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X A rock and a hard place – Part Two
"You certainly do take a girl to the very best places," Hermione said with a weak effort at a smile.
"Oh, indeed. I have a knack for finding the most romantic settings, which no doubt explains my continuing popularity with the fairer sex," Snape replied. "Despite," he went on, ostensibly not noticing her wide-eyed disbelief, "being the greasy git of the dungeons."
"Yes. Well," Hermione stuttered, only then detecting the slight creases at the corner of his eyes and the almost invisible twitch of his mouth. "It's quite depressing how easily you can fool me, sir," she said, curling her lip. "But… what now?"
Hermione looked around. The dark room deep below the thick walls of Hogwarts smelled of decay and rot; the walls, as far as they could be seen in the uncertain light of a torch, glistened with wetness. If she got her bearings right, they should be far below Hogwarts' Great Hall in a very obscure part of the dungeons not known to many.
"I know, this is not a very inviting spot," Snape said, turning towards her, "but after you almost annihilated the entire Gryffindor tower while exercising your new-found abilities, it seemed… prudent to relocate your training ground. Here, you can wreak as much havoc as you want without jeopardising others." He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder, which was still numb after a piece of loose wood had struck him when he had incautiously entered the empty classroom Hermione had chosen as her training area. She had been in the middle of one of her training sessions in which she, unfortunately still without success, tried to control the Burning Wrath. She noticed his unconscious gesture.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly, contrite.
"Don't be. It was my fault. Miss Granger," he went on urgently, lifting her chin with his index finger, so she had to look up into his eyes, "it is absolutely necessary to control this… gift, as you well know. Else it might destroy you." Letting go of her, he produced a little flask from the breast pocket of his robes. "I think this might help focus your mind. It keeps you detached from your emotions. Therefore, you might be able to control them."
She took the little emerald flask with its clear potion from his hand and considered it for a short while with her head bowed. "Thank you–Sev… Professor. It might be useful in more ways than you can possibly imagine…"
What has gotten into you? What, for Merlin's sake? Just look at you! Severus contemptuously stared at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom, the sharp razor dangling from his hand and flecks of shaving foam still under his ears and chin. No, he was not much to look at he decided, with his pale, wiry upper body heavily crisscrossed with old and new scars from numerous encounters of the unfriendly kind. The black hair that dusted his chest and trailed down his stomach did nothing to conceal those marks. It only made his skin look even paler in contrast.
She is one of your pupils, and therefore entirely out of bounds! The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he shot a venomous glance at the man in the mirror, she was not exactly one of his students – it only so happened she once had been one of them. However, to him, this made no difference. And, he berated himself, you are twenty, no, wait, since the senex curse ten years her senior.
Considering her previous choice in men, she did not seem to be the kind of woman who fancied doters. He shot another contemptuous glance at his reflection. Furthermore – and this was the ultimate factor that tipped the scale – he was a murderer, at least in his own opinion, no matter what the official verdict had been. Yes, Dumbledore had begged for his death, and Severus had no idea what else he could have done at that time and under those circumstances. Still…
And even now, there was that melancholy emptiness that had left an echoing space where his heart must have once been, when he thought of Lily; there was this cold fear creeping through his veins that he might again destroy something – someone – precious to him. How could he, if only for a second, consider to… no! Never. Yet, she was brilliant, clever, and compassionate; he could talk to her, he felt comfortable around her. With a start, he realised he yearned for someone who dared to climb the high walls of his self-inflicted isolation. But not her, not her! This could never be. Even if he might wish it, hope for it; even if she might, against all odds, turn to him, he could not reach out, tangled in his rotten past. Severus dropped the razor and buried his face in his hands.
A couple days later, Snape Apparated to a remote spot somewhere in South Wales. It was already late in the afternoon when he strode toward the home of Othello McDougal. The house was built of grey fieldstones to which pale yellow and green lichen clung. The shutters, their red paint peeling off in places, tiredly struggled to stay attached to their hinges; the dark, wooden door looked battered. In the far left corner of the garden, which had gone wild with weeds, an old well was situated. With an erratic squeaking sound, the bucket swung on its chain in the equally inconsistently blowing wind. However, even in its obvious state of decline, the little house looked cosy and inviting. Overflowing flowerpots decorated the crumbling windowsills and stood guard alongside the steps that led up to the door; cheerfully coloured drapes peeked through the spotlessly clean windows and the lion-headed brass knocker at the door gleamed in a warm red-golden hue in the evening sun.
He had no sense of foreboding when he knocked at the door.
Professor McGonagall had summoned Snape late last night and told him that there was a rumour about an Auror who was said to have found some answers to their most urgent questions, the most important of which was whether the doors of the Other World had been opened. And if so, what to do to turn back the dark forces and close the doors again. Othello McDougal was known, at least in certain circles, for his expertise in the forgotten realms of the Other Side. At the ministry they desperately awaited news from him, for there had been more and more inexplicable deaths all over Great Britain. There had to be an explanation, and with that, there had to be an answer, a solution for the severe crisis the Wizarding world was going through these months past.
However, Minerva was not happy with the progress the ministry had made so far. "Severus," she had said, "this all takes much too much time. It is now verified, if what I hear is true, that the Death Eaters joined the Cult and are regrouping in force. They are gaining more and more influence – and it cannot be ruled out they once again achieved to have their fingers in the pie in the ministry. Nobody dares to trust anyone anymore and I fear our time to stop those dark forces is rapidly running out – if they can be stopped at all, that is." She had shaken her head in silent desperation. "If we can't trust each other anymore the enemy has already won – we need to act!" She had turned towards the fireplace, staring absentmindedly into the flames.
"There's something else I have to tell you. Arthur just left. He had bad news. They've found the remains of Jordan River in Stirling. At least, they think it was he. He obviously died a couple weeks ago. Nobody at the Ministry has any idea why he went to Stirling, nor what he was looking for there. And Michal Letalis is still missing. They fear for the worst."
Considering these bad news they had decided they would no longer wait for the ministry to handle things. They had to act alone – again – and very soon or else their chance, if there was a chance to vanquish the enemy, might be irrevocably lost.
Nobody answered to Snape's knocking. Perhaps McDougal and his wife had gone out. However, before Snape left to come back another time, he decided to first have a look at the back of the house for his mission was too urgent to give up so easily. It was possible they were home but simply had not heard him knocking. After all, they were elderly people. When Snape turned around the corner of the little building, he found the back door ajar, half-torn from its hinges, and wet, dark footsteps trailing down the three steps that obviously led up to the kitchen. The footsteps pointed to a densely wooded area close by. Gods! What had happened here?
He cautiously entered the kitchen through the back door, his wand at the ready. Nothing that had happened in his life so far could have prepared him for the macabre sight he found to his horror inside. Someone had gone crazy in here. Dark blood and other human matter had splattered gruesome patterns on the walls, the curtains were ripped off, chairs were thrown over or broken, shattered cutlery covered the floor, an earthenware mug crashed on the ground had spilled its watery content, now frozen in a million slightly-rose-tinged droplets.
When he lifted his wand to have a better view, the sight of the twisted, broken form, nailed head down to the wall, who once had been a living, breathing human being sprang at him from the blackness near the door. Snape staggered some uncertain steps back until he felt the wall reassuringly at his back. The bloody apparition seemed to focus its broken stare accusingly on Snape. He had to leave. At once.
As he gulped in the clean, cold air outside the house, he was slowly losing the dizzying feeling of overwhelming fear that had attacked him inside. But he could not bring himself to enter that room again. In the end, he knew, he had to, if he ever wanted to find out what exactly had happened there. But not now.
For the moment, he decided to follow the footsteps towards the little copse. Perhaps someone had survived the attack, even though it looked as if whoever had managed to flee from the house had frantically tried to escape a cruel pack of hunting predators. Twigs were broken and plants trampled down. Here and there, Snape found a spot where the human prey had stumbled and fallen down leaving deep scratch marks on the ground, throwing up bits and pieces of moss and dirt. Several other footsteps – those of the hunters? – drew circles around this obvious agony. Now and then, there were dark droplets in the dirt. Blood? What, what had happened here?
Some minutes later, he found the answer. On a little clearing almost at the centre of the wood it seemed, Snape detected something that, at first sight, looked like a heap of abandoned clothes. He did not step into the clearing right away. He circled warily around it, but nobody was there. So Snape stepped closer and inspected the supposedly discarded clothes. He would never forget the horror etched into the features of the body he found instead.
Snape put the little clearing under a concealing spell and turned back to the house. Later he would call the authorities, but for now, he needed time to inspect the scene of the crime without the interference of others. Perhaps he would be able to find some of the results of the research Othello McDougal had done; perhaps he could also find some hints as to who had done these murders.
When he reached the little house, the sun had set. This didn't make it easier to enter the kitchen again. However, he had to. First, he inspected the wet marks he found on the kitchen floor. There were at least five different sets, one of which was those of bare feet. Othello's? Snape forced himself to have a long look at the body of the poor woman. She had been killed quite conventionally with a sharp knife. No magic. Her dying had apparently taken some time. They had cut her open bit by bit. No mercy. However, he could not detect any hint as to who had done that to her.
Snape searched the little house from top to bottom but he found nothing that told him who the attackers might have been. The other rooms were silent, deserted, and impeccably clean. When Snape had convinced himself that nobody but he himself was there, he returned to Othello's study, which was on the ground floor next to the living room. There he found a heavy tome flipped open. Next to it lay a piece of parchment on which someone had scribbled some notes: Gorm the Great closed the doors. Possessed the "special gift". Powerful magic from others is needed to control it. Caster was probably sacrificed in the "Closing Ritual." "Closing Ritual" must be performed in the centre of the ancient sign. This is the gateway.
Special gift? What could that be, Snape wondered. Perhaps he would find the answer in the ancient book. He started to read. At the time of the new moon, Gorm strode down the winding ladder into the bowels of the earth, to the abyss were the Goddess dwells. Snape was instantly drawn into the mesmerising story of Gorm the Great. When he had finished reading, he sat there, thinking hard. Something was missing in that story, but he could not quite lay a finger on it. And what could that "special gift" be? His face went ashen when the answer dawned on him.
A/N A thousand thanks to my fabulous beta xfafafabulous and to my equally fabulous second-in-command, gaelicgirl06. :-)