FIC: "The River Horse" for featherxquill

[bethbethbeth]

Recipient featherxquill
Author/Artist ???
Title The River Horse
Rating soft R
Pairings Amelia Bones/Severus Snape, hints of unrequited Poppy Pomfrey/ Amelia Bones
Word Count 9800 words
Medium Fic
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View) *A homophobic wizarding world and some readily spotted AU not!deaths. Quotations from DH are in italics.*.
Summary What better match than the head of Magical Law Enforcement and the spy within Voldemort's ranks (and Dumbledore's, too)? A very gifted witch and a very gifted wizard might have some hope of surviving a war.
Author's Notes featherxquill, I hope you enjoy this. Be aware that I think of Amelia looking pretty much like Judi Dench, only more athletic, because, both witch and ex-Auror. Thanks to my beta reader F for last-minute whip-cracking and helpful beta work, and to bethbethbeth, our saintly Mod, for patience, world without end.



"I won't deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry," said Fudge. "What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones."
"Losing who?"
"Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have murdered her in person, because she was a very gifted witch - and all the evidence was that she put up a real fight."
Fudge cleared his throat and, with an effort, it seemed, stopped spinning his bowler hat.
"But that murder was in the newspapers," said the Prime Minister, momentarily diverted from his anger. "Our newspapers. Amelia Bones... it just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a - a nasty killing, wasn't it? It's had rather a lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see."
Fudge sighed. "Well, of course they are," he said. "Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasn't she? We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further toward catching him."

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 1: The Other Minister

***

Tom Riddle was a great wizard, but he was also a prideful one, sometimes more assured than he should be of his own powers and successes. He might have left the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for dead, but Amelia Bones was indeed a gifted witch, skilled at more than fighting, and still had all the nerve and determination of an experienced Auror. Knocked to the floor for the last time, her wand skidding far out of reach even if she had had the energy to Summon it, she gambled.

Half-blind with weariness, she lay still, huddled against the wall, and concentrated on making her breathing undetectable. She heard the rustle of his robes, rather than his footfalls, as he approached. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gripping, half lifting her, and letting her drop. There was no difficulty in letting herself fall limply; it would have been much harder to summon pith to her muscles.

Then she heard the hiss of satisfaction. "So. Goodbye, Madam Bones. I'm sure you'll present the Muggles an interesting puzzle, when they find you. But the wizarding world will know what happens to those who oppose me, even those high in the Ministry. Poor Severus will just have to manage without his protector; I wonder if he'll thank me for ridding him of a burden? I suppose not. Lucius has beaten manners into him too well."

There was the faint sound of Disapparation - even the most skilled could not entirely compensate for the sound of air rushing in to fill the space where the body had been - but she waited, to be sure he was not still playing with her. She had fought back, and scored a few hits, but he could have killed her much earlier, had he wished, instead of wounding her, again and again. She had initially wondered why he didn't use Avada Kedavra, but of course that would have been too easy a death for someone who had irritated him. Instead he had chosen to cut her to pieces, though not to torture her with exotic curses. The Muggle reference explained that, too. He wanted her death to put fear into both worlds, but for his work to appear to be no more than that of a violent assassin.

Interesting that Voldemort was not yet ready to allow the Muggles to infer the existence of magic.

And idiotic that she was lying here bleeding to death instead of calling for help.

The short rest had done some good, despite the continuing blood loss - and a good thing she had fallen on her face, so that Voldemort would not notice her wounds were still bleeding. Over-confident he might be, but that clue would have caught even his self-regarding attention.

This time she was able to Summon her wand. Merlin provide that her husband could respond at once; she didn't know how much longer she would last without help.

Her Patronus appeared, prancing delicately up and down beside her despite its bulk, even nosing at her in anxiety. She scowled at it, resentful still, after all these years, of its sturdy form, but framed her message, and saw the silver river horse spring weightlessly into nothingness.

Then she could rest. He would come in time, or not.

She had time to think that she ought to try to heal the worst of her wounds; like all Aurors she had a good understanding of field mediwizardry. But she was tired. She would just wait for him. Let him scold later.

Severus Snape was preparing, grudgingly, to attend dinner in the Great Hall, which Dumbledore required of his staff in residence even when the students had gone home for the summer, when the silver pygmy hippopotamus appeared before him, and Amelia's voice, fearsomely weak, said, "I need your help at once. Attacked by Him. In my house. Come alone."

He didn't pause, but waved her Patronus off, seizing the always-ready kit of potions from its Disillusioned shelf by the door.

His own Patronus he sent to Albus, saying only, "I'm summoned." No need for Albus to know who, precisely, had demanded his presence. Albus would assume the Dark Lord wanted him, and not expect to hear from him until he was free to return. He and Amelia had used that assumption often enough in the most recent years of their alliance, after the Dark Lord had returned.

If longer explanation had been needed, Severus would have foregone it; he had to get to Amelia at once. She was far more, after all, than his other controller, directing her spy in his work with both the Dark Lord and Professor Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, even if that was how they had begun. The tales they had spun those who had to know of their alliance had morphed into a quite different reality for them: he no longer the plaything, the younger man catering to a woman who had him in her power; she no longer his necessary proof of sexual normality, and herself conforming to expectations by marrying, at last. They were partnered, and not just in the formal Unity that wizarding marriage allowed.

Severus Flooed to her house, as usual going to the fireplace in the seldom used front parlour rather than to one more likely to be observed, a private entrance set aside for him some thirteen years ago, now.

Her living room door was locked. Severus Apparated into the room, as only he was supposed to be able to. Inside, he was appalled, remotely, by the destruction, and by the gouts of blood on floor and walls, but all his attention was on the stocky body crumpled against the wall, one hand loosely clasped around her wand, the other hidden, even the short cap of fading hair streaked with blood.

He used magic rather than his hands to turn her face up, lay her flat on her back, so that he could examine her and see how bad the damage was. No need to risk making matters worse by handling her.

She was still alive, as the blood spreading over her torn robes in several places showed, but she was no longer conscious.

He didn't try to rouse her, but knelt at her side, lifting his wand, singing the healing song that would at least end the blood loss. He paused, briefly, to remove her robes, leaving them to one side in a bloody heap, to make sure he was not missing some dangerous wound, and bit his lip. Two slashes, long and deep, were still bleeding, though several less major cuts showed the beginnings of healing. He should not do more, once he stopped the flow. She would need a Healer's skilled attention to ensure that no problems were concealed within any of those cuts or under those bruises. It would be like the Dark Lord to curse her invisibly as well as to mark her visibly and indelibly with his wrath.

At last the soft, complex song had its effect. Amelia was no longer bleeding. She was still not conscious, but that was probably as well; she would be in great pain when she did rouse, and he dared not suppress her reactions until whatever Healer he could safely take her to had examined her thoroughly.

Now Severus could spare thought for where he could take her, and whether he should try to conceal that she lived, when the Dark Lord clearly thought her dead.

Yes. Concealment would be best. She was in no shape to defend herself further, nor could he stand guard over her, not with his duties to Dumbledore, Voldemort, and even the school pulling at him. Though he could take her to Poppy… Poppy didn't know of their marriage, but he could demonstrate the truth of their bond to her; she, like any Healer, would be compelled to attend Amelia and keep her safe and secret.

It was not every married couple who chose the close tie of Unity in marriage, despite the conveniences it offered. Having the ability for the presence of the one to conceal the presence of the other, leaving no magical trace, would not compensate all witches and wizards for being so thoroughly tied together that the bond could never be unravelled. Voldemort knew they were married, but did not know they had chosen the ceremony that invoked Unity; to him, Amelia's house would have been free of any sign of Severus's having been there. It had been some years, after all, since Severus might have passed for a youth willing to trade sex for freedom from official investigation.

In Hogwarts, Severus's own home, his presence would hide Amelia's from all but Poppy. They had not needed that aspect of Unity before, but now it was a further guarantee of her safety there. Dumbledore no more than Voldemort should know of her survival; Severus would not risk that master choosing to take chances with her life.

Severus turned to the heap of robes, half sodden with blood she could ill afford to lose, and used his wand to change them to a facsimile of Amelia's body as he had first seen it. Voldemort had wanted to leave behind a reminder of his power and his anger; very well, he should have it. He did not need Amelia's living body for that. Let whoever came first discover the mutilated corpse, and be appropriately horrified. Let them assure the world that Amelia Bones was dead.

Last of all, Severus gathered up her wand and her monocle (her Foe glass, that had not served her well this time). Maybe she would let Poppy try to treat the damaged eye, too, despite St Mungo's lack of success, and abandon that formerly useful affectation. As an afterthought he hastily selected a few of her clothes, rearranging what remained, and abstracted some of her private papers. She would not have thanked him for forgetting those. Amelia's secrets extended well beyond their marriage lines, and even he could not read all of those papers. He had never resented that, understanding that sharing secrets unnecessarily made more dangers. Amelia's family could have what was left, and perhaps later she could retrieve what she valued. When this was all over.

The end of the war was in sight, now, and his end of days too, probably; he could hope that he had made Amelia safe to live beyond that climax of his own life.

Carefully he wafted her body onto the stretcher he conjured, binding her to it with soft cloths issuing from his wand, then, gripping the stretcher firmly, Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

In the dark he had no trouble making his way quietly to the Infirmary, but he Disillusioned both himself and his Featherlight burden. They did not need discovery now.

Poppy was easily summoned from her home, and her professional concern for a patient (however oddly presented) ensured that she clucked only in the mildest way about her surprise that that recluse, Severus Snape, was married, and had been so for years.

Severus had taken his unconscious wife's hand and said, "Use your wand, Poppy, and see that we are United."

Poppy did indeed see, and remarked absently, as she went on to transfer Amelia from his stretcher to a bed at the rear of the Infirmary, "I'm glad you brought your wife to me. I recognise her, of course - who doesn't know the face of Magical Law Enforcement, such an improvement on Barty Crouch? I can see that you both might have reason to keep your affairs private. When did you marry? After Albus got you out of Azkaban? Or was it she who had you released? A fine scandal that would have made."

Poppy could be terrifyingly percipient, especially when she was paying attention to something else.

Severus said carefully, "Both Dumbledore and the senior Death Eaters, most of whom shared as well as remembered the Dark Lord's views, were pleased to learn of my marriage. It made me more acceptable to all of them, as well as to the wizarding world. They trusted me more readily, and even spoke to me more willingly."

She spared him a glance. "Dear boy, you didn't think you were a lover of men, did you? Was that what Dumbledore and the other one told you? I would have found it hard to believe. But there, you lacked confidence in some ways."

Dryly, in spite of himself, he answered, "Lucius Malfoy gave both me and the Dark Lord reason to think I might be a lover of men. You know how little that is respected. Despite Amelia, the Wizengamot would only release me to Dumbledore's supervision. If I couldn't continue to teach, I had nowhere to go; Dumbledore was quite clear that such inclinations were unacceptable in his staff, and from the start had pressed me to what he called a more regular way of life. He thought my attachment to Lily Evans self-deceiving infatuation, or even just a lonely boy misinterpreting friendship."

Poppy snorted. "In spite of his own inclinations? Silly man, sometimes, Albus, thinking himself the only person with scruples or restraint. Nor, in general, understanding other people very well."

Her wand was moving steadily over Amelia's body now, observations and diagnoses writing themselves in the air. Severus watched the data grow as closely as Poppy did.

He said, "I was a possibly newly reformed Death Eater, remember, Poppy?"

"Eh, and you're still a Death Eater, I'm sure." Her dry little sniff was disbelieving, and once more Severus found himself grateful that some of his colleagues, at least, had accepted his goodwill. She went on, "After what He did to young Lily. So likely. Though I'm glad you got over her, lad; you do know she never loved you?"

He didn't flinch at the sudden sharp glance, checking to make sure he felt no pain still at the reminder that he had lost what he had never had. He had long known that Poppy could deal with more than one patient at a time, if she thought it necessary.

He didn't want to talk about it, though, so he said, "Amelia convinced me that I was indeed a lover of women, and in that area, at least, a perfectly respectable wizard."

"And I dare say," she remarked placidly, "it suited her to have a husband who wasn't in her way the entire time, too."

He had to laugh at that, though it was the faintest of sounds. He didn't feel obliged to defend his position as the husband of a woman thirty years and more his senior. Such marriages were uncommon, but not unknown, given the levelling effect of wizarding lifespans. Even a powerful woman like Amelia would have found her status as a married woman - though to whom, was generally unclear, but accepted as the private part of her life - was helpful. Having attained power, what more likely than that she should embrace respectability? Save that Amelia, like himself, had no great regard for that valued commodity.

In silence he watched Poppy work, and occasionally handed her things at her request. Once he went down to his private workroom to fetch a stronger version of a potion she administered to her usual charges in a dose more suited to their smaller size and incompletely matured bodies. Twice he sang a healing song with her; hers was different from his, but they blended easily, and he could see how Amelia gained colour and solidity under the twin magics.

At last Poppy was settling Amelia into the bedclothes, her body cleansed of blood at last and clad in a fine nightgown that would not press upon her wounds, her short greying hair tidied, even her broken nails trimmed.

Poppy nodded at him. "She'll do. She'll be weak for quite some time, but she'll recover. Lucky he didn't use some of the hexes he's so fond of using on you."

He shrugged. "He had a purpose. Maybe Amelia will know. But she's safe. You'll conceal her from everyone?" Unspoken was the request not to advise Albus Dumbledore.

"She should not be disturbed," was Poppy's indirect response. It satisfied him, especially as she drew him away from the corner and began to weave concealing and protective charms over the bed, charms, he recognised, that would take conscious and concentrated effort on even Dumbledore's part to break through. Though probably the protection Unity afforded would have sufficed, he was relieved at Poppy's care.

"Now go and have your dinner," Poppy ordered.

Anyone would think he was thirteen still. But sometimes it was good to be treated just like every other patient Poppy had.

Maybe it was the pain lingering in her consciousness, but Amelia went back, briefly, to her time as a trainee Auror and some of the accidents of duelling practice. Yet she felt so weak… Ah, Voldemort. She could use his name in her head, if never aloud. Without opening her eyes or moving, she checked over her body, identifying wounds, recognising the soothing effects of healing charms, and was satisfied that whoever had her in charge was both careful and competent. Severus had come in time.

At last she opened her eyes. She could see she was in some infirmary, a private one, by its small size. She could see the charms veiling her part of it, and that the dozen or so other beds were empty, though ready for their next occupants, spread with crisp white sheets and easily cleansed cotton blankets such as Muggle hospitals used. Someone was prepared to learn, then. She used one hand, gingerly, to touch some of her wounds, noting that whoever had set them on the way to healing didn't subscribe to Muggle healing methods. No stitches, no bandages, but a protective coating of magic.

Amelia relaxed. Probably Severus had brought her to Hogwarts; there were few wizarding hospitals that would be empty in summer. Interesting that the mediwitch in charge was prepared not only to treat her but to conceal her presence; those were not Severus's charms.

She let herself drift in the calming air of magic at work, remembering her first encounters with Severus.

Her instinctive, professionally distrusted, feeling that he was telling the truth, despite old Mad-Eye's conviction of his being an unreformed Death Eater talking fast for his freedom, had been confirmed when Albus Dumbledore appeared before the Wizengamot to claim Severus Snape as his agent within Voldemort's ranks. She had been personally curious about the intense young man, bitter at the general disbelief, but more bitter that his true master had left him to Auror interrogation for so long. That was fair enough. If Dumbledore had been prepared to acknowledge Snape, he might have spared his agent's pain and anxiety much earlier. Perhaps he had been testing someone he asserted he trusted, wanted to see what Snape would say, thinking he had been cut loose. And Snape had kept silent about his true loyalties until Dumbledore spoke up for him, going no further than to claim he had left the Death Eaters after Lily Potter was murdered. That interested her very much, professionally.

That firmness of purpose could be used, and so could his anger with his present master. She had approached him privately, with great care. She, like her superior Barty Crouch, was aware that Dumbledore was running a vigilante group to oppose Voldemort, since the Ministry was officially denying that any action was necessary. Young Mr Snape might provide her with intelligence that she would be pleased to have. Amelia didn't like vigilante groups, or privately, secretly-run action groups of any kind. Witches and wizards were too light-minded, too prone to thinking their own way the only way. Dumbledore quite as much as Voldemort showed that.

Severus Snape had responded to her overtures only after she offered a wand oath to assure him she would not betray him to either of his masters (for neither believed Voldemort was truly gone) or to the higher ranks of the Ministry or the Aurory- or, indeed, the Death Eaters. He had taken her oath, too. Then he had relaxed somewhat, and cautiously offered her some information she could confirm from other sources. Later again he had given her new information, about the followers of both. She had explored it with care for his security as well as her profit.

About then, she recalled, the Wizengamot had decreed that Severus Snape should be released to the supervision of his employer at Hogwarts. Snape hadn't been too happy at being bound yet again, and had incautiously betrayed his resentment of Dumbledore's criticism of his private life, which he had effectively ceased to have, between the demands of both masters.

She had considered him thoughtfully, then asked, "Would the Headmaster be easier on you, if he knew you to be married?"

He rolled his eyes. "He believes me to be like him, but shorter of self-control." Then he shrugged. "He might be right, too. I've never had a woman; there was only ever Lily for me, and I've come to realise that however much I valued her, feeling like that might have been a fantasy of loneliness, not love."

Calmly she said, 'You could have a woman, and find out."

"And you're offering?" he asked, with the sarcasm she already recognised as defensive.

"Yes."

To his open, if silent, disbelief she answered, "You're intense. You concentrate on your goals. You're patient in pursuit of your aims. You're ready to learn. All those things, Severus," using his first name for the first time, "make you potentially very attractive to a woman with the sense to realise that your attitudes and your skills make you likely to become a more than adequate lover - a very satisfactory one. It doesn't matter that you're not conventionally good-looking - neither was Dr Faustus, to go by the portraits. It didn't stop him from having lovers all his life. Anyway," she grinned at him, and reached out to take his hand, fondling the long fingers and then the narrow palm, "I like your nose, if you want to know. It's a nose of distinction. But you would need to offer some trust."

She was fairly sure that his slight, almost imperceptible, shiver was in response to her touch, rather than to her words. Severus Snape had long lost faith in words without actions to back them.

Slowly he said, his fingers closing over hers, "I have learned that you are trustworthy. Or you have been, so far."

Gently she chided, "You need to watch that. Caution and careful observation are good, but an open expression of distrust can not only discourage people, it can make them dislike you, where they might not have. So give me some trust, Severus, and observe, and form your own conclusions. And meanwhile," her smile was softer, inviting, "come to my bed and try me."

Severus had indeed proved willing to learn, and she had been happy to teach, and to encourage her pupil by letting him see how thoroughly he could affect her.

In the morning he proved that a night of most satisfying exploration had not dimmed his intelligence.

"Why did you mention marriage?" he asked. "Proving to me that I am a quite ordinary wizard in bed was kind, and helpful, and gives me more assurance to deal with Dumbledore's suspicions, but this night with you was sufficient for that."

"I mentioned marriage," she responded, "because I have a purpose beyond making you realise that you're the kind of man the wizarding world finds acceptable. And beyond getting myself the kind of night I have seldom enjoyed." His black eyelashes flickered at that subdued compliment. "I too could use a greater degree of respectability than I have, Severus. I've done well in the Aurory, but if I conform I might advance further, faster, and certainly be better trusted. My family never really forgave me for Sorting Slytherin, and my colleagues are slightly suspicious that I have never married."

"Ah," he said softly. "That, at least, my mother and her parents never reproached me with. So you could use a husband. As I, perhaps, could use a wife for more public, less embarrassing, proof of normality. And you would be more closely linked to your spy, and we each could learn to rely more on the other."

"That too," she agreed. "If the, ah, relevant persons knew we were married, contact between us would raise no suspicion, even if, for my professional reasons, we kept the marriage private. Aurors prefer to keep knowledge of their families from the general wizarding public. No one would be surprised at that. And," she smiled at him, "I should certainly be well contented to have an eager young man in my bed from time to time."

He had laughed at that, and stretched, idly running his hand along her flank before easing his fingers between her thighs. She opened for him readily, and conversation ceased for a time.

When it resumed, he said, "Have you ever had occasion to look into the forms of marriage in wizarding society?"

"I have had no cause." She waited for what he would say.

He said wryly, "A halfblood has a great desire to belong, you know; I researched everything about my mother's world. And I had dreams, however ill-founded. Then you haven't heard of Unity?"

"Tell me."

"A particular marriage ceremony, conducted by a competent person, makes a witch and a wizard not so much a couple, as an entity. Each can shelter the other from observation. If we were United, I could enter your home, or you mine, and never be detected. Our conversations would be secure against anything - excepting Legilimency, but who conducts private conversations before a Legilimens? Even to a skilled Legilimens, our thoughts of each other would be harder to penetrate than ordinarily. Unity affords extreme privacy."

"You fascinate me," she said dryly. "So what does Unity demand, as the price of that security?"

"We would be married, unbreakably," he answered simply, "though my understanding is that nothing would prevent us from living entirely apart, if we chose, especially if we're agreed on it."

She responded to this honestly. "I've not seriously considered marriage previously before, Severus, in part because my job is the most important part of my life. But you are and can continue to be part of my job, if you wish. A marriage like that would serve us both."

He had a wicked smile dancing in his eyes, although his lips were straight. "You might even gain some additional respect, having the power to command a young man to your bed."

"So I might, if the young man in question didn't come to resent that."

"I'm focussed on my task too. And it would be no bad thing to be known, to the select few, as a man capable of attracting the interest of a woman who surely has experience to guide her choices. Besides all the other benefits we see in such a marriage. Very well, Amelia, if you are asking, I am accepting."

"I am asking, and pleased that you accept. May I suggest that you don't inform Dumbledore before the ceremony, in case he wishes to interfere?"

"Thank you." He added dryly, "As a principle, I give Albus Dumbledore as few chances as possible to direct my choices. Will you seek out a celebrant, or shall I?"

"I shall," she said at once. "No one would have cause to question what I do in my private life."

They began with a good understanding between them, and an agreement on shared goals, and the years that followed intensified those. If they also intensified the satisfaction each took in the other's body, and pleasure in his or her company, that was private, if increasingly important. For a couple who almost never shared a dwelling, and infrequently shared a bed, they were very contented with each other. The sharing remained exceptionally pleasing.

Drowsing in memories, Amelia slid into sleep.

Before Amelia was fit to leave her bed Severus entered the ward scowling, and spoke briefly to Poppy Pomfrey, leaning into her office. A moment later they were both beside her bed.

Severus said abruptly, "The Dark Lord wishes me to leave Hogwarts and return to my home, where I'm more accessible to him. I've been pleading tasks for Dumbledore, but that won't serve much longer. He's impatient. If I'm not here, Amelia, only Poppy's charms will conceal your presence, or protect you if someone learns of it."

Amelia asked, "Wouldn't I be as undetectable in your home in Spinners End?"

"You should be, but I shan't be alone there. His lordship has wished a servant on me, Pettigrew - a test of my ability to control him, and to bear with him." His mouth twisted. "Rotten little traitor. Young Potter should have let Black and Lupin get rid of him. All this is his fault, you know; first betraying the Potters, then resurrecting his lordship." He shrugged. "I'd gladly kill him, but the Dark Lord knows I dislike and distrust and despise him. My wand is bound by my need for obedience."

Madam Pomfrey said thoughtfully, "I remember Peter Pettigrew. Sneaking about to learn as much as he could about someone who had power over him would be his style, Severus?"

"Yes. The house is very small; you would hardly be able to move, and Pettigrew would be alert for any inexplicable signs of the presence of another - anything from the creaking of floorboards in my bedroom to two cups on a tea tray."

"So I can't come with you. Where do you propose I go, if you think Hogwarts itself not safe enough without your presence?"

"That's easy," Madam Pomfrey put in at once. "Come with me to my home in Hogsmeade. I don't spend my summers in school, Madam Bones. You are well enough now that you don't need the facilities of the Infirmary; you are past emergencies, and just need more healing time."

"It's kind of you to offer, but what about your security?"

Madam Pomfrey smiled a little coldly. "I take adequate care for my own safety, believe me. You are not the only people to have seen matters becoming more unstable over the years."

Severus volunteered, "Poppy has sought my advice several times in the last few years, Amelia. I think when you see her wards and protective charms you'll agree her home is safe. Poppy," he turned to the mediwitch, "that's a generous offer, but you might have to have Amelia with you for the whole summer, if I can't get rid of Pettigrew."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "I don't live alone by choice, Amelia, but because no better company offers. I think I could sustain yours very well. You should start calling me Poppy, and I hope I may use your name."

They were leaving it to her, Amelia saw, and she had certainly found Poppy Pomfrey congenial. It was possible that Poppy found her perhaps a little too congenial, but Amelia thought she could handle that tactfully. She dealt with the simpler matter first.

"Please call me Amelia. There are not so many people who do, that I don't value all of them." That pleased, she saw. "If you are sure it won't inconvenience you too greatly, and you're both confident of Poppy's security, I'm glad to take your offer of shelter for the summer." She offered another small sop to Poppy's interest. "You can help me think of what to do with myself, when I am fit to rise and need no more help. Severus let his other master think he had indeed killed me; I need to stay in hiding, not set myself up for further attacks. But I'm sure I shall need employment soon enough. I was not made to sit about and drink tea."

"You could do worse than read Poppy's textbooks," Severus said. He turned to Poppy. "Aurors are trained in basic emergency medical care, for themselves or a comrade, but Amelia's situation is such that her having more knowledge and wider experience would be reassuring - certainly to me."

The idea caught both women's interest, and the discussion diverged, for a little while, into Poppy's profession, and what Amelia might most usefully study.

Two days later Severus Side-Along Apparated Amelia into Poppy's living room - a once-only access, he assured her. When he would have left, to collect his essential belongings to transfer to Spinners End, she held him back with a light hand, then gently tugged on his hair to bring his head down to hers, where she lay on Poppy's floral sofa.

"Give me a proper goodbye," she murmured.

Severus kissed her with no hesitation, though afterwards he said, "I'd be happy to farewell you more elaborately - but that will need to wait for a welcome back to Hogwarts instead, I'm afraid."

"I shall think about it." Her smile combined mischief and a hint of lust.

"Dear Amelia, do try not to succumb to Poppy's wiles. She's kind, and loving, but easily hurt."

"I didn't stay unmarried so long because I was in doubt about my inclinations," she answered. "You needn't fear for your friend's peace of mind."

She patted his cheek, then gave in to the impulse to run her fingers caressingly along his jaw and behind his ear. She smiled when he reacted. Severus had never given her any doubts about the reality of his response to her, and she had always been open about the pleasure he in turn gave her. Severus had been sure of her for a long time, and that was the way she wanted him to continue to feel. He had enough insecurities to contend with.

Amelia stood naked before the mirror and made a face at herself. She was glad to be almost healed, but she wasn't happy with the marks of Voldemort's displeasure upon her body. She didn't want Severus to be reminded every time he lay with her. It had taken her long enough, when they married, to coax him into making love with her in some sort of light, self-conscious as he had been about his own lack of physical beauty and the added scars from years of abuse by his father and some of his fellow-students, even before he had been subjected to Voldemort's ideas of discipline.

Poppy had said that the long scars would become much less noticeable, that the dittany-based potion Severus brewed for her would soothe the ridged flesh down and allow the ugly red and purple marks to fade to silver and eventually become almost invisible, though Poppy admitted they would probably always be detectable by the delicate touch of hands. She had had scars of her own, of course, after years as an Auror, before the damage to one eye had forced her to abandon field work. Perhaps she should tell Severus they were now even more of a matched pair. Her body itself should soon be as limber as before, and, if not fully healed yet, she was certainly in shape to resume the exercise regime of years. She had liked herself as she was. She could return to that state of strength and ease with time, now that most of the damage was repaired.

After all, she would almost certainly have to wait until school resumed in September to be free to share Severus's bed. If she made good use of the time, the abstinence she resented would let her become more her old self.

At least she had decided what to do with the free time she now had. She could not resume work as a high Ministry official, as an advisor to the Head of the Aurors, or as a spy mistress. The latter role was the one that had her most concerned, and regretful that she and Severus had not arranged a successor for herself. However, Severus had made careful overtures to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and begun sharing information with him that Dumbledore had not necessarily been ready to share. Shacklebolt had been both grateful and discreet. He too was isolated, in the service of the Muggle Prime Minister, protecting him, and kept by Dumbledore out of the information loop. He could probably be led into acting as Severus's Ministry contact, whether or not he ever graduated to directing Severus to providing information most useful to MLE's aims, if not the Ministry's. Amelia had never had any great opinion of Cornelius Fudge, either as the Minister he now was, or the official he had once been.

Whatever came of that, Amelia was out of it now, except in whatever advice she could offer Severus. She could hope that Kingsley Shacklebolt would keep him up to date with whatever information there was to be had about the Ministry's plans, just as Severus was beginning to keep Shacklebolt au fait with Dumbledore's - or what he could deduce of them: it was not as if Dumbledore was open-handed in what he shared with her husband, either.

The reading she had done while convalescing had convinced her that studying the skills of a mediwitch would be congenial as well as, however unfortunately, useful, in the open warfare that was sure to come.

Poppy had offered to take her as an apprentice; having a mature witch assisting her in the Infirmary was far better than taking on a younger witch who might not be able to control the students, or to reason with the staff. Once Severus returned to Hogwarts, Amelia would be safe enough there, and could glamour her appearance sufficiently to be unrecognisable, even to anyone who had known Amelia Bones in a previous life. She would be learning, and useful, without creating danger either for Poppy or for Severus.

She had dreaded being confined and inactive, and was grateful to Poppy, even after she had had to gently lift Poppy's fingers from her hand, or her thigh, when Poppy had not been acting as a mediwitch. Poppy had taken the delicate rejection without resentment, which was fortunate for all of them. Amelia had been concerned that she or Severus might eventually have been obliged to Obliviate her, to ensure she could not endanger Amelia's refuge, but Poppy had realistically accepted that Amelia was not only Severus's wife, but also his lover.

So now she had a place to live, and a life of usefulness, and soon enough she would have her husband and lover again. He had certainly seen her looking worse than this, a few weeks ago; perhaps knowing she was healing well would keep him from thinking too much of what Voldemort had done and tried to do to her.

She pulled on the light robes that were sufficient in the privacy of Poppy's home, and went out to the kitchen, to make supper in advance of Poppy's return after a day of preparing the Infirmary for term-time use. Poppy was not one to leave such tasks to the last possible moment. That good sense and that care made her company congenial to Amelia, and no doubt had helped to enable Severus to allow her within his walls to care for him, when he had been injured in Dumbledore's service.

Amelia wondered, idly, how many of Voldemort's followers had truly welcomed his return, after the years of freedom not only from mastery but also from danger, pain, and humiliation. It had never seemed wise to risk Severus, the sole spy whom either Dumbledore or Law Enforcement had, by asking him to encourage the dissatisfied to defect. Perhaps, though, she should ask him to make notes for her and for Shacklebolt in the hope that someone else might be able to approach those unhappy with Voldemort's rule.

Amelia smiled ruefully, as she chopped vegetables by hand (cooking without magic had always been a favoured form of mental relaxation), thinking that she was still too much the Auror, and certainly too much the manager and the spy mistress.

A year later Severus was appointed Headmaster by a Minister of Magic controlled by Voldemort, and admission to the school was limited to purebloods and halfbloods. Muggleborns were being hunted down under the outrageous pretext that they had stolen not just the wand but also the magic of a "true" witch or wizard. Amelia and Poppy, experienced collaborators in the Infirmary, knew the climax of this now open war could not be long postponed.

Dumbledore was dead. However much it distressed Severus to have been forced by his vow of obedience into killing him, Amelia could not refrain from feeling (though never expressing) some satisfaction that Dumbledore's impulses, or possibly his greed, had finally got the better of him. The wilful old man had brought the necessity of death at someone's hands on himself, by reckless handling of a Dark magical item, the ring reputed to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin. She had thought grimly at the time, however, that it was better that Severus should kill him, than see the responsibility placed on a boy of sixteen whom Dumbledore had manipulated into poisoning him in search of yet another magical artefact. Not too careful with his tools, or even his protégés, Dumbledore.

It meant another summer without Severus for her, of course; he had again returned to Spinners End with Peter Pettigrew as a ghastly mockery of a servant. At least this time he had not been forced into another Unbreakable Vow. She hoped he would be able to protect the Malfoy boy; his life depended on it, and so, probably, did the success of Dumbledore's plans.

Those plans had curious holes in them. There was quite evidently a great deal Dumbledore had carefully concealed from Severus, and probably not just because they concerned the Potter boy's part in the defeat of Voldemort, even though Severus had always found the boy hard to bear. He was often a brat, Amelia conceded, but he had been a badly used brat, and that had been Dumbledore's own doing. She had never liked the man much, though she respected his power as a wizard. Too given to twinkling in a fatherly manner, behaving like a doddering fool (which few were taken in by, so it had been irritating to see him keep the performance up), and manipulating the feelings and actions of others with the cold ruthlessness of a goblin.

Whatever his faults, his plans were in the hands of others now. Amelia wished sincerely that Severus, she, and Kingsley Shacklebolt between them knew more of what they might have been. From what Kingsley said to Severus, the other Order members seemed to know no more than they did of Dumbledore's true plans. It was not as if Harry Potter showed any tendency to share, having disappeared with his two friends after the takeover of the Ministry. Perhaps she should hope that Dumbledore had given the boy better direction than he had given Severus and Shacklebolt. Severus had said dispassionately that he would not put a Knut on it, and expressed the hope that Miss Granger's wit (however hampered by her trust in authority) would be adequate to support Potter's decision-making.

Merlin, what a year this was going to be. The sooner the Potter boy did something decisive, the better.

It proved, indeed, to be a terrible year. If Amelia had not been there to offer Severus silent support, who would there have been with any continuing trust in him? Poppy, the one who had to deal with the worst results of the discipline practised by Voldemort's other appointees to the staff, did retain faith in him, however often distressed by the limits on the protection Severus could offer the students, but she could say little in the face of the hostility of his other colleagues. Minerva, in particular, seemed to hate and despise him the more because she had for so long had an amiable relationship with him. Amelia was sorry for her disillusionment, but she did think the head of Gryffindor might have observed Severus more closely, and drawn more accurate conclusions. He had always, after all, been reserved and discreet (so long as his temper was not provoked), and preferred to gain his ends by indirection. Like all Slytherins of competence, he disdained the obvious.

Amelia tried not to think that Minerva and these others who had worked with Severus so long might never have opportunity to learn how they were misjudging him.

Severus grew gaunt, and even paler, his nerves wound tighter with every confrontation with rebellious students, every subversion of Voldemort's aims, but controlling himself even more rigidly. There were no temper tantrums now, unless they served to deceive someone - more often the disgusting Carrows than his true colleagues. One could hardly expect the students to be observant, if his equals could not interpret his behaviour appropriately.

The year wore on. The hostility remained unrelenting. Student numbers slowly sank, as parents managed to withdraw their children to safety or, in a few cases, the Death Eaters removed a child for some purpose of their master's. There were few as unfortunate as the Malfoy boy, though, still attending school, harassed there by the Carrows as a means of tormenting his out-of-favour father, but also, when at home under Voldemort's eye, used relentlessly to give his parents even more pain, forced to actions Severus reported the boy could hardly bear to carry out, except that his parents' continued safety depended on his absolute obedience to the Dark Lord's whims. It was too late for anyone to encourage the Malfoys to abandon their master, but Amelia was sure that if someone had made it possible, they would have leapt at it. Lucius Malfoy had brought it on himself, but his wife had supported him rather than his master, and his son had been utterly misled by the father's posturing. No doubt Draco Malfoy was now a wiser young man. She hoped it might eventually do him some good, but the misery and uncertainty affected her as badly as everyone else.

The one consolation she and Severus had was the bed they shared, in the Headmaster's private quarters. Even there, though, Severus did not let himself admit to her how hard he found this year. Sometimes Amelia could not decide whether to bless Potter's aims, or to curse him for being so long about achieving them. Though that too might be Dumbledore's doing, rather than the boy's.

The news that Potter and his friends had been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor was horrifying, but was almost immediately followed by word of their escape; theirs, and the other prisoners who had eluded their tormentors. Amelia did not envy the Malfoys or anyone else who had been present.

Then came the night of the first of May.

Severus sent his Patronus to her, warning that Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts, and that Potter was supposed to be there already. He asked her to alert as many of the Order's members, and her former supporters in Magical Law Enforcement and the Aurory, as she could. No one, after all, would respond to a request for aid from the murderous traitor Severus Snape. Blast Dumbledore, yet again, for isolating Severus so completely from the support he might otherwise have had. No doubt he would have preferred her dead indeed, to her being able to assist the man who so faithfully carried out his orders.

Amelia blessed the ability to send out more than one Patronus at a time. For once she did not resent her river horse. It was distinctive, and could not be counterfeited; those who knew it would trust it, and greet it with as much delighted surprise at its return as with prompt response (she could hope) to its call to action.

After midnight a real battle was joined, and the castle full of children was assaulted by an army, Dark creatures even more numerous than Death Eaters. Amelia abandoned the glamour she had worn for two years and fought, seldom knowing where Severus was or how he fared, or what he was required to do. She hoped his soul was not further damaged by Voldemort's demand that he fight and kill.

Then Voldemort was, with false courtesy, calling an hour's truce for removal of the dead, and for the defenders to surrender to him, before he killed them all, whether experienced Aurors or desperate parents or terrified children.

Poppy's Patronus summoned her to the Great Hall to help treat the injured; Amelia went willingly. Mediwitchery was even better than fighting, as she had not done for years, to take her mind from concern for Severus; she still had the discipline of her old trade as well as of the new one. A few friends and former employees greeted her with no real surprise; many of the Aurors and Ministry employees here had come at her direct summons, she thought, though no doubt Order members with Ministry contacts, like Kingsley Shacklebolt, had done their share in calling for support. Her new trade might have surprised them, but almost all present were past surprise; there was only endurance and effort.

There were children among the dead as well as among the wounded. When the battle resumed Amelia did not need Poppy's demand to keep her working with the wounded, along with increasing numbers of Healers from St Mungo's and mediwitches and mediwizards from all over the country, Apparating in freely, now that all of Hogwarts' magical defences had fallen.

Amelia had never been in sustained battle; Aurors seldom had to deal with large numbers. Nor had she, as an apprentice mediwitch, had to deal with more than half a dozen injured students at one time. This work was numbing, as fighting for so long had been, but there was greater satisfaction in helping rather than destroying. Severus must be rubbing off on her, she thought distantly, and wondered yet again if he was safe. She had not dared send her Patronus to him, lest it distract him, or even betray him; and she had not seen his silver doe with word of him for hours.

Then Voldemort and his followers returned, with Harry Potter's body borne along as a signifier of victory, and Amelia's heart clenched as Minerva screamed refusal to accept the boy's death. Everyone in the castle, it seemed, was screaming defiance at Voldemort, and Amelia found herself screaming with them. If they were to lose, they would not surrender tamely, as he had just demanded. A world with Voldemort as its master would not be worth the living in.

Voldemort used his magic to suppress the shouts of defiance, but he could not end the will to it. One of the students - the Longbottom boy, Amelia recognised, who had disappeared months ago, charged recklessly out. No wonder Severus had despaired of the boy's ability to survive. Voldemort rewarded his opposition with pain, forcing the burning Sorting Hat upon his head. Onlookers screamed in horror, though the boy himself somehow kept silent. The torture was interrupted, though not ended, by a surprise charge from a Giant and a group of centaurs, using their bows with unhesitating skill. Then Death Eaters too were shouting and screaming.

Then the truly astonishing: the Longbottom boy freed himself from the curse binding him, and from the burning Hat, and drew from its depths a shining sword, ruby-hilted, silver-bladed. It swung with deadly accuracy, and lopped off the head of Voldemort's unnatural pet.

And the Potter boy's body laid on the ground as proof of his failure disappeared.

If Dumbledore had orchestrated all this, a year in the grave, Amelia thought she might admire his planning skills after all. More likely, however, his followers brought such conviction to his cause that they no longer needed his guidance. There didn't seem to be any doubt that Harry Potter, at least, was surprisingly capable, if he could convince Voldemort of his death and yet disappear from his clutches when occasion called. She could hardly go on thinking of young Longbottom as a boy, either; he had a good grasp of the moment.

The battle resumed, and the Death Eaters surged forward so effectively that despite strong resistance all the defenders were forced back into the castle, until Voldemort himself stood within, while Order and Aurors and children and Healers stood at bay and fought on. Another wave of their supporters followed the Death Eaters in: men in pyjamas, people Amelia recognised as Hogsmeade shopkeepers and residents, centaurs, somehow getting up the steps of the Hall - Merlin help them getting down - and odder than all, a wave of screaming, convincingly bloodthirsty house-elves, from somewhere within the castle.

Molly Weasley challenged Bellatrix Black - good luck to her - and won; Voldemort seemed furious - and then the Potter boy reappeared. The brat must have an Invisibility Cloak, as Severus had irritatedly speculated more than once. As he challenged Voldemort Amelia told herself to stop thinking of him as a brat. Whether he succeeded or not, whether he lived or died, he was fighting as a man and a wizard.

And at once the general battle ceased, to give place to a confrontation between Voldemort and the young man known as the Boy Who Lived, erroneously credited with Voldemort's first fall, but seemingly with a good chance of authoring his second and last.

They didn't seem in any hurry to fight, exchanging jeers and pointed references which must have been indecipherable to some, though not to Amelia, who had heard so much from Severus of their shared past. Young Potter gradually took over their dialogue, taunting Voldemort with events he had not correctly interpreted.

Then he said that which made Amelia grateful, an acknowledgement of her husband's faithfulness, his skill, and his long support of his dead leader's aims.

"Severus Snape wasn't yours. Snape was Dumbledore's. Dumbledore's from the moment you starting hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?"

Potter explained a few things that were clearly news to his opponent, news whose significance he apparently did not recognise, before Voldemort said something that bewildered Amelia completely.

"Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me!"

What did that old legend have to do with this battle for the future of the wizarding world?

At Voldemort's next words, though, Amelia cared nothing for legends or even, for long, horrible minutes, for the future of the wizarding world.

I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine!"

She didn't hear what either of them said after that, though they seemed to shout at each other for ever, while her heart remained stopped. Her kind lad, dead. He had expected it, she knew, but herself had hoped for better. No hope for Severus, now.

But still, she thought dazedly, a future to be taken from the monster who would master it. As if in accord with that remaining hope, the sun rose in a burst of light, filling the Hall, illuminating both Voldemort and Potter.

At last they struck, each at the other, Voldemort with the Killing Curse and Potter with the polite duelling hex that she had heard was his preferred spell, Expelliarmus. Yet it was Voldemort who fell, even as that prized wand left his hand and flew to Potter's, as the wand of a defeated duelling opponent must.

The moment of silence was broken by cheers and screams of joy and sobs of remembered terror at last admitted.

And everyone in the Hall seemed determined to touch Harry Potter, to confirm that their long-awaited hero had fulfilled his supposed destiny and saved them.

Amelia was among the many who raced to him, and had the advantage of an Auror's skills to get her through the crowd. He was looking dazed at all the handling, all the adulation, flinching from both (poor lad), but she couldn't spare sympathy now. He had spoken as if he had been a witness to Voldemort's murder of her husband, so he could tell her where to find the body.

She demanded, "Where is Severus Snape now? I have a right to his body, if not to his life."

There was no recognition in the green eyes behind the grimy spectacles, but he answered obediently, "In the Shrieking Shack." Feeling passed over the young man's face for a moment. "He is dead. But he died the bravest of men, telling me what I needed to bring Voldemort down."

It was good that Potter recognised what Severus had done for him, but she would find out the details later. Now all she wanted was to recover her husband's body.

She released her hard grip and Disapparated without bothering to extract herself from the mob.

She had never been in the Shack, and had little attention to spare when she pushed her way through the open door into the single room, light from that and from the one window facing the castle showing her the long body in its black cloak, marred as much with dust as with blood, sprawled against the wall. A body whose right hand still clutched its wand.

She ran to his side and dropped to her knees in the sticky pool of blood, seeing the terrible wounds in his throat, partly healed, but still oozing blood.

Still oozing blood. A wild exhilaration and terror that it might be too late fought through her, as she lifted her wand.

When the wounds were better sealed she used her wand once more, this time to summon Poppy.

The silver river horse galloped away with its urgent demand, "Come to me and Severus, Poppy, this moment! He can still be saved."

She waited, confident in Poppy's faithfulness, and continued to do what she could for him, working to extract the venom of what was clearly a snake's fangs ripping through his throat, grateful as never before for two years of Poppy's tuition.

Poppy came, of course, and though it was a long battle, very soon there was no doubt that this too would be won.

He had deserved this triumph, far more than she. The wizarding world might even acknowledge it, if Potter's gratitude was not a thing of the moment. But acknowledged or not, he and she could live in Unity and peace hereafter. Unless she needed to summon him from his potions when she returned from her hospital, bring him back to her and wherever they chose to dwell, she might never need to send out the river horse again.

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