovered nothing of use, nothing that could indicate the location of a Horcrux. Hermione’s bright aura was the last thing he needed, a reminder of success against his monumental failure.
Maeve watched expectantly as Hermione entered the room, noted the parchment of research tucked beneath her arm. In a voice that was so discreet it was almost staged, she announced her sudden need to do something in the stock cupboard, in Severus’ stock cupboard, and she left them alone.
Hermione watched her go, looking anxiously at the door that Maeve had retreated behind, wishing she wasn’t in this position of deception. But a vision of Remus swilling back her imperfect potion swam before her eyes and she knew this wasn’t nearly as bad as giving someone a potential poison.
“I found something in the library that might help,” she said, plonking the parchment down on the table. “It’s to do with the Forbidden Forest.”
Harry looked at her eagerly, his pride having long since given way to hope at finding something concrete in the natural stone of Hogwarts.
“I was reading a book for my ancient runes class when I saw this.” She handed him the parchment, on which was a faded photograph that she had enchanted from the book onto the parchment. If Madam Pince found out she had ‘borrowed’ an image from one of the precious books Hermione knew she may well be banned from ever returning to the library.
“What is it?” Harry asked, looking with puzzlement at the fading image of the temple that lay before him.
“It’s the Temple of the Four Winds,” Hermione explained. “And it is located somewhere within the Forbidden Forest. It was created by the founders and has been embellished over time. But it was designed to reflect the four elemental qualities of the people that founded Hogwarts. And I think that may be where you’ll find what you’ve been looking for.”
Harry pulled the parchment across to him and studied the classical white columns that formed the proud frontage to the marble building. It was tall and rectangular, topped with a triangular roof that sailed above the columns, an umbrella against the elements. Elegantly rolled capitals joined the columns to the band of carvings that skirted the roof, carvings that Harry couldn’t make out because of the graininess of the old photograph and the fading caused by removing it from its original home in the book. He quickly read the page, wondering why on earth Dumbledore hadn’t thought to look here. He voiced these concerns to Hermione who realised that there were gaps in her scant information that she couldn’t fill in.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t think it was all that important.”
“Or perhaps he couldn’t connect it to Voldemort?” Harry ventured. “Perhaps Voldemort knew about the place and used if for some of his seedier practices while he was at school.”
“But it’s in the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione pointed out. “He’d be breaking school rules, not to mention risking his life to go in there. What were they doing building a temple in such a risky place anyway?”
“Maybe the forest wasn’t always forbidden,” Harry mused. “We did forests once in History of Magic and they were often used as sacred places. Maybe the forest was once sacred and something happened over time to turn it into the place we know now.”
“Possibly,” Hermione said, amazed that Harry could remember anything from History of Magic because to her mind he had spent most of the lessons trying desperately not to nod off, and she was quick to tell him so.
“Well ordinarily it wouldn’t have stuck in my head, but it was the time I ran of to Diagon Alley and Florean Fortescue helped me with the essay. They should sack old Binns and have Florean teach his subject. We might actually have learned something then.”
Hermione gave a disapproving look and returned to their topic of discussion. “But that still doesn’t explain why Voldemort used it.”
“Well, the very fact that no one else would go there would be one reason. And there’s also the fact that the danger and the symbolism of the place would appeal to him. The four founders… He would love that.” Harry continued to look at the picture of the temple, trying to see something in the picture that would give him confirmation that they were on to something.
“We’d have to be pretty sure that this was the place that Voldemort hid the Horcrux. The danger in getting into the forest, let alone finding the place, would be huge,” Harry said, finally looking away from the book. “I think I’d have to do this alone. I couldn’t risk anyone else.”
“You would not be going in alone,” Maeve said from the store cupboard, making them both jump as they had forgotten she was there. “I would be going with you, Harry. And you might have a job keeping Ron out of it too.”
“And what do you think I would be doing?” Hermione demanded, angry at suddenly being dropped from the equation when she had done the hard work in the library. “If you think you’re doing this without me you’re very much mistaken.”
Maeve joined them at the table and looked at the temple for the first time. It was typical of many classical follies, highly decorative and potentially useless, but as she looked closer she realised that it wasn’t just a folly. Reaching across the table to turn the image to her, she smiled and knew that Severus’ information was not faulty. The parchment he had given her had been very vague about why Voldemort used this place but looking at the friezes that decorated the front wall of the building she knew why it was so attractive to him.
“That’s not just a temple,” Maeve said. “Do you see those friezes carved into the marble?” Her finger pointed to the gaps between the Doric columns. “They depict funeral games. In ancient Greece games would be held after someone of importance had died to celebrate their life. This is a mock Grecian temple but the presence of these things would indicate it is more than that.”
“Funeral games?” Harry asked, feeling sick as he thought back to the previous morning and the sombre atmosphere that had surrounded Dumbledore’s parting. “How could they have played games when someone had just died?”
“I’m sorry, Harry. I should have phrased it better. They weren’t games held for fun, they were a mark of respect.”
“Then this is a mausoleum,” Hermione chipped in. “Someone is buried there.”
“Exactly, and I think I know who looking at the serpent carvings at the foot of those pillars.” Maeve sighed heavily. “But none of this is much good to us when we don’t know just where in the forest it is. The trees cover such a vast area that we could spend a year searching and still not find it.”
“Well, that would be true, if I hadn’t found this too.” Hermione picked her bag up from the floor where she had dropped it when she came in and pulled out a book, a very small book that she had removed from the library without Madam Pince knowing. She had been amazed she had managed to get it out of the library without the book giving her away. Madam Pince employed myriad charms to protect the books from students and usually they would scream that they were being taken without permission. Perhaps this book realised it was needed. “I haven’t had the chance to even open it. Madam Pince was breathing down my neck and it was as much as I could manage to slip it in my bag. The silly old woman told me I had spent enough time in the restricted section and was about to throw me out.”
Maeve took the book from her. The gilt title read A Brief History of the Forest Surrounding Hogwarts Castle: Updated to Include Maps. As she flipped open the flyleaf she saw the book was dated 1565 and for the first time she realised how remarkably well preserved the books were within the Hogwarts library. After the Table of Contents and a brief introduction she found a double page diagram that made her smile at the simplicity of it all. There, in black and white etching, was a very early map of the forest. It confirmed Harry’s assumption that the forest had not always been quite so forbidding because there were a few pathways marked on it and no indication that there was anything to fear from the creatures that lived within its wooded walls. She wondered if the small pool still existed; according to the map it was not far from a clearing that contained what the map announced as ‘the greate and magickal oake tree’.
And then in the far corner, the corner that was the furthest away from the castle, she saw a small, roughly drawn picture of a building. It was much smaller than the one that stood there now, not much bigger than a single-roomed cottage, but beneath it, written in the same cramped script that had announced the presence of the oak, were the words ‘The Temple of the Foure Windes; a moste sacred and revered place’. Maeve couldn’t help but wonder when the newer Greek concoction had been built over what had been before and why it had been re-designed to so obviously be a mausoleum.
“Have you any idea,” Harry said over her shoulder, “how difficult it is going to be to get there? It’s as far away as it could be from the edge of the forest.”
Maeve was silent for a few minutes and then closed the book. “It’s only a great distance from the castle. However, it is on the edge of the forest, just not our edge. There’s a possibility we can go in the back way, so to speak.”
“But the forest comes out half way up the mountains,” Hermione said. “We’d have to be mountaineers to get in that way.”
“Not necessarily,” Maeve said. “We could just fly in and land. The terrain may be rough, but it won’t stop us getting there.”
Hermione didn’t like the idea of flying a broom up onto a mountain but Harry was unperturbed by it. “So we just step into the trees and it’s there,” he said. “It can’t be that easy.”
“No, Harry, it can’t be that easy. But at least if we do it this way the forest will be the least of our worries.
“When?” Hermione asked.
“As soon as we can,” Maeve answered, realising that her stay at Hogwarts could be shorter than she first thought. “I suggest we aim for sometime in the next few days.”
And she hoped that in the meantime Severus would contact her. If he had been helping Dumbledore cope with the aftermath of the last two Horcrux attempts, then he would need to help her if they were injured too. Although Merlin alone knew what Harry would do if he found Severus in the same place as he was. Still, Harry could hardly complain if he was saving their lives, could he?