A/N: I do apologize for the delay. One of my cats, Pyewacket, passed away, a little after one o'clock early Christmas morning. He had been ill, but it was still a blow, and he will be greatly missed. Thank you for all your reviews, as little else makes me feel quite as reassured that this writing is not just utter tripe. Oh, and to the dear reviewers who read this story in one sitting, I applaud your patience. I can scarcely read an email without stopping to stroke a cat or get a drink. Here you go.
Chapter Fifty-Eight: Approaching It Pensively
"It was a matter of Nazis when I first came. Like in the old movies and videogames, y'know, kill Hitler, the heads of the nest, and all the others will be all right, once you've deprogrammed 'em. Now it's looking more like a plague. You have to kill everyone infected before they spread the germ." Cass sighed and shrugged, palms upward. "I know that's ridiculous, and it's wrong to kill the drones and the Death Eaters, but after all they've done it's hard not to want to empty clips into their guts, y'know."
"I think you have every right to feel fury. You've lost things in this war."
"Oh, right. I got beat up once. Harry's lost his parents and a godfather, Neville's lost his parents and has to smile in the face of their torturer, and Draco's father is almost certainly a total loss to the Dark-"
"You underestimate yourself," the bearded Interim Minister of Magic observed, his blue eyes not twinkling, but kind just the same. "Did you read the headlines after Bellatrix hexed you? The curse was aimed for my head and struck your left arm."
"I was a little too beat to read all of 'em…"
"Cassandra, the curse did strike my left arm. A commander or a headmaster is nothing without his professors. You and Severus and the other Aurors have contributed so much and offered sacrifice so willingly, and yet the public assumes you're merely here for the fight." Dumbledore smiled. "I know full well why you're really here."
"But maybe I didn't arrive for idealism or to win," Cass mused, frowning. "Maybe I came more for the adventure than for the cause of right."
"Or maybe you came to Britain because you were needed and you knew you could be useful. We all seek adventure, especially when we're young, but you knew about the risks, and you faced them anyway. That doesn't seem to me the work of a thrill-seeking, jet-setting showoff Auror with a gun. That looks like courage. If you had been in it for the fun, you would have left with the first victory or the first defeat, and you wouldn't have taken it so to heart. Look at how you reacted to Maria Catesby's situation. And look at how you and Severus work together now. It's not just Hermione who brought him from his shell. You and John had a hand in it."
"But what if she isn't found?" Cass couldn't meet Dumbledore's eyes for a moment, her own were so full of tears. "What if we find her the way we found Goyle, or if they torture her, or…"
"I think we will get her back. Not all Malfoys are as evil, or as helpless, as they look."
**********************************************************
Only in Richmond, Virginia, during the warmest Christmas season on record, could a blueblooded son of the house of Malfoy don a stupid-looking apron and barbecue with his little son.
"Katie, m'love!" Salazar greeted, as his beautiful young wife stepped onto their terrace. Little Theodoric Malfoy, aged three-and-a-half, set down his own spatula and looked to his father quizzically. "Almost time, Theo."
"That was Ringo Tyluh on the 'phone, deah. D'y'all feel up to England this weekend?"
"Why, certainly!" Sal grinned and opened a bag of potato chips. "But first, you must have a hamburger, darlin'. Theo did this one all by his wee lonesome."
"Did y', Theuh?" Katie bent down and held out her arms to her little boy, who kissed her cheek and returned the hug like a very proper little Southern or British gentleman.
"Yes, ma'am. Just as y' like it." The boy, whose tawny hair had been allowed to grow like his father's into a tousled mane, confined by an aristocratic bow at the back of his neck, sliced a bun and began sprinkling a combination of sauces onto the bread surface. Theodoric spread them evenly with a knife, then picked up his spatula and carefully transferred the burger from the grill, avoiding the heat by means of his daddy's oven mitt, which went up nearly to his armpit. He flipped the meat neatly onto the bun, only a little off-center, and even as his parents talked over his head he slyly nudged it to where it should be.
"It's the w-a-r and the k-i-d-n-a-p-p-i-n-g," Mother explained to Father. It definitely needed lettuce. "They sent a s-p-y and Cass went-." Mother made a gesture "-again."
"Will we be visiting Auntie Cassandra, Mother?" Theodoric asked, between leaves of carefully placed lettuce atop the meat.
"Yes, dear," Katie replied absently. "I think it would be best to have the tactical-"
"I'd best make her a burger also," Theo mumbled thoughtfully. He sliced another bun and repeated the ritual of the sauce, only with more buffalo sauce and no mustard. Lots of buffalo sauce. If it didn't make her ears steam, Auntie Cassandra was unlikely to enjoy the hamburger properly.
Oh, yes, and pickles. Auntie Cassandra adored pickles, even if Mother and Father didn't especially care for them. Theodoric couldn't remember personally, but could recall being told, how his Auntie had once given him a whole dill pickle, not a spear, to teeth on and scandalized Grandmama. Since earliest babyhood, thus, the little blueblood was a junkie for river-rat deli food.
He sliced a tomato and laid thick slices onto the burgers, then closed them, added sword-shaped toothpicks, and set them onto plates. For his father, he used no buffalo sauce, but extra Thousand Island dressing and a slice of cheese, with exactly nine strips of bacon between cheddar and bun. His father's first bacon cheeseburger had been his first meal on American soil, and the aristocrat had never quite recovered from the subsequent addiction for dual-meat sandwiches.
His parents were still having something between a conversation and a spelling bee over his head, so Theodoric decided to act on assumption and placed chips on both plates before fetching the foil to wrap up the ultra-hot, Tabasco-laced buffalo burger he had prepared for Auntie Cass. He quickly slipped it into the new lunchbox Mother had bought for preschool, so that he could deliver the treat in prime condition. If he knew Mother and Father, tactical discussions during dinner usually meant leaping on a broom to cross continents before dessert. Theodoric didn't have the heart to tell them he could spell every word they used, never mind recognize tactics debate when he heard it. The ladies at preschool called him 'gifted.' Mother called him 'three-going-on-thirty.'
******************************************************************
The dream was as vivid as life in places, blurred and faded like a old photograph in others. There was his beloved, stirring a potion, her hair falling occasionally in her eyes. There she was again, reading. Asleep, leaning on him in the back of Cassandra's black car. Playing chess with Weasley in the library and looking mortally offended by the action of a bishop. Kissing him goodbye and stepping out the door-
Maybe forever.
Severus opened the Firewhiskey Cass had insisted he confiscate after the discovery of her condition. After a moment of contemplation, a glass seemed ridiculous, for as often as he and John had kept the female werewolf from drowning her brain in booze, he was to the point where it seemed like she had some good ideas. Better a burning tongue and a warm feeling in his gut than the ache in his heart.
One sip. No good. Half a bottle did no better.
A whole bottle took the edge off.
One and a half…
Drunks, it has been observed, either rage and yell and get into vicious fights, or they cry. Severus didn't have the heart or the energy left to rage, and he didn't have the control not to let his emotions overpower him –for once.
It was perhaps lucky, however, that the dour potions master fell asleep in his chair. When he would wake up, twenty hours later, with a salt taste in his mouth and a blistering hangover, it would be after two of the most hotly debated and historically legendary events of the Second War.
******************************************************************
"Donaghan, will you please let me out of this?"
"Na."
It was humiliating to lose one's temper in front of all hell's half-acre, even if one was more than well justified. It was worse to require tying to a chair in the minds of one's coworkers, even if she had been a bit on-edge after taking on Pansy. Hadn't she been civilized enough to chat with Dumbledore? She wasn't likely to try something stupid –okay, she was, but it was really offensive not being trusted.
What really broke the meter, however, was having an obnoxious little Scot refuse to turn you loose, even when you begged.
"Please, Donaghan. I'll turn on Pac-Man for you."
"Y're after bein' s'pose ta' stay put, lassie."
"Who're you callin' lassie? I'm old enough to be your mum!" Cass immediately went white, realizing her gaffe. "Oh, Donnie, I'm sorry…"
"S'ar'right." The little boy sat down at the small table John had built for him and resumed crayoning on a piece of construction paper. Cass, feeling horrible, tried to brighten him up:
"What'chu drawing?"
"I'm na' drawing."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Are you coloring?"
"Na."
"Can I see?"
"Na. Still got a few letters."
"Donaghan, are you writing your name?" The Yank was incredulous. "You can write already?"
"Yep."
"May I see now?"
"A'most."
A few moments passed, and finally the little Scot looked down at a completed work of preschool calligraphy. He opened a safety pin and, despite his babysitter's protests, attached the note to her shirt, out of reach of teeth. "I'm after bein' back in a minute, lassie." The boy ambled off toward the kitchen, in search of graham crackers and peanut butter.
Cass swore. After a few minutes of decidedly un-chiropractically-correct maneuvering later, she deciphered the upside-down lettering:
'DON'T LET LOOSE. RABIED."
"I haven't either got rabies!"
"Well, I canna' spell temp'rary 'nsan'ty!"
"Great. Now any visitors will assume I'm not only nuts, but rabid," Cass growled to herself. "Does the phrase 'bribery' mean anything to you, Donnie?"
"Auntie Cassandra!"
It was Theodoric, a Mickey Mouse lunchbox and book in hand. "What the devul ah you awl tied up faw?"
"Theodoric! Wonderful!" Cass quickly summoned every ounce of fairy-godmother charm –not that she had all that much, and turned it on the little Southerner. "It's lovely to see you, dear, would you please set me loose?"
"Na!"
"Who ah you, suh, to hold a lady and an officuh in bondage?" Theodoric inquired of Donaghan, looking rather like a smaller, braver Ashley Wilkes. "And not even huh husband!"
"Oh, gods."
"I am Donaghan Macduff Connor MacPhersen o' the Southwarke MacPhersens, an' this lady is my babysitter."
"I, suh, am Theodoric Lucius Beauregard Malfoy of the Salazar Malfoys an' this lady is not only my babysittuh as well, but she is also my honorary aunt."
The two little boys glowered at each other for a moment, then Cass coughed slightly.
"Er, gentlemen? Would one of you mind awfully…?"
"Na, Per'fessor, y' kna' Per'fessors Snape an' Tyler said you were to stay put here."
"Professor Snape?" Theodoric brightened. "He's a friend of my father's. How is he?"
"Right snarky."
"How d'y' know Auntie Cassandra, suh?"
"She's after bein' a per'fessor 'ere, an' I've been stayin' with she an' 'er husband, Per'fessor Tyler, 'til the Peatbog's ready."
"Peatbog?"
"My fam'ly castle. I'm after goin' ter' live wi' my gran'father."
"Ah." Little Theodoric appeared to consider this. Clearly, Donaghan, in possessing two middle names and a castle, was his equal in rank, which meant that instead of treating him like an ordinary obstacle, he would have to challenge him to a duel to free his auntie from the armchair. He pulled off his glove. "Ah'm not tryin' to offend you, suh, but this lady is my auntie, and I cannot have huh tied to any chair."
"Th' other per'fessors said she would fein stay there until they set her loose." Donaghan looked equally regretful for a moment, then he recalled the Nintendo set upstairs. "A duel, d'ye think?"
"A duel, suh."
"You play Pac-Man?"
"Why, yes, suh!" Theodoric looked pleased and offered a handshake. "A duel!"
And it was thus that very happily indeed, the two little boys went off to 'duel.' It should be remarked that after the second level, both forgot entirely about Cass.
It should also be remarked that she recalled borrowing some of Sevvy's shoes, as her own had for some mysterious reason ceased to fit. She wasn't quite out of her jeans yet in terms of showing, but her feet had gone from eight-and-a-halfs to 'owwww.' The shoes in question were in fact boots, specially made by a London cobbler and retrofitted by American Auror George 'Smokey' Tyler –with toe blades.
Ropes weren't so hard after all to cut…assuming one could get one's own toe to one's waist or wrist…
***************************************************************