Chapter Eight
The Temple of the Four Winds.
Maeve’s heart wasn’t in her teaching. She looked out at the assembled second-years and wondered what she hoped to achieve. The students were unhappily stirring cauldrons filled with what they hoped would be successful Swelling Potions and for the first time Maeve felt the futility of trying to maintain order when outside all was chaos.
Her resolve not to read The Daily Prophet had faltered that morning when she saw a picture of Severus on the front page as people still reported hopeful sightings of him. She had turned to the second page and looked in consternation at the images of destruction wreaked by Death Eaters at a large Muggle tourist attraction close to Truro, the county town of Cornwall. Their Prime Minister had made a public appearance in the area to try and calm the Muggles down but she could sense the beginnings of panic setting in, if the report was anything to go by. It was bad enough that the wizarding world was suffering from Voldemort’s acts of malice, but to have Muggles being killed in such numbers was only going to make matters worse. She wondered how long it would be before Muggles became aware of their presence once more.
And Severus hadn’t contacted her. Harry was eager to begin their attempt to recover Helga Hufflepuff’s cup and couldn’t understand Maeve’s vague attitude to pinning down a time for the excursion. The temptation to send her Patronus was strong but Severus had forbade her to do it unless her life was at risk. She could picture the scene if he was having a tense discussion with Voldemort and her raven flew in on them. No, she couldn’t contact him. She would just have to trust to her own ability to retrieve the Horcrux, if it was there.
Pacing the dungeon, she tried to picture Severus in the room. She smiled to herself as she remembered his simmering presence, recalled the countless times he must have stung his students into trying harder or battered them into submission. And she missed him more than she could articulate, longed for his presence within the school again. Turning quickly to the blackboard so that her students didn’t see the beginning of her hot tears she reached for a tissue and dabbed at her face. It was stupid and she couldn’t understand it, but ever since she had arrived tears never seemed very far away. They lurked beneath her lashes, lying in wait for an opportunity to roll carelessly down her cheeks in an expression of loss over her husband.
“Are you all right, Professor?” Rebecca Danaher, one of the Gryffindors, was looking at her with perceptive concern.
“Yes, yes, thank you, Rebecca,” she said, wishing people didn’t have a habit of asking you if you were all right. Such little displays of kindness often set the tears off anew.
The knock at the door was unexpected and when Percy Weasley popped his head around it she raised an eyebrow. She walked through the bubbling cauldrons and quietly asked him what he wanted.
“Harry Potter has taken up residence in the headmaster’s office. He asked me to pass on the message that he would like to see you there when you have finished your lessons for the day.” It was clear from Percy’s twisted lips that he felt thoroughly debased by carrying messages around for Harry.
“It’s the headmistress’ office,” Maeve reminded him. “And thank you for passing on the message. Have you been given a new position yet?”
“I have to go,” he said, closing the door loudly behind him. Maeve realised that she had never discovered what Percy Weasley was doing at the school and she yanked the door open again.
“Percy,” she called after him. “Why are you here?”
He looked back at her and seemed on the point of stopping. “I came to deliver Harry Potter’s message,” he said, mid-stride.
“I don’t mean that,” she corrected, wondering where this sudden need to explain Percy’s presence came from. “I mean generally.”
Percy stopped and looked at her calmly. “I am here because Professor Dumbledore thought I would be the best person for the job.”
Maeve pulled the door to behind her so that the students could not hear the conversation. “But there was no position until you arrived. What was Dumbledore protecting you from?”
Percy looked furtively at the floor and Maeve was sure she saw the smallest change in the colour of his complexion. “Professor Dumbledore needed someone to help him, an extra pair of hands in the running of the school. That was all there was to the matter.” Percy raised obstinate eyes to her and looked as if he was going to say something else, but the moment passed and instead he was dismissive. “That is all there is to it.” And this time he did turn away and he kept going.
Harry was waiting for her as she climbed the stairs and stepped into Professor McGonagall’s office at the end of her day. The portrait of Professor Dumbledore still slept contentedly. No matter how hard visitors to the office tried to look elsewhere, this portrait was always the first thing they sought out, perhaps waiting for some sort of sign. A fire burned low in the grate, bringing warmth to the chill of mourning in the room. Hermione was sitting by the flames, her head bent over a book again, while Harry was taking up Dumbledore’s familiar place at the large desk.
“Professor McGonagall is being generous, allowing you the use of her office.” Maeve took the seat opposite Harry and Hermione raised her head from the large, red-backed book that she was reading.
“She knows that I have things to find, and I think she doesn’t want to impede me.” Harry looked tired and Maeve wondered how many long night hours he had spent in this room trying to find information. From the weariness in Hermione’s eyes, Maeve guessed that Hermione had also been burning the candle at both ends trying to keep up with him.
“You still think you will find something in here?” Maeve asked. “I rather think we have already located the one thing that’s at the school.”
“There’s more,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I don’t believe this Horcrux is all that’s left at Hogwarts that will be useful.”
“What did you want to see me about?” Maeve asked, knowing full well what Harry wanted.
“We need to fix a date to retrieve the Horcrux. I don’t think we’ve got much time and the longer we leave it the more people will die.” Harry had a matter-of-factness that belied his own concerns. “And we need some sort of plan of attack.”
“I don’t think we can plan an attack,” Maeve said with a touch of resignation in her voice. “I think we are going to have to go along and trust to our own abilities. We have no idea what protections will be in place around the temple.”
“It could be that Voldemort thought the forest was protection enough, that and his own bloodline.” Hermione rose from her seat and handed the book she had been reading to Maeve, before returning to the comfortable armchair.
On the softened vellum of the pages Maeve took in the gentle, sloping hand of the person that had written the diary. The date was the thirteenth of November 1953.
Tried once again to trace the temple. It seems that the map is misleading and that the temple is not located in that particular corner of the forest. Indeed, after several attempts at breaching that tight knot of trees I have to concede defeat. If that is the final resting place of Salazar Slytherin, it is better protected than even the castle itself. There is talk that the descendants of the aforementioned man may have put special Concealment Charms on the building so that only they can locate it. If this is the case then I may as well give up now and concentrate my efforts on finding the lost village beneath the lake.
Maeve flicked to the flyleaf and saw the name Filippo de Valeros in fine copperplate script; she looked to Hermione for an explanation.
“De Valeros was an historian who searched the wizarding world for curiosities and sites of antiquity. Apparently he was granted special permission by Armando Dippet to spend some time here and investigate the lesser-known aspects of Hogwarts. It would seem the temple defeated him, although he did find the lost village — he says so later on in the diary.”
“But if only descendants can find the temple, always assuming he is right about that, then we won’t find it either. And how on earth did someone manage to photograph it?” Maeve asked, wondering how they would get over this slight sticking point.
“Well, it was probably enchanted after they interred Slytherin’s body in it and the photograph was just the architect showing off.” Hermione began, looking to Harry. “As for us not finding it, well, that might not be the case.”
“There may be a possibility,” Harry interjected, “that I will be able to find it.”
“Because…” Hermione began.
“There’s a little bit of Voldemort in you through the scar,” Maeve finished, a smile appearing on her lips. “And if all that’s stopping someone getting access to the temple is its invisibility to all but Slytherin’s descendants then Voldemort may well have left it unprotected in any other way. He could never have realised he may have passed on some of his ancestry to you, Harry.”
Harry gave a slight shiver, despite the warmth from the fire and nodded. “It’s bloody horrible having a connection with Voldemort, but it could be useful in this case.”
“So, it could be that the easiest part is to retrieve the Horcrux.” Hermione said, her faced suffused with quiet confidence. “But then we have to remove the soul.”
Maeve knew that she would have to take responsibility for performing that task, although she wasn’t prepared to tell Harry that at the moment. Without Severus to pick up the pieces of whatever damage the broken piece of soul caused she knew that whoever removed the fragment risked certain death. Harry would not be prepared to have Severus standing by while he attempted the destruction.
“We thought we might try and locate the temple tonight,” Harry said, looking to Maeve for approval.
The door opened abruptly and Ron shot in, looking out-of-breath and flustered.
“Bloody Lavender!” he puffed as he sank into the chair by Hermione. “She’s just mental. Keeps going on about how nice I look in my Quidditch gear. Weird!”
Hermione gave a frustrated smile but said nothing. She got up and took the book from Maeve, placing it carefully back the shelf she had taken it from.
“So,” Ron said, looking around at everyone for a clue as to where they were in the conversation. “What’s the decision?”
“We were just about to make it,” Hermione said snappishly, “until you barged in complaining about that girl.”
“I can’t help it if she’s decided to follow me around like a sheep,” Ron said, his annoyance suddenly manifesting itself. “I’ve tried to get rid of her but it doesn’t work. She’s got armour like a re-enforced armadillo.”
“Well, I haven’t heard you say anything particularly dissuading.” Hermione had become very cold towards him at the mention of Lavender. “If anything you seem to encourage her.”
“I do not!” Ron voice rose several octaves.
“We don’t have time for this.” Harry halted their bickering by rising from the desk. “We need to decide if we are going tonight or not?”
“I say yes.” There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that they should go as soon as possible.
“Yeah, sooner we get it over with the better,” Ron agreed, despite himself.
Only Maeve hesitated, heartened slightly by the news that the temple might be more easily accessible than she had first thought, but still wishing she could inform Severus what they were about to do.
“Well?” Harry looked at her, green eyes desperate for her to agree to the plan. He just wanted to do something constructive now, wanted to get away from the past week’s futility.
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “Tonight. I suggest we assemble by the lake at nine. And make sure you have your brooms.”
Hermione gave a little grimace and wished that they had been allowed to take their Apparating tests at the end of last term as planned. It was becoming very annoying how things were being postponed or cancelled because of the increasing disruption caused by Voldemort. The Ministry had decreed that it didn’t want inexperienced witches and wizards Apparating during the current crisis. Even experienced Apparators were having trouble doing it, several splinchings having pushed the Ministry ever closer to introducing controls on the mode of transport.
“Tonight at nine, then,” Harry said, content now that he had something active to do.
Maeve left the office without saying anything else and went straight to her room, to Severus’ old room. She had kept many of his things, content to be surrounded by reminders of him, no matter how gloomy they were. Many of the things that had taken up the space in her old rooms had been packed up and sent home to Rathgael with Liam. Only her books and the old clock remained at the school, taking up little space in the damp confines of the dark residence.
She made herself a cup of tea and was about to pick up some parchments and sketch out her next few lessons when the fire flared wildly and a head popped calmly into it.
“Evening, my little angel.”
“Roderick…did no one ever tell you it was rude to pop into people’s fireplaces uninvited,” she said, glaring at him.
“Well, excuse me, but I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like you’ve just got out of the shower or anything.” He winked again and she got the distinct impression that scenario was exactly what he had been hoping for.
“Don’t do it again,” she insisted. “What do you want?”
“Now, that’s no way to speak to a dear friend, is it? I thought I’d see how you were, all alone in that dreary place. Dear Apollo!” he said, looking up to the ceiling. “Are those bats hanging there? How passé.”
“I really don’t have the time to discuss interior decoration, Roderick. Did you really want something or are you just passing the time annoying me?”
“I was going to offer you the chance of a trip into Hogsmeade. Last night proved very unsatisfactory. Really, the standard of conversation in The Three Broomsticks is not what it once was.”
“I though The Hog’s Head would have been more your level,” Maeve said acidly.
“Such a comedienne,” he drawled. “So, coming?”
“No, not tonight.”
He sighed, a piece of ash shooting up his nostril making him sneeze loudly. “You might find it interesting.”
“I have other plans tonight.”
“Other plans?” he queried. “How can you have other plans? Who is there in this place to have other plans with? No husband? No one your own age, unless you count Lupin, and he’s hardly the life and soul of a party.”
“Roderick, go away,” she said, wanting a little peace before she went to keep her rendezvous by the lake. “I have things to do.”
“You know, there are only so many times a man will take no for an answer before looking for his pleasure elsewhere,” he said in an injured voice.
“Well, could you tell me the number and then I can say all those nos in one go and get it over with. Now…shoo!”
He gave her one last wink before pulling his head out of the fire and Maeve began to wonder how she could disconnect it from the network. She picked up the parchment again and was about to start work when the fire flared once more.
“Roderick, the answer is no,” she said, without looking up. “No, no, no, no.”
“No to what?” Severus’ voice filled the room.
She snapped her head up, a huge smile chasing her irritation away. “Severus! Aren’t you taking a risk?”
“Why are you assuming I am Rampton… and what would his head be doing in my fire?”
“It’s my fire,” she grinned. “And he is being a little over-friendly at the moment. Keeps trying to get me to go to Hogsmeade with him. Isn’t it chancy for you to be using the Floo network?”
“Extremely. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m in a disused house at the moment. They haven’t disconnected the fire so I thought I’d risk it.” His face looked longingly around his old room. “You kept everything, I see.”
“It reminds me of you.”
“How gratifying for you,” he said in a self-deprecating manner.
“I will be paying particular attention to our missing friend tonight,” she said, dressing up her intentions in as cryptic a manner as she could manage.
“So soon?” he asked. “Be careful. That friend may stab you in the back, as friends of that ilk are wont to do. I will have to see if I can be waiting to meet you both in a place that will be mutually satisfying should our friend turn out to be volatile. Somewhere well used to madness, I think.”
She nodded. “Severus?”
“Yes?”
“I miss you… I miss you so much more than I thought I would. There is a huge hole in everything I do.”
Severus looked uncomfortable, though whether that was her words or the fire she couldn’t tell. “Maeve, this has to be borne. I cannot risk staying here any longer but I will be available tonight should you need me. Do not take any risks with our friend.”
And the fire rose, consuming his face, before dying back down to a murmur.
“You could have said you missed me too,” she whispered to the now-vacant fire. And then she cried; simple, heart wrenching sobs that poured all her loneliness out onto his old sofa.
The moon was a half-crescent that hung helpless in the clear sky. The four of them assembled by the lake, brooms in hand and dark, night-absorbing cloaks covering them. Harry’s eyes glittered with anticipation as he prepared to lead them into the sky.
“We have to stay close together. The moon will give us some light, and I’d rather we didn’t use our wands. I don’t think this place will be guarded, but there will be other things in the forest that will be attracted by unnatural light,” he said.
“Yeah, like Hagrid,” Ron joked but Hermione immediately silenced him with a scowl.
“If there is any real danger I want you and Hermione to go back to the castle and alert Remus.” Harry was suddenly very serious and refused to listen to Ron and Hermione’s protests. “We may need help. But Maeve and I have to deal with this. It’s our battle.”
“It’s everyone’s battle, Harry.” Hermione understood what he was saying but it was hurtful to be excluded after all the hard work she had put in, reading through Dumbledore’s books. “It doesn’t just become your battle when there is danger.”
“Hermione is right,” Maeve spoke for the first time. “This is everyone’s battle. The wizarding and Muggle worlds are at stake. But Harry also has a point, Hermione. We need you to fetch help if necessary. We need you to be able to walk away from the struggle, and that in itself will be as brave as staying to fight.”
Hermione nodded but looked unconvinced, while Ron merely inhaled furiously.
“Good, I think we have agreement. Let’s go then.” Maeve was the first to rise into the night sky, wobbling a little on Remus’ old broom.
The flight over the forest was a nervous one, as four pairs of eyes searched the skyline anxiously. Beneath them the wooded area seemed to slumber but they knew there would be many creatures awake below them, searching through the scrub for prey. Harry had the map carefully tucked into his cloak and he had already planned the direction they were to take. Using the line of the mountain as a guide he overtook Maeve and swept in an arc across the sky, leading them upwards and away from the school. The advancing autumn had begun to take the warmth from the air, making their breath come from their mouths in faint wisps of white.
Ron stayed close to Hermione, watching her ride her broom with concern. If he was honest he was more worried about her falling off than about any danger they faced from below. “You know,” he said, causing her to lose concentration and wobble even more than she was already doing. “It’s all right saying that Harry might be able to find this place. But the rest of us won’t be able to see it, will we? Unless there’s something about your parents you’re not telling us.”
“Will you stop joking!” she whispered, flying dangerously close to him and causing him to pull out of her way. “But you do have a point. We’ll have to work that out when we get there.”
And as she said that Harry slowed down and began to descend, growing ever closer to the brooding mountainside and the mantle of trees that rested on its lower slopes. In the darkness the mountain reminded Maeve of a slumbering giant; the only thing missing was the slight rise and fall of its chest as it breathed peacefully in sleep.
“We need to land and get our bearings on the ground,” Harry said quietly, the night breeze carrying his words to the others. “It all looks the same at the moment.”
“Great,” Ron sighed. “Lost already.”
“That’s not what Harry meant,” Maeve said, following Harry in landing on the soft rug of grass and hedge that sat just yards from the danger of the forest’s edge.
The four figures stood together for a moment, looking at the seemingly impenetrable trees with apprehension. It was all very different now that they were here and away from the warm comfort of Professor McGonagall’s office.
“After you then,” Ron said, trying to sound cheerful and knowing he had failed.
“How are we going to see in there without using our wands?” Hermione asked. “Without the moon we’ll be blind.”
“We might have to use our wands after all,” Harry replied doubtfully. “Maeve?”
“I agree,” she said. It was one thing roaming forests that she knew well in the dark, but she didn’t know this one and had no idea what was in there. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to meet it blind. “But wait until we are actually in the forest.”
“Come on then.” Harry didn’t even consult his map as he set off for the brooding patch of ink that formed the forest. “We’d better get on and do it.”
It was alarmingly dark once they were under the cover of the trees and Maeve suggested they use two wands to light their way. She went with Harry as he held out his wand before him, while Ron and Hermione brought up the rear. The ground was uneven beneath their feet as branches cracked and the first of the season’s falling chestnuts rolled away from them. Maeve could feel the breath of the forest on her face, a whisper of damp vegetation and dark magic that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So many things lived here, so many known and unknown threats. If it wasn’t something introduced by Hagrid then it was the centaurs, keeping guard over their domain, anger with the wizarding world renewed.
Harry wasn’t relying on maps or sense of direction any longer. As soon as he had stepped into the forest he could feel something, a strange vibration that he could sense below him, around him and above him. It felt like it was coming from the very trees themselves and yet it was external to the forest. A stab of pain ran through him, starting at his scar and covering his whole forehead. He stopped and clutched at it for a moment, Maeve instantly worried.
“Close your mind, Harry,” she whispered. “Remember your Occlumency. Shut it out. He must not know.”
She could see, by his wand light, the concentration crossing his face and knew he had blocked whatever it was as he turned to her with relief in his eyes. “It must be the location of the temple,” he said by way of an explanation. “Perhaps it’s making the connection clearer for Voldemort.”
“Do you know which direction it is?” Ron asked. He was looking warily around for any sign of spiders, the memory of Aragog, the huge Acromantula that lived in the forest, still fresh in his mind.
“It’s over here,” he replied confidently, pushing a way through the undergrowth, which was gradually becoming denser. “I can feel it getting louder.”
Ron gave Hermione a look. “What’s getting louder?” he whispered.
She shrugged and told him to be quiet. Harry was now standing still on the edge of an opening in the trees. A patchy carpet of grass was all that the clearing contained, but Maeve could see by the light in his eyes that that wasn’t all Harry saw.
“It’s here, isn’t it?” she asked.
Harry looked in distaste at the white structure before him. In the shaft of moonlight that pierced the break in the canopy it appeared to be glowing silver, the carvings on its marble surface thrown into sharp relief by the fall of light and shadows. It was in pristine condition; the mosses and lichens that threw themselves over everything else obviously chose to ignore this structure. The columns stretched upwards, their solidity helping secure the glistening roof and bringing his attention to the carvings that he had been unable to make out clearly on the photograph.
They depicted witches and wizards, wands outstretched, exercising dominion over a variety of other creatures. Goblins cowered beneath a well-carved group of taller, male wizards, awaiting their doom. A group of Mermen were held dripping above the shore of a sea, while witches laughed at their plight. A group of what Harry could only assume were Muggles where tied to a stake and a witch was cheerfully lighting the pyre, He turned away from the scenes of malice and looked at Maeve.
“Yes, it’s here, and it’s gruesome.”
“What’s it like?” Ron asked, looking at the empty clearing blankly.
“It’s tall and it’s glowing and there are awful carvings on the top of it. I can also see the funeral games that Maeve mentioned earlier. The door is closed and there is a glass handle but no lock.”
“There wouldn’t need to be a lock,” Maeve pointed out. “But I don’t like the idea of you going in there alone. I want you to take my hand and lead me in after you. I want you two to stand guard here,” she said to Ron and Hermione.
“Yeah, ‘cause there’s so much happening here,” Ron said and felt the heel of Hermione’s shoe crush his toes.
“Of course we will,” Hermione insisted, ignoring Ron’s rolling eyes.
Harry moved forward until he was at the foot of the seven stone steps that formed the path to the doorway. Maeve stopped when he did and waited for him to gather his strength.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, not even sure he was certain himself.
“Yes.” She took his hand and knew that if she broke contact with him when they were inside this place that she could not see she would have no idea what would happen. “Let’s go.”
“There are seven small steps, so be careful.”
He began to climb them slowly and Maeve faltered over the first one but quickly got her bearings. Hermione and Ron watched as they climbed into the air, more worried than amazed.
As he reached the door Harry was unsurprised to see the handle turn of its own accord and the heavy stone swung inwards. He told Maeve what was happening and informed her that the room they were about to enter appeared small but very tall. Stepping over the threshold he realised the ceiling was similar to the one in the Great Hall at Hogwarts and all he could see were white clouds rolling above his head. In the centre of the small room was a large stone tomb hovering free of the ground with no visible means of support. Ancient runes were carved around the edge and Harry wished Hermione were here to translate them — but then he reflected ruefully that she wouldn’t be able to see them. As he looked around he caught his breath for, sitting in an alcove on one of the smooth walls was a small cup made of gold, delicate handles jutting out elegantly on either side of its curved body.
“It’s here,” he breathed, preparing to lead Maeve to the object they had come to retrieve.
Maeve staggered slightly. Far from seeing the forest, or even the interior of the temple, she saw a blinding white light that burned her eyes with its ferocity. She tried closing her eyes and realised that the white light wasn’t around her, it had become her.
“Harry, I can’t…. Get the cup… Just get the cup.”
“Are you all right? What…” He looked to her and found she had become so pale it was hard to differentiate between her face and the walls around them. Her fingers tightened around his as she fought for some kind of sanity against the hard rain of light.
“Just… Get…The…” She broke off, the need to scream rising in her throat as the pain engulfed her.
Harry had to pull her along slowly, keeping that precious connection with her hand. He should have come alone. It was so easy — the cup was just there and Maeve wouldn’t be suffering had he been brave enough to come unaccompanied.
His free hand reached towards the alcove until his fingers where just a hair’s breadth from the precious metal. As he was about to grab it Maeve lurched forward, tipped by the scales of insanity. For a brief moment her fingers dodged free of his and she was floating, lost in the endless whiteness of a place that she should not have been in. Harry cried her name in alarm and quickly re-made the connection, pulling her away from the madness, almost deafened by her screams. He didn’t understand what the stream of silvery-white that ran from her was. It moulded itself to their surroundings and was gone before he had the chance to look too closely.
With a swift grab at the cup he lifted it from its resting place, cool metal contrasting with the heat from Maeve’s hand. Harry had been expecting to feel something from the cup, something that would betray what it might contain within its golden form, but it felt just the same as the locket had when he’d first touched that. He cast the briefest of glances at it and knew by the small badger that was carved onto the cartouche that this was what he was looking for. This was not a fake cup; the workmanship was too fine.
And then the temple lurched. Harry once again clutched at Maeve, who was rapidly losing her senses, as a huge crack appeared in the back wall. A fetid smell was released through the small chamber and Harry knew that they had to get out as quickly as possible. Maeve was becoming a dead weight as she sank to the floor and Harry had to tuck the cup into his robes in order to drag her away from the ever-widening rift in the marble. It felt like a huge force was being exerted from whatever lay beyond that crack, a force that was attempting to pull in the interloper and destroy her.
“Come on!” he implored, using all the strength he had to drag her unresisting body across the floor towards the welcome darkness of the forest. And still the force grew stronger, fighting him, trying to claim its prize in the form of someone who had dared defy the legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Maeve felt her body divided by the opposing forces of good and evil as it tried to decide which way to go. Harry was just on the point of shouting for one of the others when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Maeve was wrenched from him and carried into the darkness beyond the temple, a cloaked figure bending over her briefly before disappearing into the shadows just as Harry threw himself clear of the temple’s door.
As he ran towards her he scanned the clearing for Ron and Hermione and found them running heavily through the forest towards him with Remus in tow.
“Did you see that person?” Harry shouted. “There was someone else here.”
“Didn’t see anyone, mate,” Ron gasped. “We just heard Remus shouting for us and ran to show him the way.”
Remus had hurried to Maeve and bent down by her. Looking gravely up at Harry he appeared more worried than he had ever been.
“Did you get it?” Remus knew what he had to do but dreaded what he might have to do to Harry in order to achieve it.
“How do you…?” Harry started to ask.
“Did you get it?” Remus repeated and Harry had never seen him look so serious.
“Yes,” he nodded, “I got it.”
“Give it to me.”
“I can’t… I mean, what will you do with it that I can’t?”
“Harry, have I ever given you reason to mistrust me? Give me the cup, now.”
“But I promised Dumbledore…”
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT NOW YOU HAVE IT?” Remus roared, making all three of them jump in alarm. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he continued in a lower tone, “that you would be impotent once you actually had the objects? I can deal with this. You have to trust me, Harry.”
Harry was so shocked by the rare fire in Remus’ voice that he reached into his cloak and produced Hufflepuff’s cup, handing it to the stricken man without thinking.
And to Harry’s horror Remus Disapparated with both Maeve and the cup, leaving him alone with Hermione and Ron wondering what on earth had just happened.
Darkness draped itself comfortably over the village of Hogsmeade, cloaking many clandestine meetings and surreptitious transactions. A few lights twinkled in windows but most of them were extinguished by thick curtains, keeping out both the night and the threats it might contain. From his position Remus could just about make out the creaking sign of The Hog’s Head and he knew he must move quickly before anyone was alerted to their presence.
He had been surprised by Maeve’s earlier late-night visit. He was just settling down to listen to the Wizarding Wireless, the jazz half hour had been just about to start and he had poured a glass of wine to enjoy along with the music, when she had knocked at his door. The explanation of what she was doing came tumbling out to the accompaniment of some fairly excitable saxophone playing and he listened with increasing anxiety. It was pointless to argue with her, or to try and prevent her from doing what she was doing, but she asked him to remain alert to any signs from her, to bring her to this place if there should be a problem and to make sure he brought the cup too.
When the bleak and wretched Patronus had limped, broken winged, into his room he knew the time had come to act and had Apparated to the very spot she had described. Calling out her name he had been surprised to hear Ron and Hermione reply, and they had come running to him to guide him through the trees.
And now here he was, with Maeve in no fit state to be walking anywhere, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade with the Shrieking Shack as their destination. Lifting her into his arms, he strode as quickly as he could away from the village and allowed the half-moon to light his way to the scene of his own degradation from so long ago. Maeve was heavy in his arms and the moon was already beginning to sap at his strength, but he made it as far as the run-down wooden door, kicking it open with his foot. The wood splintered slightly as it fought against the lock, but its rottenness allowed for easier entry than a more solid door would have demanded.
A shadow moved at the top of the stairs, dark robes obscuring the man behind them for a moment. As Severus’ eyes adjusted from the relative light in the room that he had chosen to wait in to the darkness without, he realised who it was at the foot of the stairs and then he recognised what Remus carried. He moved so quickly down the stairs that Remus thought he had sprouted wings and flown. Without a word to Remus, Severus took his wife’s limp body from the weakening man and clutched her coldness to him, feeling the white wash of dark magic about her once again.
Moving rapidly back up the stairs he carried her into the untidy room and with a huge effort of will laid her carefully on the dusty and unstable old bed. His hands ran over her carefully, feeling his way around the magic-induced madness that was plaguing her senses. Removing his wand from his cloak he ran it down her face and over her neck, keeping the contact between wood and flesh until he reached her clothing. Switching spells momentarily he caused a slight tear to appear in the fabric until he could reach the place where her heart beat gently beneath her skin. Severus had felt this magic before; it was magic created by defiance and the anger of those defied. He should have known, he thought angrily, should have realised that if this was a Slytherin temple she would be forbidden from entering.
Remus was in the room now, watching Severus trying to revive his wife. He saw the concentration on Severus’ face, the slight shake of the wand tip on Maeve’s chest. The cup rested against his side, secure in his cloak, and he wondered how much more they would endure that night in order to destroy the fragment of soul within it.
Maeve’s lips parted and a thin mist of grey dust rose from her, disappearing into the light around them, and she sighed. Severus removed his wand from her flesh, bringing together the torn fabric of her dress and leaving her intact once more. His hand ran across her forehead, pushing back the sweat-soaked hair. Resting his head against her temple he tried to control his frustration at making her do this, his own hair covering her face like a shield. His teeth clenched to prevent him from challenging what she would now have to do, but he knew it was she and neither Lupin nor himself that would do it.
He looked to Remus, a hand outstretched to claim the other thing that Remus had brought with him.
“Do you know what you are doing?” Remus asked, withdrawing the cup and offering it to the other man.
“Of course,” Severus snapped, closing his fingers around one of the fine handles, shivering as he did so. “I know that this will not be pleasant, but it needs to be done.” He set the cup down on the spindly table by the bed.
“What needs to be done?”
“Oh, Lupin, Lupin. Always on the periphery of things, never quite making it into the inner circle of knowledge.” Severus gave him a look that was pure poison. “Maeve needs to draw out the piece of soul and destroy it. But I need to give her time to recover from the experience at the temple. It will not do to have her weakened when she attempts it.”
“Is that all she is to you?” Remus asked, anger building up. “A vessel through which you can achieve your personal aims? Someone to be used as you have used so many before?”
He didn’t have time to react. Severus’ wand was already to hand and Remus’ was still tucked inside his cloak. He was launched through the air and landed with a dull thud against the wall, blood trickling down the gash in his cheek that Severus’ curse had caused. He reached for his wand but Severus was already using a non-verbal Expelliarmus to disarm him, sending the wand spinning across the floor. He raced towards the weaponless Remus and loomed above him, hatred oozing from every inch of his body. His wand hovered above the fallen man, latent hurt contained within its core.
“You can’t continue to lash out for the rest of your life,” Remus said, trying to calm Severus down. “You can’t continue to argue using your wand.”
“Don’t you EVER,” Severus snarled, “question what I do with my wife again. She knows better than anyone what has to be achieved tonight and she knows it may well kill me to watch her attempt it.”
“And yet you talk about her so dispassionately?” Remus challenged. “I’m not sure I could speak about her in such a cold manner.”
“You” — Severus thrust his face at Remus — “will never have the opportunity of speaking about her in the way I do. You were never man enough for her in the first place. You wouldn’t understand the sacrifices one has to make in order to do what is best.”
“I understand that love won’t allow you to put the person you love in as much danger as you allowed Maeve to get herself into tonight.”
“Do you think” –Severus was now dangerously patient in his tone of voice – “that I could have in any way prevented Maeve from doing what she did tonight? Do you think it is right for a husband to control his wife, Lupin? Do you think you could control her? I seem to remember one particularly fortunate occasion, for you at least, when I failed to exercise any control over her whatsoever. It resulted in your life being saved.”
“There must be another way of dealing with that thing,” Remus said. “There must be something you can do rather than allow her to risk everything.”
“Well, yes, there is,” Severus said casually. “I could let you kill yourself in the attempt. You do not understand; you never have. Maeve has to do this.”
“Then why did Dumbledore attempt it?”
“Because things have changed, you fool. Things are not what they were before Dumbledore died. Things will never be what they were.”
“And yet, you were the one that killed him. You brought about this change.”
“I had my reasons, Lupin. You would not have been able to do it.”
“I couldn’t kill someone I loved!”
“And I could, perhaps that is the difference between us. I can do what needs to be done, no matter how painful… You on the other hand give in to your… softer side.”
And as Remus was about to retort, the room darkened, the candle extinguished by the chill that had risen from the bed. Dust was swept from the floor for the first time in many years and it blinded both Severus and Remus far more than the darkness did. Severus moved to illuminate his wand and saw Maeve sitting up on the bed with the cup in her hand. He wanted to look away. He knew that what was about to come would be almost too much. It had taken so much from him to do Dumbledore’s bidding, but he wasn’t sure he could watch his wife suffer like this. Now that the moment had come he could feel his resolve deserting him for the first time since he had abandoned the Dark Lord’s service.
But this wasn’t about him. This was about destroying the threat that the wizarding world faced. This was about allowing the power of what Maeve now possessed to use her body to destroy Voldemort piece by piece. And this was the first piece.
Something was happening to the cup, its firm sides melting into Maeve’s hands as she stared at the hot metal. Severus saw Remus stagger to his feet from the corner of his eyes and held out a restraining hand, the sight of his wife’s hands blending with the syrupy gold coming close to breaking his will.
“Stop her,” Remus said, trying to move past him. “She will be killed by this, Severus.”
“Let her be.” He held Remus back again, and found he had to hold himself back at the same time.
And the darkness beckoned her, drew her into its thrall as it stretched up from the cup. Tendrils of everything that was ailing and malevolent rose to meet her, touched her pale skin with its vile caress. Maeve inhaled what she drew from the cup, felt the molten metal drip from her fingers onto her dress, where it burned the fabric with such ferocity that her flesh could be seen puckering beneath the drips of liquefied wool. It was the sight of her burning flesh that almost drove Severus to stop what was happening, the sudden sickening smell of her melting skin making him cry out against the horror.
She stood up, seared fabric clinging to her legs, and yet she didn’t seem to notice any of the pain she must surely be feeling. Her face was raised upwards, her whole being seemed to be waiting for something, pregnant with suspense. And Severus inched slightly closer, wanting to catch her fall when it came.
Maeve opened her mouth and felt the power within her, felt the need to release the energy, to free it to be crushed by the very air the supplied her with life. The cry that came from her was something beyond anything both men had ever heard before and it shattered their ears. Again Severus almost broke free from his own prison of dogged determination to see this through, but he was too busy trying to restrain Remus to allow himself the luxury of aiding his wife.
“STOP THIS!” Remus cried. “If you love her, Severus, for mercy’s sake, stop this!”
And this time it was too much for Severus. With all the power he could muster he cast a Full Body Bind at Remus and he was thrown to the floor, completely immobile. He could only lie there and watch while Severus approached his screaming wife as she battled to release the demon she had taken inside herself. He knew to touch her would break the magic that was working its way through her and yet the urge to take her rigid body into his arms and try to soothe away her pain was so strong, overpowering almost. He gripped the rotting posts that supported the canopy of the greying bed, hung on to prevent him moving towards her any more.
Another scream shredded his heart, made him call out again in response. His magic was ready to heal her when this was over, but he didn’t want to wait that long, his confidence in her ability to withstand this onslaught wavering beneath the thunder in his head.
“Maeve,” he whispered hoarsely. “In Dumbledore’s name what have I done to you?”
And from his prone position on the floor Remus knew that he could never have done what Severus was now doing. Remus finally knew that the love he felt for Maeve was not strong enough to weather such a rough road. He would have bent and broke beneath the weight of his feelings for her. Would have stopped this and denied her the right to do what was important.
She was suddenly thrown to the floor as a greenish light grew around her, a manifestation of a soul that was twisted and abused beyond all recognition. It floated upwards and then flung itself back, trying desperately to return to her throat and the safety of a solid object to contain itself in. Maeve’s screams once again rang out around the shack and Severus hovered so close he was only millimetres away from touching her. The green mist harried him for a moment and then seemed to decide that this was not were it could find shelter and forced its way back into Maeve’s mouth.
The cry of ‘no’ rang through the room as Maeve scrabbled to her knees and retched violently, vomiting away all the vestiges of this piece of Voldemort’s soul. And the fragment finally knew there was no shelter to be had, no murder to create a home for it. With an agonising moan it lashed around, striking Maeve’s face with the tail end of its anger as it broke into a thousand pieces of evil that were not strong enough to survive on their own.
Maeve clutched the side of the bed and continued to retch, as if she could rid her body of the poison it had briefly played host to. And as she did so the pain began to set in. The burning of her legs and face intensified, the gold that had melted to the floor began to reform now it was freed from its duty as container to part of Voldemort’s soul. And Severus was upon her, his pain almost exceeding hers at seeing the physical injury that had been inflicted on her. Half of her cheek had been stripped bare of skin as the darkness had found the earlier source of corruption and tried to use it. Blood poured form the gaping wound, the pearlescent white of her cheekbone visible beneath the crimson liquid.
He lifted her gently onto the bed, wiping her mouth free of the last traces of vomited soul with the edge of his cloak. With a harsh voice he released Remus from the Body Bind and the recent captive forced himself to move, albeit stiffly, to try and help in whatever way he could.
“Get that vial,” Severus instructed, indicating a small tube of silver liquid on the mantelshelf. His fingers raised the loose flap of skin and gently folded it back over the torn muscle and the bared cheekbone, looking into her pain-filled eyes with such tender care that she knew no matter what happened she would find more safety and love with him than anywhere else on earth.
Remus did as he was told, too horrified to protest, reaching for the potion with so much haste that he almost dropped it.
Maeve faltered, closing her eyes to the world before opening them again, silently pleading with her husband to ease her suffering. The pain was growing by the second. With deft hands he tipped the contents of the vial over both her cheek and knees, hoping that the speed of delivery would lessen any permanent deadening of the skin. Without waiting to see if the potion was taking effect he drew his pain-wracked wife into his arms and cradled her like a baby on the ruined bed of the Shrieking Shack.
“I’m so sorry,” Remus said, looking down at Maeve’s shuddering form. “I was wrong to doubt what you felt for her. I was wrong to think I could ever have been strong enough. Your love for her is beyond anything I can hope to achieve.”
Severus didn’t reply, didn’t care what Remus thought or did. He watched Maeve’s face as it fought the pain, held her tighter, tried to calm her with his presence.
“I’ll leave you, unless you need anything.” Remus began to back away a little.
Severus looked up then. “Yes, there is one thing you can do for me. While I am in this state of flight you can watch over her. I cannot be with her in the light of day or the quiet of the evening. I need you to be the one that prevents harm seeking her out.”
Remus nodded, and finally said goodbye to his thoughts of ever loving Maeve in the way that the man who now held her did.
Once left alone Severus watched over her until her eyelids began to sag and the relief of a potion-induced sleep claimed her consciousness. The cup now sat on the floor, just a cup again. And then he cried. Cried for what he wanted and what he could not have while another four pieces of Voldemort’s soul survived.
And Maeve slept, slept safe under her husband’s watchful sorrow.