Death Eater No More—Chapter Twenty-Six (Play Nice, Children)
December 20, 1998
"You're joking, right? You're bloody joking!" Lucius fumed. He quickened his pace to match Narcissa's as the latter fled into the main sitting room in an attempt to escape his remonstration. Her pregnant waddle, however, was no match for his long stride and he easily overtook her.
At last, accepting her inability to outrun him, Narcissa wheeled and stared him right in the eye, chin up, defiant. "I'm not joking. I have every right."
"My love, are you trying to kill me? Because I can think of less painful ways." Lucius drew his wand from his robe and held it out to her. "Here, put the wand to my temple and say avada ked—"
"Stop it!" she shrieked. She snatched the wand and flung it across the room. It smacked the wall and clattered to the floor. "Just stop it! You don't always have to be sarcastic and dramatic!"
One blond eyebrow quirked upward. "I don't? How long have you known me?"
"Long enough to watch you grow colder over the years, to see you become jaded and bitter in the service of that repulsive Voldemort," she spat back.
Lucius drew back as though struck. The expressionless mask reserved for outsiders snapped into place on his face. "I did what I had to do to survive. I deeply regret that my continued existence offends you."
"See? You're doing it again! I never said you offend me, and I honestly can't blame you for hardening your heart," Narcissa said, softening her tone as her eyes traced the contours of his face, the face she loved so much it made her weak inside. "I just miss that innocent boy who worshipped me, who wasn't afraid to buck authority or rules and do what he wanted."
Lucius let the mask drop, stepped forward, and pulled her into his arms. "I still worship you," he whispered. As for innocence—well, that had been beaten and tortured out of him, had been subdued by the cruel acts he'd been forced to perform as a member of Voldemort's cadre. Yes, he was harder, colder, bitter, he didn't deny any of that; who could live so long among the Death Eaters without developing such a shell?
Her voice muffled against his chest, Narcissa replied, "Then why are you picking on me?"
"I'm not, sweetheart, I'm questioning your choice of guests. First Potter—agreed, his presence can only enhance our reputation, so I applaud you on that one. But the Weasleys? They're uncouth bumpkins and blood traitors! And how, pray tell, did it slip your mind to inform me you'd invited Andromeda?"
"I told you I didn't mean to invite the Weasleys, it just happened," Narcissa retorted, bristling and pushing away from him. "Andy is my sister and I have the right to invite her. I hardly ever see her. I didn't tell you before because I knew you'd throw a tantrum."
"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" taunted a smirking Lucius in reference to his wife's earlier outburst. "No slur intended on your family name. As for tantrums, you haven't seen me throw one—"
"Give it a rest, Lucius," commanded Abraxas from his portrait near the fireplace. Both of them looked over at the patriarch who glared imperiously at his son. "Your wife is heavy with child, she doesn't need your nonsense."
Flabbergasted not that Abraxas should take Narcissa's part, for he'd almost always done that, but that he'd pass an opportunity to impugn scum of the Earth, Lucius clarified a bit louder, "Father, she's overrunning our mansion with blood traitors!"
"I'm not deaf, son, you needn't shout." Abraxas sighed, a slow, tired heaving of breath that carried an enormous weight in it. "If there's one thing I've learned from dying, it's that death is the great equalizer. Blood status makes no difference."
Lucius stopped in his tracks to gape for a long moment as his world crashed down around his ears. Certainly hell had taken a good chill, for his father would never in his wildest dreams proclaim something so ridiculous! "Are you saying you renounce everything you taught me about blood purity and faithfulness to our kind? About our superiority?"
Abraxas snorted and peered at him for signs of dementia. "No! I'm saying we all die, so there's no point in making life more difficult while you're here. I firmly believe that if the pureblood lines die out, so will magical knowledge because we are the true keepers. That said, society is changing and you must adapt. For the sake of your family—for that unborn child—you must learn to coexist peacefully with the halfbreeds and mudbloods."
"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Narcissa interjected. "I dislike a mudblood as much as anyone does, but he thinks I'm being hypocritical to embrace other purebloods like my sister who turned their backs on our heritage."
"So live and let live and we'll all be a big, happy bunch of simpletons?" said Lucius sarcastically.
"You're lucky I can't slap you," growled Abraxas.
"Lucius Caleb Malfoy, you listen to your father!" scolded the normally mild Thalia. It had the effect of shaming the younger man, since she used his full name only when her dander was up, which wasn't often. "Naturally we wish to continue our bloodline, but we also want our family to be happy, not ostracized."
"No, Mother, you want me to accept all manner of filth into my life and to pretend it doesn't bother me. Well, it does! And it's not like I'm out there murdering the riffraff, I only want them to stay away from me."
"Don't take that tone with your mother," warned Abraxas.
"My sister is as pureblooded as you are!" snapped Narcissa. "She's not riffraff!"
"She's not one of us anymore!" Lucius countered.
"Lucius!" Everyone else turned to look aghast at Thalia who never, to anyone's recollection, had raised her voice to a shout. The woman's lips were pinched in a pout as she glared daggers at her son.
"Yes, Mother?" he answered meekly.
"None of us here disputes the fact that purebloods are superior; I would that all witches and wizards were like us. Your father and I grew up with that doctrine in the forefront, and you were taught the same—sadly, to your detriment. We couldn't anticipate the war and social upheaval that left blood traitors and halfbreeds running society, but there's nothing you can do about it. The war is lost, yet you must go on and thrive."
Thalia paused to collect her thoughts, leaving the others wondering where this was going. Her eyes, tender and loving now, rested on her only remaining child. "You are a Malfoy; exploit your opportunities, Lucius. Teach your children the truth of their heritage and make sure they marry purebloods, but steer them from hate. They can pity the blood traitors, mudbloods, and Muggles, but they must get along with them or they'll be social rejects in this perverse new order. Our name will never regain its prestige if you fail. You must do this for them."
Lucius shook his head slowly as if in a daze. "I can't believe my own mother is ordering me to mingle with undesirables."
"I wouldn't make it a habit," said Thalia drolly. "Just enough to secure your rightful place in the social order. I happen to know you're no stranger to subterfuge, my son. You should have little trouble."
Abraxas abandoned his frame to enter his wife's, where he sat down practically on her lap to cuddle with her with a great smile on his face. "Isn't your mother wise? That's why I married her." She looked askance at him and he chuckled. "That and a plethora of other reasons."
The younger Malfoy pondered for a long moment on all that had been said. His mother had a valid point: if Draco and the unborn child had any hope of shaking off the Death Eater mantle he'd thrown over them and of being accepted and advancing in this new world, Lucius would have to play the game according to their rules. For himself he would flatly refuse; for his children he'd walk through fire and hell, he'd die if it came down to it. Fortunately, death wasn't required of him, only deception. He could handle that.
Turning to Narcissa, Lucius beamed a smile that could melt the heart of any woman in the vicinity. "You win, love. I'll behave at your party. I'll be so charming and agreeable to our guests they'll think that I've had a lobotomy. Come, let's get ready for the ball."
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A Malfoy party wouldn't be considered a success unless attended by hundreds of the most influential members of the wizarding community; this ball assuredly qualified as successful. Aside from the guest list including the Minister of Magic, Harry Potter, and various members of the Wizengamot, scores of couples twirled around the dance floor of the Malfoy ballroom accompanied by a live band playing traditional Christmas tunes as well as waltzes and other genteel pieces. Many more either lined the walls chatting and drinking, or sat at various gaily decorated tables doing the same, or mingled about through the room.
Draco and his cohorts fit into the 'standing and drinking' category, he in a deep green set of robes, Daphne decked out in a pale yellow gown that matched his hair. In his glass was firewhiskey diluted with melted ice; he took a sip now and then to keep up appearances, mindful of his father's warning against drunkenness.
Lucius had, in fact, placed his hands on the lad's shoulders before the party as he regarded him critically and absently picked miniscule bits of lint off his robes while quietly lecturing him on conducting himself appropriately—like a Malfoy—and on keeping his friends under control lest Narcissa become upset. The implication, of course, was that if Narcissa were upset, Lucius would be upset. No further warning was necessary, neither of them wanted to advance that scenario.
"Hey, Draco, better tell your parents to hire an exterminator," laughed Blaise. "Looks like you've got an infestation of weasels!" He howled at his own cleverness and pointed toward one entrance where Harry, Ginny, Molly, and Arthur had just come in, all of them gawking in awe at the splendor everywhere they turned.
Draco's head jerked in their direction and his features hardened, but he said coolly, "Mother invited them."
"What was she thinking?" asked Daphne, wrinkling her nose.
"Maybe she was thinking it's time purebloods stop acting like uptight prats," said a voice behind them. Jacinta came walking up hand in hand with Theodore Nott, whose smitten eyes scarcely left her even when he casually greeted the crew. Her light brown hair was swept up in a chignon and she wore a strapless red gown that set off her slim figure to its best advantage.
The utter dismay permeating the little group felt palpable, not only at what she'd said, but by the fact that she and Theo seemed awfully cozy all of a sudden. She smirked at their discomposure, which didn't last long.
"You've no right to talk. You're not even a Mulciber," Blaise retorted nastily.
'You're not even a pureblood as you passed yourself off for so long' may as well have been what he said, for it was implicitly understood by every youth there. Draco shifted nervously; he'd crossed Jacinta a few times when they were children, he knew her better than the rest did.
"And you couldn't wait to blab it to everyone, could you, Blaise?" replied Jacinta calmly. Her blue eyes pierced him hatefully. "You and your cohorts Pansy and Daphne."
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Daphne protested, "Well, it's true! It's not like we lied, and we didn't mean any harm."
"I don't really care, to be honest," Jacinta responded, shrugging. "It's done, there's no point in crying over it, but I won't allow myself to be treated like a leper or insulted to my face."
"Would you rather we do it behind your back?" snickered Blaise, eliciting an appreciative giggle from Daphne.
Theo stepped up, his brown eyes stormy, and he shoved Blaise in the chest hard enough to nearly topple him over backward. "If I hear you say one word about Jacinta, I'll punch your head in."
"That's enough," Draco growled, glancing furtively around in hopes no one noticed the commotion. "No one's going to pick on Jacinta."
"I don't need you guys to defend me," said Jacinta. She smiled at Draco and Theo and patted their arms. "But thank you both. You're very gallant."
"You are my cousin—kind of," Draco replied with a hint of a grin. "It's my job."
Blaise turned up his nose and sulked off to find more firewhiskey while Daphne attached herself to Draco's arm in a near death grip, afraid her words had caused her to fall into disfavor with him. He shook his arm violently to break free, prompting a petulant gasp from her.
"So where's your—where's Uncle Severus?" asked Draco, who'd seen the Mulcibers not half an hour ago. It felt strange to call Severus Jacinta's father after all the years of pretending.
"He's not coming. When he heard Potter and the Weasleys would be here, he oddly enough found some heretofore neglected duties to attend to at Hogwarts."
"Where's Pansy?" Theo asked. "I thought she and Goyle were coming."
Trying to pass off her injured air, Daphne returned breezily, "She has the flu. Gregory is hovering over her like a mother hen."
"It's pitiful how he babies her," Draco sniffed.
Daphne scowled. "I think it's sweet. He really loves her and isn't afraid to show it, unlike you."
"When I find a girl I really love, I won't be afraid to show it, either," snapped Draco.
"Oh!" Daphne stamped her foot, whirled, and stormed off. A few steps later she stomped back, slapped Draco across the face, then spun round to head out.
Face flaming with embarrassment and from the handprint on his cheek, Draco lifted his eyes to Theo and Jacinta, both of whom looked simultaneously shocked and amused. "Hey, it wouldn't be a Malfoy party without histrionics, would it?" he quipped. He downed his tumbler in one gulp.
"Are you sure you wanted to do that, Draco?" ventured Jacinta cautiously. "I mean, it looked like you deliberately insulted her."
The young man gazed off in the direction Daphne had huffed off. "We haven't been dating that long and she's just got really clingy," confessed Draco. "And the truth is, I—uh…I kind of like her sister, but she's only sixteen and still in school."
"Well, that's awkward," said Nott. He brightened and smiled slyly. "If you start going out with Astoria, you can compare which sister is better in bed."
Draco rolled his eyes at the same time Jacinta did. Were all their friends so blasted obsessed with sex? "I never shagged Daphne, you dolt. My family is very proper about these matters."
"Ah, I see," Theo answered. "You're still a virgin then?"
"So are you!" Draco retorted. "And if you're anything like Uncle Severus said your dad was, you will be until your wedding day!"
"Would you guys shut it?" Jacinta snarled. "I'm so sick of men going on about shagging girls."
Draco sidled up to the young woman and put an arm round her shoulders, speaking to her like an imbecile. "Technically, dear, we were talking about NOT shagging them. Try to keep up."
"He's got ya there, Cinta," Theo chortled.
"I told you not to call me that."
Theo returned a blank stare as if that request had never made it past his ear canal and had certainly never lodged in his brain.
"Anyway," Draco went on, "as for Astoria, I think it wise to wait until she's at least of age before I approach her, probably best if she's out of school. By then Daphne won't be mad anymore."
The three of them laughed.
"Let's go talk to Harry Potter," Jacinta proposed with a twinkle in her eye. The two young men stiffened and gaped at her like she'd grown horns. "Come on, I've heard about him all my life but never met him."
"You're not missing anything, trust me," grumbled Draco.
Jacinta gripped Theo's bicep in an iron hand that felt more like an eagle talon and dragged him with her across the floor with Draco following alongside out of morbid curiosity. Snape no doubt had filled her head with terrible images of the little puke, all of them profoundly insightful and accurate, yet at Beauxbatons she must have been inundated with a sickening lovefest for the boy wonder. The poor girl's mind!
She shoved her way through the noisy throng surrounding Harry and the Weasley bunch, who were huddled together looking extremely out of place despite the new clothes Harry had purchased for them for the occasion. Obviously people had lost no time in cornering Harry once they recognized him, as they did everywhere he went. To her surprise, he was smaller and thinner than she'd imagined.
Jacinta tapped Harry on the shoulder and he turned; a wariness crept into his features at seeing Draco beyond her. "Hello, Harry Potter. I'm Jacinta Snape Mulciber." She thrust out a hand which he stared at guardedly before taking.
"Hello, Jacinta. You can call me Harry." All at once her introduction wormed its way into his brain and it hit him who this girl was. "You're Snape's daughter!"
"Yes, apparently no one in the wizarding world forgoes reading the paper," she replied dryly. "Word does travel fast."
"I—I don't know what to say. When I was in school I thought your dad hated me, and there was no way I could picture him having a kid. Eating a kid, maybe," he laughed, though Jacinta only smiled graciously. Harry blinked several times and studied her anew. "Sorry. It's surreal to see you actually standing here."
"I'm real, I assure you. And I concede that my father can be….testy," she said, grasping for a word that wasn't too harsh.
Her companions had no compunctions about tossing out such descriptions.
"And surly," added Draco, elbowing her playfully in the side.
"And peevish," snickered Theo.
Jacinta turned her Snape-inherited glower on them and their mouths snapped shut. "I just wanted to introduce myself and congratulate you on killing Voldemort." Even if it was pure luck, she thought, echoing her sire's sentiments. She wholly expected Potter to dive into a detailed expounding of his glorious deed which funneled full credit directly to himself, so she was understandably disconcerted when his reply did nothing of the kind.
"Thanks, but your dad played a huge part. Without his years of protecting me and helping the Order, I don't think we'd have been victorious," Harry admitted.
His sincerity shining through broke a chink in Jacinta's armor. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world and bane of her father's existence, stood here brazenly complimenting Severus Snape in front of dozens of witnesses and he wasn't here to see it! Drat the luck! "I'm sure my father will be pleased and utterly discombobulated to hear that."
"What have we here? Chatting with our guests, Draco?" Lucius drawled as he came up from the side, smiling broadly. Only his eyes—to those who knew him well—betrayed a hint of his true feelings. "Ah, Mr. Potter, how lovely to see you again. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Uh….yeah, I guess so." He sent a confused look around the circle: was he the only one to notice Mr. Malfoy acting nice? Maybe the former Death Eater was drunk….
"Molly, Arthur, always a pleasure. Molly, what a stunning gown! It does you justice," Lucius purred. For a split second his smile became real at witnessing their shock. He hoped they didn't wet themselves from excitement, but with the lowbrow crowd one could never be too careful. "Who is this delightful young lady?"
"I'm Ginny Weasley," said Ginny, not smiling at all. "You remember—you put Voldemort's old diary in my cauldron and nearly got me killed."
"Ginny, dear, we're guests here," admonished Molly quietly. "We have no proof of that."
"I do prefer not to revisit those old, unfounded accusations," Lucius replied evenly, his smile still plastered tight to his face. "The war is over, it's time for a fresh new start. Please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet. The drink bar is on the opposite side. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask." He made the minutest motion at Draco; best get him away from the brat-who-lived before their inherent animosity got the best of them. "Son, have you made it a point to greet the Claytons?"
As expected, Draco hurriedly excused himself as Lucius whisked on by, his skin crawling from the stench of traitors. And it wasn't over, he had yet to greet Andromeda; he'd been on his way to do so when he stopped to acknowledge the Weasleys. He gave a light shudder. Nonetheless, he must keep his promise to Narcissa and behave even if it made him sick to his stomach or killed him. Any other time he might fall on that promise, but not with his wife in her delicate condition. At least he'd been spared speaking with that belligerent Arthur, whose very existence was an affront to humanity. No small wonder his ungrateful redheaded weaselette had inherited his boorish manners.
"Narcissa, my beloved." He tenderly kissed her cheek, then lifted Andromeda's hand to his lips. "Welcome, Andromeda. It's been a long time."
"A very long time," Andy confirmed. The last time she'd seen Lucius had been many years ago when he'd ordered her off his property while castigating Narcissa for allowing her to visit—in the orchard, mind you, not even in the mansion….yet here she was in the ballroom at his party. It didn't add up despite his oh-so-polite smile.
"Please accept my condolences on the loss of your daughter and husband." Wretched halfblood and mudblood. Good riddance to them.
"Thank you," said Andy softly, lowering her eyes.
Narcissa leaned against him and squeezed his hand, the expression of joy in her face too precious to try to squelch with snide comments. "Lucius, you've been so wonderful. Because of all that's happened, I've invited Andy and Teddy to stay here at Malfoy Manor for a few weeks. I hope you don't mind."
For a second Lucius' world went black and he felt like he was swaying and falling, but a sharp cry from Narcissa brought him around, to find he was clinging to Andy for dear life. Mortified, he jerked back and stood up smoothing his robes self-consciously. "Forgive me. I stumbled."
"Really?" answered Andy smugly. "From where I stand, I could swear you almost fainted."
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Bayly lay on his bed and watched his three roommates hustling to pack last minute items into their trunks, chattering excitedly about going home for Christmas and all the fun they'd have. He'd stowed his own necessities in a backpack the day before, as was customary at Durmstrang so that there were no stragglers when time was of the essence.
Time mattered little now. According to the note clutched in his hand, Mum would be coming to get him, he wasn't to take the train. In a way he found it rather a relief, since he had few friends and he'd never been on the train; he hadn't looked forward to a long journey being stuck with people he didn't like. Of course, Gloria would be there…for that reason alone he'd have braved anything else. Nevertheless, whatever he'd hoped or wished for paled into irrelevance. Mum insisted it was for his safety, and he'd always obeyed his mother.
"Looks like it's time to go," one of the boys said. "Happy Christmas, Bayly."
"You, too, Floyd," responded Bayly. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Happy Christmas to all of you."
With the other boys' well wishes ringing in his ears, he set out in search of Gloria. Even though they'd exchanged gifts and said their goodbyes last night, he needed to see her again. It might be a full month before he saw her again; what with his father—that damned Dolohov—on the loose, Mum and the aurors would see to it he wasn't permitted to leave the house unattended. That was one thing he didn't need to impress his girl—some Ministry officials crowding along on a date!
He pushed his way through the jostling crowd of students on the platform, his hazel eyes diligently scanning for the young lady. He was tall enough to see over most of the younger kids, yet caught not a glimpse of his lovely. What if she was already on the train? He didn't see her anywhere!
A hand slid into his from behind and he spun around both startled and smiling, coming face to face with the pretty brunette. "I was looking for you," he admitted.
"Yeah, I figured," Gloria responded with her own goofy smile. He was so sweet, so good to her, so—not like the other boys who viewed her either as a sisterly tomboy (i.e., her Quidditch mates) or a conquest (i.e., the rest of the male population). Soon enough each boy she dated had found out she was not easy, nor was she to be trifled with, leaving her to brood over men and their stupid libido-driven minds.
Then Bayly had come along to turn her life upside down. Only he appreciated and encouraged her athletic skills as well as her physical attributes and intellect. In short, he adored her and she adored him in kind. He could do more on a broom than any Quidditch player she'd ever known, and even if he weren't as book smart as most of the Ravenclaws he was by no means dumb, and he was loyal and affectionate…and that dreamy face and body didn't hurt his cause.
Bayly pulled her in close, ignoring the hoots and jeers of passing students as he crushed her in his arms, closing his eyes to shut out the commotion around them. It felt so good just to hold her and smell her hair and feel her breathing against him. "I'll miss you so much," he whispered directly into her ear.
"I'll miss you more," she answered with tears springing to her eyes.
The young wizard pulled away only when the conductor called for boarding. The tears sliding down her cheeks made him want to bawl himself, but that wasn't manly so he merely wiped them off gently and kissed each cheek, then her lips.
"Write to me," he said.
"I will," she promised in a quivering voice.
Bayly stood on the platform while the rest of the students clamored onto the train; he was still standing there gazing into the distance long after the train had gone and there was no one left, when forlorn silence engulfed the place. Finally he sighed, turned around, and trooped back to his room.
Because he had nothing else to do except study, and not being a Ravenclaw at heart that held no appeal whatsoever, he flopped down on top of his bed to nap in order to pass the time before his mother was to come. The previous night of tossing and turning caught up to him and he soon fell into a deep slumber, to awake with a start. It was dusk already, he'd slept later than he meant to! He jumped off the bed, snatched his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, and ran down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, through the castle, and across the grounds to the outer edge of the property to the open gate, which seemed strangely vacant.
Slowing to a walk, he approached cautiously. Why wasn't Mum here yet? Had she gone to the Headmaster's office to ask after him? "Mum, are you there?" he called.
From out of the nearby bushes came a rustling and a snap of a twig. "You're late, boy."
In a heartbeat Bayly jerked his hand and his wand sprang out of its wrist holster into his fingers. The cloaked, hooded figure laughed and shot a stunning spell that reached the boy in the same instant. Bayly flew backward, sprawled unconscious on the ground; his wand landed several meters away.
The figure stalked over and pocketed the wand, doubled back to grip the pack in one hand, then took hold of Bayly and disapparated.
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At last, the majority of Hogwarts' pubescent ninnies had cheerfully liberated themselves for the Christmas holiday, for which Snape counted his blessings. Now he could finally sit down and study the hair tonic formula he'd happened to come across while skulking through Aline Conn's desk in the dead of night. Certainly he hadn't removed the formula, for that would alert the professor that someone had been rifling through—er, had been peeking in—her things. He'd instead made a detailed copy, returned the original parchment to its place, and gone about his business.
He withdrew the paper from his drawer, set it in front of him, and began to browse the ingredient list, smirking to himself at the seemingly hodgepodge, afterthought way of making notes. Nonetheless, he knew Aline to be thorough and meticulous and her potions excellently wrought—though only severe torture might wrench the words from his throat—so he supposed he'd suffer through it.
Myrrh powder, one pinch per ounce of walnut (pre-steeping weight)
Black walnut leaves, steeped for twenty minutes; discard leaves, measure one cup of tea
Marshmallow plant, whole including root, washed with white wine (not red under any circumstance)
Cedarwood, ground finely but not powdered, two pinches not equaling a dash
Miss Conn didn't make it simple to duplicate one of her recipes, did she? On it went, with Severus pausing every so often to consider a particular substance that seemed out of place, and each time his intuition told him it was perfectly plausible since she'd indicated the potion was both topical and ingested—a fine balance, really, when some plants tended to be poisonous if taken internally while working wonders on the skin surface. Most interesting.
"Hello. Excuse me, Headmaster."
Severus looked up at Livonia Young, who appeared quite distraught. He rose automatically. "Miss Young. What can I do for you?"
"It's Bayly. He wasn't on the train, I waited till everyone was gone and he wasn't there." Her voice rose to an hysterical high. "Is he here?"
The normally serious expression on Severus' face became downright grave. "I don't believe so. He isn't listed as staying over the holidays."
He strode rapidly to the fireplace, threw in some floo powder, and stuck his head into the burning pit. "Professor Flitwick! I have urgent business to discuss."
A few moments later the tiny professor's face appeared in the coals. "Is something wrong, Severus?"
"Did Bayly Young remain behind today?"
"No. I've checked all the students' rooms, only those signed up to stay are here. Why?"
"I'm coming over." Severus pulled his head out of the fire and motioned for Livonia to join him. Together they floo'd into Flitwick's office, where the diminutive wizard stood dressed in a furry bathrobe and sky blue pajamas.
"Severus, what's going on?" piped Flitwick.
"That is precisely what I intend to find out. Professor, this is Bayly's mother. He didn't arrive on the train, and I'd like to see his room."
By now all three wore grim expressions. They marched out of the office, up the stairs, and down the hall; Flitwick threw open a door on the left. "This is his room."
"Lumos." Snape walked in, wand drawn, surveying the area like enemy territory. All was quiet. It looked to be an ordinary, empty dormitory room. He wandered slowly through, studying everything. "I believe Mr. Young is seeing a young lady in your house—Miss Livingston. Did she remain behind?"
"No, she left with the other pupils."
"Do you think it possible he went with her?"
"No, sir. Her parents are very strict, they'd never allow a strange boy to come home with their daughter."
Livonia stifled a panicked sob and followed Severus into the room. This was Bayly's room, but he wasn't here…he wasn't with his girlfriend. Where could he be? "Do you think—do you think he might be somewhere in the castle?"
"I'll have The Grey Lady take a look," answered Flitwick.
"Don't bother," said Severus quietly. He turned to them holding a bit of crumpled parchment he'd picked up from the nightstand next to the bed with a disheveled duvet, and silently handed it to Livonia.
Dear Bayly,
Don't take the train tomorrow, I'll come pick you up. The aurors said it's safer this way, for you to apparate home with me. They also said don't respond to this letter, it may be intercepted. Meet me outside the main gate at five o'clock.
Mum
The witch burst into tears as she slid to the floor gripping the paper. "I didn't write this! I didn't—Bayly!" Her sobs overwhelmed her and she laid her head on her arms crying uncontrollably.
Severus looked at Flitwick, who stared back in complete horror. Only one man they knew would bother to concoct a scheme like this, would have any motivation whatsoever to kidnap or harm Bayly. Vengeance was a staple of diehard Death Eaters, and none was more vindictive than Dolohov; Bayly had turned on him and sicked the aurors on him, it was only logical he'd seek to exact revenge.
"I'll contact the Ministry," Severus murmured. "Filius, if you'd take care of Miss Young." He hurried out, cursing himself for his lack of vigilance and cursing Dolohov for everything under the sun. If the boy died, and it may already have come to that, he'd never forgive himself.