The Birthday Present
by Excessivelyperky
Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.
Chapter 25: Deathwatch
Author's note: Thanks, as ever, to all my loyal reviewers. Thanks once more to Snape's Nightie, who is assisting me with Britpicking. Not HBP compliant, nor ever will be. Ten points to the house of the first reviewer who can guess Annie's last name (you know, the woman who kept pigs that Molly met at the romance convention. Hint: she is Paul Sheldon's number-one fan.)
Peter Pettigrew
Wormtail hastily dodged Mrs. Norris and scurried down to the hall. He hated this kind of work, but it was what he was best suited for. At last he made it inside the infirmary by way of the kitchen, where he picked up some gossip from the house elves, though one tiny one was curled up in a corner around a mug of butterbeer.
The black-haired wizard lay on a bed in the quiet infirmary, desperately still, while Madam Pomfrey sat in a chair by him.
Peter had always liked the mediwitch. She had never asked too many questions about his own bumps and bruises, though she had made the occasional caustic comment about the Marauders. He had never really hated old Snivellus, but it was far safer when the rest of his friends went after the ugly Slytherin. Sirius Black became bored awfully easily.
But Pettigrew had always been impressed by Snape, especially this last year when the tall wizard had taken over so many apprentices. Renewing his own Mark had hurt a great deal, and that had been only once. Snivvy had managed ten, and from what rumor said, had gone on to put the Second Bond on them as well. I haven't done that yet with the Weasley boy, Wormtail knew as he watched the unconscious man from a safe vantage point. Then again, Bella hasn't done it with hers, either. Now we're both glad we didn't. The Master had explained why Snape had felt the torment of his traitorous apprentice more deeply than they would have with theirs, once they had returned. When asked how he knew that they hadn't extended greater control over their apprentices, the Dark Lord had just smiled nastily. Pettigrew had decided then and there that Weasley wasn't the sort to make trouble and didn't need any further restraint. He was certain that his insane partner had been bright enough to agree, though for once she hadn't said anything.
Yet Snape was still worthy of respect for having so much courage, though it had brought him here. Even as Scabbers Peter had seen the revenge the Potions Master had taken for years on any Gryffindor. Only the Weasley who served him now and that bushy-haired Mudblood escaped most of the wrath generally unleashed on members of that house.
Wormtail would always remember the night more than two years ago when he'd lost his sanctuary. Chased by his own friends through the Forest, and during a full moon as well! A Grim and a werewolf on one side, and a pack of Dementors on the other had made his escape difficult. He'd sympathized with Snivellus as he had never done before.
Of course he had never really been a full member of the Marauders. He'd just been useful, was all. "Peter, go get us some food from the kitchen." "Peter, come and watch this!" "Wormtail, don't take on so, it was only a joke! Wait till you see how it looks on Snivvy!" "Sneak back into the classroom and get my books!" "Wormtail, what did you say on your Transfiguration essay?" But of course the glorious Marauders never understood. He still remembered Sirius Black's wrathful face and shout: "You should have died before you betrayed them!" Oh, yes. Bold talk from someone who gave himself up to the Aurors with a laugh and cowered in Azkaban, when he could have escaped any time he liked.
Being the servant of the Dark Lord was frightening, but not as much as being the pet of the Weasley twins had. Wormtail remembered resentfully how the two had treated him. He'd almost forgotten he was human while being their experimental toy. Oh, he had plans for Fred and George when his day came!
He came back to the present with a start. Madam Pomfrey was at the Floo, now, almost crying as she spoke with some older wizard with a beard, asking him to work on a potion. That didn't make sense. Why wasn't she pouring her usual stock down Snape's throat? He scurried up a little closer and listened in.
"Magister, he's dying. I don't know how much the Headmaster has told you, but Professor Snape is badly hurt from…work that we asked him to do." She reeled off a list of injuries and hexes that sounded as if they should have been fatal. Had he and Bella really done all that? Or had Snivellus received more since his return? Surely not from the mediwitch, though. Pettigrew trusted her.
Then the Floo connection broke, and Madam Pomfrey sat down and wiped her eyes. Peter hastily went back to his first hiding place. After some time, she stood up with a sigh and turned over her chair to the Headmaster. What was the old man up to this time? In his position, there wasn't anything he could do but report back to the Dark Lord if he did anything to Snape.
Dumbledore only sat there, though, and didn't even take out his wand. Pettigrew knew better than to presume on the old wizard's apparent lack of attention to anything else, though. If he changed back into human form and attacked the Headmaster, he'd soon be a pile of ashes on the floor or taken away to Azkaban. Neither alternative would fulfill his mission.
After what seemed like forever, Dumbledore bent over and began weeping. Peter didn't understand. Why wasn't he doing anything? Maybe the Master was right, but if so, why was the Headmaster so unhappy? It was obvious that Snape was badly hurt, as he began making odd noises and twitched. The victims who sounded like that almost never came back.
Flitwick came in not long afterwards and performed a charm. Snape gave a sigh, and became limp again. The short wizard patted Dumbledore on the shoulder, wiped his own eyes, and left the old man sitting by the bed.
When McGonagall walked in and urged her old friend to lie down, only to sit in the chair herself, it finally dawned on Pettigrew that this was a death-vigil. Bella's final Cruciatus had been one too many. He remembered the last Muggle who'd made noises the way Snape had now. Bella had laughed, and told him that even if a Wizarding Healer had done his best, the fellow would end up just like Frank Longbottom. "He wiggled and gibbered just the same way," the horrible woman had said just a couple of months ago.
Wormtail left to report to the Dark Lord. He was glad when he resumed his human form once out of the anti-Apparation field around Hogwarts and went back to their sanctuary. Once there, he bowed before Voldemort, for once out of earshot of Bella Lestrange. "He's dying, my lord," Peter said. "He's making sounds like this—" he was a good mimic—"and twitching the way Madam Lestrange said Frank Longbottom did once. I, I should have told you what Bella did to Snape just before we left him in the Forest." He tallied up the extra hexes, including that last Crucio. "I made sure he was alive before that horrible Muggle car came after us, but he might have been injured by it as well."
The red eyes gleamed with fury. "I will deal with her," the high voice said. "However, if my Shadow has survived this long, we may hope he will continue to do so. Did you see what the others were doing to try to heal our lost brother?"
"Nothing! Flitwick gave him a charm to help with the pain, I think, but they aren't giving him anything but a bit of water. Pomfrey was talking with some wizard with a beard, begging him to develop a potion that was safe. She listed all his hurts and cried a little. I don't understand why he can't have the usual ones. Then she sat with him for a while. After that the Headmaster was there, but he didn't do anything but weep either. But that doesn't make sense, unless he knew I was there. The next one to sit down was McGonagall. I don't understand, my lord. If they're so worried about him, why aren't they giving him any potions?"
"He's supposedly been getting treatment from a clinic for what they used to call Brewer's Bogt," the Dark Lord said, after a moment's silence. "At least that is what I've heard. However, that would still make an excellent rationale for lack of treatment if they wish him to die and appear faultless. However, that does not excuse either one of you! I wanted Snape punished for show, not destroyed. If you two have ruined him, perhaps you'll experience what it's like!"
Peter cringed. "I tried to stop her, my lord!"
"We'll find out, won't we?" His master sent Nagini to bring Bellatrix to him.
She strode into the room and bowed. Voldemort hexed her to the floor.
"What was that for, my lord?" she asked, once she got her breath back.
"Did I not say that Snape was to be punished, not killed?" The Dark Lord was furious. Pettigrew slunk into a corner, hoping not to be noticed.
"He's tougher than he looks," she said. "Besides, he and that pack of useless brats have only wasted our time this summer. There's so much else we could have done, even with only the three of us. You can't imagine how bored I've been."
"My dear, do not presume on my fondness for you. Our numbers must grow, especially with many of our more effective followers in Azkaban. We must do as we did before and build on the younger generation. Snape is our key. He has grown since we were…away. Not only is he a Potions Master in his own right, but has taught his skills to hundreds. On top of that, he has been Head of Slytherin for fifteen years. Almost every pureblood family in Britain owes a debt to him. To be honest, I thought the old man would have driven our kind from Hogwarts by now. Without him, that could still happen."
"Where was he when we fought in the Ministry? Where was he when I and my husband rotted in prison?" Bella cried, though she didn't get up from the floor. "He spent last year cowering behind my brother-in-law's robes. Oh, he's marvelous at putting a Crucio on someone helpless, but what real good is he? His foolish leniency towards that idiot Goyle nearly cost you your life!"
Oh-oh, Peter thought. Our Master doesn't like being reminded of any weakness.
"I need him, Bella," the Dark Lord said with a sigh. "I need people who can think and not just obey. We shall have to win his trust all over again if he recovers. You had better hope that he does, my dear. I cannot think of any revenge he would choose that could be worse than what I plan for you if we lose him to death or madness."
"I hear and obey, my lord," Bella said.
Wormtail could tell she didn't really mean it. Maybe Snivellus will be grateful if I warn him when he comes back. Oh, Merlin, I hope he does. He was so afraid of the woman sometimes, afraid of the Master, afraid of everything. Snape was the only one who stood up to anyone around here. And look at what it's got him, he thought. Maybe I'm better off after all. Then he realized something. "What will happen to the rest of the apprentices if he dies?" he asked. He wasn't sure how to train the one he had. How would they manage the others?
"That is a very good question, Peter," the Dark Lord said, looking at him piercingly. "If they are not properly cared for, they may decide young Mr. Goyle was right to have doubts. In fact, Malfoy's son may convince the others that the professor needs to be avenged if his godfather should die."
"Draco will do what his father tells him," Bella said, now on her feet.
"I am tired of hearing from you," Voldemort said, and hexed her into silence.
Pettigrew thought she looked almost as ugly as that portrait in 12 Grimmauld Place just now. He remained quiet, though. She had ways of avenging herself out of the Master's sight.
"Peter, go back to Hogwarts and stand vigil for us," the Dark Lord said. "Severus deserves better than to be alone in that nest of do-gooders. You saw how he was treated last year, and Kreacher told us the rest. Oh, they weep for him now, but they aren't raising a hand to save him. I want a reliable witness to what happens to him."
Wormtail nodded. He still doubted that Madam Pomfrey would be a party to any plan to do away with Snape, but Dumbledore was capable of anything against the Slytherins. He'd seen how the Headmaster had put Snivvy in the wrong even after Lupin had almost killed him in the Shrieking Shack.
He bowed his head, then Disapparated.
Severus SnapeThe Potions Master stood on a barren, sandy shore strewn with rocks and watched the tide come in. It wasn't cold, or hot, or anything for that matter. He knew the sand and the small stones ought to feel gritty underneath his boots, but they didn't. The sky was gray, sodden with clouds that never released any rain.
He knew he had to be careful not to let the water touch him. Snape felt the pull of the tide. Part of him longed to let it take him. Yet even this half-life was better than the death that awaited him in the sea.
Sometimes he found himself disturbingly close to the foamy edge for no reason that he could see, and had to find purchase in the odd sand beneath to move away. A few times he'd suddenly been pulled closer to the rocky cliffs behind him without doing anything. He didn't understand it, especially when his left forearm became warm without any pain.
He knew he was really in the infirmary at Hogwarts, at least his body was, and that he might end up in the surf without wanting to if the efforts to heal him failed. Perhaps he was a fool to continue struggling like this, though he was certain the afterlife awaiting him was probably much worse than this gray shore.
Severus felt no pain here, though as time passed it became increasingly difficult to resist the pull. What was the use, really? If they were able to heal him, surely they would have by now. Why shouldn't he just give up?
For some reason it felt as if it had been a long time since his arm had grown so oddly warn. Now he dare not let his thoughts wander. Every time he did, he slid closer to the waves. Sitting was no help at all. The ground underneath him didn't let him put his fingers into the sand to stop his progress towards the water, and he barely got to his feet in time.
He turned his back on the ocean and tried to walk away as far as possible. That brought him to a sheer cliff that blocked his progress. At least that offered him a rocky spur to hold, though the effort began to weary him. Severus tried to take a strip of cloth off the bottom of his black teaching robe so he could tie himself to the projection, only to find that he could not pull so much as a thread from any of his clothing.
The wind whipped up. His hands hurt now from the effort of hanging on. He turned his head and saw the Headmaster walking along the sand as if on an ordinary beach. "Albus!" Severus shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the increasingly nasty weather. "This is too dangerous for you! Go back!" He knew it would be impossible for Dumbledore to take him along, unfortunately.
"We are going to try a new spell tomorrow," the old wizard said as he drew nearer to the cliff. He looked more ancient than ever. "You must endure till then. I know it will be hard."
"What happens if it doesn't work?" The pull was stronger now, as was the wind. It took all his strength to hang on here.
"Then I will come here again to say good-bye," the Headmaster said. He wiped his face. "I have asked too much of you already to force you to live imprisoned in St. Mungo's."
"What if…what if that's better than what's out there waiting for me?" Severus didn't want to show how frightened he was, but couldn't help it.
"Greater love hath no man, than to lay down his life for a friend," said Albus. "You sacrificed yourself for those students of yours. I cannot believe you would be condemned after that."
It must be nice to be a Gryffindor, Snape thought, and be so certain that virtue is rewarded. I see that Slytherins are still 'my' students rather than ours or his. But there's no point carrying grudges here. It doesn't matter how I feel, not really. I've been a fool to think it ever did. "Thank you for coming, Albus," he said softly. "But you must go back."
The Headmaster held out his arm. "Then come with me."
Snape shook his head. "I would only drag you down with me."
"How do you know until we try?"
That was a good point. At least until Dumbledore discovered that as soon as he came too close, the wind slammed him away and nearly blew him into the surf as well. Twice. "Thank you for trying," Severus said in a voice that broke. "You must go, Albus."
The old wizard nodded, then faded away. Not long after, Snape's grip slipped away from the rock and he was halfway down the beach toward the water again. Now he was truly weary. Once more he turned his face away from the sea and struggled back towards the cliff, only to fall face-forward into the sand. He clawed his way back to his feet, but swayed as he stood. He suspected that in the real world, his body was truly failing.
"You'd better hang on!" said an odiously familiar voice.
Snape looked to his left and saw Sirius Black strolling on the beach as if it were a holiday. "Why would you care?" he retorted.
"Oh, I don't, not really. But what they've got ready for you—oh, I don't want to talk about it," Black said, rolling his eyes.
Severus felt the usual rage well up in him. Then he sighed, and let it go. He knew his crimes much better than the Gryffindor did. One attempted murder and a life of being annoying was nothing compared to his own offenses as a Death Eater. Even this summer he'd nearly torn a man to bits with an Unforgivable. No doubt Black was simply being accurate.
"What? No sneers? No comebacks? You must be slipping, Snivellus."
Another voice spoke, though Snape couldn't see the source. "Oh, Sirius, I am disappointed in you."
A woman said those words, a woman he had not seen for years since he'd held her body in his arms after the Dark Lord had killed her.
"Lily?" he whispered, as he swung his head from side to side looking for her. The pull of the sand kept getting stronger. He stepped backward merely to stay in place now.
She materialized next to Black. "You were supposed to encourage him to stay alive by telling him how much the others need him, Sirius, not frighten him with hints of what lies beyond this beach. I see you didn't mean it when you said you'd learned your lesson." Potter's godfather disappeared.
"Lily," he said again. She looked to him here as she had the last time he'd seen her alive. "He has a right to be angry with me for the way I've treated your son. All of you do."
Her green eyes glowed like jewels. "You helped him a great deal this summer. But why did you give Harry your memories of me?"
"They would have been useless if I'd kept them," Severus said bleakly. "I'm here, after all. I'm glad I was allowed to see you one last time before I go…wherever it is I'm going." He drank in the sight of her face. If he were allowed memory in the Pit, he would nourish his heart on this one, even though now he would add Molly Weasley's freckled hands and warm embrace to his list of comforts.
"Only those who refuse healing are sent to torment," Lily said soberly. "Even Voldemort will be allowed that choice, though there is pain in both directions. Yet the worst ends as soon as the soul consents. At worst you would be given another life after a sleep and a forgetting. As part of our own healing we were shown what you have endured, Severus, and what you have done since." Her eyes grew brighter.
Tears? For me Snape wondered. Moaning Myrtle cried endlessly, but only for herself.
"But please…please try to stay in the world, no matter how cruel," she continued. "Someone needs to fight for Harry. Albus has such complex plans that he forgets that other people are real at times. You've done more for my son with the Dursleys in two months than Dumbledore has all these years."
"I'll…I'll try," Snape said, still unable after all these years to deny Lily anything she asked of him. "The Headmaster spoke to me of a spell. If that fails, I don't know if I can find my way back."
"That's all I ask," she said, then faded away.
The beach narrowed as the tide continued to come in, and never receded the way a normal ocean would. It was harder to stay on the beach instead of being pulled into the waves. Even when he turned his back and dug his heels into the strange sand he made little headway against the creeping line of foaming water.
The cliff seemed impossibly far away. It shouldn't be if the beach were narrowing, but so it was. Red Queen's race, he thought, wondering where he'd heard the term. Lily had been kind beyond words to reassure him that he wouldn't face what he really deserved in the afterlife, but he knew better than to believe her. Black's gloating look had told him the truth.
The sky darkened. Despite his wearying struggle, he kept sliding towards the crashing surf. "I'm trying, I'm trying," he muttered out loud to himself, though by now he'd almost forgotten why.
For just a moment he felt Poppy's hand on his forehead and her soft voice murmuring to him. The sensation faded, and then he did feel pain. A sleep and a forgetting, he thought. That sounded very attractive just now. He was surprised that his 'body' hurt so much. Wasn't death supposed to bring an end to pain? Or was the soul pressed and squeezed for departure from the world the way a tiny body was in birth? Oh, I hope Lily is right! Severus thought desperately.
Spheres of light gathered and floated over the water towards him, and he heard singing. Perhaps it won't be so bad after all. Black might have been lying to me. Surely this wasn't how demons came to fetch their prey.
Then he heard other voices that sounded like his students. A golden lifeline, writhing like a snake, made its way from the cliff so far away and wrapped itself around his left arm. He clutched to it with both hands till he was dragged all the way up to the rock again. The line disappeared before it could take him further, but he found that he had regained enough of his strength to hang onto the stone again. He kept hearing the voices in an odd rhythm, as if they were chanting a spell of some kind. I hope those dunderheads aren't trying anything stupid in my absence, he thought. It would be a poor trade to see them in danger for his sake.
Once more his left arm felt warm, and not in pain, the way it had earlier. This time the sensation was much stronger and filled him with energy.
Was there a way through the cliff and back to the real world? He'd been too pressed to stay out of the water to consider the matter. Severus began exploring the rocky side of the cliff with one hand, while hanging onto one of the projections with another. The pull of the sand beneath his feet had slowed enough that he could move to one side and then the other without being brought low from losing his balance.
If only he could find a rock to stand on! At least that way he could rest and think without the constant struggle. He continued to explore. If his idiot apprentices had risked themselves in this spell, they would need someone to help them out of the trouble they were undoubtedly in. Perhaps he could find a cave or other opening here that led back to the infirmary. He didn't know if that was possible in this strange place, but it was worth a try.
Draco Malfoy
They were gathered in a room below the ground level in Malfoy Manor. Draco explained what he planned to do. He'd been lucky that he'd found the charm he needed in the first book he'd picked up from Mother's locked case. The various spells had been divided into elements. As intriguing as some of the others sounded, he recognized the one he needed as soon as he'd read it. It was unusual for a group of people to pool their strength to help one in the Wizarding world. Perhaps there was a reason for it, and they would soon find out what it was, but he knew his godfather's time was running short. The connection through his Mark was fading. He could barely sense the professor at all now.
Weasley, who had actually shown up, looked thoughtful. "Won't he find out what's going on?"
"He might," Draco said. "I've already tried this a few times. I thought we could send more strength as a group. You and Miss Edgecombe won't be part of it anyway, since you two are apprentices to the others. But I wanted you to know what's going on."
Percy Weasley looked worried. "Professor Snape visited me that night as well, I mean, the way he did the rest of you. I don't know why he bothered with a Gryff, though I didn't get in as much trouble in his class as everybody else did my year. Pettigrew hasn't tried anything like it. I don't know why."
The Edgecombe girl took a deep breath. "He…the professor touched my Mark, too, but he said for me to be careful who I let do it. I thought it was a dream till I started feeling funny the time we practiced Crucio's on that old man. I asked Mrs. Lestrange what was going on, but she said to shut up and do what I was told. Just like Mum, really. And then last Sunday…"
"Don't talk about that!" Weasley said sharply. He turned pale.
"It was too bad about Goyle, wasn't it," Draco said quickly. No one must start wondering if Greg had been the only one affected by the loyalty curse.
Vince nodded glumly. He hadn't said much since the funeral.
"So," young Malfoy continued, "what has Mr. Pettigrew told you so far about the professor's condition? Both Mother and I have tried to get some word, and nobody will tell us how, how ill he is."
"Why can't they just heal him?" Libby Rosier said, with a bewildered look. Her twin brother Charles looked equally confused.
"He's on a regimen for breathing in too many of our mistakes," Draco said, "and Mother said he couldn't take other potions that might conflict with it because of the potions themselves and the toxins that get released into the blood." He tried not to show how much that frightened him. The Gryffindors had a perfect excuse for not lifting a finger.
Weasley took a seat on one arm of the couch, instead of sitting next to Pansy on it.
He's the oldest apprentice, Draco thought. No doubt he thinks he ought to be running things instead of me.
Percy began. "Mr. Pettigrew thinks Professor Snape is dying. The staff appears to be taking shifts at his bedside, even in the middle of the night. Dobby is accidentally breaking things, while Winky is into the butterbeer again. The other house elves stand around and talk instead of working."
Draco swallowed. Dobby only broke things when he was terribly upset about something. "Only those who wish to take the risk of the Dark Lord's displeasure need to be involved in this rite," he said. "If he wanted the professor dead, I believe he would be gone already. I will understand anyone who doesn't want to be in on this." For now. Of course, I'll remember their names for later.
If there is one.
Vince spoke first. "He looked after us. It's our turn now. The only reason he's is trouble now is because he wanted to help Greg. Of course I'm in, Drake."
Draco nodded. "Anybody else?"
The others, one by one, slowly came around. He was sure that Zabini was only pretending to be reluctant. He knew others besides Goyle had been affected, since he'd been one of them. To that number he would addEdgecombe and Weasley—the Ravenclaw could not keep her mouth shut, and the older Gryffindor had reacted rather quickly to what she'd almost said. Besides, Wormtail for a master would be enough to make anybody have regrets. Draco also thought it was interesting the way the two Rosier twins had looked at each other when Edgecombe had mentioned last Sunday. Of course, he wasn't certain about Zabini. Nobody ever was! As things turned out, though, nobody really wanted to abandon the professor, though it was obvious that nobody wanted to incur the Dark Lord's wrath, either.
Pansy had one good thought. "How do we know Professor Snape is still alive?"
"We don't," Draco said. "If he's already dead, the energy we raise will stay with us. That's what the book said. I think if we try to reach him we'll find out one way or another."
"What happens if our lord is angry about what we did?" Avery asked. His father was in Azkaban, just like Lucius Malfoy.
"Then it was all my idea and you just went along because of my natural superiority," Draco sneered. "Aunt Bella would enjoy smacking me around, but I doubt she'd kill me. We're being recruited underage as if it, and on top of that we've already passed our lord's test. There's a limit to how many supporters he can knock off and still have anybody left to follow him."
"The professor took the heat for one of us," Vince said softly, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You won't have to stand by yourself."
Draco nodded at his friend, very glad that the hulking young man was on his side. "All right," he said to the rest. "We'll get something to eat and drink, and go through the ritual to make sure we're all on the same page. Then we'll start."
Marta, who had been watching all this, eagerly went for some trays.
Weasley approached him. "I thought spells like this had to be done fasting."
"This one was in the Earth Charms section of the book my mother had," Draco said. "We're going to feed strength and act as a physical anchor to a straying spirit, as well as some energy for healing of a wounded body. It would help if we had a couple of Hufflepuffs here, actually." He'd almost swallowed his tongue at what some of the charms for this purpose had asked for, and suspected there was no way either Pansy or Libby would put up with that. He almost mentioned them to the straitlaced Gryff, but decided with five brothers and one sister that Percy Weasley probably had a reasonably decent idea of the birds and the bees anyway.
He let the young man take a look at the one he'd chosen. Percy skimmed it quickly, then nodded. "This is all right, then. I didn't think we had enough er…young ladies here for any of the really old ones." A tinge of pink suffused Weasley's fair skin.
"Oh?" Draco said.
"Yes, well, sometimes Mum talked with her granny on the Floo and forgot I was there if I stayed really quiet. Amazing what they get up to in that village."
Draco remembered some of the gossip he'd overheard at parties when he was younger, and said, "Not just villages. But a Malfoy can't ever look embarrassed, you know." Not even when hearing from one's father about shagging a firstie. Since Father was five years older than the professor, and had been kept from becoming Head Boy in his seventh year, it stood to reason that anything had started in his sixth. That, minus five, made it clear how old Snape had been. Draco wished he hadn't done that math so easily.
"Mmm. Well, you can count me in. I didn't think Slytherins showed any loyalty to anyone but themselves."
"If you had Snape show up the night you received your Mark, then you should know better. I think he could call an army of his students if he cared to. I know you Gryffs take it in the shorts in Potions, but try being one of us anywhere else. He's the only one who gives a damn, no matter what the Sorting Hat says about unity."
"I heard that Minister Umbridge had a group of loyalists there at the school last year. I'm in her office now, you know."
"My condolences," Draco shot off, and then regretted it. "And yes, I was a member. Professor Snape told us all we were idiots, she wouldn't be there for more than year given she was teaching DADA, and what did we think was going to happen to her puppets when she left? I shouldn't denigrate your superior, of course…"
"No, I shouldn't," said Weasley. "At least not where others could hear. However, feel free to proceed as you will, Mr. Malfoy," he added sharply.
"Ah." How very interesting that the Gryff had a little bite to him. "I wish I had listened to the professor." Draco blinked several times, wondering if he'd ever hear that deep voice lecture him again. "Excuse me, Weasley, grit in my eyes. Stupid elves never clean down here."
Marta arrived with the food, and everyone ate their fill. They started going over the ritual's procedure, and hastily adapted it to a group rather than single witch or wizard.
Once they began to get ready, Draco was surprised to see the Edgecombe girl come forward and join them. "You're my aunt's apprentice. She can do anything she likes to you."
"No matter what I do I get yelled at anyway," she said, her chin set. "Besides, this might be interesting."
"All right," said Draco. "But she can do a lot more than yell."
"So can my mother," she said with a grimace.
They went to a larger room where they could stand in a circle. The wards on the Manor didn't matter, at least Draco hoped they didn't. Besides, Hogwarts had even more. The Dark Lord's spell had affected the professor even there, so perhaps their spell would too.
Everyone pulled up their sleeves to show their Mark, except for Weasley, who had to take off his shirt. His was on his shoulder. That made sense. The older boy worked at the Ministry. Sometimes the cooling spells failed in summer, and younger employees wore Muggle t-shirts or old-fashioned undershirts. Plus, if Moody had anything to do with the security system, Weasley might have to show that his left forearm was bare to prove himself untainted.
They rehearsed a couple of times. Then Draco led them in the spell.
"Earth is our beginning, earth is our final end,
There it is we spring forth, there we learn to bend,
Cradle us and hold us, we will ever be your friend."
There was a bit more after that, chanted all together. Then everyone touched their wands, their real ones, to each Dark Mark and hoped for the best.
Draco felt his strength rushing out. For a moment he was dizzy, suspended in nothingness, as if his godfather was already dead. Then he was back in the room and found himself on the floor. He felt wrung out, as if he'd played six hours of Quidditch and was starving once again. Vince helped him off the floor, though the bigger boy looked pale. Everyone did.
"Wow," Zabini said, who was shaking as he rolled down his shirtsleeve once again.
Miss Edgecombe was looking at the book, though she was drawn and gaunt-faced. "It says here that the energy released will be only what is needful. How bad off is he?" Her voice quavered.
"I think if we'd waited any longer it would have been too late." His own voice was hoarse. "Let's order some more trays. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry."
Marta waited for them out in the hall, probably to stop any fooling around. A good thing he hadn't picked one of the other rituals! Mother's elf was happy to go up to the kitchen and bring more food. Unfortunately, it was Kreacher who brought it. Draco forced himself to be polite to the nasty little bugger. He'd never seen the infamous portrait of Mrs. Black, but had heard plenty of stories. Kreacher enjoying bragging about his former mistress. If there really was a row of house elf heads at 12 Grimmauld Place in the parlor, Draco was ready to help Kreacher join them any time he liked. The fact that Kreacher adored Aunt Bella said it all.
Once he ate he felt a bit better. As far as he could tell, everyone else did too. He was still ready to turn in though it was barely after midnight, and he'd been staying up a lot later this summer. His guests looked ready to drop as well. They left the lower levels of the Manor and had the house elves show them to their beds.
Draco stood by his window looking at the moon, now rapidly waxing. Lupin was going to be DADA professor again this year. If his godfather…if he couldn't make the Wolfsbane potion, someone else was going to have to. I don't know how yet, he thought. I'm going to hate it if I have to help the Mudblood, but that's better than the whole school in danger. He wanted to run away. He wanted to beg Mother to transfer him to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, and not have to deal with any of this. Last year he'd been so scared of what he'd heard about the quill he knew he had to cooperate with Umbridge when she wanted a sucking-up squad to help her with her dirty work.
But the professor hadn't run. The professor had stood there to protect the rest of him. Draco was certain his godfather knew exactly who had needed his help and who hadn't. Somehow Snape had kept the Dark Lord from finding out who the survivors were.
"You can always go to Headmaster Dumbledore," his mother said from the doorway.
He turned and smiled at her. "I know. But I'm still afraid. He doesn't go to meetings, but I have to."
"I can send you away. Your father would complain, but he would understand eventually."
"No," he said impulsively. "Greg never would have joined if I hadn't, not even with his mother the way she is. The professor would have talked her round, or maybe you could have. Maybe…maybe the Dark Lord really does want my godfather to die, but just didn't say so. I can't leave my friends behind to let them get hurt because of something I thought up." He dreaded what the next meeting might be like. But he'd rather be turned into a ferret again than run. Even though it was pretty hot, he shivered.
His mother held him in a rare embrace. "It's all right to be frightened. If you need to speak to the Headmaster before school starts, let me know and I'll arrange an appointment. I'm sure you have your father's backing for wanting to help Professor Snape, and that should help. He can't do much from Azkaban, but he can write letters. We still have much influence. But do remember that you must keep how you feel about…certain matters from him. He would not be quite so patient then."
"I know that!" It still sickened him to know what his father was really like. But he was a Slytherin, too, and used whatever weapons he could in this battle. "It's all right," he said, slipping out of her arms. "I can stand by myself."
Narcissa gazed up at him. When had that happened, that he was taller now? "I know I haven't been a very good mother," she said, "but I want you to know that I love you more than I can say. I will help you however I can. What happened Sunday changed everything. No matter how things looks, I have chosen sides. I wish we could all be on the same one, but I had to choose you."
He knew that Goyle's mother had chosen differently. "Thank you," he said. "And I have to choose…I have to choose to stay here." Draco was still frightened.
Mother laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'll have Marta send up some hot tea with some peppermint in it. Thank you for what you tried to do for Severus tonight."
Draco sat down once she left the room. If only he could find out if the spell had helped! He looked down at his Mark. It didn't look as black as usual. In fact, the moon's light made the lines of it look lighter against his skin than it ever had before. It still felt warm even though the spell was over.
Live, professor, oh please live…
Winky
Winky opened one bleary eye. Oh, she was bad! Her master was so sick. She should stay with him no matter what Mistress Nurse said. She shouldn't come down here to the kitchen and drink butterbeer, no matter how sad she was.
Nobody else was down here late in the evening. Good. The other elves laughed at her sometimes, or scowled like Dobby. She picked up the hem of her tea towel and cried.
Then Winky heard a noise, like another mouse trying to get into the pantry. She'd heard one a day ago, but hadn't found it. Mrs. Norris had complained to her that she'd had to chase it, but hadn't been able to catch the nasty thing. Winky had told her how sorry she was. Here was a chance to make up.
The house elf opened the lower cupboard very, very slowly. She couldn't make noise or change the smells in there too fast, or the mouse would run. Then Winky squealed as she caught the naked-tailed rodent and threw it into the portal that sent all household vermin into the trap under Big Furry's hut. In a day or so, the giant would pick up the cage and release anything in it out in the Forbidden Forest near one of the Acromantula nests. After many mice-generations of this, the word had been spread, or why it was so rare to find them in the kitchen any more. That was what Dobby said, anyway.
Well. She felt better now. The rat's paw had looked funny, and she tried to remember what she'd been told about that. There was a rat who was special. She shrugged. Big Furry would see for himself when he got around to it.
Winky went to the infirmary. Master was so sick, she had to be with him!
Poppy Pomfrey
Madam Pomfrey awoke and dressed. The shifts had been staggered so everyone could get some sleep. It was one hour till midnight. Fortunately Trelawney had finally returned and had been able to help. Sybil looked extraordinarily different after her stay with those Muggles in the States. She'd given up the tinted glasses and the clouds of incense, and looked more like the slightly faded, middle-aged witch she actually was. Though in the flush of her latest enthusiasm, which appeared to be natural health, nutrition and mental improvement, Trelawney was far more tolerable like this than last year. Some of her ideas for improving the students' and staff's well-being actually made sense.
Tonight Sybil looked subdued, though. "It must have been something horrible," she said, looking down at the comatose Potions Master as Pomfrey quietly approached the bed. "He's always been so strong. Not only is the Snape line robust, but on his mother's side, too. They say the Sorcerer of Russia was poisoned, stabbed, shot, and clubbed. But when someone finally found his body in the Neva, he had water in his lungs. That meant he was still alive when they threw him in. If he hadn't been tied up without his wand, he might have survived all that."
Poppy had heard the story, too. "If you had any idea what Severus has endured this summer, you'd be amazed that he's still alive, too. I wish I'd never had him take that blood test for potions overload."
"The Muggles have done studies about the brain and what the chemical environment does to mental states. It was a reasonable thing to test for." Sybil had been reading the Swiss protocols while sitting here, judging by the papers on the lap-desk. "When students like Longbottom come in smelling of their latest potions disaster, it almost turns my stomach. That incense is the only thing that kept me from throwing up. I'll have to put a venting spell on my doorway nest year."
"That will probably help," Poppy said. She took out her wand and monitored Snape's current condition. Then she did it again. "Sybil, would you please find the Headmaster and ask him to come here? I hope you don't have to wake him, but please do it anyway."
Trelawney left. Severus stirred for a moment and muttered, "Trying." He looked quite gray in the candlelight.
Pomfrey pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "I know, Severus. We miss you. Come back to us, please." Even at the point of death Snape was fighting.
Dumbledore walked in, a robe hastily thrown over a nightshirt. "What is it, Poppy?"
"He's failing," she said. "He's still struggling, but he can't last much longer. I thought you would want to be here."
"Yes." He sat down in the chair. That was unlike the ancient wizard, who never did so with a lady standing. Till now. "Of course he's fighting to live. I…I found where he is now and spoke to him in a dream-state. He's afraid to die, Poppy. He believes God is a Gryffindor and will judge him the way I have." Albus pulled out his wand. "I promised him that I would say good-bye. I hope it's not too late."
The mediwitch put her hand over the old wizard's. "No. You cannot. You would not come back this time. We can't lose both of you."
"I promised him. I have broken so many of my pledges to him. I can't break this one."
"You must. Show me the way and I will go, Albus. I have seen so many off on their last journey already. It won't be that hard for me." She knew the not-sand of that gritty not-beach. Though she rarely used that magic, it was her turn now.
"Now I have to say that we can't risk you." The Headmaster sighed. "You're not exactly young either. You have to let me go. I already know the way, and won't get lost. It must be soon, or he will be gone already."
"No," Poppy said, though it broke her heart to think of poor Severus alone in the dark. "I have to think of the Order, too."
They watched the dying man. For a moment he scowled and murmured, "Black." Pomfrey didn't know if Snape spoke of the darkness approaching him, or of that idiot Gryffindor who had caused him so much pain. Then the Potion Master's face relaxed and smoothed out.
"Lily," Severus whispered, so low Poppy almost didn't hear it.
The mediwitch turned her face for a moment and wiped her eyes. Oh, Merlin, if only he is really seeing her. She would never lead him to hell, no matter what James or the others said. She looked back. For a brief moment Snape's eyes opened, though they were blank, and his lips parted once more, as if saying a final farewell. A pale light settled around his face. His eyes closed again, but the odd light remained.
"I never could manage Latin," Sybil said gently. "'Let flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' There are powers higher than magic, Poppy. We must plead with them for Severus now."
She added, "After midnight it will be Saturday. Flitwick didn't choose that date just because it would take him that long to get ready. I talked with him just before I came up here and he had to consult with both Vector and Sinistra for the right day. I know this is a silly question, but if Snape has been off his regimen for a while, why can't he take some healing potions?"
"No, it's not silly at all, Sybil," Poppy said wearily. She watched Albus carefully to make sure he didn't try anything stupid while she was distracted. He looked positively ill with grief now. She would have to take care to have him watched the way she had had to look after Severus a few times. "I've been talking with Lowenstein for the last several days. He must be sick of the sight of me, and even more tired of me handing him samples to analyze. Snape still has a bloodstream full of toxins that would react badly to anything I've got." However, it didn't matter. Not now. Severus was dying, and would not last till Flitwick rolled the dice for one last time. She went to the cabinet, lit her wand, and began looking.
"Wait," Albus said. "I've never seen the Dark Mark do this before."
Poppy looked back. Dumbledore held Snape's left arm. The short-sleeved gown revealed the forearm entirely. The Mark glowed, with a golden color she had never seen on it before. Severus took a deep breath and began resting more easily. The wound he had inflicted on himself to save his students healed entirely and was gone.
The mediwitch monitored him. The Potions Master was stronger, but not healed. His heartbeat and breathing were steady, though his mind was still crushed by his ordeal. His body would endure for another day, perhaps two, before it failed again.
The Headmaster gently touched the tip of his wand to the Mark. "I have never seen anything but evil come from this horrible thing," he said, then closed his eyes for a moment. "I hear voices," he whispered, "chanting an old Earth charm. Who are you, I wonder?" He was silent for a moment, then opened his eyes and smiled broadly. "Oh, Severus, it was all of them. Your apprentices…" He sighed in relief. "They worked a miracle for you. Now we must complete it."
Poppy was happy, but remained practical. "You should go back to bed now, both of you," she told Sybil and Albus. "I can manage now that he's a little better. I'll wake up at any change, and you'll need your strength for tomorrow. If I recall correctly, we begin the rite at dawn, and that's only a few hours away even this late in summer."
Trelawney nodded and left. Dumbledore required a little more urging. "Thank you," he said, "for calling me when you thought he was leaving us. I may still have to say good-bye to him as I promised if Flitwick's spell doesn't work. This, this healing has given us enough time to try it, but I know that is all."
"Sybil was right," Pomfrey said, sitting down at last. It felt odd to admit that the Divinations teacher was right about anything. "You know Severus wouldn't want you to risk your life for that."
"His apprentices already have," Albus said, looking a bit frightened. "Especially since two of them technically don't belong to him. They could face severe punishment once they're summoned again. I may have to find a way to bring them to Hogwarts early, though I don't know how I'll manage without singling them out. I have no idea how to protect the Weasley boy."
"Let's get Severus well, and let him worry about it," Poppy said. "Now, go to bed!"
He scurried off.
She sat at Snape's bedside, and set up a charm to alert her should his physical condition deteriorate once more. She was over her little tantrum; if he could but live, his mind and soul would have a chance to heal, even if he ended up in a room next to the Longbottoms after all. Pomfrey smiled to herself thinking of the wards she could set up to keep Moody out in such a case. Perhaps there was one that would let him in, but only if he left his wooden leg behind. Lucius Malfoy—if she could obtain one hair of his, she'd make sure he never bothered anybody again, let alone her patient. It wouldn't be fair to Draco to use the Law of Similarity; the younger Malfoy adored his godfather and shouldn't be kept from visiting.
Oh, my dear Severus, please live, she mentally begged. Live long enough, and let us heal you. Flitwick has worked so hard. It would be a waste to give up before he's had a chance.
Poppy wiped a few tears from her eyes. Perhaps there were some wounds too deep for healing, but this time they would try.