Pricking Achille's Heel
In the Infirmary, Debussy's Clair de lune was playing softly, broadcasted from the Muggle radio station Madame Pomfrey loved to listen to. The Muggles still had no idea of the calamity in the wizarding world, and they could peacefully listen to the beautiful lulls of music without worry. Voldemort had silenced all wizarding emissions so that only an eerie static remained when one switched on the radio.
Severus Snape glanced sourly at the stack of letters sent to him from Lucius Malfoy. Although he still hadn't figure out what to do about them, and the heap grew higher each day, he longed to chuck all the letters into the fire.
Grimacing, he smeared Cooling Custard on his mark, which burned constantly now. More than anything he wanted to go to Malfoy Manor (just so the pain would end) but for the moment, he couldn't even stand up. He wondered if Lucius and Voldemort would begin to suspect if he delayed any longer.
"Catch smallpox," suggested Sirius absentmindedly, when he'd found out Severus' dilemma from Professor McGonagall. "Then they can't force you to show."
"Let's go and find you a brain," laughed Remus, and Snape couldn't help but agree with the werewolf.
They left to practice curses, leaving Snape alone to smear more cream on his forearm.
* * *
Two men, one standing, one sitting, were in a white room with a white door and no windows. The man that was standing was robed in black, and the effect was striking against the white walls. Mundungus Fletcher was the other man, and he was being questioned by a Death Eater.
Luckily, since he was not a person of particular importance and his last name was not widely known, the Death Eaters did not suspect him, and treated him fairly hospitably, only taking away his wand. Alastor Moody, the legendary Auror, was recognized right away and removed.
"What's your occupation?" droned the Death Eater. Despite his monotone, his voice was rather high, so he couldn't have been much older than twenty.
"Fishmonger," said Fletcher, which was true. He'd worked part time at a fish market shortly after graduating from Hogwarts a long time ago.
"Why did you attack the Death Eaters?"
"Someone threw a curse at me first. Self-defense."
After a few more inquiries, they herded Mundungus into another room with sleek metal walls. Once inside, he saw Molly and Arthur there, as well as fifty more wizards and witches. A short while later, a fuming Arabella joined them. As she walked through the threshold, still shaking her fists in anger, Mundungus Fletcher noticed a curious thing. The door suddenly disappeared, blending seamlessly into the steel walls, completely undetectable. He wondered how they'd ever get out.
* * *
Hagrid had taken it upon himself to look after the Weasley kids. After warning the twins never to wander off grounds, and especially not the Forbidden Forests, he indulged them, letting them roam around the school (to Filch's displeasure), visiting places they'd not been before.
"I didn't know the Professors had an Arcade Room hidden in the seventh turret," said Ron after a long game of pinball, as they climbed down the stairs.
They bumped into a young man who seemed severely lost. Wallace Whitman had never gone to school at Hogwarts, and the twists and turns had baffled him.
"I was heading for…" he pointed in one direction, then the opposite, "but I seem to have lost my way."
"Do you if my Mum and Dad are okay?" asked Ginny. She'd already asked Professor McGonagall a thousand times. "You were there."
He could only tell her what he knew.
Ron looked miserable. "I just saw Sirius and Professor Lupin practicing Defenses and other curses. Is the war coming here?"
The question hung in the air for a moment.
"Will we have to fight?"
* * *
"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Professor Snape, looking hard at Professor McGonagall. "Are you sure this is wise? You do know what risks you're taking?"
She nodded.
"And your inflated Gryffindor pride isn't pushing to do this?" His voice was harsh, but she ignored the sarcasm for once. Her determination scared him.
"I need to. You know that."
He knew. She was going so that Voldemort wouldn't suspect him, so that he wouldn't have to feel the constant pain in his arm, so that they would be satisfied and leave him alone. And there was something more.
"Then why do you need my consent, if you're so determined?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
"Because it's proper," Snape said, answering for her. Then, more angrily, "You shouldn't have to suffer…" he corrected himself, "…to go in my place."
His eyes met hers. You know the consequences of getting caught.
She nodded again in that grave, emotionless expression.
All of a sudden, he just gave in. He didn't care if he'd feel guilty forever if she never came back. Although he loathed admitting it, he was tired, sick, and grateful that she was going instead of him. Indebted for life. He was too weary to care.
Handing her the train ticket, he nodded to her, giving her the approval she desired.
You'd better come back, and with Dumbledore.
Then, with every single ounce of strength left, he threw all the letters from Lucius Malfoy into the fire and felt inexpressibly lighter, watching the parchment furl and blacken into ash.
* * *
Malfoy Manor, perched at the edge of a lonely moor, was dark and cold even in the summertime. No one from the village had been to that chateau for nearly half a century. The station manager at the depot had been shocked to see a dark haired figure in a black cloak dismount from the train and walk the old overgrown path to the haunted mansion. The large flock of crows that blotted out the sky did not bother the peculiar traveler; nor did the creaking trees, all bare and brown, from where many more black birds hovering.
The walk itself took three hours and night had long since set over the moor. Upon arriving at the tall spiked gate, Minerva McGonagall, feeling slightly guilty that she had simply left Hogwarts without leaving her friends any explanation, muttered the words that Severus had told her and watched the gates part open.
At that moment, a large wolf-like dog bounded out of the gathering dusk, knocking her flat on her back. Unlike Fang's friendly overtures, there was a real menace in the dog's eyes, from his hot breath to his toothy snarl. Minerva didn't dare to push the one hundred pound dog off her chest.
"Back, Angelia," a cold voice called, and the dog bounded off. "I thought you weren't going to show," said Lucius Malfoy casually, "Come in, Severus. Why, you've washed your hair."
And thanks to a complicated Transfiguration, Minerva looked more or less like a tidier version of Severus Snape.
Lucius Malfoy snapped his fingers and a skeletal butler instantly appeared. "Vautours, show Master Snape to his room."
Although Malfoy Manor was the epitome of luxury, Minerva felt a deep sense of oppression as suffocating as the heavy velvet curtains that encircled her bed. It was always there, whether it was Vautours kicking the house elves for spilling the morning coffee over the tablecloth or Lucius' minimal acknowledgement of his wife at dinner. Draco had expressed it, too, though accidentally, during a Potions lesson.
"Sometimes, I hate my father," he fumed, "he expects me to follow in his footsteps, and he won't understand if I don't want to." (He wanted to become a movie director.)
Another frustration was that it seemed as if Lucius had called Severus Snape over to his house for no other reason than to discuss Draco's schoolwork. There was no mention of anything suspiciously or even remotely Dark, and certainly no mention of Voldemort or Dumbledore. From what Minerva could gather from her short (for suspicious Vautours was peering over her shoulder) explorations of the manor, there was no convention of Death Eaters who had responded to the Dark mark's call. But Lucius Malfoy would not let her return to Hogwarts either. This left her very uneasy.
Then one morning, she came down to the dining room to find Lucius' seat at the head of the table to be empty. "I don't know where he is, or how long he'll be," said Narcissa in a monotone. "Why would he tell me? He never does."
Minerva took Malfoy's leave as an authorization to start poking around, since Vautours was taking a day off since his master was not home. Delighted that there was no Potions lesson for the day, Draco left as soon as possible, shutting himself in his bedroom for the rest of the day. He had not bothered to say 'good morning' to his mother, and rarely spoke to her unless he was demanding something.
Immediately, Minerva went to the corridor in the south wing. It was a long, dark corridor that led to even darker gloom. Vautours had caught her poking about once, frowned, and sent her away, leaving her more curious than ever to see what lay beyond the shadows.
She found herself in an armory, a treasure hove of ancient swords and weapons. One rusty blade bore this inscription, "This is the sword of Hermod. May the rivulets of blood never cease to flow."
Through the cobwebs illuminated by the pale, cold light, she could see a small door in the corner, flanked by two knights in armor welding axes. There were no cobwebs strewn across the doorway, and the hinges were well greased.
After carefully removing the axes from the stone guards, she persuaded the doors to open and wandered down a sloping, wet tunnel that led to a bare room containing only a bookshelf by a large marble fireplace and a great portrait of some ancient forbearer with the cold, pinched expression of distain so often worn by Draco Malfoy. His dart-like eyes followed Minerva as she strode to the bookshelf and his mouth shifted into a deep frown.
"Why have you returned?" he wheezed, voice inflected with a trace of Middle English, "Haste back to Dumbledore, Severus Snape, if you can." Then, he cracked a dry, dead laugh.
Minerva's head jerked up from a complete list of Malfoy's connections, several names that she recognized as offenders whose crimes were beyond the reach of the law.
"What did you say?"
"You're such a imbecile, Severus."
"Be silent, Stanus Malfoy." (For the name was inscribed at the bottom of the portrait.) "Now tell me, what have you seen these past few days?"
The portrait of old Malfoy rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, looking oddly undignified. "Why should I tell you?"
"I'm capable of the Imperious Curse," growled Minerva, hoping he wouldn't ask her to back her claim. "Don't try me."
"You're still a true Death Eater," grinned the old man, clapping his hands in delight. "I wasn't sure if you still had it in you, after my great-great-great-great-great-great grandson told me you'd turned against us."
Minerva felt sick with the thought that she could pass for a Death Eater.
"Just yesterday, we brought a line of men in. One of them had a stump leg. That one struggled like a manticore and it took McNair, Crabbe and Goyle to subdue him. It's a pity he's not on our side…at least, not yet. We could use Death Eaters like him…. he's bred from the good old stock…aye, pureblood. Wizards today are not what they used to be. Now, in my day…"
The man's arrogant features softened as his memory drifted back to days gone past. "…and about a week ago, they brought this old man in, wearing a ridiculous purple robe. No wonder Dumbledore's folk are so easily beaten…only feeble men are left to fight for his cause. I don't see why Lucius had him doped up to the gills with the Draught of Living Death…he looks harmless enough. In my day, we'd didn't stoop to fight old men, but times have changed…."
* * *
Upon arriving home, Lucius Malfoy yelled at the house elves after being nearly suffocated by Angelia, who was a very fine watchdog, except for the fact that she couldn't distinguish friend from foe. As usual, he couldn't find Narcissa, but she had probably shut herself up in her room like she usually did. He couldn't image how he had ever been attracted to that woman. Draco was who-knows-where, but he hoped that the disobedient boy hadn't snuck off to the movie theater again, which was full of filthy Muggles. The thought made him shudder in disgust.
His visit to Diagon Alley had been very rewarding, and his Master would be very pleased to hear of the progress the apprentice Death Eaters were making. (And Pettigrew didn't think they were capable.) After being shut in the vaults of Gringotts for several days without food or water, most of the wizards had surrendered. Weak and vulnerable, they did not resist the Imperious Curse at all.
The first disagreeable thing that happened (after the dog incident) was that Severus Snape was not there to celebrate their triumph with him. Where was that man?
As he sped down the corridor, he noticed the door ajar in the Amory, and grabbed a sword, wondering what mischief was about in his house. Had Vautours wandered into the room and discovered his secret? Or worse, his wife?
Panting fast, he rounded the corner and saw a stranger in front of the portrait of his great great great (oh, he didn't care how great) grandfather and swung his sword at the intruder.
"How dare you!"
Lucius glanced at his sword and there was the bright stain of blood glittering upon the blade. Looking up, he saw Severus wince, clutching his side with blood red fingers. That wasn't whom he'd expected at all.
"Great gods! What are you doing here?"
The blood continued to spill. Severus looked frightfully pale, and Lucius strode to the fireplace to summon Avery, the only Death Eater with medical knowledge.
When he turned around again, he was even more surprised to see Severus gone and a woman in his place. His face curled into a sneer as he recognized the limp woman to be the person he hated the most in the world. After wiping his sword clean upon her bloodied robes, he walked out of the room and shut the door with a thud.
The portrait of Stanus Malfoy shook his head sadly, thinking, In my day…
A/N:
Thanks to all who reviewed and sorry this chapter took so long. I had trouble moving the story along…there are so many tangents waiting to be explored when a stranger (like Professor McGonagall) is placed in an unfamiliar, creeping old house. But it doesn't really feel that creepy, does it? Anyways, please feel free to critique and offer suggestions…suggestions are good.
