A Saturday night update since I've been ill all day!
Chapter 11 – Revelations
Snape's hands shook, and he gripped them together tightly in front of him, his eyes fixed on the woman on the bed. It had been hours since he'd swept into the Hospital Wing with Amelia's ice-cold body cradled in his arms, and he'd barely kept his fear in check as he'd realised how eerily similar the scene had been, to when he'd carried her still-smoking body in from the raid over the summer.
The difference now, of course, was that he cared about her, and that this time he had no idea what to do. The moment he'd stepped into the Hospital Wing, Poppy had jumped into action and laid her out on the bed, but as she'd worked, her face had become more and more concerned, until Snape had snapped at her, none too kindly, to tell him what the problem was, and she had banished him from the room.
Dumbledore had arrived shortly after, and despite his best and most imaginatively vicious threats, he'd been made to wait outside while the Headmaster examined Amelia himself. If it hadn't been for the satisfaction he'd got in sending the three irritating Gryffindors to bed, despite their (somewhat true) arguments that they'd been the ones to find her and should get to find out what had happened, he was certain he might have done something he'd regret.
As it was, it was now the early hours of the morning, and he'd been allowed back inside to sit by her bedside, even as Dumbledore's words echoed in his ears.
"I'm sorry, my boy, but it doesn't look good. Her magic has burnt her up from the inside out, and her body's simply shut down. If we don't find out what triggered it, then it's possible she'll never wake up."
That had been an hour ago, and ever since, Snape had kept his lonely vigil, his eyes never leaving her face, and his mind in disarray.
It's possible she'll never wake up.
He felt as though he'd been slapped. How could it be possible that something like this could happen within the Hogwarts grounds? And was it really only last night that they'd sat together, sipping whiskey in front of his fire? If only he'd gone to her after he'd returned. Maybe she'd have mentioned her plan to go to Hagrid's, and he'd have been able to tell her the half-giant wasn't there, and that would have been the end of it. She'd never have left the castle. She'd have probably joined him in his lab, and they'd have spent the day brewing quietly together, perfectly safe.
At that last thought, he felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest, and he clamped his lips together against the ache that was growing in his throat. She'd been lying outside for most of the day, and where had he been? Locked up in his dungeons, or eating happily at the Head Table, while she grew colder and colder, alone in the dark.
He got to his feet suddenly and moved to stare out of the window. No. This couldn't be it. She'd remained Undiscovered for twenty-six years. She was possibly the most intuitive Potioneer he'd taught in all of his years at the school. And she reminded him, startlingly, painfully, of the way Lily had been with him as children. She understood his moods already. She called him out when he was cruel, and no matter how angry she'd been with him, she'd always come back, always sought him out for company. He couldn't go back to spending all of his time so desperately alone; not now he'd found a companion and – dare he even think it? – a friend. He wouldn't.
His mind made up, he swept from the room without a backwards glance at the bed, and made his way determinedly to the Headmaster's office. When he reached the gargoyle, he spat the password out through gritted teeth, made his way swiftly up the stairs, and stormed into the room without knocking. Albus looked up from his desk, where Snape was gratified to see he'd had his head in his hands. Without waiting for a greeting, he launched into his diatribe.
"Headmaster, someone in this school knows what happened to her. The bruising on her face is from a very powerful clubbing spell, for Merlin's sake! Only a handful of students and staff could produce such a spell, and we both know that even fewer would do so unprovoked."
Dumbledore sighed, looking every inch his advanced age.
"And what would you have me do, Severus?"
"Call an assembly, first thing tomorrow. Stand up in front of the school and demand the culprit come forward. You said it yourself, if we don't know what triggered this she might never wake up, and…" he swallowed and drew a deep breath, his throat suddenly thick. "And… If- If that happens…"
Dumbledore held up his hand.
"I know, my boy. I know," he said quietly.
"No, you don't know!" Snape exclaimed, his voice strangled. "You have no idea! If she doesn't… If she…"
Dumbledore's sad blue eyes met the stricken black ones, and without warning, something that sounded very much like a sob broke from Snape's constricting throat, and he clamped his mouth shut and pinched the bridge of his nose hard.
"My dear boy…"Dumbledore began, tears in his own eyes.
"Don't!" He snapped. "Just… Please, Albus. You must do something."
The Headmaster held his gaze for a moment longer, and then sighed resignedly.
"Alright, my boy. Alright. You'll have your assembly. But you will lead it. I think, somehow, that you are the best person for the job this time."
/…/
The next morning, an announcement rang through the school, and all students and staff were present for Sunday morning breakfast. Before the plates were filled, Severus Snape stepped up to Dumbledore's podium wearing a set of fresh robes, and with his most chilling scowl firmly in place. The curious chatter died instantaneously, and all eyes turned to face him. He swept his gaze over the assembled students, noticing that the Gryffindor trio were watching him nervously, and feeling a prickling on the back of his neck that meant the staff were observing him just as closely.
Placing both hands on the podium, he lowered his voice to his most deadly, and began.
"Many of you are surely wondering why you have been summoned here this morning," he paused, allowing everyone in the room to strain to hear him. "Yesterday, at some point in the morning, Amelia Bristol was viciously attacked while walking in the Hogwarts grounds." He paused to allow the whispers to ripple through the hall for a moment.
"Until we know exactly what happened during those moments, it is unlikely that Miss Bristol will recover." At this, he was pleased to hear a far louder babble break out across the room, and at the Gryffindor table in particular.
"I invite anyone who may have seen anything, to present themselves to the Headmaster at their earliest convenience. Were you out on the grounds yesterday morning? Did you, perhaps, see anyone other than Miss Bristol walking near Hagrid's Hut? Or perhaps…" He dropped his voice even lower. "Perhaps you know just who is responsible for this despicable crime?"
He swept his eyes over the room once more, and then turned to face the staff.
"This request does, of course, extend to my esteemed colleagues, as well," he sneered unpleasantly, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second longer on the pink-trussed toad, who was still smiling vacuously at the end of the table.
"It goes without saying," he concluded softly. "That if I find out that someone has knowledge of these events and has not come forward, they may be assured that retribution, the likes of which this school has never seen, will follow swiftly, and without mercy. From this moment forward, you may consider Miss Bristol to be under my personal protection, and if any of you feel you have been treated unfairly before now, let me impress upon you just how much worse it can get."
With the final threat hanging in the air like ice, he turned and swept from the Hall, the blood pounding in his ears as the room erupted into cacophony behind him.
/…/
The moment the Potions Master had left the room, Ron's voice blurted out across the table.
"What in Merlin's name has gotten into Snape?"
"Professor Snape, Ronald," Hermione corrected automatically.
"Fine, what's gotten into Professor Snape?"
She shook her head, exasperated.
"It's obvious, isn't it?"
Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly.
"Boys!" She exclaimed, shaking her head. "Let's look at this objectively. Professor Snape was the one who rescued her. She spends most days brewing in his Potion's lab. He didn't even take house points off us for finding her outside the castle after curfew, and Poppy and Dumbledore banished him from the room while they examined her. What do all of these things add up to?"
"That the greasy git's more insane than we thought?" Ron offered hopefully.
Hermione huffed through her nose.
"No. It means that he cares about her, Ron."
Harry and Ron both looked at her as though she'd grown another head.
"Snape?" Ron finally spluttered. "Caring about someone? About a Gryffindor? Don't be stupid!"
But Harry was quietly pensive.
"Actually," he admitted grudgingly. "That would make some sort of sense."
Ron's mouth dropped open.
"You can't be serious?!"
Harry rubbed his hand absently over his scar.
"I never thought I'd say it, but just think about it. What does Snape hate most? Apart from me, obviously."
"Gryffindors," Ron said quickly.
"Ok, apart from me and Gryffindors?"
Hermione smiled at him.
"Children, stupidity, and disrespect" she said, nodding slowly.
"So?"
"So," Hermione said. "Amelia didn't meet Snape when she was a child, she met him when she was already an adult – and an adult with a particular aptitude for potions. She probably didn't know to treat him any differently when she first got here, since she didn't really know anything about him, so I bet she's never been disrespectful towards him. And since she can't perform magic with her wand, it's only to be expected that she'd be interested in learning more about the one subject she can do well, from the person who teaches it. I bet, if I were Professor Snape, I'd be pretty angry that the one person who seemed interested in what I did all day was suddenly attacked right under my nose. He must be livid."
Ron still looked unconvinced, but Harry nodded grimly.
"But, but-," Ron spluttered. "But what does she see in him?!"
At that, Harry shrugged and grinned slyly.
"Not all mysteries can be solved, Ron," he said solemnly, and the three friends laughed.
"Still," Hermione said, her face growing strained again. "That doesn't help Amelia. If someone doesn't come forward, then what are we going to do?"
Harry looked around the room at the many faces still gossiping about the attack, and his eyes lingered on the Head Table.
"I think," he said slowly. "That we should do some digging of our own."
Hermione and Ron followed his gaze, to where Umbridge was sipping from a floral cup of tea, and smiling directly at them.
/…/
After he left the Hall, Snape headed straight for his Potion's lab, but no sooner had he set foot inside, than he realised he couldn't bear to start on anything knowing that there was no-one coming to interrupt him. Instead, he swept straight into his quarters and began to pace in front of his empty fire grate. He had a horrible sinking feeling that he'd over-played his hand, and revealed too much about his feelings for the witch.
The children of Death Eaters were sitting right there, and you all but told them you cared about her, you fool!
He sank into a chair, his face in his hands. It was one thing to scare the student body into acquiescence, but he had a horrible feeling he knew just who was responsible for Amelia's current state, and she was sitting at the end of the staff table looking like an over-sized marshmallow.
His clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. A simple bout of Legilimency was all it would take to discover whether Umbridge had anything to do with the attack, but as useless as she was as a teacher, he had no doubt that she was a powerful and – above all – a cruel witch. She would notice any intrusion into her mind as quickly as he would, and he daren't think what the headlines would be then.
"Former Death Eater Assaults Ministry Favourite".
He'd earn himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban, and even Dumbledore wouldn't be able to prevent it. No. He was going to have to come up with a better plan than that if he was going to get anywhere. He just didn't know what it was yet.
/…/
In Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been making plans of their own. As the time arrived for Harry's usual detention with the DADA Professor that night, his two friends walked him to her office, and hid as she opened the door.
"Ah, Mr Potter," the witch smiled sweetly. "Ready for another set of lines, are we?"
Harry gritted his teeth and nodded silently, an Extendable Ear held tightly in his fist, hidden by a disillusionment charm.
Turning his face determinedly away from the smirking woman, he sat down in front of her, and as he picked up the Blood Quill, his stomach churning, he subtly slipped the Weasley product onto his desk. Outside in the corridor, Ron and Hermione crouched around the corner, the end of the device held nervously between them.
Drawing a deep breath in as he picked up the quill and began to carve lines into his own skin, Harry focused on the existence of the spying device, and tried to block out the pain. It only took a few minutes of writing before the Professor, as he knew she would, launched into one of her usual monologues.
"Well, Mr Potter, the message must be sinking in a little by now, hm?" She simpered. "I know it's difficult for a boy such as yourself – a boy so used to being afforded special treatment by the wizarding world – to be told 'no', but I will not stand for lying in my class. Nor will I stand for disloyalty."
Harry fought to keep his face impassive, focusing on the deep red words he was repeating, over and over again, and imagining it was Umbridge's hand he was carving them into, not his own.
I must not tell lies.
"Of course, it's not just your fault, is it dear? If you ask me, and certainly if you would speak to dear Cornelius, it's Dumbledore's fault that you're given to these flights of fancy. Between you and I, the Ministry has known for a while that the old man's mind is going."
Harry's fist clenched and he felt, rather than saw, her smirk.
"Is something the matter, Mr Potter?" She asked with faux-concern.
"No, Professor," he said, struggling to keep his voice even.
"No, well, there shouldn't be," she said dangerously. "Of course, things at Hogwarts are far worse than I had feared. Taking in an Undiscovered witch, for instance!"
Her girlish chuckle rang through the room.
"And with absolutely no knowledge of where she came from, as well. And I don't buy that rubbish about Severus Snape just happening to stumble across her. No, something is going on there, you mark my words. Still… I suppose it doesn't matter much anymore."
Harry's breath caught in his throat as her voice took on a satisfied quality, and he chanced a look up at her subtly.
"Yes indeed," she sighed contentedly. "It doesn't look very good for Miss Bristol at all. But of course, if one cannot control one's anger, then one ought not to be around witches and wizards who can. It's simply a safety issue. We can't all lose control now, can we? That's why we send Obscurials away, and a Bound witch or wizard is no less dangerous."
Harry's mind was racing, and he fought to keep his breathing steady.
"Yes, perhaps it's best if Miss Bristol doesn't wake up again. It's safer for us all that way. Don't you think so, Mr Potter?"
Hardly daring to open his mouth as his anger burned in his throat, Harry raised his eyes to Umbridge's, and shrugged tightly.
"I hadn't really thought about it, Professor," he managed to choke out, and she smiled superciliously.
Around the corner, Ron and Hermione were clutching the listening device tightly in their hands, their eyes locked on each other, and their expressions furious.
/…/
So, what do you think? How am I doing?