An Unexamined Life (HG/SS, Teen) (2/3)
Disclaimers, notes and beta credits may be found in Chapter One.
Summary: Severus Snape doesn’t appreciate what a wonderful life he’s had-Dumbledore makes sure he does-whether he’s willing or not.
An Unexamined Life
by ZeeGrindylows and harmony_bites
CHAPTER TWO
Again, reality shimmered out of existence and then shimmered back. They were in yet another place that Severus had seen before, one he had no wish to ever return to.
The full Wizengamot sat in state, gazing down at the solitary man who sat in chains beneath them. He was ragged and scarred, far thinner and dirtier than Severus had ever seen him before, but he recognized the face. Remus Lupin was on trial.
Lupin whimpered softly, and twisted in his chair, trying to tear with his fingernails at the chains where they touched his skin. Severus took a step closer and shuddered. They had chained him with silver. Little question, then, whether his secret was still safe. Huge, ugly welts had formed on his skin where the silver touched it. Soon, the skin would begin to bubble and burn. Severus could already smell traces of the acrid scent of singeing flesh in the air.
“Remus John Lupin,” intoned a voice, “you are hereby charged with concealing your werewolf status, displaying callous carelessness as to the well-being and safety of the students of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are further charged with the murders of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.”
Remus groaned, closing his eyes.
“First witness for the prosecution, Lucius Malfoy, of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Does the defendant have any witnesses?”
Remus raised hunted eyes to the faces of the Wizengamot and shook his head. Severus saw his eyes move over the crowd that had come to try him, and rest briefly on the face of Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. That Dumbledore was looking down at him as impassively as if they had never met before.
Lucius Malfoy entered the room, impeccably groomed, in his best robes, his cane gripped in one gloved hand. He was sworn in, and took his seat, crossing his legs casually and leaning back in his chair, a self-satisfied little smile tugging at his lips.
“You are Lucius Gaius Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor?”
“I am.”
“State your relationship with the defendant.”
“I am head of the Board of Governors at Hogwarts. The defendant was, until recently, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor there.”
“And your complaint?”
He sniffed haughtily, removing his gloves with exaggerated, calculated movements and looking down at his fingernails. “It has come to my attention that the … accused is a werewolf.” He sneered down at Remus as if he were the filthiest piece of dirt he’d ever seen. “As head of the Board, it is my responsibility to insist that charges be brought against him for reckless endangerment of the students of the school.”
A tall, skinny witch that Severus didn’t know leaned forward, peering down at Lucius and Remus through her pair of glittering pince-nez. “You have proof that this man is a werewolf, I assume?”
Lucius smirked. “If you feel that you need proof beyond the effect that silver is obviously having on him-there is a witness willing to testify based on firsthand evidence.”
“His name?”
“Antonin Dolohov.”
“Let him come forth.”
The doors opened again, to reveal the face of one of the men Severus loathed most in the world. Dolohov swaggered in with all the self-assurance of a man who knows he is about to do something terrible, and who plans to enjoy it. It was a look that his face was used to wearing. He took his seat, looking disdainfully over at Remus.
“You are Antonin Dolohov?”
“Yes.”
“State your relationship to the defendant.”
“I’m Potions Master at Hogwarts. The werewolf used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
A squat little witch leaned forward, and Severus recognized, with the greatest distaste, the face of Dolores Umbridge. “When did you first learn that the accused was concealing his half-breed status?” she asked, simpering as sweetly as if she’d inquired about how Dolohov liked his tea.
The so-called Potions Master smiled sadistically at Remus. “Only a few days ago.”
“But you knew of his status beforehand?”
“I was under the impression that the Board of Governors were informed.”
“But they were not?”
“No.”
“And how did you come to learn of it?”
“I was asked to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for him.”
“Did you agree to do this?”
Dolohov grunted. “Yes.”
“You made it for him every month?”
Remus twisted his lip bitterly, but nobody other than Severus seemed to notice.
“I made it every month.”
“Did he take it regularly?”
“More or less.”
“More or less?”
“Missed it a few times,” said Dolohov.
“For what reason?”
He shrugged. “Search me. Not very reliable, I suppose.”
The witch in pince-nez sniffed. “Apparently not.”
Things continued in that vein for perhaps another half hour-or perhaps it was several hours. Severus found it very easy to lose track of time in that room. He felt as if he’d been trapped in a cave so far below the earth that time had ceased to exist. Finally, however, someone voiced the suggestion that they get on with the sentencing.
“Wait,” said the Albus Dumbledore who presided over the Wizengamot, his voice ringing through the courtroom. “There is one more charge that I believe must be brought against him.”
“One more?” whispered Severus, aghast.
The Dumbledore who stood beside him shook his head sorrowfully. “There was no way to know, Severus,” he murmured. “You, Harry, Ron and Hermione were not there in the Shrieking Shack that night to stop Sirius from killing Peter Pettigrew, nor was Harry there to reveal to Remus that Pettigrew was still alive. He believed that it was Sirius who betrayed Lily and James and forced Peter into hiding-and, I am sorry to say-”
He was cut off by Madam Bones, who was frowning at the Dumbledore accusing Remus. “There’s more, Dumbledore?”
That Dumbledore folded his hands, looking gravely around up at the assembly of the Wizengamot. “It is my belief,” he said softly, “that Remus Lupin was and is a loyal servant of Lord Voldemort, and is responsible for the betrayal of Lily and James Potter that led to their death in Godric’s Hollow at his hand.”
An awful hush fell over the room.
“No” whispered Severus fiercely, clenching his hands. The Dumbledore beside him said nothing.
All eyes were fixed on the other Dumbledore, who drew a long, slow breath and leaned back in his seat. “It is known,” he said, “amongst many members of the Wizengamot, that James and Lily Potter, and their son, were in hiding in Godric’s Hollow, protected from discovery by means of a Fidelius Charm. Their Secret-Keeper has always been presumed to be Sirius Black.”
In his peripheral vision, Severus saw Dumbledore remove his spectacles and begin cleaning them on the sleeve of his robe, an unreadable expression on his face.
“It was documented, Dumbledore, they told you-”
“What is documented,” interrupted Dumbledore, “is that Sirius Black was Harry Potter’s godfather, and James Potter’s best friend. It is also documented that they stated their intention to make Black their Secret-Keeper.”
A murmur began to grow in the crowd, until finally someone called out, “You’re saying that it was someone else?”
“I am saying that it was Remus Lupin.”
Lupin moaned softly. Severus’ eyes moved automatically to where he sat, but he looked away again immediately. The look of utter despair in Lupin’s eyes as he gazed up at Dumbledore was too painful to contemplate, even for a moment.
“Werewolf,” said the witch in pince-nez coldly, “were you Secret-Keeper for Lily and James Potter?”
They waited, but Remus didn’t answer. He appeared to have retreated into himself, his eyes dull and miserable, his arms occasionally twitching where the silver pressed into the now-blackening flesh.
“You will answer the charges, or you will be presumed guilty!”
Still, Remus made no answer. Severus looked on in disbelief. Only Dumbledore’s hand on his arm kept him from charging in and defending Remus himself. There had been no love lost between them, and Severus, while he had forgiven much, did not like or trust werewolves, but Remus had been a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had nobly given his life for the sake of the Order, Hogwarts, and the wizarding world at large. It was impossible to think that Albus Dumbledore could ever accuse such a man of being an ally of Lord Voldemort.
Impossible, and yet it was happening before his very eyes.
The other Dumbledore’s face was hard as he turned it on Remus. “Remus Lupin,” he said coldly, “in addition to the charges already laid at your feet, you are now charged with being an accessory to the murders of James and Lily Potter, and the attempted murder of Harry Potter. You are further charged with being a Death Eater, a loyal servant of Lord Voldemort, and of having spied for him until the time of his disappearance.” He paused, waiting until the echoe of his voice had died away. “All those in favor of finding the defendant guilty, raise your wand hands.”
Slowly, every witch and wizard there, without exception, lifted their wands in the air.
Dumbledore allowed a moment for the official vote to be tallied, and then stood up, his robes rippling around him, his face set in harsh, bitter lines. “By my authority as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I hereby sentence you to undergo the Dementor’s Kiss at midnight tonight.” And without another word, in defiance of convention and procedure, the Chief Warlock turned and left the courtroom.
“No!” cried Severus, as soon as the courtroom was empty. “What have you done, Dumbledore?”
“I?” asked Dumbledore mildly, “I have done nothing, Severus. Nor have you-which, I think, is the point.”
“Do not speak to me in riddles.”
“I do not know how to state things more plainly for you than I already have. Your wish was granted, Severus. You were never born. Now you must reap the consequences of your self-hatred.”
“This is madness. Remus Lupin died a hero’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts.”
“Remus Lupin’s body died in Azkaban less than two years after his soul was eaten by a Dementor for the crime of being a Death Eater.”
“He had no Dark Mark!”
Dumbledore gazed at him sadly. “Nor did Fenrir Greyback. Perhaps time has dimmed your memory. Voldemort employed werewolves as his spies and cohorts, and even graced a few of them with the title of Death Eater, but he never allowed them the highest honor. The Dark Mark was a privilege beyond the reckoning of a werewolf.”
“Potter, Lupin, Black, Pettigrew-I refuse to be made to feel guilty for deaths that never happened.”
“Nor should you have been made to, because they did not happen. But without you there, Severus-well, you have seen it.” He spread his hands apart, palms upward. “Things changed.”
Harry expected to find Hermione in the library. He spent nearly fifteen minutes looking for her there, without success.
His second attempt fared better. Hermione had retreated to the quiet privacy of the Snape family quarters. For a series of dungeon rooms, they were surprisingly comfortable, and, although Hermione and Severus both would have been horrified to hear it, Harry felt there was an atmosphere rather like the Burrow about it, although there was not a shred of visual similarity between the two homes. Perhaps it was the obvious presence of their children in the public rooms. Perhaps it was simply the fact that, through the sheer force of Hermione’s stubborn will, Harry had always been welcome there.
Ginny had herded their children into the small family library, leaving Hermione in the front room alone. She was huddled into a chair, curled into a fetal position, with the family clock on her knees, and two books balanced precariously on top of it. Typical for Hermione, she appeared to be reading both books at once, her lips moving soundlessly as her eyes darted from page to page.
“Any luck?” he asked.
She jumped, one of the books clattering to the floor, and the clock just barely escaping the same fate by dint of Hermione’s good reflexes. “Oh, hello Harry,” she said, in a bright, brittle voice.
“None, then?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again without saying anything, tears welling up in her eyes. She tried several more times, before Harry realized she wasn’t going to be able to answer.
“We’re going to solve this,” he said gently. “He’s going to be fine.”
“But what if he isn’t?”
“He is.”
“You said that already,” she said, her voice shaky, “but what if he isn’t?”
Harry drew a chair close to hers and sat down on the edge of it, his elbows on his knees. He took her second book away and laid it carefully on the floor, and then looked her in the face. “Hermione, we’re going to do everything we can do. Snape is a survivor. Whatever is happening to him, he’s going to find a way to fight through it.”
“There’s something going on, Harry.”
He frowned and rubbed his chin, scratching the stubble that was beginning to poke through his skin. “You’re probably right, but I don’t have any idea what.”
She looked down at the clock, resting her fingers lovingly on one of the hands, where Harry could see the name ‘Severus Tobias Snape’ engraved. It hadn’t moved. “Things were so much simpler back when we were children.”
“Back then, it was always Severus’ fault.”
She smiled bitterly. “According to everyone but us, it still is.”
“Why blame Severus, though? That’s what I don’t understand. Seems pretty obvious to me that you can’t hold the Headmaster responsible for the Potions Master’s mistakes.”
“You work as an Auror, Harry. You understand how the chain of command works. Besides, Ernie wasn’t a popular choice. He’s not the most qualified person Severus could have hired. He was sort of doing him a favor, to be honest. It led to a bit of a argument.” She rolled her eyes. “School politics is even worse than Ministry politics.”
Harry, well-acquainted with the inner workings of the Ministry for Magic, raised his eyebrows.
“Honestly,” she added, shaking her head, “you’ve no idea.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Even if Ernie was an unpopular appointment, though, it isn’t as if Severus is unpopular. He’s not Dumbledore, of course-”
“And wouldn’t want to be,” said Hermione.
“And wouldn’t want to be. But he’s well-liked. He’s done wonderful things for the school. Everyone says so.”
“There are wheels within wheels, Harry. He’s popular outside Hogwarts, and he’s popular with most of the students, although sometimes I can’t imagine why. He hasn’t changed that much. The Board of Governors is another story. There are people who want him gone.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “It’s hard to say. It could just be paranoia on my part. I’m not on the Board, so I don’t go to the meetings. The Headmaster attends-professors don’t, and Severus isn’t terribly communicative about what goes on in them.”
Harry sat back in the chair, sighing. “Do you think it was just incompetence on Ernie’s part?”
“He’s not the most brilliant person who’s ever held the position, but he’s not incompetent, or Severus wouldn’t have employed him, no matter how much Ernie needed the position. You know Ernie, Harry. He’s conscientious, and he’s honestly devoted to his students.” Her face twisted into what might optimistically be termed a smile. “Hufflepuff, you know.”
“And Neville provided the ingredients.”
She nodded.
Harry was on the point of asking another question, when the door burst open.
“Mum!” screamed the short, black-haired child who ran in, “Hypatia hit me!”
Hypatia, shorter still, and possessed of an enormous quantity of very black, very curly hair, followed her sister in. She smiled coyly at Harry, who was absolutely incapable of resisting her charms, and held his arms out to her immediately. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked over to him and clambered into his lap.
“Hypatia,” said Hermione sternly, “did you hit Miranda?”
Hypatia nodded, and pointed to the side of her own head.
“You hit her on the head?”
“With my broomstick!” wailed Miranda, red-faced and red-eyed.
Hermione gathered her middle child into her lap and inspected her head for bumps or bruises, eventually finding a bright red mark just in front of her left ear.
“Hypatia, it is not all right to hit your sister,” she said, with the air of a person delivering a long-since memorized speech. “Miranda, if Hypatia tries to hit you, what are you supposed to do?”
Miranda eyed her sister warily. “Say ‘no thank you, Hypatia.’”
“That’s right. And what else?”
She scowled. “Walk away.”
“That’s right. You need to remember that, please.”
Miranda wriggled out of Hermione’s lap, stuck her chin out in an angry gesture that made her look unbelievably similar to her mother, in spite of her long nose and sleek hair. “No thank you, Hypatia,” she said viciously, and stalked away.
Hypatia, who had been rummaging in Harry’s front pocket for sweets, paused long enough to shoot Miranda a quizzical look before she returned to her search.
Harry finally fished a sherbet lemon from a different pocket and slipped it to her when he thought Hermione wasn’t looking. “Does that really work?” he asked, as Miranda returned to the other room, dragging the door shut behind her with one last, venomous look at her sister.
“Which?” Hermione looked distractedly at the clock again.
“Just telling them to say ‘no thank you’ and things like that.”
She shrugged. “It works just as well as anything else, I think. Severus wishes I’d be more of a disciplinarian, but my mum sent me this book-”
“Say no more,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. He picked up Hypatia, now happily sucking on her sherbet lemon, and put her down on the ground. “I’m going back to the Ministry. Maybe I can poke around, ask a few questions. There’s got to be some connection we aren’t making.”
Hermione set the clock carefully down on the arm of the chair, and then bent forward and picked up her youngest child. Hypatia snuggled into Hermione’s shoulder, sucking contentedly on her smuggled sweet. Hermione held her tightly.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said, as he turned his back to go.
He ran his hand through his hair, rumpling it up in embarrassment. “Not necessary. That’s what friends are for.”
“Are you going to go in and see Ginny?”
“She told me not to dare to show my face around her until Severus is back.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Thanks, Harry,” she said again.
As soon as the courtroom started to dissolve around him, Severus closed his eyes-the transition was less wrenching than the pull of a Portkey, but still disorienting, and he hoped he’d find it less nauseating if he didn’t watch.
He found himself in a musty old room. There was a faint, acrid odor Severus associated with despair and neglect. It smelled of sweat, urine, even the copper tang of blood. He had found that smell a feature in much that Dumbledore had shown him from Spinner’s End to Azkaban thus far.
“Albus …”
“Just wait,” he said, as he Disillusioned them.
Severus sat on an iron-bound trunk, but leapt up when he heard a bang, as if something kicked from the inside.
“But not there,” said Dumbledore.
Backing away until he reached the wall, he slowly sat down against that, instead.
Seeing Lupin again had been … trying. When Hermione had told him how Lupin had abandoned his unborn child, while claiming the moral high ground for the act, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from a sneer. “How like Lupin,” he had told her, “to wallow in self-pity and expect others to see it as noble.”
The expression on her face when he’d said that had caused him to swallow down the rest of his thought, that he wouldn’t have put it past Lupin to go to a ‘heroic death’ rather than face living and the responsibilities of fatherhood. The “consequences of your self-hatred” Dumbledore had said to him-had he succeeded in killing himself, his own children would have become as fatherless as Teddy Lupin, and that he was sure Harry would cosset them as much as he did Teddy didn’t abate his self-contempt. He was no better than Lupin.
His head jerked up when he heard the creak of the door. Someone was approaching-first there was a shuffling noise, then a hard thud, the sequence repeating again and again. Severus frowned, trying to decipher the sounds. The door swung open, and Mad-Eye came through. Severus pressed closer to the wall, tried not to even breathe heavily. The Disillusionment Charm didn’t muffle sounds. Even after the passage of almost two decades, Moody still could make his body stiffen, as if he were preparing for an attack.
The old man sat on a chair near the trunk and kicked it. He removed the magical eye and took off his wooden leg, leaning it against his chair, then he put his good leg up on the trunk with a grin. But the voice that came from the seated figure wasn’t Moody’s. It was younger, less gruff. “Oh, Alastor, it’s really beginning to smell a little ripe in here. Looks like I’ll have to clean you up again. I had such a good time today. Do you remember the Longbottoms? Of course you do-Frank was your partner, wasn’t he? Amazing, really, that their child could be almost a squib. Little Neville-Hogwarts school champion for the Triwizard tournament-went against a Hungarian Horntail today … and lost.”
A furious kicking came from inside the trunk, rocking it from side to side. As he watched, the ersatz Moody’s face rippled, the graying hair darkening, the stump growing into a leg.
Crouch.
“So, Dumbledore has lost the last possible ‘chosen one.’ There’s no pawn of prophecy left. What will he do? Make Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion his stalking horse? But Diggory’s no Gryffindor. Dumbledore would be as likely to look for a hero in Hufflepuff as in Slytherin. I could ask what you think, but I don’t really need to. I’ve studied you so closely, imitated you for months, spoken with your most intimate friends. I can think like you now. I am you. Worry not. I’ll take you out for a cleaning soon. And I’ll still need you to provide some hair, maybe pull a memory or two.”
Crouch unlocked the trunk with a wave of his wand-a fetid miasma wafted over to where Severus sat, making him gag. When had Moody been out of there last?
Kneeling down to peer inside, an almost tender look on his face, Crouch reached in. “Dumbledore is reviving the old Order of the Phoenix, and Moody will play an important part. I couldn’t have done it, really, without your habit of nipping at the bottle almost every hour. People would have suspected.” A pensive look crossed Crouch’s face and he spoke softy, with something close to regret almost touching his voice. “Neville almost made it. When he came out of the tent for his turn, he looked around on the ground, picked up this odd flower. Sprout called it Blood Root-said it acted like a sort of catnip for dragons-well, dragons were the first task. Crept close to the dragon, let her take a whiff, then backed away, threw the plant and tried to go after the golden egg. That’s when the Horntail burned him to a crisp. Kept his nerve all through, too, and he struck me as a rather nervous sort. But he was a Gryffindor, after all, one of your lot. The rest survived-not their schools’ champions for nothing. A pureblood, Neville. Last of the Longbottoms. What a waste.”
Severus heard a sound come from the trunk, a low whine that sounded more like a noise that a dog would make, than a human being. Moody would have been in that trunk for months. Severus glanced over to the other side of the room where he knew Dumbledore quietly stood. Severus imagined he was looking not at Moody or Crouch, but at him. How could he send them both to these little excursions and stay so serene, as if he were just playing a chess game, and what mattered wasn’t the movement of the pieces but trying to gauge the effect on his opponent?
Careful not to make any noise, Severus got up off the floor. It still amazed him how easy movement was, how all the old aches and injuries weren’t there. If Albus were so determined to put him through this, he might as well get the full show-see what his careless words had wrought. When his step made a floorboard creak, he froze, but Crouch was still intently peering in the trunk. With a few more steps, he was able to see Moody in the trunk, a blanket tucked around him like a child put to bed, but his expression …
Moody’s face was slack, his one good eye was glazed, but tears left tracks down his grimy face. In the course of events that Severus knew, Moody had survived months more in the trunk and had come out of it with his psyche intact, even if he had become darker and more paranoid than ever. But now it was as if Crouch’s news had broken something.
Severus turned away, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
Lupin. Moody. Both had been tormentors of sorts. But he didn’t want this. He had never wanted this. Not caring if he alerted Crouch to his presence, he strode out the open door and down the stairs, only knowing that he couldn’t stay one more minute. As soon as he reached outside, he took in deep gulps of the cool autumn air, trying to cleanse his lungs, purge it of the air of that … pit.
He didn’t turn around when he heard steps drawing close to him. “So, Albus,” Severus said, “would you like me to draw the lessons for this particular sermon on ‘for want of a nail?’”
“I think you know it would be more than that by this point.”
He did know that. He had avoided ’Moody’ when he’d acted as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that year. But he couldn’t believe that even in changed circumstances he wouldn’t have cottoned on to the presence of a mole among the Order ranks once he’d returned to Voldemort. And all the intelligence he had gleaned after returning … He had known he was making a difference, hadn’t been able to resist goading Black about it, in point of fact-not that he’d had even tried to resist. He’d prided himself on the risks he’d taken, the small victories, making up for the nightmare he’d lived when he’d had to work his way back into Voldemort’s dubious graces after that fateful Triwizard tournament. Without Severus, the Order’s one window into the Death Eaters, the future would be even more dramatically different from here on-he knew that, no matter how he resisted Dumbledore’s little lessons.
Severus shook his head. “This, too, is the result of my self-hatred? Well, I hated Moody. He was the one that arrested me all those years ago and hurled me into Azkaban. Tried some interesting … enhanced interrogation techniques on me. Why shouldn’t I glory in what I saw upstairs? Relish it? Shouldn’t I be entertained?”
“But you aren’t. Because in the end, you’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
“Was that the lesson of the hour? Well, here’s what I don’t understand, all-seeing one. Whatever I might have deserved, I can hardly believe you’d turn the world upside down just to teach me, punish me. This isn’t real-” He glared up at Dumbledore. “-or this isn’t permanent.”
“This is very real, Severus. Every choice we make, or don’t make, or could have made, calls into being a different world. This had been my lesson, some might say my punishment in this existence. To trace all the different possible fates I changed for good or ill. To learn exactly who I undervalued in life.”
Dumbledore offered him a hand up, but Severus refused to take it, levering himself up. “Tell me there’s a way out of this, Albus.”
But Dumbledore just gave him a smile before again whisking him away from their surroundings.
“Ernie-do you know who else was up for your position?”
“I’m perfectly qualified to-”
“I didn’t ask that. I just heard there was controversy is all, and I just want to know who might be out there and wanting to discredit you.”
Ernie’s eyes bulged and his mouth went slack, as if that thought had never occurred to him. Harry felt a faint surge of irritation. He found it impossible to believe Severus hadn’t gone over this ground. But Hermione was right-Ernie was conscientious, and even a dab hand at potions, but rather naive in some ways, especially given the times they’d all lived through.
After a fruitless visit to the Ministry to check his sources there, Harry had returned to the Potions classroom to cast a few spells, try to look for traces of Dark Magic, but he’d have had a better chance had he been here two weeks ago. Harry wasn’t sure Hermione was right about school politics being more treacherous than those at the Ministry-in fact, he wondered if they were connected. He should have been informed of this-he wasn’t Auror head, but he was damn close, and he hadn’t been convinced by Robard’s protestations that his mission had been too sensitive to be interrupted. A damn ruddy goose chase is what it had been, and part of Harry wondered if they’d wanted him out of the way. The way Auror Warrington, assigned to the Hogwarts case, avoided his Floo calls and owls hadn’t reassured him.
“It was between me, Draco Malfoy, and Damocles Belby.”
“The inventor of Wolfsbane.” No wonder some had questioned whether Severus had chosen the most qualified candidate.
“Belby had a lot of conditions-he only wanted to teach Advanced Potions, really. The Headmaster said he didn’t want to hire two teachers when he could hire one, and said he wanted someone devoted to the school-someone younger, who was less set in his ways. He said we needed to throw out more than the old Potions texts.” Ernie looked at him directly and jutted out his chin. “Potions was the Headmaster’s own discipline-and in the end, you know, he truly loved it more than Defense Against the Dark Arts-that’s where he did original research. Do you really think he’d pick less than the best?”
Harry sighed and shook his head. He didn’t say that, in some ways, Severus modeled himself too much on Dumbledore, and he’d known really that Dumbledore hadn’t always chosen by who was the best in their discipline, or even the best teacher. Otherwise Care of Magical Creatures would have been taught by Grubbly-Plank, not Hagrid. As much as he’d once bristled at those who’d so much as hinted at that, he couldn’t completely blame those who grumbled that Hogwarts should operate as a school, not a sanctuary for hard-luck misfits-like de-wanded half-Giants, werewolves-and ex-Death Eaters. Harry wondered if there was something he didn’t know about Ernie, something that put him on that list of almost-unemployable.
His attention was drawn by Ernie’s sharp, indrawn breath. The man had paled.
“Harry,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“The Headmaster … especially after all this happened. We have a ledger now that magically lists any ingredient withdrawn from the storeroom-and by whom.” Swallowing hard, Ernie shakily pushed the ledger over to him.
On a line with today’s date, not a few hours before, was inscribed the name Severus Snape-and beside it “Somnus Potion.” Harry gave Ernie an enquiring look.
“It’s made with Basilisk venom. A single drop can bring powerful visions, but more than that is a deadly poison, with no antidote.”
Suddenly it occurred to Harry why Severus could be alone in a room and still be in “mortal peril.”
This time, Severus found himself outside on what he supposed would have been a summer day, if not for the chill mist that swirled around his ankles. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. He knew that mist, and the miasma of despair that seemed to move invisibly through the air with it. Dementors. Breeding Dementors.
His hand went to his wand unconsciously. “What now, Dumbledore? More misery for me to behold, I assume?”
Dumbledore glanced up at the overcast sky, and then looked around to be sure nobody had seen them. “Follow me.”
Accordingly, Severus followed him. They walked for a long time, until the terrain slowly began to change. Severus didn’t recognize it, but it was unpleasant. He was ankle-deep in cold mud, although the fog finally seemed to be thinning a bit, and that was a blessing, if a small one.
They walked for a long time before Dumbledore finally held up a hand to stop him, and then took a sharp turn, into a thicket.
“Dumbledore?”
“This way,” called the Headmaster over his shoulder.
Severus, with no other alternative but to follow, plunged into the bushes after him. Almost immediately, he found himself in a wide clearing, warm and sunlit. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw only the thick bracken through which he had just tunneled.
“An enchantment, I suppose.”
Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Naturally, naturally,” he said, chuckling. “One of my own, in fact. Out-of-the-way, unplottable, and perpetually pleasant. Although, I suppose, if someone really wished for a change in the weather, it wouldn’t be too difficult to put together a little thunderstorm.”
“Why are we here?”
Dumbledore’s face grew grave again, a look that Severus was beginning to dread. “You will see soon enough. Come, Severus, let us retire over here. I must Disillusion you again.”
Severus scowled. “Of course.”
The charms applied, they didn’t have long to wait. People began to crawl through the hole that Severus and Dumbledore had entered by. Severus recognized nearly all of them. Nymphadora Tonks was first, followed almost immediately by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva was next, and then Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Arthur Weasley, and one of the Weasley twins-George, judging by the fact that there were no explosions within the first sixty seconds after his entry.
“Where are the rest of them?” asked Severus, waiting for more redheads, and seeing none.
“The rest, Severus?” asked Dumbledore.
“The Weasleys.”
“Ah.” There was a long pause. Beside him, Severus could hear a faint rustle as Dumbledore moved. “They will not be coming.”
The cold knot in his stomach that had been present for some time now tightened still further. “Dead?”
“No.”
“This is an Order meeting, is it not? Surely at least Molly-”
“If Molly wished to come, she would have come.”
Severus frowned. “You mean to tell me that she is absent simply because she isn’t interested?”
“I do.”
“Preposterous. If anything, Molly has always been more passionate about the Order than Arthur.”
“Not anymore,” said Dumbledore sadly.
“Explain.” Severus’ voice was sharp with anger, and for a moment, he thought they’d been heard. Tonks, at least, cast an uncertain glance in their direction. But she seemed to decide that whatever she thought she’d heard was a figment of her imagination, and she shook her head, turning her attention back to Kingsley, with whom she had been carrying on a low, intense conversation.
“Molly is a passionate woman, Severus, as well you know,” said Dumbledore, his voice as soft as Severus’ had been hard. “When Ginny Weasley died, it tore the family apart in many ways. Percival, Ronald, Fred, and Molly have all … withdrawn their personal support for me, after my inability to protect her.”
“As if you could have protected her from a raging madman,” said Severus dismissively. “Without Parseltongue, even Potter couldn’t have so much as made the attempt to thwart his designs.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, his voice still very soft, and very sad.
“Molly Prewett was always fanatically loyal to you. I still fail to see-”
“She became Molly Weasley, Severus, as you know, and that was not a bad thing. She was even more fanatically devoted to Harry and her children, and it was that very devotion that would have enabled her to conquer Bellatrix Lestrange-had you been there to protect Harry and her children. But, that very same devotion drove her away from the Order and from myself personally, after the tragedies that I could not prevent.”
“Tragedies?”
“Harry died as well, you remember.”
“Ah,” said Severus, and then again, more softly, “ah.”
One last figure entered the thicket. Severus’ heartbeat suddenly accelerated, his sense of foreboding seeming to make even his fingertips prickle.
“Moody!” called Arthur. “At last! Where have you been?”
“Delayed,” growled Moody, who Severus was sure could not really be Moody.
“We were worried,” said Kingsley.
A faint, twisted smile worked its way onto Moody-Crouch’s ravaged face. “No need to be. Here I am.”
“Let us begin, then.” Arthur stood up.
“Yes!” cried Crouch, who had not yet sat down. “Let us begin!”
“Moody-”
“I have something to say!”
“Let him speak,” whispered Minerva, with a pitying glance at Crouch, who she obviously thought had gone a bit mad. If only she knew.
He waited until he was sure he had the full attention of all the assembled witches and wizards. Severus watched his blue eye spin manically around in his head, although the sight nauseated him slightly, as it always had. A few times, he thought it came to rest on the spot where he and Dumbledore were hiding, and he felt a stab of fear. Could Moody’s eye see through Disillusionment charms?
Moody waited another moment, seeming to enjoy the suspense that he held them all in. A feeling of foreboding seemed to have entered the room with him, as it so often did, and now it grew steadily stronger.
“Dumbledore is dead,” he said.
“No!” cried Arthur despairingly, and his cry was joined by those of all the rest. Minerva wept. Tonks suddenly seemed to diminish into the little girl that Severus remembered from years of Potions lessons, a small, lost-looking Hufflepuff with a too-great awareness of her family failings and her own oddity. Dumbledore had done a great deal for her, as he had for all the grieving people who now clung to each other, wracked with despair. Even Severus, infected by the mood of the moment, reached out to feel for the invisible Dumbledore beside him and assure himself that his guide was still there.
Kingsley, the only one who had stayed silent at the news, finally raised his bowed head. “What’s happened?”
“He failed, that’s what,” growled Moody-Crouch. “Got himself killed, and whatever weapon he thought he was going to get for us is gone with him.” His eye slowed somewhat in its spinning, fixing on each of them in turn. “Unless one of you knows what he was after.”
Nobody met anybody else’s eye. Severus turned to look at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore, of course, was invisible. Still, something told him that he knew what he would hear, if Dumbledore were to speak. The Peverell ring. Dumbledore was a damn fool. Of course he’d put it on. He had even more reason to than before, if Harry, Ginny, and Neville were all dead. But the curse had been a powerful one, and Severus had barely been able to contain it, using every art at his disposal.
“Nobody?” Crouch drew his wand, playing with it idly. “Very well. Dumbledore’s finally out of the way, you’ve all outlived your usefulness, and I’ve got orders.” He gave none of them time to react. His wand whipped forward.
“Avada Kedavra!” he roared again and again, and before the last of them could so much as draw their own wand in self-defense, they had all fallen.
“About damn time,” Crouch said, treading on George’s hand with Moody’s wooden leg on his way out.
When Harry returned to the Snape quarters, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. That was as he preferred it, for the moment, and he stuck his head into the room where Ginny was watching their assembled children.
“Ginny,” he said softly, “I need a minute.”
She raised one delicate copper eyebrow. “Is he back?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Damn it, Ginny, I’m not joking!”
The older children stopped playing and stared at him, aghast. Ginny’s eyes moved from them to Harry, and she frowned.
“Harry, don’t use that sort of language in front of the children. Children, James is in charge. Make sure you listen to what he says. And James, be nice to the little ones.”
Harry waited until the door was firmly closed behind his wife before he spoke. “Gin, I need your advice.”
“Harry, what’s going on with Severus? What do you know? Hermione’s been driven just about to distraction. I sent her to bed with a Calming Draught, she was starting to say the most horrible things. She won’t let go of that clock, either. It reminds me of mum during the war.”
“Well,” said Harry bracingly, “your mum turned out all right.”
“First time I’ve heard you say that in a while.”
“Look, it’s beside the point. Ginny, I know why he’s gone to the Room of Requirement.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Yes?”
“He’s-he took a potion with him.”
“What potion?”
“It’s poison, Ginny.”
Her face, always pale, went white, and she pressed her lips together. Ginny was a woman who chose silence instead of exclamation in the face of a shock.
“There’s no way to get in there after him. All we can do is wait and hope he makes it out … on his own.”
His wife drew close to him, and he put his arms around her, burying his face in the smooth, sweet-smelling waves of her hair. “Oh Harry,” she said into his chest, her voice breaking.
“I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Something’s happened. Someone’s interfering at Hogwarts.”
She drew back, straightening up and sticking her chin out with a determined look. “What do you need my advice about?”
“I don’t know how to tell Hermione that-”
“Tell Hermione what?” asked Hermione from her bedroom door. Harry hadn’t heard it open, but she was there nonetheless, her head resting against the door frame wearily, the clock still clutched under one arm.
“Hermione.” Ginny’s eyes met Harry’s with a look of anguish. “Didn’t the Calming Draught work?”
“I still can’t sleep. Tell me what? Is there news? Do you know something?” She held up the clock plaintively. “It still says ‘mortal peril,’ Harry. Oh, Harry, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Hermione,” said Ginny again, “perhaps you’d better sit down.”
“No.” Hermione’s voice was sharp. “Tell me what it is. Tell me now. I need to know.”
Ginny looked at Harry, and he cleared his throat. “He’s-Ernie says he’s got a potion with him, Hermione.”
Hermione, as Ginny had, paled. “What potion?”
“Somnus.”
“No!” she wailed, dropping the clock and running for the door.
Ginny went to rescue the clock, which, miraculously, hadn’t broken. Harry went after Hermione, who was already out the door and in the hallway, running as if for dear life-which, he reflected unhappily, she was. He followed her up, up, up endless flights of stairs, through endless hallways, until they came to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She stood in front of the blank stretch of wall that Harry knew hid the door to the Room.
“Severus!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the passage. “Severus! Come out!” She threw herself at the wall, sobbing, pounding on it with her fists, bruising them heedlessly on the stone. “Severus! You can’t leave me. Please! Oh, God, Severus, please!”
Harry, his own eyes beginning to sting, ran forward and pulled her away from the wall, closing his arms tightly around her to try and stop her from struggling. “Hermione, it’s no good. He can’t hear you. We just need to wait.” He tried to keep his voice soothing, instead of panicked. “Come on. Let’s go back. This isn’t going to do any good.”
“No! I’m not leaving until he comes out!”
“Hermione, you’ve got to. The children-”
“Ginny can watch the bloody children! I want my husband!” She buried her face in his shoulder, crying as if her heart would break.
To be continued
Continue to Chapter Three
Return to Chapter One
Summary: Severus Snape doesn’t appreciate what a wonderful life he’s had-Dumbledore makes sure he does-whether he’s willing or not.
An Unexamined Life
by ZeeGrindylows and harmony_bites
CHAPTER TWO
Again, reality shimmered out of existence and then shimmered back. They were in yet another place that Severus had seen before, one he had no wish to ever return to.
The full Wizengamot sat in state, gazing down at the solitary man who sat in chains beneath them. He was ragged and scarred, far thinner and dirtier than Severus had ever seen him before, but he recognized the face. Remus Lupin was on trial.
Lupin whimpered softly, and twisted in his chair, trying to tear with his fingernails at the chains where they touched his skin. Severus took a step closer and shuddered. They had chained him with silver. Little question, then, whether his secret was still safe. Huge, ugly welts had formed on his skin where the silver touched it. Soon, the skin would begin to bubble and burn. Severus could already smell traces of the acrid scent of singeing flesh in the air.
“Remus John Lupin,” intoned a voice, “you are hereby charged with concealing your werewolf status, displaying callous carelessness as to the well-being and safety of the students of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are further charged with the murders of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.”
Remus groaned, closing his eyes.
“First witness for the prosecution, Lucius Malfoy, of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Does the defendant have any witnesses?”
Remus raised hunted eyes to the faces of the Wizengamot and shook his head. Severus saw his eyes move over the crowd that had come to try him, and rest briefly on the face of Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. That Dumbledore was looking down at him as impassively as if they had never met before.
Lucius Malfoy entered the room, impeccably groomed, in his best robes, his cane gripped in one gloved hand. He was sworn in, and took his seat, crossing his legs casually and leaning back in his chair, a self-satisfied little smile tugging at his lips.
“You are Lucius Gaius Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor?”
“I am.”
“State your relationship with the defendant.”
“I am head of the Board of Governors at Hogwarts. The defendant was, until recently, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor there.”
“And your complaint?”
He sniffed haughtily, removing his gloves with exaggerated, calculated movements and looking down at his fingernails. “It has come to my attention that the … accused is a werewolf.” He sneered down at Remus as if he were the filthiest piece of dirt he’d ever seen. “As head of the Board, it is my responsibility to insist that charges be brought against him for reckless endangerment of the students of the school.”
A tall, skinny witch that Severus didn’t know leaned forward, peering down at Lucius and Remus through her pair of glittering pince-nez. “You have proof that this man is a werewolf, I assume?”
Lucius smirked. “If you feel that you need proof beyond the effect that silver is obviously having on him-there is a witness willing to testify based on firsthand evidence.”
“His name?”
“Antonin Dolohov.”
“Let him come forth.”
The doors opened again, to reveal the face of one of the men Severus loathed most in the world. Dolohov swaggered in with all the self-assurance of a man who knows he is about to do something terrible, and who plans to enjoy it. It was a look that his face was used to wearing. He took his seat, looking disdainfully over at Remus.
“You are Antonin Dolohov?”
“Yes.”
“State your relationship to the defendant.”
“I’m Potions Master at Hogwarts. The werewolf used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
A squat little witch leaned forward, and Severus recognized, with the greatest distaste, the face of Dolores Umbridge. “When did you first learn that the accused was concealing his half-breed status?” she asked, simpering as sweetly as if she’d inquired about how Dolohov liked his tea.
The so-called Potions Master smiled sadistically at Remus. “Only a few days ago.”
“But you knew of his status beforehand?”
“I was under the impression that the Board of Governors were informed.”
“But they were not?”
“No.”
“And how did you come to learn of it?”
“I was asked to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for him.”
“Did you agree to do this?”
Dolohov grunted. “Yes.”
“You made it for him every month?”
Remus twisted his lip bitterly, but nobody other than Severus seemed to notice.
“I made it every month.”
“Did he take it regularly?”
“More or less.”
“More or less?”
“Missed it a few times,” said Dolohov.
“For what reason?”
He shrugged. “Search me. Not very reliable, I suppose.”
The witch in pince-nez sniffed. “Apparently not.”
Things continued in that vein for perhaps another half hour-or perhaps it was several hours. Severus found it very easy to lose track of time in that room. He felt as if he’d been trapped in a cave so far below the earth that time had ceased to exist. Finally, however, someone voiced the suggestion that they get on with the sentencing.
“Wait,” said the Albus Dumbledore who presided over the Wizengamot, his voice ringing through the courtroom. “There is one more charge that I believe must be brought against him.”
“One more?” whispered Severus, aghast.
The Dumbledore who stood beside him shook his head sorrowfully. “There was no way to know, Severus,” he murmured. “You, Harry, Ron and Hermione were not there in the Shrieking Shack that night to stop Sirius from killing Peter Pettigrew, nor was Harry there to reveal to Remus that Pettigrew was still alive. He believed that it was Sirius who betrayed Lily and James and forced Peter into hiding-and, I am sorry to say-”
He was cut off by Madam Bones, who was frowning at the Dumbledore accusing Remus. “There’s more, Dumbledore?”
That Dumbledore folded his hands, looking gravely around up at the assembly of the Wizengamot. “It is my belief,” he said softly, “that Remus Lupin was and is a loyal servant of Lord Voldemort, and is responsible for the betrayal of Lily and James Potter that led to their death in Godric’s Hollow at his hand.”
An awful hush fell over the room.
“No” whispered Severus fiercely, clenching his hands. The Dumbledore beside him said nothing.
All eyes were fixed on the other Dumbledore, who drew a long, slow breath and leaned back in his seat. “It is known,” he said, “amongst many members of the Wizengamot, that James and Lily Potter, and their son, were in hiding in Godric’s Hollow, protected from discovery by means of a Fidelius Charm. Their Secret-Keeper has always been presumed to be Sirius Black.”
In his peripheral vision, Severus saw Dumbledore remove his spectacles and begin cleaning them on the sleeve of his robe, an unreadable expression on his face.
“It was documented, Dumbledore, they told you-”
“What is documented,” interrupted Dumbledore, “is that Sirius Black was Harry Potter’s godfather, and James Potter’s best friend. It is also documented that they stated their intention to make Black their Secret-Keeper.”
A murmur began to grow in the crowd, until finally someone called out, “You’re saying that it was someone else?”
“I am saying that it was Remus Lupin.”
Lupin moaned softly. Severus’ eyes moved automatically to where he sat, but he looked away again immediately. The look of utter despair in Lupin’s eyes as he gazed up at Dumbledore was too painful to contemplate, even for a moment.
“Werewolf,” said the witch in pince-nez coldly, “were you Secret-Keeper for Lily and James Potter?”
They waited, but Remus didn’t answer. He appeared to have retreated into himself, his eyes dull and miserable, his arms occasionally twitching where the silver pressed into the now-blackening flesh.
“You will answer the charges, or you will be presumed guilty!”
Still, Remus made no answer. Severus looked on in disbelief. Only Dumbledore’s hand on his arm kept him from charging in and defending Remus himself. There had been no love lost between them, and Severus, while he had forgiven much, did not like or trust werewolves, but Remus had been a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had nobly given his life for the sake of the Order, Hogwarts, and the wizarding world at large. It was impossible to think that Albus Dumbledore could ever accuse such a man of being an ally of Lord Voldemort.
Impossible, and yet it was happening before his very eyes.
The other Dumbledore’s face was hard as he turned it on Remus. “Remus Lupin,” he said coldly, “in addition to the charges already laid at your feet, you are now charged with being an accessory to the murders of James and Lily Potter, and the attempted murder of Harry Potter. You are further charged with being a Death Eater, a loyal servant of Lord Voldemort, and of having spied for him until the time of his disappearance.” He paused, waiting until the echoe of his voice had died away. “All those in favor of finding the defendant guilty, raise your wand hands.”
Slowly, every witch and wizard there, without exception, lifted their wands in the air.
Dumbledore allowed a moment for the official vote to be tallied, and then stood up, his robes rippling around him, his face set in harsh, bitter lines. “By my authority as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I hereby sentence you to undergo the Dementor’s Kiss at midnight tonight.” And without another word, in defiance of convention and procedure, the Chief Warlock turned and left the courtroom.
“No!” cried Severus, as soon as the courtroom was empty. “What have you done, Dumbledore?”
“I?” asked Dumbledore mildly, “I have done nothing, Severus. Nor have you-which, I think, is the point.”
“Do not speak to me in riddles.”
“I do not know how to state things more plainly for you than I already have. Your wish was granted, Severus. You were never born. Now you must reap the consequences of your self-hatred.”
“This is madness. Remus Lupin died a hero’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts.”
“Remus Lupin’s body died in Azkaban less than two years after his soul was eaten by a Dementor for the crime of being a Death Eater.”
“He had no Dark Mark!”
Dumbledore gazed at him sadly. “Nor did Fenrir Greyback. Perhaps time has dimmed your memory. Voldemort employed werewolves as his spies and cohorts, and even graced a few of them with the title of Death Eater, but he never allowed them the highest honor. The Dark Mark was a privilege beyond the reckoning of a werewolf.”
“Potter, Lupin, Black, Pettigrew-I refuse to be made to feel guilty for deaths that never happened.”
“Nor should you have been made to, because they did not happen. But without you there, Severus-well, you have seen it.” He spread his hands apart, palms upward. “Things changed.”
Harry expected to find Hermione in the library. He spent nearly fifteen minutes looking for her there, without success.
His second attempt fared better. Hermione had retreated to the quiet privacy of the Snape family quarters. For a series of dungeon rooms, they were surprisingly comfortable, and, although Hermione and Severus both would have been horrified to hear it, Harry felt there was an atmosphere rather like the Burrow about it, although there was not a shred of visual similarity between the two homes. Perhaps it was the obvious presence of their children in the public rooms. Perhaps it was simply the fact that, through the sheer force of Hermione’s stubborn will, Harry had always been welcome there.
Ginny had herded their children into the small family library, leaving Hermione in the front room alone. She was huddled into a chair, curled into a fetal position, with the family clock on her knees, and two books balanced precariously on top of it. Typical for Hermione, she appeared to be reading both books at once, her lips moving soundlessly as her eyes darted from page to page.
“Any luck?” he asked.
She jumped, one of the books clattering to the floor, and the clock just barely escaping the same fate by dint of Hermione’s good reflexes. “Oh, hello Harry,” she said, in a bright, brittle voice.
“None, then?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again without saying anything, tears welling up in her eyes. She tried several more times, before Harry realized she wasn’t going to be able to answer.
“We’re going to solve this,” he said gently. “He’s going to be fine.”
“But what if he isn’t?”
“He is.”
“You said that already,” she said, her voice shaky, “but what if he isn’t?”
Harry drew a chair close to hers and sat down on the edge of it, his elbows on his knees. He took her second book away and laid it carefully on the floor, and then looked her in the face. “Hermione, we’re going to do everything we can do. Snape is a survivor. Whatever is happening to him, he’s going to find a way to fight through it.”
“There’s something going on, Harry.”
He frowned and rubbed his chin, scratching the stubble that was beginning to poke through his skin. “You’re probably right, but I don’t have any idea what.”
She looked down at the clock, resting her fingers lovingly on one of the hands, where Harry could see the name ‘Severus Tobias Snape’ engraved. It hadn’t moved. “Things were so much simpler back when we were children.”
“Back then, it was always Severus’ fault.”
She smiled bitterly. “According to everyone but us, it still is.”
“Why blame Severus, though? That’s what I don’t understand. Seems pretty obvious to me that you can’t hold the Headmaster responsible for the Potions Master’s mistakes.”
“You work as an Auror, Harry. You understand how the chain of command works. Besides, Ernie wasn’t a popular choice. He’s not the most qualified person Severus could have hired. He was sort of doing him a favor, to be honest. It led to a bit of a argument.” She rolled her eyes. “School politics is even worse than Ministry politics.”
Harry, well-acquainted with the inner workings of the Ministry for Magic, raised his eyebrows.
“Honestly,” she added, shaking her head, “you’ve no idea.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Even if Ernie was an unpopular appointment, though, it isn’t as if Severus is unpopular. He’s not Dumbledore, of course-”
“And wouldn’t want to be,” said Hermione.
“And wouldn’t want to be. But he’s well-liked. He’s done wonderful things for the school. Everyone says so.”
“There are wheels within wheels, Harry. He’s popular outside Hogwarts, and he’s popular with most of the students, although sometimes I can’t imagine why. He hasn’t changed that much. The Board of Governors is another story. There are people who want him gone.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “It’s hard to say. It could just be paranoia on my part. I’m not on the Board, so I don’t go to the meetings. The Headmaster attends-professors don’t, and Severus isn’t terribly communicative about what goes on in them.”
Harry sat back in the chair, sighing. “Do you think it was just incompetence on Ernie’s part?”
“He’s not the most brilliant person who’s ever held the position, but he’s not incompetent, or Severus wouldn’t have employed him, no matter how much Ernie needed the position. You know Ernie, Harry. He’s conscientious, and he’s honestly devoted to his students.” Her face twisted into what might optimistically be termed a smile. “Hufflepuff, you know.”
“And Neville provided the ingredients.”
She nodded.
Harry was on the point of asking another question, when the door burst open.
“Mum!” screamed the short, black-haired child who ran in, “Hypatia hit me!”
Hypatia, shorter still, and possessed of an enormous quantity of very black, very curly hair, followed her sister in. She smiled coyly at Harry, who was absolutely incapable of resisting her charms, and held his arms out to her immediately. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked over to him and clambered into his lap.
“Hypatia,” said Hermione sternly, “did you hit Miranda?”
Hypatia nodded, and pointed to the side of her own head.
“You hit her on the head?”
“With my broomstick!” wailed Miranda, red-faced and red-eyed.
Hermione gathered her middle child into her lap and inspected her head for bumps or bruises, eventually finding a bright red mark just in front of her left ear.
“Hypatia, it is not all right to hit your sister,” she said, with the air of a person delivering a long-since memorized speech. “Miranda, if Hypatia tries to hit you, what are you supposed to do?”
Miranda eyed her sister warily. “Say ‘no thank you, Hypatia.’”
“That’s right. And what else?”
She scowled. “Walk away.”
“That’s right. You need to remember that, please.”
Miranda wriggled out of Hermione’s lap, stuck her chin out in an angry gesture that made her look unbelievably similar to her mother, in spite of her long nose and sleek hair. “No thank you, Hypatia,” she said viciously, and stalked away.
Hypatia, who had been rummaging in Harry’s front pocket for sweets, paused long enough to shoot Miranda a quizzical look before she returned to her search.
Harry finally fished a sherbet lemon from a different pocket and slipped it to her when he thought Hermione wasn’t looking. “Does that really work?” he asked, as Miranda returned to the other room, dragging the door shut behind her with one last, venomous look at her sister.
“Which?” Hermione looked distractedly at the clock again.
“Just telling them to say ‘no thank you’ and things like that.”
She shrugged. “It works just as well as anything else, I think. Severus wishes I’d be more of a disciplinarian, but my mum sent me this book-”
“Say no more,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. He picked up Hypatia, now happily sucking on her sherbet lemon, and put her down on the ground. “I’m going back to the Ministry. Maybe I can poke around, ask a few questions. There’s got to be some connection we aren’t making.”
Hermione set the clock carefully down on the arm of the chair, and then bent forward and picked up her youngest child. Hypatia snuggled into Hermione’s shoulder, sucking contentedly on her smuggled sweet. Hermione held her tightly.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said, as he turned his back to go.
He ran his hand through his hair, rumpling it up in embarrassment. “Not necessary. That’s what friends are for.”
“Are you going to go in and see Ginny?”
“She told me not to dare to show my face around her until Severus is back.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “Thanks, Harry,” she said again.
As soon as the courtroom started to dissolve around him, Severus closed his eyes-the transition was less wrenching than the pull of a Portkey, but still disorienting, and he hoped he’d find it less nauseating if he didn’t watch.
He found himself in a musty old room. There was a faint, acrid odor Severus associated with despair and neglect. It smelled of sweat, urine, even the copper tang of blood. He had found that smell a feature in much that Dumbledore had shown him from Spinner’s End to Azkaban thus far.
“Albus …”
“Just wait,” he said, as he Disillusioned them.
Severus sat on an iron-bound trunk, but leapt up when he heard a bang, as if something kicked from the inside.
“But not there,” said Dumbledore.
Backing away until he reached the wall, he slowly sat down against that, instead.
Seeing Lupin again had been … trying. When Hermione had told him how Lupin had abandoned his unborn child, while claiming the moral high ground for the act, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from a sneer. “How like Lupin,” he had told her, “to wallow in self-pity and expect others to see it as noble.”
The expression on her face when he’d said that had caused him to swallow down the rest of his thought, that he wouldn’t have put it past Lupin to go to a ‘heroic death’ rather than face living and the responsibilities of fatherhood. The “consequences of your self-hatred” Dumbledore had said to him-had he succeeded in killing himself, his own children would have become as fatherless as Teddy Lupin, and that he was sure Harry would cosset them as much as he did Teddy didn’t abate his self-contempt. He was no better than Lupin.
His head jerked up when he heard the creak of the door. Someone was approaching-first there was a shuffling noise, then a hard thud, the sequence repeating again and again. Severus frowned, trying to decipher the sounds. The door swung open, and Mad-Eye came through. Severus pressed closer to the wall, tried not to even breathe heavily. The Disillusionment Charm didn’t muffle sounds. Even after the passage of almost two decades, Moody still could make his body stiffen, as if he were preparing for an attack.
The old man sat on a chair near the trunk and kicked it. He removed the magical eye and took off his wooden leg, leaning it against his chair, then he put his good leg up on the trunk with a grin. But the voice that came from the seated figure wasn’t Moody’s. It was younger, less gruff. “Oh, Alastor, it’s really beginning to smell a little ripe in here. Looks like I’ll have to clean you up again. I had such a good time today. Do you remember the Longbottoms? Of course you do-Frank was your partner, wasn’t he? Amazing, really, that their child could be almost a squib. Little Neville-Hogwarts school champion for the Triwizard tournament-went against a Hungarian Horntail today … and lost.”
A furious kicking came from inside the trunk, rocking it from side to side. As he watched, the ersatz Moody’s face rippled, the graying hair darkening, the stump growing into a leg.
Crouch.
“So, Dumbledore has lost the last possible ‘chosen one.’ There’s no pawn of prophecy left. What will he do? Make Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion his stalking horse? But Diggory’s no Gryffindor. Dumbledore would be as likely to look for a hero in Hufflepuff as in Slytherin. I could ask what you think, but I don’t really need to. I’ve studied you so closely, imitated you for months, spoken with your most intimate friends. I can think like you now. I am you. Worry not. I’ll take you out for a cleaning soon. And I’ll still need you to provide some hair, maybe pull a memory or two.”
Crouch unlocked the trunk with a wave of his wand-a fetid miasma wafted over to where Severus sat, making him gag. When had Moody been out of there last?
Kneeling down to peer inside, an almost tender look on his face, Crouch reached in. “Dumbledore is reviving the old Order of the Phoenix, and Moody will play an important part. I couldn’t have done it, really, without your habit of nipping at the bottle almost every hour. People would have suspected.” A pensive look crossed Crouch’s face and he spoke softy, with something close to regret almost touching his voice. “Neville almost made it. When he came out of the tent for his turn, he looked around on the ground, picked up this odd flower. Sprout called it Blood Root-said it acted like a sort of catnip for dragons-well, dragons were the first task. Crept close to the dragon, let her take a whiff, then backed away, threw the plant and tried to go after the golden egg. That’s when the Horntail burned him to a crisp. Kept his nerve all through, too, and he struck me as a rather nervous sort. But he was a Gryffindor, after all, one of your lot. The rest survived-not their schools’ champions for nothing. A pureblood, Neville. Last of the Longbottoms. What a waste.”
Severus heard a sound come from the trunk, a low whine that sounded more like a noise that a dog would make, than a human being. Moody would have been in that trunk for months. Severus glanced over to the other side of the room where he knew Dumbledore quietly stood. Severus imagined he was looking not at Moody or Crouch, but at him. How could he send them both to these little excursions and stay so serene, as if he were just playing a chess game, and what mattered wasn’t the movement of the pieces but trying to gauge the effect on his opponent?
Careful not to make any noise, Severus got up off the floor. It still amazed him how easy movement was, how all the old aches and injuries weren’t there. If Albus were so determined to put him through this, he might as well get the full show-see what his careless words had wrought. When his step made a floorboard creak, he froze, but Crouch was still intently peering in the trunk. With a few more steps, he was able to see Moody in the trunk, a blanket tucked around him like a child put to bed, but his expression …
Moody’s face was slack, his one good eye was glazed, but tears left tracks down his grimy face. In the course of events that Severus knew, Moody had survived months more in the trunk and had come out of it with his psyche intact, even if he had become darker and more paranoid than ever. But now it was as if Crouch’s news had broken something.
Severus turned away, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
Lupin. Moody. Both had been tormentors of sorts. But he didn’t want this. He had never wanted this. Not caring if he alerted Crouch to his presence, he strode out the open door and down the stairs, only knowing that he couldn’t stay one more minute. As soon as he reached outside, he took in deep gulps of the cool autumn air, trying to cleanse his lungs, purge it of the air of that … pit.
He didn’t turn around when he heard steps drawing close to him. “So, Albus,” Severus said, “would you like me to draw the lessons for this particular sermon on ‘for want of a nail?’”
“I think you know it would be more than that by this point.”
He did know that. He had avoided ’Moody’ when he’d acted as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that year. But he couldn’t believe that even in changed circumstances he wouldn’t have cottoned on to the presence of a mole among the Order ranks once he’d returned to Voldemort. And all the intelligence he had gleaned after returning … He had known he was making a difference, hadn’t been able to resist goading Black about it, in point of fact-not that he’d had even tried to resist. He’d prided himself on the risks he’d taken, the small victories, making up for the nightmare he’d lived when he’d had to work his way back into Voldemort’s dubious graces after that fateful Triwizard tournament. Without Severus, the Order’s one window into the Death Eaters, the future would be even more dramatically different from here on-he knew that, no matter how he resisted Dumbledore’s little lessons.
Severus shook his head. “This, too, is the result of my self-hatred? Well, I hated Moody. He was the one that arrested me all those years ago and hurled me into Azkaban. Tried some interesting … enhanced interrogation techniques on me. Why shouldn’t I glory in what I saw upstairs? Relish it? Shouldn’t I be entertained?”
“But you aren’t. Because in the end, you’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
“Was that the lesson of the hour? Well, here’s what I don’t understand, all-seeing one. Whatever I might have deserved, I can hardly believe you’d turn the world upside down just to teach me, punish me. This isn’t real-” He glared up at Dumbledore. “-or this isn’t permanent.”
“This is very real, Severus. Every choice we make, or don’t make, or could have made, calls into being a different world. This had been my lesson, some might say my punishment in this existence. To trace all the different possible fates I changed for good or ill. To learn exactly who I undervalued in life.”
Dumbledore offered him a hand up, but Severus refused to take it, levering himself up. “Tell me there’s a way out of this, Albus.”
But Dumbledore just gave him a smile before again whisking him away from their surroundings.
“Ernie-do you know who else was up for your position?”
“I’m perfectly qualified to-”
“I didn’t ask that. I just heard there was controversy is all, and I just want to know who might be out there and wanting to discredit you.”
Ernie’s eyes bulged and his mouth went slack, as if that thought had never occurred to him. Harry felt a faint surge of irritation. He found it impossible to believe Severus hadn’t gone over this ground. But Hermione was right-Ernie was conscientious, and even a dab hand at potions, but rather naive in some ways, especially given the times they’d all lived through.
After a fruitless visit to the Ministry to check his sources there, Harry had returned to the Potions classroom to cast a few spells, try to look for traces of Dark Magic, but he’d have had a better chance had he been here two weeks ago. Harry wasn’t sure Hermione was right about school politics being more treacherous than those at the Ministry-in fact, he wondered if they were connected. He should have been informed of this-he wasn’t Auror head, but he was damn close, and he hadn’t been convinced by Robard’s protestations that his mission had been too sensitive to be interrupted. A damn ruddy goose chase is what it had been, and part of Harry wondered if they’d wanted him out of the way. The way Auror Warrington, assigned to the Hogwarts case, avoided his Floo calls and owls hadn’t reassured him.
“It was between me, Draco Malfoy, and Damocles Belby.”
“The inventor of Wolfsbane.” No wonder some had questioned whether Severus had chosen the most qualified candidate.
“Belby had a lot of conditions-he only wanted to teach Advanced Potions, really. The Headmaster said he didn’t want to hire two teachers when he could hire one, and said he wanted someone devoted to the school-someone younger, who was less set in his ways. He said we needed to throw out more than the old Potions texts.” Ernie looked at him directly and jutted out his chin. “Potions was the Headmaster’s own discipline-and in the end, you know, he truly loved it more than Defense Against the Dark Arts-that’s where he did original research. Do you really think he’d pick less than the best?”
Harry sighed and shook his head. He didn’t say that, in some ways, Severus modeled himself too much on Dumbledore, and he’d known really that Dumbledore hadn’t always chosen by who was the best in their discipline, or even the best teacher. Otherwise Care of Magical Creatures would have been taught by Grubbly-Plank, not Hagrid. As much as he’d once bristled at those who’d so much as hinted at that, he couldn’t completely blame those who grumbled that Hogwarts should operate as a school, not a sanctuary for hard-luck misfits-like de-wanded half-Giants, werewolves-and ex-Death Eaters. Harry wondered if there was something he didn’t know about Ernie, something that put him on that list of almost-unemployable.
His attention was drawn by Ernie’s sharp, indrawn breath. The man had paled.
“Harry,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“The Headmaster … especially after all this happened. We have a ledger now that magically lists any ingredient withdrawn from the storeroom-and by whom.” Swallowing hard, Ernie shakily pushed the ledger over to him.
On a line with today’s date, not a few hours before, was inscribed the name Severus Snape-and beside it “Somnus Potion.” Harry gave Ernie an enquiring look.
“It’s made with Basilisk venom. A single drop can bring powerful visions, but more than that is a deadly poison, with no antidote.”
Suddenly it occurred to Harry why Severus could be alone in a room and still be in “mortal peril.”
This time, Severus found himself outside on what he supposed would have been a summer day, if not for the chill mist that swirled around his ankles. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. He knew that mist, and the miasma of despair that seemed to move invisibly through the air with it. Dementors. Breeding Dementors.
His hand went to his wand unconsciously. “What now, Dumbledore? More misery for me to behold, I assume?”
Dumbledore glanced up at the overcast sky, and then looked around to be sure nobody had seen them. “Follow me.”
Accordingly, Severus followed him. They walked for a long time, until the terrain slowly began to change. Severus didn’t recognize it, but it was unpleasant. He was ankle-deep in cold mud, although the fog finally seemed to be thinning a bit, and that was a blessing, if a small one.
They walked for a long time before Dumbledore finally held up a hand to stop him, and then took a sharp turn, into a thicket.
“Dumbledore?”
“This way,” called the Headmaster over his shoulder.
Severus, with no other alternative but to follow, plunged into the bushes after him. Almost immediately, he found himself in a wide clearing, warm and sunlit. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw only the thick bracken through which he had just tunneled.
“An enchantment, I suppose.”
Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Naturally, naturally,” he said, chuckling. “One of my own, in fact. Out-of-the-way, unplottable, and perpetually pleasant. Although, I suppose, if someone really wished for a change in the weather, it wouldn’t be too difficult to put together a little thunderstorm.”
“Why are we here?”
Dumbledore’s face grew grave again, a look that Severus was beginning to dread. “You will see soon enough. Come, Severus, let us retire over here. I must Disillusion you again.”
Severus scowled. “Of course.”
The charms applied, they didn’t have long to wait. People began to crawl through the hole that Severus and Dumbledore had entered by. Severus recognized nearly all of them. Nymphadora Tonks was first, followed almost immediately by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva was next, and then Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Arthur Weasley, and one of the Weasley twins-George, judging by the fact that there were no explosions within the first sixty seconds after his entry.
“Where are the rest of them?” asked Severus, waiting for more redheads, and seeing none.
“The rest, Severus?” asked Dumbledore.
“The Weasleys.”
“Ah.” There was a long pause. Beside him, Severus could hear a faint rustle as Dumbledore moved. “They will not be coming.”
The cold knot in his stomach that had been present for some time now tightened still further. “Dead?”
“No.”
“This is an Order meeting, is it not? Surely at least Molly-”
“If Molly wished to come, she would have come.”
Severus frowned. “You mean to tell me that she is absent simply because she isn’t interested?”
“I do.”
“Preposterous. If anything, Molly has always been more passionate about the Order than Arthur.”
“Not anymore,” said Dumbledore sadly.
“Explain.” Severus’ voice was sharp with anger, and for a moment, he thought they’d been heard. Tonks, at least, cast an uncertain glance in their direction. But she seemed to decide that whatever she thought she’d heard was a figment of her imagination, and she shook her head, turning her attention back to Kingsley, with whom she had been carrying on a low, intense conversation.
“Molly is a passionate woman, Severus, as well you know,” said Dumbledore, his voice as soft as Severus’ had been hard. “When Ginny Weasley died, it tore the family apart in many ways. Percival, Ronald, Fred, and Molly have all … withdrawn their personal support for me, after my inability to protect her.”
“As if you could have protected her from a raging madman,” said Severus dismissively. “Without Parseltongue, even Potter couldn’t have so much as made the attempt to thwart his designs.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, his voice still very soft, and very sad.
“Molly Prewett was always fanatically loyal to you. I still fail to see-”
“She became Molly Weasley, Severus, as you know, and that was not a bad thing. She was even more fanatically devoted to Harry and her children, and it was that very devotion that would have enabled her to conquer Bellatrix Lestrange-had you been there to protect Harry and her children. But, that very same devotion drove her away from the Order and from myself personally, after the tragedies that I could not prevent.”
“Tragedies?”
“Harry died as well, you remember.”
“Ah,” said Severus, and then again, more softly, “ah.”
One last figure entered the thicket. Severus’ heartbeat suddenly accelerated, his sense of foreboding seeming to make even his fingertips prickle.
“Moody!” called Arthur. “At last! Where have you been?”
“Delayed,” growled Moody, who Severus was sure could not really be Moody.
“We were worried,” said Kingsley.
A faint, twisted smile worked its way onto Moody-Crouch’s ravaged face. “No need to be. Here I am.”
“Let us begin, then.” Arthur stood up.
“Yes!” cried Crouch, who had not yet sat down. “Let us begin!”
“Moody-”
“I have something to say!”
“Let him speak,” whispered Minerva, with a pitying glance at Crouch, who she obviously thought had gone a bit mad. If only she knew.
He waited until he was sure he had the full attention of all the assembled witches and wizards. Severus watched his blue eye spin manically around in his head, although the sight nauseated him slightly, as it always had. A few times, he thought it came to rest on the spot where he and Dumbledore were hiding, and he felt a stab of fear. Could Moody’s eye see through Disillusionment charms?
Moody waited another moment, seeming to enjoy the suspense that he held them all in. A feeling of foreboding seemed to have entered the room with him, as it so often did, and now it grew steadily stronger.
“Dumbledore is dead,” he said.
“No!” cried Arthur despairingly, and his cry was joined by those of all the rest. Minerva wept. Tonks suddenly seemed to diminish into the little girl that Severus remembered from years of Potions lessons, a small, lost-looking Hufflepuff with a too-great awareness of her family failings and her own oddity. Dumbledore had done a great deal for her, as he had for all the grieving people who now clung to each other, wracked with despair. Even Severus, infected by the mood of the moment, reached out to feel for the invisible Dumbledore beside him and assure himself that his guide was still there.
Kingsley, the only one who had stayed silent at the news, finally raised his bowed head. “What’s happened?”
“He failed, that’s what,” growled Moody-Crouch. “Got himself killed, and whatever weapon he thought he was going to get for us is gone with him.” His eye slowed somewhat in its spinning, fixing on each of them in turn. “Unless one of you knows what he was after.”
Nobody met anybody else’s eye. Severus turned to look at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore, of course, was invisible. Still, something told him that he knew what he would hear, if Dumbledore were to speak. The Peverell ring. Dumbledore was a damn fool. Of course he’d put it on. He had even more reason to than before, if Harry, Ginny, and Neville were all dead. But the curse had been a powerful one, and Severus had barely been able to contain it, using every art at his disposal.
“Nobody?” Crouch drew his wand, playing with it idly. “Very well. Dumbledore’s finally out of the way, you’ve all outlived your usefulness, and I’ve got orders.” He gave none of them time to react. His wand whipped forward.
“Avada Kedavra!” he roared again and again, and before the last of them could so much as draw their own wand in self-defense, they had all fallen.
“About damn time,” Crouch said, treading on George’s hand with Moody’s wooden leg on his way out.
When Harry returned to the Snape quarters, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. That was as he preferred it, for the moment, and he stuck his head into the room where Ginny was watching their assembled children.
“Ginny,” he said softly, “I need a minute.”
She raised one delicate copper eyebrow. “Is he back?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Damn it, Ginny, I’m not joking!”
The older children stopped playing and stared at him, aghast. Ginny’s eyes moved from them to Harry, and she frowned.
“Harry, don’t use that sort of language in front of the children. Children, James is in charge. Make sure you listen to what he says. And James, be nice to the little ones.”
Harry waited until the door was firmly closed behind his wife before he spoke. “Gin, I need your advice.”
“Harry, what’s going on with Severus? What do you know? Hermione’s been driven just about to distraction. I sent her to bed with a Calming Draught, she was starting to say the most horrible things. She won’t let go of that clock, either. It reminds me of mum during the war.”
“Well,” said Harry bracingly, “your mum turned out all right.”
“First time I’ve heard you say that in a while.”
“Look, it’s beside the point. Ginny, I know why he’s gone to the Room of Requirement.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Yes?”
“He’s-he took a potion with him.”
“What potion?”
“It’s poison, Ginny.”
Her face, always pale, went white, and she pressed her lips together. Ginny was a woman who chose silence instead of exclamation in the face of a shock.
“There’s no way to get in there after him. All we can do is wait and hope he makes it out … on his own.”
His wife drew close to him, and he put his arms around her, burying his face in the smooth, sweet-smelling waves of her hair. “Oh Harry,” she said into his chest, her voice breaking.
“I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Something’s happened. Someone’s interfering at Hogwarts.”
She drew back, straightening up and sticking her chin out with a determined look. “What do you need my advice about?”
“I don’t know how to tell Hermione that-”
“Tell Hermione what?” asked Hermione from her bedroom door. Harry hadn’t heard it open, but she was there nonetheless, her head resting against the door frame wearily, the clock still clutched under one arm.
“Hermione.” Ginny’s eyes met Harry’s with a look of anguish. “Didn’t the Calming Draught work?”
“I still can’t sleep. Tell me what? Is there news? Do you know something?” She held up the clock plaintively. “It still says ‘mortal peril,’ Harry. Oh, Harry, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Hermione,” said Ginny again, “perhaps you’d better sit down.”
“No.” Hermione’s voice was sharp. “Tell me what it is. Tell me now. I need to know.”
Ginny looked at Harry, and he cleared his throat. “He’s-Ernie says he’s got a potion with him, Hermione.”
Hermione, as Ginny had, paled. “What potion?”
“Somnus.”
“No!” she wailed, dropping the clock and running for the door.
Ginny went to rescue the clock, which, miraculously, hadn’t broken. Harry went after Hermione, who was already out the door and in the hallway, running as if for dear life-which, he reflected unhappily, she was. He followed her up, up, up endless flights of stairs, through endless hallways, until they came to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She stood in front of the blank stretch of wall that Harry knew hid the door to the Room.
“Severus!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the passage. “Severus! Come out!” She threw herself at the wall, sobbing, pounding on it with her fists, bruising them heedlessly on the stone. “Severus! You can’t leave me. Please! Oh, God, Severus, please!”
Harry, his own eyes beginning to sting, ran forward and pulled her away from the wall, closing his arms tightly around her to try and stop her from struggling. “Hermione, it’s no good. He can’t hear you. We just need to wait.” He tried to keep his voice soothing, instead of panicked. “Come on. Let’s go back. This isn’t going to do any good.”
“No! I’m not leaving until he comes out!”
“Hermione, you’ve got to. The children-”
“Ginny can watch the bloody children! I want my husband!” She buried her face in his shoulder, crying as if her heart would break.
To be continued
Continue to Chapter Three
Return to Chapter One