Twenty-five
Advice.
I'll post the next chapter next week, because that's when shit goes down and I don't want to make you wait, lol. But after that I might go on a break for a while. I've got a lot of shit going on - school , and like three piano contests, and the fact that I haven't been writing as much so I'm still running out of prewritten chapters because I'm writing less than a chapter a week - so that might be the last chapter for a while.
()()()
The Order met in the small kitchen of the Burrow, gathered around a circular table. Molly was running back and forth, fussing over cups of tea and sandwiches. The rest spoke in low voices, shrouded in flickering candlelight, because even though the Burrow was protected, they couldn't shake the urge to whisper.
Finally, Molly sat down. And the little clock ticked quietly, even though all of its arms were fixed in their positions. Arthur and Molly: home. Percy, Bill, and Charlie: work. Ron and Ginny: school. She hadn't thought of adding a space for war, so Fred and George were fixed permanently on mortal peril, which was slightly unnerving.
But tonight, no one was looking at the clock. Everyone was looking at the little piece of paper clutched tightly in Arthur's white knuckled hand. They weren't looking because they wanted to read it. Everyone had read it already, many times. They were looking because there was nothing else to look at, besides the bags under everyone's eyes, and the tenseness in their faces, and the slowly dying fire.
I should put some wood on that, Arthur thought, as his mind strayed from the words scribbled on the paper. It's like a metaphor for our cause. Dying, he thought, grimly. He didn't exactly believe it, but he was too stressed to be optimistic.
Molly put her hands on his shoulders.
And so they sat quietly around the table, waiting, listening to the ticking clock. Until, finally, there was a knock on the door. A loud, hurried knock. Molly walked quickly to the door, peering through the window until she nodded approvingly and swung it open.
Everyone sighed in relief.
There was Severus, wearing black muggle clothes. He had his arm around a tall, dark-skinned boy who was wearing a muggle sweatshirt and dirty, ripped black pants. Strangely, he didn't look scared. He just looked bored, almost as if he didn't care what was happening to him.
Nevertheless, Arthur smiled broadly and closed the door behind them. "Good to see you, Severus," he said. Severus only nodded, glancing around the burrow with a strange expression on his face, almost as if he was seeing it for the first time. Arthur turned from him to the boy, who was also looking around, but his face was blank. "And you, of course," Arthur added. "Blaise?"
He turned, and his eyes swept over Arthur's face. For some reason, Arthur felt as though he was being shoved into a box, categorized. As if from that one glance, the boy knew everything about him. Or, at least, everything he needed to know.
"Yes," Blaise said, with a curt nod. Arthur waited patiently, but he didn't say anything else.
"Well, I'm Arthur Weasley," he said, and then waved his arm at the Order members at the table. "And this is…"
"Molly Weasley," Molly said, cheerfully.
"Moody," Alastor said gruffly. "But you already know that."
"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Kingsley announced.
"Tonks," Tonks said, shaking her bright purple hair out of her eyes.
"Mundungus Fletcher," Mundungus muttered.
They seemed so few, with Albus and Minerva and Remus missing. (Arthur refused to think about Bill or Charlie, who should have been there too.)
Blaise watched this silently. Arthur looked at him expectantly, but he made no sign that he had even heard. Arthur paused awkwardly, because he wasn't sure what else he could tell the boy. Could he tell them that they were all part of the Order? Or should he pretend that they were just randomly sitting together in Arthur's house?
Severus spared him from having to think. "The boy is exhausted," he whispered, quietly, but everyone heard. His arm was still firmly around the boy's shoulders, protecting him. They reminded Arthur fiercely of himself and his children.
Arthur nodded, too many times. "Of course. Er… what do you think, Molly? Ron's room?" he stammered, looking away from the fire in Severus's eyes to where Molly was wiping her hands on her apron. She looked… distressed, and Arthur wanted to go and hug her. But, instead, he waited until she shrugged and nodded, and then he turned back to where Severus and Blaise were waiting. "Ron's room it is," he announced, trying to sound cheerful.
Severus tightened his grip on Blaise's shoulder. "Lead the way," he said, stepping aside for Arthur to walk by.
He led them up the stairs and into the hallway, full of closed doors that made his chest ache. And into Ron's room. It was unnaturally clean - clothes folded, carpet spotless, everything put away. There were no Chudley Cannons' posters hanging precariously on the walls (he had taken everything with him to Hogwarts), no knick-knacks lying on the floor, waiting to be broken. Nothing but a plain, white, perfectly made bed, and a dresser full of empty drawers.
"Do you have anything with you?" Arthur asked Blaise.
He shook his head.
"Well… then, perhaps you can wear some of Ron's old clothes, the ones he's grown out of. I'm sorry that we can't buy new ones for you, and we would love to, but, you know, we've still got two kids to take care of, not to mention food and keeping up the…"
"It's fine," Blaise interrupted, stepping into the room and turning in a circle to look at everything. (Everything really wasn't much.) "Thank you," he added, turning to Arthur with dark, fiery eyes that made him almost want to look away.
"No problem," he said, slightly shakily, not sounding very cheerful at all.
And then, Blaise and Severus stood silently in Ron's room, without speaking. Just looking at him. Arthur stood there awkwardly for a few seconds until he got the hint. "Oh! Yes. I'll… I'll go. Goodbye," he stammered, and closed the door as he left.
He could hear the quiet murmur of voices almost as soon as he left, and he wanted desperately to hear what Severus was saying to the first person he had shown open affection to in a long, long time. Ever since Lily, and that awful visit to the hospital... Arthur had never seen Severus touch another person in a way that wasn't meant to be threatening.
So this was a good, good thing.
Arthur smiled to himself as he walked back down the stairs, and to the small group of Order members still seated around the table, still whispering to each other. He took a seat, and a sandwich from the platter Molly had prepared.
()()()
When Pansy and Hermione arrived back at the Room of Requirement, it was cold and dark. So Pansy lit a fire, and Hermione got out a game of Wizard's chess from the cabinet and began setting out all the pieces. They worked in comfortable silence.
And then, Pansy spoke. "I can't believe they're actually together," she said, in a voice laced with happiness. "Isn't it great?" she asked, turning around to face Hermione with a smile on her face.
Hermione smiled back. "Of course," she replied, although she wasn't entirely convinced. It didn't matter, she would keep her concerns to herself. "I'm glad he's happy," she finished, thinking of that rare, genuine smile that she always saw on Harry's face whenever he was around Draco, and telling herself that it was worth it.
But what if he finds out?
And what if…
Oh, stop. It's not up to you anyway.
So Hermione forced herself to smile as they came in, a few minutes later, with their arms around each other, smiling and laughing about something funny. She sat quietly by the fire as Harry kissed him on the cheek and ran his fingers through his hair, and Draco pressed in close to him, and rested his head on his shoulder.
Pansy laughed, which made Draco glare at her, and that only made her laugh harder, with her arms around her stomach and her head thrown back in the air, red hair flying. "Oh god," she said, when she had finished laughing and brushing tears out of her eyes. "This is too good."
They scowled at her, and she started to laugh again.
Is it though? Is it good?
Oh, Hermione. Don't be such a worrier. You'll just ruin their happiness.
She plastered a smile on her face, and forced out a laugh.
()()()
The Manor was burning.
When the death eaters tried to return, all they saw was the fire on the horizon. Smoke billowing up in clouds. And they could feel the heat on their faces, burning. So they stood in their black cloaks, like trees, in Lucius's garden, and watched it burn.
And then a blue haze settled over everything, covering the Manor like a blanket. It crackled, louder than the flames, and they could feel the coldness of the magic on their skin. And then the fire went out, with a hiss that left nothing but darkness and emptiness behind.
And Voldemort walked out the door. His pale, white skin shone brighter than the moon. His eyes were so bright. His hands were raised, and the blue magic flamed around them. When he reached them, he said, "You should thank me for saving your house, Lucius."
Lucius bowed his head. "Thank you, my lord."
"He is weaker than he thinks," Voldemort hissed, making a cloud of steam rise into the air. "I barely felt the heat."
The other death eaters didn't tell him that they had.
Voldemort began to pace, in agitated circles. "Yes, he is truly a weak little boy. A traitor. And all traitors are weak. But, on the day of the tournament, the wheels of my plan will start to churn!" he fixed his amber eyes on the group of death eaters, and raised a bony finger towards them. "You… you don't even understand, do you? The brilliance of my plan? You have no idea!" he raised his head and laughed, and then turned with a vicious twist of his robes, holding out bony hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stared at them from behind crazed yellow eyes. "I only have to kill the boys, and then the world is mine," he whispered.
"Then why doesn't he just do it?" Lucius wondered, silently. "We've waited here for so long, without doing anything. And he speaks of this great plan, but never carries it out."
"I can feel your doubt," Voldemort hissed. "But don't you see? If all I had to do was kill them, then I would have done it five years ago, when I had both of them in my grasp. No, this spell is too powerful to be finished by a simple death. It needs something stronger. An ancient spell, a Dementor's kiss, a… werewolf bite," he smiled, and his face looked like a skull in the light of the crescent moon. "If a werewolf were to have ingested a very powerful potion, one that made their bite so much more powerful. And so I hope that you will see… the dark lord always thinks through his plans."
He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the castle, with his robes flying in the wind like the wings of a bat.
()()()
Poppy squinted at the list of ingredients, again. Very few of the words were familiar, and she had a hard time reading them. Not to mention that most of the ingredients were tucked away in the very back of Severus's huge potions' cabinet, and that she had to dig through foul-smelling plants and bottles of sinister liquid before she found them.
Also, it was late. Almost midnight. And tomorrow was the day before the tournament, and everyone was stressed out, and oh this was just ridiculous. Why on earth did Severus need to make this extremely complicated potion now?
She just wished that he wasn't at the Burrow with Blaise, because then he could have found the ingredients himself, instead of making her do it.
24 Aconite leaves, he had written, in his cursive scrawl. Be careful, they are poisonous. Wear gloves.
Poppy pulled on a pair that was lying on his desk, and gritted her teeth as she rooted around in a pile of dark green leaves. She took a handful and set them on his desk, hoping that they wouldn't turn to acid and burn through it, or anything. God, she hated potions.
2 nightshade flowers.
Poppy dimly recalled being told in potions class that nightshade were poisonous, and so she hoped that her gloves were thick enough to keep out whatever toxins were hidden in those big, bright flowers.
15 Death-Cap spores.
Poppy groaned. Why were all of these ingredients poisonous? For so
()()()
"You can expect to stay here for a long time," Severus murmured, tracing the edge of a dresser drawer with the back of his pale, thin hand. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but it is the safest place."
"Don't worry. I just spent god-knows how long in a dirty, freezing cold dungeon underneath Malfoy Manor. This isn't inconvenient at all," Blaise said. His voice was strangely robotic, still void of emotion. Severus wondered how far he would have had to go into his mind until he found the emotions lurking there beneath the surface, and he wondered what they would be.
But he held himself back, didn't reach out. Blaise deserved better than that, than to have Snape poking around in his mind without permissions.
"You know," Severus began, leaning heavily against the wall and sighing loudly as his tired, aching bones relaxed. He folded his robes around himself and flipped a few strands of greasy hair out of his eyes. "That night that you climbed out the window… I was there. I heard it happen. And I could have stopped you."
Blaise watched him from behind masked eyes, and then slowly nodded. "But you couldn't. We weren't worth it to sacrifice your position among the death eaters. That makes sense. We're in a war, after all. I understand."
Severus looked at him from behind his crooked nose. Smiled slightly. A smile without any humor, and one that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course you do. But… you also know, that there may come a day when it is no longer worth it. When the dark lord will ask me to do something that would be more destructive than the loss of my position could ever be. And then, what should I do, Blaise?"
Blaise swallowed, and sat down on the bed, across the room. It creaked loudly. "Has that happened?"
Severus smiled wryly. "Not yet. And I hope it will not," and he pushed himself away from the wall, and walked forward, so that he stood looking down at Blaise from above. "But I will need you to help me, to make certain that it does not."
Blaise looked at the floor. "How?" he asked, quietly.
Severus sat down beside him on the bed. It creaked beneath his weight, breaking the fragile silence into a million, shrill pieces. Severus cleared his throat. "You do not have to do this, Blaise. You've gone through so much, that I would hate to be the one to put you through more. You could be in danger, and…"
"I'll do it," Blaise said.
Severus grimaced, but didn't argue. Instead, he sighed, and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. It was like a plain, blank sheet of parchment, and on it he could imagine figures, and shapes, and shadows, and the body of Blaise's father, crashing down onto the rug in front of the firelight. And Greengrass, as she was shot down by a killing curse. And the yellow eyes of Voldemort, staring into his soul.
He didn't argue, because he knew why Blaise was doing this. He had a drive, now. A never-ending determination to kill Voldemort, for all that he had taken from him. And he would never rest until that was done.
Severus understood, because he had it too. The little thing that poked into the back of his brain, never ceasing. Because Blaise had his father and Greengrass, and Severus had Lily. And they both wanted revenge.
Needed it.
"You may have to kill," Severus whispered.
"I'll do it," Blaise repeated, turning to look at Severus. His eyes were black and dark and hidden, but his voice was thick with emotion. "I'll do anything."
"Of course you will," Severus said, with a sigh. "Well, in that case, I retract my earlier statement. You will not be staying here for a long time. You will leave tomorrow, at sundown, with me. And then I will tell you my plan."
"Why can't you tell me now?" Blaise asked.
"I have to get someone's advice, first."
"Whose?"
Severus did not reply. It would sound ridiculous, if he told him the truth.
"Poppy Pomfrey," Blaise said.
Severus pulled himself out of his thoughts. "What?" he asked, turning to find Blaise, looking back at him steadily.
"It's her. I can see her, it has to be. And besides, you always think about her."
Severus stood suddenly, backing away from the bed. "You used Legilimency on me?"
Blaise stood as well, without looking away from his eyes. He raised his chin. "If I'm going to be part of this plan, I deserve to know who else is in on it. And who you're asking for advice, when my life in on the line."
Severus deflated with a sigh (he was so tired). "Well, if it's her, then I suppose you would want to back out. I wouldn't blame you."
Blaise looked surprised. "No," he said. "I would trust hardly anyone more. She saved me in the forest, from Theodore Nott. I trust her."
Severus swallowed again. "All right. Then… I will return tomorrow, at sundown. Be ready. And practice your Legilimency. Reach out. I have no doubt that you can complete the task, but it won't hurt to be sure."
Blaise nodded without speaking.
Severus nodded back, raised his wand, and Disapparated with a pop, leaving Blaise alone in an empty, gray room, with nothing but a chest of drawers and a lonely bed.
He closed his eyes, lifted his hands, and let the ribbons fall to the floor, slip under the door and fly down the stairs.
()()()
"Poppy," she heard him say.
She whirled around, without even pausing when she saw how pale he was, and how the frown made its way to his eyes. "What potion are you making?" she demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the ingredients laid out neatly on his desk. "Why are so many of the ingredients dangerous?"
Severus hesitated. "Poppy… I think I need to rest first."
She could see a haze of exhaustion covering his eyes, but she didn't care. "I'm tired too! I've had to stay up past one in the morning because I've somehow gotten roped into this plan of yours, and I've already traveled into dangerous territory to rescue a sixteen-year old, and now I had to sort poisonous flowers instead of sleeping in my white bed in the obnoxiously white hospital wing, like I should be," she stopped, breathing heavily.
Severus stared at her.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I just… I need to know what…"
"I can't tell you right now, Poppy," he said. "You should go back to your hospital ward, and sleep, like you want to. Good night."
Poppy nodded, without meeting his eyes. She brushed past him, and cast a glance at the ingredients laid out on his desk, but didn't ask. She walked across the room and reached the door. "Good night, Severus," she said, quietly. And she walked out into the dimly lit, cold hallway, and closed the door quietly behind herself.
But she stayed there, breathing softly. And she watched the candlelight flicker, sending spiked shadows dancing across the walls. And she listened to the sound of Severus opening a bottle of something, and the sound of the liquid spilling out of the bottle and down his throat.
She grimaced.
(And considered going back in, and telling him to put it down. Because drinking so many alcohol-drenched healing potions was bad for his health.)
How could she tell? She was a healer. She had trained for this sort of thing. But she didn't go back in. There would be time to tell him later. Right now, they all desperately needed rest. And Poppy's body was longing desperately for that warm, white bed in the hospital wing.
But some part of her wondered, quietly, why he wouldn't tell her what he was planning.
()()()
Finally, the castle slept.
And everyone in it.
Almost.
Regulus paced around Dumbledore's office, looking much like a shark, circling around its prey. He watched the clock as he circled the room, watching the seconds tick by. And when it struck two, he took a deep drink of a golden potion sitting on Dumbledore's desk, and ran out the door and down the stairs. He slowed as his muscles aged, groaned as his back became sore and his hair grew down into a twisted beard. His eyesight faded, and he picked up the glasses that were hanging on a string around his neck and slipped them on over his rather large nose.
"Lumos," he whispered, in an old, hoarse voice. And he walked down the dark hallways, forcing himself to act confident, as if he was meant to be wandering around the castle at this time of night.
In a way, he was.
And out the great hall doors he went, closing them quietly behind him. Running down the hill, groaning about the inconvenience the entire time. Finally, he reached the edge of the grounds, just out of sight of Hagrid's hut. And there he flicked his wand and Disapparated with a quiet pop.
()()()
Above the dark, sweeping lawns, Remus stood at his window, staring at the faint light of the crescent moon, and the place where Dumbledore had just been. He couldn't sleep. That was a normal thing, but this was different.
Behind him, a letter sat on his desk. Worn and faded, even though he had only received it a few days ago, before he had come to Hogwarts. He should have thrown it away, or burned it, but he didn't. And he read it often. Unfolded it with shaking hands, and then cursed himself for doing so. He would throw it back onto the desk in disgust.
But he would always come back.
Remus sighed, leaning his forehead against the cold glass, letting it numb his skin. He folded his hands behind his back and rubbed his fingers along the torn skin on the tips of his thumbs, where he had bitten his nails into ragged pieces.
Behind him was nothing but darkness. But he knew, that had he lit the candle that was waiting on his desk, he would have seen a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, all with rips and holes and little grey pieces of fur. And, if he had dared to look closer, at the seams of his old, worn coat, he would have found little dark stains. Blood.
Oh, he shouldn't be here. After all, Albus had said it himself… he wasn't fit to be the DADA teacher. What business did he have, then, to teach during the tournament? Albus was right - he was a danger to the students.
Perhaps this was some part of the wolf's brain, quietly convincing him to want nothing more than to teach, because that would make it easier to find something to bite.
Remus swallowed, and turned away from the window. He held up his hands to the moonlight streaming in through the window, turning them, watching the way that the shadows hid in the grooves of his knuckles and the lines of his veins. And he swallowed again, feeling the sharpness there, hidden beneath the surface.
Something was stuck in his throat.
And there was a loud knock, at the door. Three of them. Remus turned quickly, with a little jolt of surprise in his stomach. Who on earth could that be, at this hour of night?
And he drew his wand, because the chances of it being Flitwick coming in for a chat and a cup of tea were very slim indeed. The world was at war, after all. And.. (Remus swallowed again.) well, it would be prudent to be ready for anything.
He lit the candle with a flick of his wand, and breathed deeply as his approached the door, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.
But when he opened the door and saw Snape's face, pale and sallow and frowning deeply, he was torn between relief and something that was quite the opposite. Something within his heart did something strange, and he found that his hands were shaking around the door handle. He lowered his wand slowly, and Severus eyed it with contempt.
"Oh… Severus. It has been… a long time, hasn't it?" Remus whispered.
Snape rolled his eyes, apparently unaware that, aside from his unhealthily pale skin, sickly complexion, and greasy strings of hair, he also brought a multitude of memories that Remus hadn't dwelt upon in a long, long time. And it made his heart ache for James, and Lily, and… Sirius, in a way that it hadn't ached in years.
"Yes, it has. Care to let me in?" he drawled, with a sneer playing around his lips. But Remus couldn't open the door, because he was too busy staring at the deep frown lines around Snape's thin lips, and the wrinkles on his forehead, and the way that his eyes were hooded and void of emotion. He was taller than Remus now, so tall that he could actually look down on him from above his hook of a nose. And he raised an arched eyebrow, and cleared his throat.
"Oh!" Remus said, pulling the door aside with a jerk. "Y-yes, come in," he stammered. Oh, he needed sleep. He couldn't function like this.
Snape raised another eyebrow at the open window, with the moonlight streaming into Remus's room. And then he glanced at the clothes on the floor, and the little guilty piece of paper sitting on the desk.
Remus shoved the clothes aside with his foot, and shoved the paper into his pocket. He didn't close the windows. And then he fiddled with the edge of the frayed suit coat that he hadn't realized he was still wearing, but he was glad he was. Underneath it, all he had on was an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious in comparison to Snape's long black robes and crisply, probably magically, ironed black shirt.
Snape remained in the middle of the room, watching Remus. He cleared his throat. "You do realize that I'm the one who barged into your room at two in the morning unannounced, not the other way around? You have no reason to be so…" he gestured at Remus.
Remus laughed nervously, and he looked up without meeting Snape's eyes. Instead, he looked right at the place in between his eyes, so that he wouldn't have to look at them, because now they were black and emotionless and unnerving. "Er… speaking of that. Why are you here?" he asked, and he waved his wand to transfigure one of his dirty socks into a steaming pot of tea.
Which was now on the floor. And Remus had to bend down to get it, extremely awkwardly, while Snape's eyes followed him. Remus laughed again, and set it down on the little table in the center of his room He poured Snape a mug, and held it out to him.
Snape took it without speaking.
Remus poured one for himself, and then he waited, wondering if Snape had actually heard him. He was being so infuriatingly quiet, which meant that some things hadn't changed. He had always been quiet, always thought for a long time before he spoke.
"I have something I need to bring to your attention," he began, carefully. "Shall we sit?" he asked, gesturing towards the chairs around the table.
Remus thought, that if he was the type of person to blush, he would be red as a tomato right then. "Er… of course," he said, taking a hurried seat in the hard wooden chair and tucking his feet behind the legs.
Snape placed his mug on the table and leaned forward. "Can I trust you, Remus?" he asked, mildly, as if it was something he asked everyone he met.
Knowing him, it might have been.
Remus swallowed (again) and set his tea on the table as well. "Depends on what this is all about," he said.
Snape's face didn't change, but his voice seemed to darken, to intensify. "It's about the dark lord's plan," he murmured. "It's about the Burrow. It's about the Canis Ortum potion."
Remus breathed in sharply.
"I need your… advice," Snape said. "And your help. As a member of the Order. I am aware that you dislike me, but perhaps you can put your feelings aside for the greater good."
Remus shook his head. "I don't dislike you, Severus."
"Then why…" Snape trailed off. And the rest of the sentence hung unspoken in the air, but Remus tried not to hear it.
There was silence between them, but the eye contact felt louder than anything Remus had ever heard. Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, and Remus shifted uncomfortably. He felt like Snape was looking right through him.
"You were saying?" Remus said.
Snape shook his head slightly, as if he was trying to clear his thoughts. "Oh, yes. This… may take some time, by the way. I… well, I did just barge in unannounced, and I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to…"
Remus smiled slightly. He wasn't about to let Snape back out now. "I've got all night," he said, gesturing towards the clock on the wall.
Snape glanced at it as well. "Well, then I will have to start from the beginning."
Remus took a sip of tea.
()()()
Next: my new favorite chapter, along with a duel in a broom closet, the dada tournament for REAL this time, and something growing.
Please review! And, again, if you have any oneshot ideas for me, then PM me!