See Chapter One for disclaimer
THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT
Chapter Seven: Three of Swords
THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT
Hermione sat on the sofa, radiating ill humor. Severus had locked the door that lead from the sitting room into the ballroom and pointedly ignored her snit on his way back into the hidden corridor. She had halfheartedly tried to convince him that he was wrong to leave her behind, but he ignored her, and, as she grudgingly admitted, it was probably the right thing to do. This made her even more annoyed.
Oblivious to her wrath, Luna was seated in a wing chair by the fireplace with Ron on her lap. His head was buried in her soft fur, and he emitted a soft snuffling snore that Hermione knew from experience would become window-rattling once he had properly nodded off. Luna was gently grooming his hair and staring off into space, her characteristically inscrutable expression made even more so by her fur.
Hermione's gaze fell upon the cards on the coffee table, which were still in the spread the Oracle had done for her. She picked up the Empress and studied the card. A crowned woman who wore a dress not unlike her own was seated on the throne, a shield propped on one knee and a scepter against her shoulder, gazing serenely forward. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the card, which had been leafed with silver. The shield shone in the firelight.
Hermione set the card where it had been, over the upside-down Lovers. An obvious card, in Hermione's opinion, given the nearly public dressing down she'd given her husband earlier that evening. Ron always seemed to be at his most obnoxious when she was forced to spend long periods of time with him, such as during maternity leave, when she had no opportunity to stay at work late or play cards with the girls. If tonight had been any indication, the next few weeks would be positively cataclysmic.
Her eye next fell on the Tower, whose meaning she had divined but whose influence she had no way to escape. The Oracle claimed that this was due to the reversed Wheel of Fortune, which looked like a spinning wheel with grotesque animals clinging to its rim, turning steadily but not rapidly enough to dislodge them.
The creatures danced before her eyes, and she found herself gazing into the red eyes of the Devil, whom she interpreted to be the so-called master. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, massaging her eyeballs. The card's afterimage lingered for a moment in her vision, its colors in negative.
Her eyes flew open in surprise, and she stared at the Devil, whose reversed position made his batlike wings appear upon first glance to be large ears. The afterimage swum in her mind's eye, which made his eyes flash from red to green, and again the absurd thought about the identity of the master flitted through her mind.
The only person she'd ever known to feel as passionately as she did about house-elves and freedom had been Dobby the house-elf. However, two very obvious facts had led her to dismiss his candidacy as the master. One, that he was dead, and two, the master obviously felt some ill-will towards Harry.
Still, Samhain was the night that traditionally blurred the line between life and death. The existence of the Resurrection Stone and Philosopher's Stone certainly made resurrection and eternal life possible, two things that Muggles considered to be miraculous.
However, this was not the time to focus on magic and religion nor to consider impossibilities. She shook her head, dismissing the train of thought and took stock of the other cards in the Oracle's spread.
Death- that had to be Harry as Voldemort. The Oracle had all but said that the High Priestess and the Hanged Man were Narcissa and Lucius, and the assistance that she was to receive from the Chariot and the Moon- well, who else could the Moon be but Luna? She'd been an enormous help. The chariot shone with silver, and she quickly identified it as Draco. And exactly how did Severus fit into the spread?
She gazed at the western cards. The Hierophant, which represented the Oracle herself, and the ill-dignified Hermit, who was holding up a lantern and leaning forward, as if trying to see through a thick fog. Obstinacy and isolation indeed, thought Hermione, examining the card, seeing the familiar lines of Severus's face superimposed over the Hermit's.
The stubborn fool was going to take on the house-elves without a wand, with nothing but his wits. Of course, she was no better. All she had was a slumbering idiot, a Demiguise with mothering issues, and a body that was awkward and uncomfortable no matter how she shifted.
So preoccupied was she with the cards that the click of the door being unlocked made her jump, adrenaline singing through her body. She seized a bronze statuette from the table and raised it above her head.
To her surprise, Draco's, or Janus's, silver face appeared around the door.
"I thought I might find you here," he said. "It was the only door that was locked."
"I thought you gave me your key," she said, faint with relief.
Janus wiggled his fingers. "I'm a god."
"So, to what do I owe the honor of your company?"
"I'm tired of hiding behind the sofa," said Janus. "Everyone's lost their sense of purpose, there's no more pâté, and all the interesting guests are disappearing."
"Who else?"
"Well, after that carpenter who offered to build me an altar, there was that snake fellow with the red eyes. It's downright dull out there, since none of the monarchs can decide who reigns supreme. Oh!" he exclaimed, kneeling by the coffee table. "Are you playing cards?"
"The Oracle did this reading for me," said Hermione, sinking on to the sofa. "I've been trying to figure it out."
"You must be bored, too."
"To tears," she agreed. "Professor Snape stole the key you gave me and went off on his own."
"I could inactivate it," offered Janus.
"No, he's the only chance our hosts have. I don't think I'm quite up for a rescue mission," said Hermione.
Janus examined the cards on the table. "What are these cards supposed to mean?"
"The Oracle said that the cards in the shape of a big cross are the major influences, and the ones up there in a row are the path."
"It's an awfully short path," he remarked, bending low to examine it.
"And most of it calamitous," she said acidly, settling herself in the wing chair opposite Janus. "The Oracle says it ends with indecision and fear."
The god frowned. "That's not very helpful. When I guide my devotees, I give them more than that."
"That's why I gave the pâté to you instead of Apollo," said Hermione. "Hang on, did you just say you guide your devotees?"
"All of us gods do," said Janus, "some more fully than others."
"Well, can you do that for me? I could really use an idea of what to do."
"That's the sort of guidance that necessitates something special," said Janus, eyeing her swollen belly.
"I thought you didn't want any children."
"I don't, but rules are rules."
"Sorry, Janus. He's off limits."
"A son?" asked Janus wistfully. "Too bad we couldn't have made a deal."
"It's good to see that your ever-amusing fickleness survived the house-elves' spell."
The god shrugged expressively and returned to examining the cards, his silver brow wrinkling impressively.
And then Hermione saw it.
"What is it?" asked Janus in response to her gasp.
"Don't move," said Hermione. She leaned forward and stared at Janus's face.
In his face she could see the path reflected, the five cards in reverse order, doubling the length of the spread. And due to the contours and lines in his face, each of the cards was upside down from how it appeared on the table.
"Will scratching my nose disturb your inspiration?" asked Janus.
Hermione gave him a look, which made him smile.
The change in his expression ruined the perfect reversed reflection, but Hermione had already seen what she needed to see of the path. Now, Janus's forehead perfectly reflected the bookshelf that obscured the house-elves' passageway.
Of course.
Impulsively, she embraced the god fondly and planted a kiss on his silver cheek.
"What was that for?"
"For showing me the way."
Janus frowned. "But I didn't do anything."
"Now's your chance to remedy that. Can you read Latin?"
"Does Jupiter make sport of the Vestals?"
"Then let's get reading," she said, crossing awkwardly to the bookshelf and removing several brightly-colored volumes. "We're looking for anything that mentions house-elves, no matter how trivial the reference seems."
She propped a book up on her stomach and began to read. The child within poked a foot or arm into its spine, and her insides protested. She sat up straight, a look of grim determination on her face. Don't you dare, she silently admonished the child within her. Now is not a good time. The baby chose that moment to kick, and Hermione's insides tightened into what was either indigestion or a very early contraction.
Hermione scowled. Even if it were a contraction, there were still untold hours to go before the child's arrival, and Severus would need their help. She ignored her body's twinges and continued to read.
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Severus crept down the passageway that skirted the edge of the dungeon, which still smelled of old blood even after many years of disuse. Perhaps the ferrous tang was due to the corroding iron bars, but the smell was still an unwelcome reminder of a past he was content to leave behind. However, he owed it to Lucius and to Lily's son to set things right.
He shook his head. What had Lily Potter to do with anything?
A memory of shining red hair flashed in his mind's eye, so vivid it took his breath away.
He pulled himself from the memory just in time to hear footsteps heading toward him and to heave himself up onto a crossbeam. Two house-elves passed beneath him with trays of rotten food.
While he waited for them to pass, more vague memories insinuated themselves in his consciousness: laughing with Lily, holding Lily as she wept, and the tremulous smile that she reserved just for him.
With an extraordinary mental effort, Severus banished the memories from his head. What was he doing, reliving times with lovers lost when there was work to be done? The voice of his conscience was mocking, and Severus was confused. Had Lily been his lover?
The house-elves were gone, he realized belatedly, releasing the crossbeam around which he had wrapped his arms. He lowered himself to the ground, furious that his hands were shaking but unable to do anything to stop it.
Draught of Peace, he thought, mentally listing the ingredients and brewing instructions as he skulked down the passageway. But the potion was not enough to distract him from infuriating thoughts of Lily and her housemates.
He could feel his heart pounding, and he leaned against the masonry to rest, deliberately unclenching his fists as he banished the memories to the deepest recesses of his mind.
But where had these memories come from? They were his and at the same time not his. He vaguely recalled that he and Lily had been acquainted before Hogwarts, but he could recall only the vaguest memories of interacting with her at school. And yet with every step he took towards the kitchens he remembered more.
Moist fumblings in the Room of Requirement that left them both exhilarated and terrified. Her shrill voice as she berated him for going to an after-curfew meeting with Lucius. His insistence that she do her part as a Prefect to stop the Gryffindor upperclassmen from hazing the lower forms. Being hoisted aloft by his own spell while she stood unwilling to denounce James Potter and Sirius Black, even after the werewolf incident. The echo of his heartbreak and the soft hoof beats of a silver doe that comforted him, haunted him, his best and worst memory.
Severus swallowed hard and forced his feet to move forward, stifling the memories with every bit of Occlumency skill he possessed. He was Severus Snape, war hero. The Marauders were all dead, the last of their progeny beyond their pernicious influence. Healing was underway, and there was no sense in opening old wounds. And yet he found gaping holes where he had not known there had been any injury. What had happened?
And suddenly, it hit him: Potter.
Potter had needed to understand. Before he had succumbed to the Living Death Draught he'd mixed with the antivenin that had saved his life, Severus vaguely recalled releasing memories pertinent to his motives, memories that Potter had needed. Or more likely, Miss Granger had realized what they were and kept them from evaporating, he thought with a smirk.
Were the memories he had given away now regaining their hold on him? The corridor was growing warmer, and he could hear another set of footsteps approaching. He barely had time to clamber onto an overhead beam, his muscles protesting, before the elves appeared.
Severus shook his head. He had to get a grip on himself, otherwise he was no better than those sentimental Gryffindor cretins he had taunted mercilessly .Whatever memories had previously lain dormant must not shake him from his course.
Once the elves had gone, he dropped quietly to the floor. He paused in front of a peephole, which gave him a view of the lowest dungeon cell where the Dark Lord had kept Ollivander. He heard elves coming from upstairs, and he pressed the button to open a small door into the cell, just large enough for a house-elf to enter and clean or deliver food.
He squeezed through the opening and shut the door behind him, holding his breath until the elves passed him. When they had gone, he slipped Janus's key through the bars and unlocked the cell door. The iron lock took some finessing, but soon he was in the dungeon's central corridor, balancing on his toes to dampen the sound of his footsteps as he neared his destination.
At the end of the sloping corridor was the heavy oak door of a small room in which the head jailor would have passed his evening. He knew that the room was filled with implements of torture, weapons, and most importantly, dozens of panes of Spy Glass that allowed him to see what was happening in the different areas of the dungeon, including the kitchens. The Spy Glass would be vital to his rescue attempt. He slipped inside the jailor's study and shut the door behind him. It was pitch dark in the room, and he groped along the wall for some sort of light.
Suddenly, the lights in the room flared to life, and Severus found himself squinting at a house-elf who was clad in a black robe and seated in the jailor's chair watching the Spy Glass.
The elf turned to face him, and Severus recognized him. It was the elf who had been Potter's friend. What was his name? Toddy? Nobby?
Whatever the elf's name, he snapped his fingers, and Severus was unable to move, bound by conjured ropes.
"You is trespassing," squeaked the elf, turning to face him with a slightly nervous look on his face.
"I live in this house," said Severus.
"Not in the dungeon," said the elf, with more confidence. "You is in a place belonging to the elves. Nobody is wanting it, not the house master, so we has taken it. Leave now, and the elves will not be harming you."
"Dobby," said Severus, as he finally recalled the elf's name. "Apparently I'm not the only one whose death has been wildly exaggerated," said Severus.
'No, Dobby really was dead. Dobby has returned to seek revenge against cruel masters and lead all house-elves to freedom."
Severus blinked then burst out laughing. "Regretted dying for Potter, did you? There's no shame in it. I supposedly did so myself."
The elf looked highly affronted. "Dobby is serious! Dobby is master of all house-elves and wields great magic for his cause!"
Severus surreptitiously tested the strength of his bonds and found that he had room to wiggle. He had to keep the elf talking. "You came back from the dead all on your own, then?"
The elf scowled. "Three powerful elves is performing an ancient rite in Old Elf Tongue to bring Dobby back."
Severus recalled the three elves whose discussion he had overheard: the mad Hogwarts Elf Winky, Potter's elf Kreacher, and the pacifist elf Noddy. They were obviously high on the chain of command- perhaps they were the three.
To keep Dobby talking, he snorted derisively. "Why on earth would anyone wish to bring you back from the dead?"
"All elves is wanting me to seek revenge against Harry Potter."
Severus was so surprised that he stopped loosening his bonds. It always came back to Potter. "What on earth are you talking about? I thought Lucius and Narcissa were your former masters. What has Harry Potter to do with it? I seem to recall that he gave you a hero's burial."
Dobby sighed again and slumped in his chair. "Harry Potter is giving Dobby the greatest gift of freedom, but house-elves is not seeing it that way. To house-elves, tricking the house master into releasing Dobby was cruel, but not so cruel as Harry Potter burying Dobby in the ground, far away from his serving homes."
"They'd rather you were one of the heads on the wall at Grimmauld Place?"
"To display an elf's head at his place of servitude is the highest honor," said Dobby. "For Dobby to die in his chosen master's service and then be buried far from him is something that the other elves is taking very seriously, and their anger is growing stronger over the years."
Severus stared at Dobby in disbelief. "You mean to say that Harry Potter has become a symbol of house-elf repression?"
Dobby nodded. "The story is whispered from elf to elf. Elves is telling it to their elflings. The three is deciding to bring Dobby back because they feel the time is right."
"I wonder that you cared. You were dead, after all."
Dobby shrugged. "Dobby is not caring about where he was buried, but he does want elves to be free."
"So this evening's fiasco is merely a distraction while you avenge yourself against house-elf owners."
"It is part of the punishment."
"The scandal for the Malfoys," said Severus. He hadn't realized that the elf had such cunning in him. It made him suspicious. "What's the rest of the punishment?"
"They is learning what it is like to be a house-elf." Dobby gestured towards a square of Spy Glass. "They is in the kitchens. See?"
Severus gazed at the scene before him and was relieved to see Lucius and Narcissa returned to their former selves, but his eyebrows rose in disbelief when he saw the nature of the elves' revenge.
Narcissa, who was still tangled in Lucius's robes, was frantically scrubbing the floor with a heavy wooden brush as an elf spat and threw kitchen filth at her. Lucius, whose hands were bleeding from a number of small cuts, was trying to cut potatoes into paper-thin slices. He flinched as an elf yanked his hair, and the blade slipped into his finger again.
Severus turned to Dobby furiously. "This isn't revenge," he hissed. "This is absurd."
"It is fitting," replied Dobby reluctantly. Severus wondered whose words he was repeating. "They who abused is being abused. She who foisted abundance without freedom is herself now being foisted upon."
"She who is-" he stopped himself when he spotted Minerva McGonagall sitting blindfolded in the corner surrounded by cakes and pies that two elves were force-feeding her.
Dobby droned on as if he hadn't spoken. "Harry Potter's actions are visited back upon him as well. Once we is finding and punishing the young house master and the elves in charge of the other punishments is satisfied, we will release the enchantments on the guests."
They were after Draco? "The young master hasn't lived in the house for years."
"Dobby is remembering what the young master did," replied Dobby hotly. "He is blaming his mischief on Dobby, and Dobby was punished often for it."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "And Minerva? By what justification do you hold her?"
"Those who mistreat house-elves must be punished," said Dobby, sounding rather unsure.
"Mistreat?" spat Severus. "All Minerva did was order them to accept pay as terms of their employment. If elves wanted freedom from her, all they needed to do was ask. It was their own misplaced pride that held them back. Your people are making her a scapegoat for misery they brought upon themselves "
"You is not understanding," said Dobby miserably. "If all elves is to follow Dobby, they is needing a sign of Dobby's leadership."
Severus gave the elf his most imperious glare. "You mean to say that you are torturing Harry Potter, who was your friend, to build support for your leadership?"
"It is the three that wants it!" wailed Dobby. "Dobby cannot refuse the three who brought him back!"
"If that were true, I'd say you've gone from no master to three," spat Severus, who had finally worked one hand free. "As things are, I know that you lie. One of the three speaks against revenge. You and he could oppose the other two, yet you allow the counsel of the two mad elves to sway you into torturing your friend."
Tears were beginning to leak out of Dobby's eyes. "Dobby isn't wanting them to hurt Harry Potter, but if Dobby is to punish his former master and mistress, he must be allowing other elves revenge, too."
Severus drew himself up to his full height and surreptitiously plucked a poker from beside the fireplace. "You are a pathetic, sniveling little worm, and you are abusing your ill-gotten leadership to seek personal revenge."
"The Malfoys is cruel masters, who are kicking, flogging, and beating house-elves," cried Dobby. "They is needing to be punished!"
Severus's response was to whip the poker through the air toward the elf's head, only to have it stopped centimeters from Dobby's face. The elf glared at him and snapped his fingers, once again immobilizing Severus.
"Since you has refused Dobby's offer to leave unharmed, you is joining the captives in the kitchens."
Dobby seized his arm in a surprisingly powerful grip, and before Severus could blink, they were standing in the kitchens.
One of the kitchen elves spotted them and bowed low.
"Former Master of Potions is needing work," said Dobby.
She nodded and produced a tiny whisk, no more than four inches long, of the sort used to stir sauces, and handed it to Severus.
"You is whipping the cream that is on the stove," she said to him. "Get to work."
The cream on the stove was in a vat that was so tall he could barely get his arm over the top. The elf smirked at him, then took Dobby's arm and led him off.
Wishing to buy himself some time, Severus began stirring the absurd whisk about in the cream, to little or no effect. He examined the kitchen around him.
There were four elves who wore Hogwarts tea towels and another three who wore pillowcases emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. The Malfoys owned two elves: Taddy the steward and Mimsy the cook and housekeeper. Dobby had disappeared again, presumably to watch them from the study. There would probably be at least one more elf guarding the wands, wherever they were, and possibly another guarding Potter, making a total of twelve elves.
Twelve. A formidable number. A number appropriate to justice, he recalled from his childhood, being the number of men and women in a Muggle jury. He heard a loud crack and felt a stinging sensation on his calf. One of the Hogwarts elves had snapped him with her tea towel.
"You is lazy," she said, glaring. "The harder you work, the sooner your task is finished."
He picked up the pace of his futile task, though his arm was already starting to ache. If he recalled the kitchen layout correctly, beyond the door to his right was the cold pantry, in which perishable items were stored, and through the door to his left was the wine cellar. The human-sized door leading to the dungeons practically glowed with protective magic. He didn't dare to attempt escape without his wand.
He had to find his wand, and he had to find Potter, both of which were likely to be hidden in the kitchen The fragrant smell of gingerbread was wafting through the kitchen, and it gave Severus an idea.
"Why has you stopped?" demanded the elf that had swatted him.
"If you please," said Severus, bowing his head in a performance of humility that would have done a Hufflepuff proud, "I thought I might add some ginger to the whipped cream to improve the flavor."
The elf scowled at the cream he had stirred. "It is not whipped."
"It will whip faster once the ginger is integrated."
The elf crossed her arms. "There is ginger in the pantry, just there. You is getting it, but you must be peeling it and chopping it finely, and we elves will be watching you!"
Severus bowed, slumping his shoulders so as not to arouse suspicion, and entered the pantry. An elf sat shivering on a small barrel. Severus smiled to himself. There was definitely something important hidden in the pantry.
"W-w-what is you w-w-wanting?" the elf asked, who was shaking so hard he was barely able to make himself understood.
"Ginger," said Severus promptly, gazing around him, noting buckets of fresh milk, entire sides of beef and pork, chickens and game, even fish and shellfish, as well as vegetables of every sort and description. Alas, there was no sign of Potter or the wands.
"It's on the l-l-left," chattered the elf, gesturing with his head so as not to remove his hands from his armpits.
Severus took his time searching where the elf had pointed. He noted that the elf had not moved from the barrel, even when he was clearly getting impatient.
"It is r-r-right in fr-fr-front of you!" he ground out in exasperation, gripping the topmost hoop on the barrel's edge in frustration.
"Where?" asked Severus innocently.
The elf seized a cucumber from the shelf behind him and threw it at Severus. It bounced off the bin that held the ginger root and landed next to Severus's foot.
"There!" said the elf angrily. "Now, t-t-take the g-g-ginger and get out of here!"
Severus bowed low, taking in the size, shape, and imperfections of the barrel. "Thank you. You've been most kind."
"G-g-get back to work!"
Severus did as he was told, but not without some self-congratulation. He took the monotony of preparing the ginger as an opportunity to strategize. The wands were in the cooled larder beneath a house-elf. He would need to be flushed somehow. Potter, by elimination, was almost certainly in the wine cellar.
He would stir the cream for another ten or fifteen minutes. Then he'd suggest that a splash of orange liqueur would make the ginger whipped cream even better. He would rescue Potter, the two of them would liberate the wands, and they'd turn the tables on the house-elves, assuming Potter would be alive and conscious.
It wasn't the best plan he'd come up with, but it would have to do.
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