Chapter Eight
The sun shone through beautiful stained glass panes depicting a silver unicorn with two golden foals at its side, all nestled in lush greenery. At the corner of the panels were beautifully rendered flowers in delicate pinks, sapphires and corals. They flooded the already attractive tower rooms with bright colour, staining the grey stone a palette of bright shades. Pleasantly faded antique carpets covered the floor, except in the work area of course, in more muted tones, utilising patterns Albus had not seen before. The rest of Augusta's work room was more typical, consisting of scarred oak tables covered with bottles, vials and heaps of parchment scrolls, while no less than six cauldrons were scattered around the large round room, including the gold one with which he was currently working. The chamber allotted to him was up a circular stone staircase near the door and was just as beautifully decorated.
Albus had been surprised to find such a lovely set of rooms in Durmstrang, as they were so different from what he had come to expect. But then, he had not previously seen much of the castle itself, having spent most of his time in the cavern complex below. Still, in their hurried rush here the night before, he had received the impression that much of the rest of it was similar in design to the caverns; indeed, the bottom floors of the tower had seemed almost derelict, hung with cobwebs and covered in dust. Yet his current surroundings could not have been more pleasant; he even though he occasionally smelled a hint of honeysuckle on the breeze wafting in from the one window he had left open. He hadn't known honeysuckle even grew this far north . . .
"So, you have everything then?" Augusta bustled up behind him, her peacock blue satin robes rustling as they swept over the plush carpets.
"I believe so, but I've never seen a potion so complex before." Albus looked back down at the thick scroll he had been perusing. There had to be twenty feet of instructions, all written in faded emerald ink.
"You'll be fine, Albus, I have every faith in you. And it would hardly be a challenge if we made it too easy, would it?" She smiled brilliantly at him before disappearing in that disconcerting way she had. He sighed and decided not to look at the number of steps on the list-it depressed him as he was currently only on number four. Still, as difficult as the task might be, it would be worth it should he succeed. Yes, indeed, he thought, pulling on thick dragon hide gloves, the Triwizard Tournament was turning out to be much more of a challenge than he had anticipated.
* * *
Snape turned in front of the mirror, trying to accustom himself to the new body he was currently inhabiting. Apollo watched, with ill-concealed amusement, from his--no, her, Snape reminded himself, suppressing a wince-- position on a fat, velvet-covered chair near the bed. She grinned at him, her blue eyes dancing with merriment. "Don't worry--You'll fool everyone, I assure you. After all, I have considerable experience with this sort of thing." Snape glared at her reflection in the mirror but did not reply.
"Here," she moved up behind him and tucked a small flask into a pocket of his robes. He could smell whatever floral based shampoo she used, and feel her warmth briefly before she stepped away. "Just remember, every hour on the hour."
"I'm hardly likely to forget," he snapped, but the voice he was currently using failed to give the comment the patented Snape bite. No wonder Albus always sounded so damned pleasant--it was genetic.
"You don't know what we'll be facing," she commented, looking unconcerned, "and it IS easy to forget sometimes . . . even for me." She dimpled at him in that completely infuriating manner of hers. One of the most irritating facts about Apollo, out of a long list to which he added daily, was her complete disregard for his moods. She persisted in acting as if her little charade with the polyjuice was nothing more than a huge joke, with which he should be equally amused. Snape felt many things, too many to list even to himself, but amusement was nowhere among them. He decided again to refrain from comment, as his self-control had taken too many beatings lately to insure that a shouting match with the absurd creature behind him would not turn into . . . something else. He returned to his previous employment of trying to make the cursed robes he was wearing lay properly, but they refused to cooperate. He had just realised why when the door into his room crashed open and Delaia burst in with her usual lack of grace.
"Apollo, I just ran into McGonagall and he said . . . ," she stopped in mid- sentence, her expression changing from irritation to disbelief to joy in rapid succession. Before Snape could say anything, she launched herself at him, causing them both to fall to the floor in an inelegant heap. "ALBUS!" She was, Snape realised with horror, somehow managing to kiss him all over the face and cry at the same time. "I thought . . . I didn't know where to find you! . . . I can't believe . . . where WERE you! . . . Oh God, you're all right . . . I was so . . . she didn't hurt you, did she? . . . ," when the crazed girl began scrabbling at his robes, trying, he supposed, to discover any injuries, he quickly decided that he'd had enough. Before he could throw her off, however, she was grabbed from behind by a far from pleased looking Apollo.
"If you don't mind, dear," Apollo hissed, "this one's mine, I believe?"
Snape decided to ignore that particular comment, and covered his confusion by scrambling up from the floor and onto Apollo's vacated chair.
"Don't be stupid, Apollo, it's Albus!"
"Hardly," Apollo plunked her dazed relative onto a hassock and glared down at her. "THAT, dear girl, is Severus. I gave him polyjuice a few minutes ago to see if he could pass as Albus . . .," she suddenly looked amused again. "Apparently, there's no doubt there."
"But why?" Delaia glanced over at him as if she still didn't believe it, and tears began welling up in her eyes once more.
Oh God, Severus thought in disgust. What love did to some people--it was worse than a disease. "We were informed that the demented fools running this institution have decided to go ahead with the Tournament despite everything," he began, only to break off abruptly as he discovered yet another hidden pocket. After pulling out the curious item it contained and failing to identify it, he threw it on the growing pile of mysterious objects at his feet.
Apollo took up the tale. "So, we need an Albus, and since we haven't yet located the real thing, Sev has gallantly offered to take his place in tomorrow's events."
Delaia, performing one of her usual quick mood changes, looked between the two of them in mounting anger. "You mean you're actually going to waste time on that . . that nonsense when Albus could be . . . be . . . ," she obviously did not want to contemplate what might be happening to him at the moment, and Severus secretly did not blame her. He was ALMOST certain Augusta wanted Albus for the reasons he had previously stated, but then, Augusta had never been particularly predictable.
"And what the hell are you doing?," Delaia demanded, fury giving her face an unattractive mottled tone.
"Attempting to discern what arsenal Albus has secreted in his spare robes," Severus replied tetchily. He wondered, as his hands found another pocket, how one robe could possibly contain that many compartments; it must have been magically altered somehow. Delaia returned to arguing with Apollo, allowing him to finish cleaning out his apparel. The pile of found objects on the floor had grown to an unbelievable size by the time he finished several minutes later.
Delaia was sitting on the floor at Apollo's feet, looking up at her petulantly. "I still think it's stupid," she remarked.
"Stupid or not, it's the only way to proceed. We can't very well have Albus just disappear halfway through the Tournament. How would we explain his absence, or his reappearance later on when you find him?"
"I don't see why WE have to explain anything. Let Augusta explain what she's done with him!"
"Oh, yes," Severus looked up from rooting through the stack on the floor to regard her sardonically. "We'll just accuse the wife of one of Durmstrang's senior professors of kidnapping one of our students and demand that she return him. I'm sure that will be VERY well received."
"Well, why not?," Delaia rose to begin pacing agitatedly around the room. "Everyone around here acts like she's untouchable--why not make her answer some difficult questions--she could hardly hex all of us, and in front of the whole school, too!"
"She doesn't have to hex us," Severus pointed out, trying to remain calm. God, between the two of them he WAS going to lose his mind, if he hadn't already. "All she has to do is deny everything. We have no proof, other than your word, that Augusta has done anything with Albus. Besides, she hasn't lived here for decades without making strong allies. If we try to interfere, at least in so obvious a fashion, with her plans, she most certainly will make us regret it. And," he continued, forestalling more objections, "she DOES have Albus. She could easily inflict any number of very nasty revenges on him for any action we take."
Delaia looked somewhat subdued by this, but was apparently not ready to give up yet. "But, if you and Apollo and Sophicles are off at the Tournament all day, who is going to help me find Albus? I can't search this whole place by myself!"
"Take Valentin with you," Apollo suggested. "He surely must know the place by now, and he might like an opportunity to cause Augusta a bit of annoyance. I would, in his position."
"He's still in the infirmary. I need to go visit him . . . I haven't been in several days . . ."
"Well I have, and he is doing fine," Apollo assured her, "although it IS rather disconcerting to see a twelve year old with grey hair."
"But," Delaia looked confused, "I thought the talisman would take care of that."
"Apparently not. It DOES return the remainder of his life-force to him, but not that which was already consumed. And it seems, from what he told me, that Augusta uses her subjects up rather quickly. Returning her to youth and beauty is only one of the uses of the talisman. It also apparently allows her to draw on a wizard's, or witch's, power to enhance her own abilities. If she only used it to recapture her youth, one subject would last for decades, but the more . . . extra power she draws from it, the faster they are used up. And she pulled pretty heavily on Valentin's energy while she had him."
Delaia looked appalled. "But, you mean, he'll never regain what she stole?"
Apollo sighed. Snape was glad she had decided to explain matters to her niece, as he certainly did not feel like going into it again. Their talk with an eerily calm Valentin the previous day had been disturbing. The boy had calmly calculated that he had, perhaps, half his life-force left. "Although," he had remarked coolly, "it may be less than that, as I have no real way of calculating except her comment that, in a few more months, another subject would be necessary."
"But, what could she possibly be using that much power for?," Apollo had asked him as they gratefully escaped from the boy's bedside some minutes later. Snape had had no answer for her then, nor did he now. It was, however, the issue that haunted him, especially where Albus was concerned. Once he finished making the stone, or failed to do so, he would be no more use to Augusta except as another in her chain of human batteries. For, Snape thought grimly, the elixir of life would only give her immortality-- it could not increase her powers as the talisman did. It seemed probable that the only reason she wanted it was to allow her to use her subject's life-force entirely for the purpose of increasing her abilities, as much of their energy must be wasted at present in just preserving and extending her life. Yes, in all, he had to agree with Delaia. They needed to find Albus, and quickly, but they also had to maintain their cover story at the same time.
"What is all that?," Apollo was kneeling in front of him, examining the pile of items from Albus' robes. She was not currently using polyjuice, as they were alone in their rooms, Dorien still being in the infirmary recuperating from the shock associated with whatever the elves had done to him--Severus had carefully refrained from asking exactly what that had been- -and Sophicles was in the library. He had spent most of his days and part of his nights there recently. Snape did not know if that was normal for the boy or not, but frankly didn't care as long as it kept him safely out of the way. Both boys' assistants had left for Hogwarts the day before, Dorien's loudly proclaiming that Durmstrang was filled with lunatics and he never wanted to see the place again as long as he lived, a sentiment Snape was sure his fellow Ravenclaw would echo as soon as he was well enough to do so. Sophicles had, oddly enough, insisted that his own helper also return to Britain even though he remained in the contest. The lanky Hufflepuff who had accompanied him to the tournament had eventually agreed; Snape thought the boy's protestations had been somewhat forced, and that he was secretly glad to be out of the "lunatic asylum" himself.
In any case, their largely deserted rooms meant that Apollo did not bother to use the ployjuice disguise very often, usually only for the dinners that had resumed in the Great Hall despite most people's obvious reluctance to return there. He assumed the rather scary small woman who oversaw the housekeeping affairs had insisted. He had seen her standing grimly near the door to the cavernous room the night before, grimly surveying the exhausted house elves who staggered about with laden platters.
Severus did not blame Apollo for avoiding the potion as much as she could-- it was, after all, hardly a pleasant sensation, even for one as accustomed to it as she must be by now--but it did present him with frequent disturbing pictures, such as the tableau currently in front of him. Amber velvet robes, heavy with gold embroidery, pooled around the girl's elegant figure as she knelt, sorting through the heap of curiosities with a lazy grace. Her heavy fair hair--really, she did have an absurd amount of it, Severus thought absently--was held back from her face with golden cords, but masses of curls spilled down her back in careless profusion. Completing the disturbing picture were aquamarine eyes half hidden by ridiculously long lashes, alabaster skin, pink cheeks with DIMPLES for God's sake . . . Severus really wished he could think of a good, or just a plausible, reason to insist she take the damned polyjuice . . .
"Severus?" Apollo was looking up at him quizzically, holding some object in her hand. He had the feeling he'd been asked a question, but had no idea what it was. Delaia, unusually for her, came to his rescue.
"I know!," the girl snatched it eagerly from Apollo's hand. "It's a pensieve crystal. I used to have one of these."
"What does it do?" Apollo had, thankfully, shifted her attention away from Severus momentarily, allowing him a few minutes to regain some semblance of composure.
"It acts something like a computer note pad does for muggles." Apollo, not surprisingly, looked no less puzzled. Delaia saw her expression and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I keep forgetting what year it is. Anyway, you can use it like a regular pensieve, only it won't hold as many memories. It's meant to remind you of important things you need to do. I had to use one at school--I was involved with so many things my last year, there was no other way to keep up with them all."
"Well, let's see it then," Apollo took the small item back and held it up to the candlelight. "How do you activate it?"
Delaia snatched it back with what Severus thought was unnecessary force. "I don't think we should be going through Albus' personal effect like that," she responded haughtily, and fortunately for her, Apollo let it drop as her attention was distracted by another curiosity in the pile. Severus, who had remained alive this long by honing his naturally good observation skills to a fine point, noticed when Delaia surreptitiously dropped the object in a pocket of her robes. He prudently said nothing, however. Even when she made a childishly transparent excuse and withdrew from the room a few minutes later, he kept quiet, just watched her retreating form with an emotion approaching pity. It had been so long since he had indulged in any such feeling, that it took him a few seconds to realise what it was. It wasn't until he noticed that Apollo was also regarding the retreating figure with her blue eyes suspiciously bright that he managed to put a name on it.
"That's only going to make things harder," she murmured.
* * *
Delaia somehow managed to make it back to her and Albus' room without running into anything. Hands trembling, she took out the dark purple crystal and sat it on the table beside her bed. It balanced there perfectly on its tiny point, held up by a magical field. Its colour had told her at once that it was pretty close to being full--empty crystals were clear. She hesitated, wand in hand, not knowing if she really wanted to do this or not. Technically, she hadn't lied to Apollo--the crystals WERE used as memory aids at times, but that was not their primary function. Most people employed them as a way of preserving particularly precious memories that they wanted to carry along--rather in the matter of a portable photo album.
Delaia was rather afraid to see if she figured anywhere in Albus' list of important memories. If she did it would be hard; if she didn't . . . well, she wasn't sure if that would be better or worse, under the circumstances. Still, there was no way she was not going to look, regardless of how inappropriate it might be. Stamping down a flood of guilt, Delaia raised her wand and spoke the simple command to display the memories.
The room around her faded to black, then reformed into an entirely different scene. It was still dark, wherever she was, but her eyes soon adjusted, showing the room at Hogwarts she shared with Albus. Dim wandlight illuminated a form sleeping in front of her. After a moment of disorientation, Delaia recognised with a jolt that she was looking down on herself. Of course, she was seeing things through Albus' memory, wasn't she? Still, she couldn't think what was so important about remembering that. She was just glad she wasn't sprawled in some embarrassing position, but was simply sleeping, one hand trapped under her face and the other tangled in the bedclothes. She had barely time to notice that her hair looked a mess, cascading every which way over the white pillow in long black ribbons, when the scene changed.
Delaia sat in increasing awe as image after image flashed in front of her eyes: her astonished expression at the welcoming feast; her delighted face as she hexed Geoffrey and company on the Hogwart's stairs; her frown of irritation as she dropped her disguise in the gardens; her sleeping form in Apollo's rooms, face flushed from too much brandy; the kisses they shared in the Forbidden Forest; her guilty look as she tried to hide Apollo from him in the Hogwart's infirmary--God, I can't lie at all, can I, she thought bemusedly; the slow realisation that had crept across her features at the Triwizard selection as she worked out that Albus had no intention of going; her laughter that day by the lake, as he told her about Aberforth; her resigned expression as parcels and baggage rained down on her during their attempt to unpack on the first day at Durmstrang . . . it took her frozen brain a few moments to register the fact that they were all about her.
The crystal cycled through its entire repertoire and began again, but Delaia wasn't watching. She had her answer now--and it was definitely worse to know, she decided, before dissolving into helpless tears.
Sorry to everyone following this story for taking so long to post this chapter--life in the form of mid-terms intervened!
The sun shone through beautiful stained glass panes depicting a silver unicorn with two golden foals at its side, all nestled in lush greenery. At the corner of the panels were beautifully rendered flowers in delicate pinks, sapphires and corals. They flooded the already attractive tower rooms with bright colour, staining the grey stone a palette of bright shades. Pleasantly faded antique carpets covered the floor, except in the work area of course, in more muted tones, utilising patterns Albus had not seen before. The rest of Augusta's work room was more typical, consisting of scarred oak tables covered with bottles, vials and heaps of parchment scrolls, while no less than six cauldrons were scattered around the large round room, including the gold one with which he was currently working. The chamber allotted to him was up a circular stone staircase near the door and was just as beautifully decorated.
Albus had been surprised to find such a lovely set of rooms in Durmstrang, as they were so different from what he had come to expect. But then, he had not previously seen much of the castle itself, having spent most of his time in the cavern complex below. Still, in their hurried rush here the night before, he had received the impression that much of the rest of it was similar in design to the caverns; indeed, the bottom floors of the tower had seemed almost derelict, hung with cobwebs and covered in dust. Yet his current surroundings could not have been more pleasant; he even though he occasionally smelled a hint of honeysuckle on the breeze wafting in from the one window he had left open. He hadn't known honeysuckle even grew this far north . . .
"So, you have everything then?" Augusta bustled up behind him, her peacock blue satin robes rustling as they swept over the plush carpets.
"I believe so, but I've never seen a potion so complex before." Albus looked back down at the thick scroll he had been perusing. There had to be twenty feet of instructions, all written in faded emerald ink.
"You'll be fine, Albus, I have every faith in you. And it would hardly be a challenge if we made it too easy, would it?" She smiled brilliantly at him before disappearing in that disconcerting way she had. He sighed and decided not to look at the number of steps on the list-it depressed him as he was currently only on number four. Still, as difficult as the task might be, it would be worth it should he succeed. Yes, indeed, he thought, pulling on thick dragon hide gloves, the Triwizard Tournament was turning out to be much more of a challenge than he had anticipated.
* * *
Snape turned in front of the mirror, trying to accustom himself to the new body he was currently inhabiting. Apollo watched, with ill-concealed amusement, from his--no, her, Snape reminded himself, suppressing a wince-- position on a fat, velvet-covered chair near the bed. She grinned at him, her blue eyes dancing with merriment. "Don't worry--You'll fool everyone, I assure you. After all, I have considerable experience with this sort of thing." Snape glared at her reflection in the mirror but did not reply.
"Here," she moved up behind him and tucked a small flask into a pocket of his robes. He could smell whatever floral based shampoo she used, and feel her warmth briefly before she stepped away. "Just remember, every hour on the hour."
"I'm hardly likely to forget," he snapped, but the voice he was currently using failed to give the comment the patented Snape bite. No wonder Albus always sounded so damned pleasant--it was genetic.
"You don't know what we'll be facing," she commented, looking unconcerned, "and it IS easy to forget sometimes . . . even for me." She dimpled at him in that completely infuriating manner of hers. One of the most irritating facts about Apollo, out of a long list to which he added daily, was her complete disregard for his moods. She persisted in acting as if her little charade with the polyjuice was nothing more than a huge joke, with which he should be equally amused. Snape felt many things, too many to list even to himself, but amusement was nowhere among them. He decided again to refrain from comment, as his self-control had taken too many beatings lately to insure that a shouting match with the absurd creature behind him would not turn into . . . something else. He returned to his previous employment of trying to make the cursed robes he was wearing lay properly, but they refused to cooperate. He had just realised why when the door into his room crashed open and Delaia burst in with her usual lack of grace.
"Apollo, I just ran into McGonagall and he said . . . ," she stopped in mid- sentence, her expression changing from irritation to disbelief to joy in rapid succession. Before Snape could say anything, she launched herself at him, causing them both to fall to the floor in an inelegant heap. "ALBUS!" She was, Snape realised with horror, somehow managing to kiss him all over the face and cry at the same time. "I thought . . . I didn't know where to find you! . . . I can't believe . . . where WERE you! . . . Oh God, you're all right . . . I was so . . . she didn't hurt you, did she? . . . ," when the crazed girl began scrabbling at his robes, trying, he supposed, to discover any injuries, he quickly decided that he'd had enough. Before he could throw her off, however, she was grabbed from behind by a far from pleased looking Apollo.
"If you don't mind, dear," Apollo hissed, "this one's mine, I believe?"
Snape decided to ignore that particular comment, and covered his confusion by scrambling up from the floor and onto Apollo's vacated chair.
"Don't be stupid, Apollo, it's Albus!"
"Hardly," Apollo plunked her dazed relative onto a hassock and glared down at her. "THAT, dear girl, is Severus. I gave him polyjuice a few minutes ago to see if he could pass as Albus . . .," she suddenly looked amused again. "Apparently, there's no doubt there."
"But why?" Delaia glanced over at him as if she still didn't believe it, and tears began welling up in her eyes once more.
Oh God, Severus thought in disgust. What love did to some people--it was worse than a disease. "We were informed that the demented fools running this institution have decided to go ahead with the Tournament despite everything," he began, only to break off abruptly as he discovered yet another hidden pocket. After pulling out the curious item it contained and failing to identify it, he threw it on the growing pile of mysterious objects at his feet.
Apollo took up the tale. "So, we need an Albus, and since we haven't yet located the real thing, Sev has gallantly offered to take his place in tomorrow's events."
Delaia, performing one of her usual quick mood changes, looked between the two of them in mounting anger. "You mean you're actually going to waste time on that . . that nonsense when Albus could be . . . be . . . ," she obviously did not want to contemplate what might be happening to him at the moment, and Severus secretly did not blame her. He was ALMOST certain Augusta wanted Albus for the reasons he had previously stated, but then, Augusta had never been particularly predictable.
"And what the hell are you doing?," Delaia demanded, fury giving her face an unattractive mottled tone.
"Attempting to discern what arsenal Albus has secreted in his spare robes," Severus replied tetchily. He wondered, as his hands found another pocket, how one robe could possibly contain that many compartments; it must have been magically altered somehow. Delaia returned to arguing with Apollo, allowing him to finish cleaning out his apparel. The pile of found objects on the floor had grown to an unbelievable size by the time he finished several minutes later.
Delaia was sitting on the floor at Apollo's feet, looking up at her petulantly. "I still think it's stupid," she remarked.
"Stupid or not, it's the only way to proceed. We can't very well have Albus just disappear halfway through the Tournament. How would we explain his absence, or his reappearance later on when you find him?"
"I don't see why WE have to explain anything. Let Augusta explain what she's done with him!"
"Oh, yes," Severus looked up from rooting through the stack on the floor to regard her sardonically. "We'll just accuse the wife of one of Durmstrang's senior professors of kidnapping one of our students and demand that she return him. I'm sure that will be VERY well received."
"Well, why not?," Delaia rose to begin pacing agitatedly around the room. "Everyone around here acts like she's untouchable--why not make her answer some difficult questions--she could hardly hex all of us, and in front of the whole school, too!"
"She doesn't have to hex us," Severus pointed out, trying to remain calm. God, between the two of them he WAS going to lose his mind, if he hadn't already. "All she has to do is deny everything. We have no proof, other than your word, that Augusta has done anything with Albus. Besides, she hasn't lived here for decades without making strong allies. If we try to interfere, at least in so obvious a fashion, with her plans, she most certainly will make us regret it. And," he continued, forestalling more objections, "she DOES have Albus. She could easily inflict any number of very nasty revenges on him for any action we take."
Delaia looked somewhat subdued by this, but was apparently not ready to give up yet. "But, if you and Apollo and Sophicles are off at the Tournament all day, who is going to help me find Albus? I can't search this whole place by myself!"
"Take Valentin with you," Apollo suggested. "He surely must know the place by now, and he might like an opportunity to cause Augusta a bit of annoyance. I would, in his position."
"He's still in the infirmary. I need to go visit him . . . I haven't been in several days . . ."
"Well I have, and he is doing fine," Apollo assured her, "although it IS rather disconcerting to see a twelve year old with grey hair."
"But," Delaia looked confused, "I thought the talisman would take care of that."
"Apparently not. It DOES return the remainder of his life-force to him, but not that which was already consumed. And it seems, from what he told me, that Augusta uses her subjects up rather quickly. Returning her to youth and beauty is only one of the uses of the talisman. It also apparently allows her to draw on a wizard's, or witch's, power to enhance her own abilities. If she only used it to recapture her youth, one subject would last for decades, but the more . . . extra power she draws from it, the faster they are used up. And she pulled pretty heavily on Valentin's energy while she had him."
Delaia looked appalled. "But, you mean, he'll never regain what she stole?"
Apollo sighed. Snape was glad she had decided to explain matters to her niece, as he certainly did not feel like going into it again. Their talk with an eerily calm Valentin the previous day had been disturbing. The boy had calmly calculated that he had, perhaps, half his life-force left. "Although," he had remarked coolly, "it may be less than that, as I have no real way of calculating except her comment that, in a few more months, another subject would be necessary."
"But, what could she possibly be using that much power for?," Apollo had asked him as they gratefully escaped from the boy's bedside some minutes later. Snape had had no answer for her then, nor did he now. It was, however, the issue that haunted him, especially where Albus was concerned. Once he finished making the stone, or failed to do so, he would be no more use to Augusta except as another in her chain of human batteries. For, Snape thought grimly, the elixir of life would only give her immortality-- it could not increase her powers as the talisman did. It seemed probable that the only reason she wanted it was to allow her to use her subject's life-force entirely for the purpose of increasing her abilities, as much of their energy must be wasted at present in just preserving and extending her life. Yes, in all, he had to agree with Delaia. They needed to find Albus, and quickly, but they also had to maintain their cover story at the same time.
"What is all that?," Apollo was kneeling in front of him, examining the pile of items from Albus' robes. She was not currently using polyjuice, as they were alone in their rooms, Dorien still being in the infirmary recuperating from the shock associated with whatever the elves had done to him--Severus had carefully refrained from asking exactly what that had been- -and Sophicles was in the library. He had spent most of his days and part of his nights there recently. Snape did not know if that was normal for the boy or not, but frankly didn't care as long as it kept him safely out of the way. Both boys' assistants had left for Hogwarts the day before, Dorien's loudly proclaiming that Durmstrang was filled with lunatics and he never wanted to see the place again as long as he lived, a sentiment Snape was sure his fellow Ravenclaw would echo as soon as he was well enough to do so. Sophicles had, oddly enough, insisted that his own helper also return to Britain even though he remained in the contest. The lanky Hufflepuff who had accompanied him to the tournament had eventually agreed; Snape thought the boy's protestations had been somewhat forced, and that he was secretly glad to be out of the "lunatic asylum" himself.
In any case, their largely deserted rooms meant that Apollo did not bother to use the ployjuice disguise very often, usually only for the dinners that had resumed in the Great Hall despite most people's obvious reluctance to return there. He assumed the rather scary small woman who oversaw the housekeeping affairs had insisted. He had seen her standing grimly near the door to the cavernous room the night before, grimly surveying the exhausted house elves who staggered about with laden platters.
Severus did not blame Apollo for avoiding the potion as much as she could-- it was, after all, hardly a pleasant sensation, even for one as accustomed to it as she must be by now--but it did present him with frequent disturbing pictures, such as the tableau currently in front of him. Amber velvet robes, heavy with gold embroidery, pooled around the girl's elegant figure as she knelt, sorting through the heap of curiosities with a lazy grace. Her heavy fair hair--really, she did have an absurd amount of it, Severus thought absently--was held back from her face with golden cords, but masses of curls spilled down her back in careless profusion. Completing the disturbing picture were aquamarine eyes half hidden by ridiculously long lashes, alabaster skin, pink cheeks with DIMPLES for God's sake . . . Severus really wished he could think of a good, or just a plausible, reason to insist she take the damned polyjuice . . .
"Severus?" Apollo was looking up at him quizzically, holding some object in her hand. He had the feeling he'd been asked a question, but had no idea what it was. Delaia, unusually for her, came to his rescue.
"I know!," the girl snatched it eagerly from Apollo's hand. "It's a pensieve crystal. I used to have one of these."
"What does it do?" Apollo had, thankfully, shifted her attention away from Severus momentarily, allowing him a few minutes to regain some semblance of composure.
"It acts something like a computer note pad does for muggles." Apollo, not surprisingly, looked no less puzzled. Delaia saw her expression and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I keep forgetting what year it is. Anyway, you can use it like a regular pensieve, only it won't hold as many memories. It's meant to remind you of important things you need to do. I had to use one at school--I was involved with so many things my last year, there was no other way to keep up with them all."
"Well, let's see it then," Apollo took the small item back and held it up to the candlelight. "How do you activate it?"
Delaia snatched it back with what Severus thought was unnecessary force. "I don't think we should be going through Albus' personal effect like that," she responded haughtily, and fortunately for her, Apollo let it drop as her attention was distracted by another curiosity in the pile. Severus, who had remained alive this long by honing his naturally good observation skills to a fine point, noticed when Delaia surreptitiously dropped the object in a pocket of her robes. He prudently said nothing, however. Even when she made a childishly transparent excuse and withdrew from the room a few minutes later, he kept quiet, just watched her retreating form with an emotion approaching pity. It had been so long since he had indulged in any such feeling, that it took him a few seconds to realise what it was. It wasn't until he noticed that Apollo was also regarding the retreating figure with her blue eyes suspiciously bright that he managed to put a name on it.
"That's only going to make things harder," she murmured.
* * *
Delaia somehow managed to make it back to her and Albus' room without running into anything. Hands trembling, she took out the dark purple crystal and sat it on the table beside her bed. It balanced there perfectly on its tiny point, held up by a magical field. Its colour had told her at once that it was pretty close to being full--empty crystals were clear. She hesitated, wand in hand, not knowing if she really wanted to do this or not. Technically, she hadn't lied to Apollo--the crystals WERE used as memory aids at times, but that was not their primary function. Most people employed them as a way of preserving particularly precious memories that they wanted to carry along--rather in the matter of a portable photo album.
Delaia was rather afraid to see if she figured anywhere in Albus' list of important memories. If she did it would be hard; if she didn't . . . well, she wasn't sure if that would be better or worse, under the circumstances. Still, there was no way she was not going to look, regardless of how inappropriate it might be. Stamping down a flood of guilt, Delaia raised her wand and spoke the simple command to display the memories.
The room around her faded to black, then reformed into an entirely different scene. It was still dark, wherever she was, but her eyes soon adjusted, showing the room at Hogwarts she shared with Albus. Dim wandlight illuminated a form sleeping in front of her. After a moment of disorientation, Delaia recognised with a jolt that she was looking down on herself. Of course, she was seeing things through Albus' memory, wasn't she? Still, she couldn't think what was so important about remembering that. She was just glad she wasn't sprawled in some embarrassing position, but was simply sleeping, one hand trapped under her face and the other tangled in the bedclothes. She had barely time to notice that her hair looked a mess, cascading every which way over the white pillow in long black ribbons, when the scene changed.
Delaia sat in increasing awe as image after image flashed in front of her eyes: her astonished expression at the welcoming feast; her delighted face as she hexed Geoffrey and company on the Hogwart's stairs; her frown of irritation as she dropped her disguise in the gardens; her sleeping form in Apollo's rooms, face flushed from too much brandy; the kisses they shared in the Forbidden Forest; her guilty look as she tried to hide Apollo from him in the Hogwart's infirmary--God, I can't lie at all, can I, she thought bemusedly; the slow realisation that had crept across her features at the Triwizard selection as she worked out that Albus had no intention of going; her laughter that day by the lake, as he told her about Aberforth; her resigned expression as parcels and baggage rained down on her during their attempt to unpack on the first day at Durmstrang . . . it took her frozen brain a few moments to register the fact that they were all about her.
The crystal cycled through its entire repertoire and began again, but Delaia wasn't watching. She had her answer now--and it was definitely worse to know, she decided, before dissolving into helpless tears.
Sorry to everyone following this story for taking so long to post this chapter--life in the form of mid-terms intervened!