Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Harry Potter. I'm simply borrowing the characters and some of the plot for a little while.
I feel lucky to have gotten as much positive feedback on this story as I have, and I hope you're still with me. I promise that the hinted at first Order meeting will be in the next chapter. Many of you will likely continue to hate Dumbledore in this chapter. Sorry, not sorry. His character is firmly set in my head as being manipulative in this story, and I only hope I'm doing the characterization justice. In the meantime, I'm bringing back someone else…
Chapter 11
At night, dreams can feel like they last for hours when, in reality, they may only last a few minutes. That was what it felt like to Maia each, countless time the stunning spell wore off and she was thrown back into waking nightmares. The scenes that played before her eyes were relived with perfect clarity, each moment a pointed reminder of the numerous crimes for which she knew she would have to answer, one day. Every second that passed witnessing scenes from her dark past, each horrible in their own right, lasted an eternity due to the one, glaringly erroneous addition to each one. Every scene recalled – with her as either a passive viewer or an active participant – found her praying to whatever deity would listen that someone would either come to truly wake her up or put her out of her misery.
The red-haired woman screamed, thrashing her head and jerking her lithe body in vain as Walden Macnair used his substantial weight to hold her down from behind, his hands as hard as iron on the exposed skin of her bruised shoulders. Amycus Carrow, the sick bastard, had taken advantage of the woman's vulnerable position and proceeded to use his wand to cast poorly controlled slicing hexes at her already-torn trousers while his twin sister jeered from the sidelines. Each slice revealed more of her pale skin to the hungry eyes of the Death Eater horde; some pieces of material fell away to rest on the polished wooden floor while others were glued to her skin with a bloody adhesive. The overall look of her lower body became a macabre calico pattern of denim and torn flesh.
When enough of the material had been removed as an obstruction, Carrow dropped to his knees, moving his black robes aside, and thrust his hips forward to violate her further. The woman's pained scream with Carrow's brutal entry was cut off by one of Macnair's hands as the former harshly took her before their dark audience. Her green eyes, overflowing with pain in the form of tears, flashed to Maia where she sat coolly by the Dark Lord's side in a silent plea for mercy. Maia's impassive mask – and the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to save her at that moment – was the only thing keeping her fear and rage at the disgusting display at bay…
No, no, no, Maia thought frantically. She desperately tried to turn her mental head, knowing that she couldn't watch as Lily was violated and tortured once again in her tormented mind. How many variations of this scene had she already re-witnessed?
To her detriment, she was unable to do so; she hadn't looked away during the true event, and so she couldn't look away now. She had believed that if their victims had to feel the pain and there was nothing she could do to prevent or stop it, she could at least show them the respect of watching it while mentally acknowledging her failure. What did their victims care for her respect? The question came with a mental, self-berating scoff. Maia had never damned herself more for her misguided notion regarding those tortured and murdered before her eyes. Even if the foolish (and rather useless) form of respect hadn't been her primary reason for keeping her eyes glued to the scene taking place before her, it had served helped her image as a faithful Death Eater. The Dark Lord had respected that she never shied away from viewing their victims' punishments and his followers' rewards.
Her shields…where were her shields…
While one part of her mind scrambled to build up the tatters of her Occlumency shields in a last-hope effort to push the false image away, another part of her mind wondered why she had not yet been pulled from this hell. She had lost count of the number of gruesome memories she had relived, all featuring women that looked just like her deceased best friend. It didn't matter whether the visions were of the true victims or Lily; all were women that she had failed to save.
It wasn't Lily, she thought resolutely, forcing herself to remember that the real victim in that memory had been blonde with brown eyes. That woman deserved her remembrance, as well. Her shields were nowhere near full strength, having still not recovered from their years-long erection, but they helped her to make the scene hazier. Trying to distance herself further, she repeated the thought, Lily wasn't there. Lily was safe at home with James Potter and Harry.
Lily Potter wasn't there, affirmed another voice. The absolute knowledge that it didn't belong caused her memory to pause. I believe that's enough. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at 12 Grimmauld Place, London.
In a painful rush, Maia was released from the graphic memory, and she was immediately inundated with data from her long-starved senses. After so long – how long? – in the dark, the dim light provided by the antique lamp at her side was near blinding and caused her to blink repeatedly to adjust. The musty smell of the room – oddly welcome but also strong enough to tempt her gag reflex – told her that wherever she was hadn't been occupied in a long time. Her mouth was overwhelmed with the taste of chicken bouillon, a flavor that did not mix well with the scent of the room. Her overly sensitive skin felt every shredded fiber of her shirt on her chest and stomach, sensed her torn flesh pulling with each inhale, and discerned the aged fabric at her fingertips. Long strands of hair were uncomfortably pasted with sweat to the skin of her face and neck. The sound of calm breathing, echoing loudly in her starving ears, gave her something to focus on as her mind was bombarded with sensory feedback, and she used the sore muscles of her neck to slowly turn her heavy head to the noise.
There sat Albus Dumbledore in one of his more demure sets of robes; the navy blue material was covered with blinking dots and faint swirling lines that gave the impression of the night sky in motion. His wizened hands were folded in his lap, his elbows resting on the arms of a decorative, red chenille chair. If one wasn't looking closely at his eyes, he would appear to be the very image of tranquility. Her sharp focus, physically painful though it was in the light of the room, caught the minute expression of condemnation that flashed through his blue gaze before they returned to their deceptively twinkling state.
Judgmental bastard. What did he think it took to spy for the Order? The Dark Lord's rise to power didn't happen over tea and biscuits.
One aged eyebrow rose as he looked at her knowingly over half-moon spectacles. Her eyes narrowed fiercely before she pointedly lowered them to stare at the tip of his long nose.
"Stay out of my head," she rasped. Not quite the forceful delivery she wanted, she mused angrily. She saw his thin lips tilt in a small smile before he gave a short nod of acquiescence.
Silence stretched between them and a headache began to form behind her eyes; whether it was from the influx of sensory data that her mind was still working to process or her growing anger at the old man sitting patiently across from her, she didn't know. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat – could he not, at least, offer her some water? – and roughly asked, "How long?"
"Your impromptu decision to remove Harry from his home caused quite the conundrum," Dumbledore replied abstractly. Seeing her eyes flash back up to his defensively, he held up one hand to forestall her angry justification. His face took on the look of a stern grandfather, reproaching a wayward child. She didn't appreciate it, and she knew that he knew it. "One which I first needed to set aright. I always intended to have Harry relocated here later in the summer. I needed someplace safe set up before that could happen. You are fortunate that we had just finished putting the final spells in place that night and had somewhere for him to go."
Maia gritted her teeth together angrily. She could not have this conversation lying down. Placing her hands firmly beneath her, she shakily began to lift her sore body into a sitting position. Pushing on her arms caused the skin across her chest to stretch sharply, and she let out a hiss as she felt several small tears weep anew from the thin cuts that marred her chest. Glancing down, she recognized the sight of fresh, fine claw marks crossing chaotically over her skin. It didn't surprise her that her body had reacted to what she had been mentally subjected to, trying to give her some outlet for her pain even if she couldn't feel it. She was, however, surprised that there weren't more. She had woken often enough that her skin should be in shreds. Maia mentally shook her head, determined to keep her priorities straight.
She shifted until her back came to rest heavily against a carved, wooden headboard. Letting her head fall back in fatigue, she argued, "If you hadn't kept mum after my first message to you, I may not have felt the need to take such drastic measures. As it stands, I would do it again."
"That wasn't your decision to make," Albus stated firmly, his blue eyes flashing above his half-moon glasses.
Her blue eyes danced with hidden amusement as she tiredly replied, "I have more right to that decision than you think."
Lily was truly one of the brightest witches she'd ever had the pleasure to know, and she internally mourned the loss of her friend and what she could have contributed to the wizarding world. The requirements to change the legal documents making her Harry's godmother would have been a pain, but it could have been done. She had no doubt that Potter would have burned the original document if he'd known what Lily had coerced him into signing. As such, Lily had added a magical identity clause on the document, ensuring that her name would only be revealed upon the death of the Dark Lord. Maia knew that Harry would go to Sirius Black before he came to her if the worst were to happen, and she agreed it to be for the best, given her position. If neither the Potters nor Black were able to care for Harry, and the Dark Lord had not yet met his maker, Maia knew the secret to dismantling the identity clause so that she could assume guardianship. Therefore, it was no surprise to her that Dumbledore was unaware of her legal rights to decide what was best for Harry in this circumstance.
Albus Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, observing the pale witch shrewdly. He was one of the few still living who knew the truth of the witch's relationship with the deceased Lily Potter. He was smart enough to read between the lines and surmised that Lily had indeed made Maia Malfoy the godmother of her son, despite his advice otherwise. He had argued that such an action would put Maia's position at risk, should the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord learn of her connection to the family. Upon reviewing a copy of the document years ago, following the Potters' deaths, he had seen no name in addition to Sirius Black; this suggested, to him, that they had elected to forgo naming a godmother if Lily couldn't have Maia. More fool he, for not reviewing the original.
"I see," Albus murmured gravely. "Then I may only caution you to think carefully through any future decisions you deem to be in Harry's best interest."
Maia fumed. He was one to lecture about playing God. Knowing that it would be a losing battle to discuss it further at this moment, she ignored the growing pain in her head and stated, "You never did answer my question. How long have I been here, like that?"
Dumbledore sat back with a tired sigh. Reaching up, he took his half-moon glasses from his face and began to clean the lenses with the edge of his robes. "As I'd begun, your hasty move was rather untimely. In addition to correcting the misguided suggestion of relocation to Harry's family," Maia opened her mouth to interject, but Dumbledore spoke over her, "there were plans for the Order that had already been set in motion that I needed to oversee personally. Therefore, I could not get here immediately to rectify Alastor's…oversight."
Maia snorted in disbelief, her focus on his final words overriding the knowledge that the Dursleys continued to reside in Little Whinging. She momentarily forgot her silent decision not to look in his deceptively passive eyes and glared. "His oversight. The prejudiced bastard did it on purpose."
Albus replaced his glasses and looked at her solemnly. She could almost believe the sincerity with which he spoke his next words; she would, if she didn't know the man better. "I have spoken with Alastor about his actions, and I offer my condolences for the pain you suffered as a consequence." He looked down at his hands, where he held them clasped again in his lap. "I know, more than most, what it is to be haunted by memories of days past. I would not have subjected anyone to that."
"How. Long, Albus," she enunciated, her voice growing stronger with use. At this moment, she had no sympathy for shared regrets.
"A week," he replied simply.
Maia closed her eyes to keep her pain from being exposed to the wizard, though she had no doubt that he read it in her sagged posture. It truly put things in perspective, if recent conversations hadn't already, just how much value he saw in her that he could make her wait a week in that hell. Bitterly, she asked, "So, you finally made time in your busy schedule to help the invalid?"
"Tonight is the first night that the Order – or most of it, at any rate – will officially reconvene," Dumbledore informed her mildly. "I seem to recall that you had a condition to be included, and properly introduced, at that meeting."
Her eyes popped open and widened dramatically, a choked laugh of incredulity escaping her tender throat. He didn't even come to help her, he came for his blasted Order! She didn't know how she was still surprised at the machinations of this man, or how – a long time ago – she had trusted him enough to become his spy. Looking down at her torn, dirty clothing – the same ones that she had been wearing for the last week, if Dumbledore was to be believed – seeing the cuts that marred her skin and feeling the sweat-soaked hair that clung to her face and neck, she could only imagine the sight she would present if she attended the meeting now. "Do I have any time to prepare myself, or would you prefer to have me portray the suspected Death Eater captive, as Moody would have done?"
"The meeting won't start for another half hour," Dumbledore said, finally rising to his feet. "There is a bathroom adjacent to this room that you may access through the hall. I would caution you, however, that the Weasleys have taken up residence and are also staying in rooms on this floor."
Maia slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed, gingerly touching her shod feet to the threadbare rug covering the hardwood floor. "Might I have my wand, then?" She was getting mighty tired of being unarmed.
"You may," the elder wizard replied, retrieving it from the sleeve of his robes and presenting it to her. "Despite objections that you weren't to be trusted with it, I am confident that you will exercise restraint until the others' concerns are settled."
How generous of you, she thought with venom, cradling the precious vinewood to her chest. She was going to be careful to ensure that it was not taken from her again. Dumbledore looked at her with an expression that suggested he knew of her "charitable" thought, and merely stated that he would send someone to retrieve her shortly.
Maia wasted no time in freshening her appearance. She didn't wish to run the risk of running into the Weasleys at present, unsure how many of the family (beyond Fred, George, and Arthur) knew of her possible presence in the house. Luckily for her, many of these old homes had bedrooms furnished with vanity tables (with their assorted accoutrements) and full-length mirrors for dressing, which made leaving the room nearly unnecessary.
Maia walked carefully to the tall mirror situated in the back corner of the dim room, her whole body aching from strain and fatigue. Her appearance in the mirror, once she was close enough to see it, was proof of the battle she had been waging against herself for the past week. Her skin, already pale under normal circumstances, was sallow, and dark circles had taken residence under her bloodshot eyes. Her hair, in good need of a deep cleanse, was lank with grease and sweat, hanging in strings around her thinned frame where it didn't stick to her skin. Her hollow cheeks gave evidence to a lack of nutrition that should have been offset – at least some – by potions, had anyone thought to give them to her.
Instead of letting resentment settle with the thought, she let the assumption lie that there were no nutrition potions to be had. In fact, if the house had only just been opened for habitation – a theory well supported by the stale smell and thick layer of dust that pervaded the room – it was very possible that the occupants of the house lacked the necessary supplies to properly tend to their "guest." The taste of chicken broth that lingered on her tongue suggested that they had at least attempted to keep her minimally nourished.
She grimaced at seeing the number of thin scratches, some of which were deeper than others, that damaged her upper torso. She remembered thinking more than once that she no longer wished to feel the pain and heartache that her memories – real and otherwise – wrought, and her body gave testimony to its valiant attempt at clawing out her heart. It didn't take much searching in her memories as a healer-in-training to remember the spells needed to cleanse the wounds and knit the skin back together. Fortunately, considering that they all appeared freshly made, none of them left a scar. If that had been a frequent occurrence, which seemed plausible given the shredded state of her shirt, she would have to thank whoever had removed the other marks from her skin.
There was little she could do with her hair until she could properly bathe, so she tore a long strip from her ruined shirt and used it to pull her lengthy tresses into a messy bun on the top of her head. She filled an ornamental vase with water and used what remained of her shirt to give her body a quick rub down, hoping to remove at least one layer of sweat.
She noticed, when removing her trousers, that Moody and Lupin had not taken her beaded bag from her when they brought her here. Thanking Merlin for small favors, she dug around in the bag until she located an old change of clothes; she hadn't fancied attempting to transfigure the coverlet into something that passed for clothing in her current state. Changing her undergarments and then pulling on the faded pair of denims and a long-sleeved, red cotton shirt made her feel better, despite how loosely they hung on her shrunken frame. She wished that she had access to her more recent purchases and did not have to rely on clothing that had been biding its time in her bag for the last decade; even before this week's unintentional weight loss, her teenage body still had a couple more years to mature before it caught up to her frame (and clothing size) when she disappeared at nearly 22. All her new purchases, however, were stashed in the trunk that (she hoped) was still in Lupin's care. Knowing that no amount of cleaning charms would fix her shed clothing, Maia resolved to throw the lot out at the end of the night.
Maia had just begun the process of resetting her topical glamour when a terse knock came from the other side of her door. She tightened her hand on her wand, her shoulders stiffening with tension. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Who is it?" No response came for several moments, making her call out again.
"Open the blasted door, Miss Granger," came the irate voice of Severus Snape with another pounding of his fist. Maia's eyebrows rose at his tone, wondering what in Merlin's name had his pants in a twist. She flicked her wand to open the door and went back to addressing the issue of her change from Maia Malfoy to Hermione Granger.
"Enough primping," he commanded scathingly, a sneer distorting his thin face. "I've been tasked as your 'escort' to the meeting; let's go."
Dropping her wand arm and turning around to face the incensed man, she bit out, "What is wrong with you? A simple 'hullo' not a good enough greeting?" It only occurred to her, after the words were out, that this is the first time they had spoken since she had "returned," and his incensed demeanor showed her that he knew it, too.
The dark wizard was nearly shaking with the strain to hold himself back when all he wanted to do was shake the cheeky girl senseless. Weeks – no, years – had passed since they had a conversation of any kind, and that's what she had to say? He was aware that they could not speak before she left Hogwarts at the end of term, but his patience had reached its limits.
"You're criticizing me on social etiquette? Well, here's one for you. Can't be bothered to ask how your old friend, Severus Snape, is doing? No 'thank you' for taking up your Merlin-forsaken role as a spy for Albus bloody Dumbledore for the last 14 years? Where the hell have you been, Maia?!" His obsidian eyes were glittering dangerously in his rage.
Maia hissed, her blue eyes nearly glowing in her anger at being so addressed. She had not gone through what she had – not this past week, not the 14 years as Hermione Granger, and certainly not in her role as spy – to have the hook-nosed bastard who was once one of her best friends berate her now. Slashing her arm through the air, she cast a strong silencing charm to ensure that their "conversation" would not be overheard by unwanted ears. Severus gave her a look of contempt for the action; a silencing charm had already been in place to keep the other occupants from hearing her screams.
"I am so sorry that I haven't been available to answer your questions, Professor," she replied scathingly. She took slow, measured steps toward the wizard where he seethed in impotent anger. "In which time did I inconvenience you the most? Was it after you became a spy and I had to go into hiding?" She didn't give him a chance to reply before answering for him. "No, you were aware of that. Perhaps it was when 'Albus bloody Dumbledore' chose to de-age me following the death of the McKinnons, using a banned spell with the intention to completely erase me, thereby resulting in the 'birth' of Hermione Jean Granger."
Seeing his face cool from his initial fiery temper to something resembling fuming agitation with a touch of resentment, she continued. At least he appeared to be listening. "It couldn't have been in the last few weeks, however, because I thought we had reached some form of mutual understanding that last morning in the Great Hall, which, if I may remind you, was only two weeks ago.
"You have been sent back into the snake pit, Severus, and I do not possess the insight or the resources to know when it would be safe to approach you. If I were to come to you at the wrong time, all the years spent as Hermione – all the time lost in which I assume Maia Malfoy was presumed missing or dead – would have been wasted. Nevermind that I have spent the last week deprived of my senses until 'Albus bloody Dumbledore' could be bothered to share the secret location of Order headquarters. Surely, you can understand why I haven't reached out to you to play catch up."
Obsidian eyes steadily met blue in determined defiance. Maia released a tired sigh, shaking her head and returning to the mirror to finish her change. So, he wanted to be stubborn then.
"I've no doubt that many of the answers you seek will come to light tonight," Maia said, forcing herself to keep her voice calm as she waved her wand around her head to eliminate the palpable evidence of her fatigue; beauty charms were certainly useful for covering up a sleepless night (or seven). "What I need, Severus, is someone on my side, because the chances that the other Order members will be once my identity comes to light are slim to none. Can you do that, or has time erased all amiable feeling you ever held for me?"
Severus was silent for several minutes as he watched the witch perform her spells using the tarnished, antique mirror to guide her. For all of her presented confidence, he saw the slight tremble of her arm as it maneuvered around her thin frame. He could still feel the anger bubbling in his gut at the presumption of the woman, turning him in to the Slytherin-distrusting Headmaster as a spy before disappearing without a trace. Years had passed without a substantial conversation between them before that day at Malfoy Manor, where desperation had sent him to seek her help, and more time had come and gone since then in which the Dark Lord had fallen and risen again. There had been far too much left unspoken between them to assume that all his answers could be gotten this night, especially in front of that group currently congregating in the basement kitchen. He had to know, though…
"Why?" The me of his statement went unspoken, but Maia knew immediately what he was asking.
The question was presented neutrally, as though unsure of whether the answer would be one he wanted to hear. Her heart broke a little to think of the boy that had been as close to her as any brother, one who wanted nothing more than acceptance and love but received little more than disparagement and scorn. She had mourned the loss of that boy, but a persistent sliver of hope remained, telling her that he wasn't completely gone.
Finishing with her glamour, she turned back to face the monochromatic man that stood before her, his gaze trained carefully over her shoulder. She slowly approached him, wary of his response should she act too quickly. She gently took his right hand in her own and when he tried to jerk it away, she tightened her hold. "Severus, look at me."
Maia watched as his jaw tightened and nostrils flared. His shoulders were tense, and she could feel how hard he was holding himself to keep from retreating in an effort to create more space between them, physically if not emotionally. When he did finally look at her, his face had morphed into the infamous, derisive sneer that sent students running in fright. She sighed.
"There was a time, before hate and misunderstandings, in which we were good friends," she stated simply. She kept her eyes locked on his, ignoring the way his eyes flinched at the statement and ensuring that she had his undivided attention. "I thought I knew you better than my own brother, until you rejected us for the Dark Lord."
Severus's lips drew up in a snarl, baring his crooked teeth to her defensively. He should have known better. He was able to retract his hand from her grasp and turned to leave when she firmly clasped his left forearm, right over their shared brand. He turned back with every intention to verbally rip into her for her presumption but paused at the sight of the tears welling in her transfigured brown eyes.
Seeing that she had regained his attention, she continued, "I had thought you lost to us. With every raid, every revel…you never participated with the same…enthusiasm…I saw in the others," she paused for a moment, her eyes growing distant and her brows furrowed with remembered concern, "but neither did you reject them."
She looked back up into his guarded visage and earnestly said, "Then you came to me. Me. To warn me that not only was I in danger, but that Lily – a Muggle-born – and her family were being targeted by the man to whom you had sworn your allegiance. You helped me to get out without getting caught and agreed to assume my position as a spy for the Order to keep Lily and her family safe."
He was ready to vehemently deny that anything he had done had been for Potter's safety but hesitated when her hand tightened on his arm. A single tear escaped the pool that had gathered on her lower lashes as she continued, "Even after I disappeared and Lily…died," the whispered word practically choked her as she forced it out and she saw a flash of familiar devastation go through Severus's own eyes, "When there was no one there to hold you to your word but a manipulative old man, you never abandoned the post I'd given you.
"You ask why you?" Maia stared at him and he could swear that she was seeing down to whatever remained of his maimed soul. He gulped nervously. "It's because I trust you, Severus Snape." His eyes widened perceptibly.
"Then you're a fool," he replied hoarsely.
When he pulled away from her this time, she let him go and watched as he retreated to the closed door of her assigned room. Maia leaned wearily against the heavy post of the bed frame and waited as he regained his composure. She really could do with some time, herself, as she knew that this meeting was going to take more of her energy than she had in reserve. Moody was already against her, while Lupin had appeared to walk the aggressive side of neutral. The Blacks were known for their tempers, and her personal recollection of Sirius Black – backed by what she had witnessed in the last year since his abetted escape – told her that he would be a hard sell. While Arthur Weasley had always seemed to be more openminded, the debacle with Rita Skeeter's articles showed her that Molly tended to take things at face value, at least until proven otherwise, and Arthur typically followed where his wife led. Dumbledore was no ally. She really needed Severus's support in this.
When she heard the loud click of the knob as it unlatched, she looked up to see Severus's frame taking up the empty space in the open door.
"It's time to go," he stated neutrally over his shoulder. "We're already late." He left the room and entered the hall to wait for her.
Maia sighed and lifted her aching body away from its temporary support. Silently, she followed after him, hoping that the upcoming confrontation would not be as bad as she anticipated.
