Chapter 36 Two Snapes
A/N: Special thanks and praise to Derron Comes Ripping, who provided the Gaelic translations in this chapter.
"It's too quiet. I don't like it, Albus." Minerva McGonagall sat rigidly upright on her chair, her hands clenched in her lap.
The Headmaster rose from behind his desk and came around to sit on a chair facing his Deputy. "Minerva, we'll have warning. Severus' Dark Mark will alert him that Voldemort is ready to begin his attack, and we'll be able to get everyone into position."
The witch reached out and clasped his hands in hers. "We will have only a few moments, Albus. Once the Death Eaters have assembled, they'll Apparate as close to the castle as they can, and swarm over us like poisonous wasps. I know we've done all we can, but are we truly ready to face them?"
"We will have to be ready, won't we?" He sighed. "We've done everything; even alerted the Ministry that they must come directly we call them. Severus has the potion ready; Holmes and he are prepared to strike."
"You know the prophecy. Harry Potter is to be the one who kills Voldemort; and yet we assume that what Holmes and Severus have in mind will work. You know Potter; he has an odd way of popping up in unexpected places, and if we succeed, I shouldn't be surprised if Potter has something to do with it."
She stood up and smoothed her robes, and the Headmaster stood with her. "Albus, we've faced so many trials together. I pray that we survive this one." She held out her arms, and they clasped each other tightly, old fighting comrades, old colleagues, old lovers for countless years.
"We'll win, my dear. We will win."
Sherlock Holmes slouched down in his chair, his feet propped on a small table, and steepled his fingers. "Can't you leave off pacing for a bit?" he asked plaintively.
Severus Snape's tall, thin figure had been stalking back and forth, back and forth, for over an hour. Everything was in readiness; Snape's robes and mask hung from a clothes-tree. He stood still.
"Where is the potion?"
"I have it here, "replied Holmes, indicating a glass tube with a cork stopper. In it, a cloudy liquid swirled with iridescent streaks. "I must charge the hypodermic and secure it so that it does not prick me. The needle must be covered until I am ready to use it."
Snape nodded. "I shall fetch you a set of Death Eater robes." With that, he left, and went into his private quarters.
"Thanks, Snape," said the detective, and took the robes from the man's arms. In a moment, he had donned them, put the cloak hood over his head and taken the silver mask in his hand. "How do I look?"
Snape regarded him. "Hideous. It is like looking in the mirror." There was a small mirror on the wall, and both men stood side by side in front of it.
"Egad, Snape, I have never been a beauty, but I did not realise how truly ugly I am," said Holmes. He smirked at Snape. "Nor did I realise I had an equally ugly twin brother." He turned to the workbench and carefully charged the hypodermic syringe with the potion, then secured a small metal cap over the needle's point. He wrapped the apparatus in a cloth and tucked it carefully into the pocket of his robe. "Let us go up to the Great Hall; it will save us time when the summons comes."
Together, the Potions Master and the Great Detective left the laboratory and made their way upstairs. As the entered the Great Hall, three figures froze: Harry and Ron put their arms protectively around Hermione. Two Snapes?
"One of them's Mr Holmes," said Hermione. "I have no idea which is which."
One of the black robed figures approached the three. From behind the mask, came the muffled voice of Severus Snape: "Remember your positions. Do not do anything foolhardy, and that, Miss Granger, includes gratuitous acts of Gryffindor bravery."
"We won't, sir," said Ron. "We know what we have to do." With that, he and Harry ran up to the gallery, where two sixth-years were minding the siege engine and its ammunition bucket filled with Awful Eyeful pellets.
Hermione put her hand on Snape's arm. "Whatever happens," she said in a small, quiet voice, "I will be with you." Her large brown eyes caught Snape's black orbs and held them.
He put his hand over hers. "I will return to you," he promised. "Stay safe." Hermione turned and quickly walked over to stand next to Maura McNicholas at an improvised medical station.
Maura wiped her brow with her handkerchief, noting the sweat and dirt on the linen. She'd worked side by side with her friends, preparing the Great Hall for the impending battle, practicing what she remembered of her Tae Kwon Do, learning to handle a quarterstaff. "I've never been in a fight, Hermione," she said. "I hope I don't make a mess of it."
Hermione grimaced. "We'll do the best we can. I, personally, would like the opportunity to punch one of them on the nose or crack his skull with a quarterstaff."
"Well," said Maura, "wouldn't I love to kick Malfoy in the balls? Not that it would make much difference, in his case!" The two girls collapsed into each other's arms, laughing. The impending presence of the Headmaster caused them to straighten up and try to stifle their giggles.
"Miss McNicholas," said Albus Dumbledore, "your help has allowed us to battle the influenza and return to health, and, I might say, were it not for you; we should not have the assistance of Sherlock Holmes." He put his arm fondly around her shoulders. "I wish you could remain with us; I think you would be an admirable Professor of Muggle Studies, at the very least. But it's time you returned home, my dear. It isn't safe for you to remain here; we will be engaged in a fierce battle shortly."
"Headmaster, there has to be something I can do!" Maura had been through some of the worst days of her life, and now she was to be faced with another worst day: Headmaster Dumbledore was making arrangements to get her out of Hogwarts with all possible speed.
"And what about Hermione? She's still too weak to fight! And Holmes? He's still here; he'll have to go back too..." She shook her head. She was too tired to argue any more. All she wanted to do was to climb into her four-poster bed with Crookshanks and go to sleep,
The aged wizard took her hand. "I know you're worried about Miss Granger, my dear,"he said. "I am confident that she has been restored to full health. You must be away from here before the battle begins." He looked at her seriously, no twinkle now in the blue eyes. "If Voldemort were to catch you, he would attempt to use you for his evil purposes. For your own sake, and for ours, you must be out of harm's way." His grandfatherly hand pulled her close, and she rested her forehead against his white beard.
"I don't want to go," she whispered. The truth poured out: "I could be happy here forever. I've come to know and love everyone, they're my family now."
Dumbledore patted her head. "Do you remember the story, 'The Wizard of Oz,' by Mr Frank Baum?" he asked. "The heroine, Dorothy, says the same thing you have just said to me, to the good witch Glinda. I will say to you, then, what Glinda said to her: 'There's no place like home.'"
Maura hugged the old man. "I'll miss you terribly," she said. "I'll miss Hermione and Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey, and Brigit, and even Snape, and of course the students." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm glad I was able to help." She thought a minute. "It's still our secret, isn't it, how Sherlock Holmes came to Hogwarts?"
"Yes, indeed. Those who know are trustworthy. I had hoped to give Mr Holmes a proper sendoff, you know. I wanted to confer an honorary professorship on him, and have a banquet in his honour, with a staff photograph and all. It's a pity there isn't time."
Maura clasped Dumbledore's hand. 'There's no time for proper good-byes, but you never know what the future holds, Headmaster." She smiled. "I might just write myself back to Hogwarts!"
Dumbledore took her down the spiral staircase and around to the side door of the castle, where a plain black car waited. Whinny trotted up with her Rollaboard. The house-elf hugged Moira's knees. "Have a good trip home, Miss Maura," she said.
Maura turned to Dumbledore: "Please! Let me just say goodbye to Hermione. I won't be but a minute."
Dumbledore sighed. "Very well, but please be quick. Voldemort may strike at any moment. "
Hermione put her arm around Maura. "We don't have much time. We're just waiting for Professor Snape to tell us that he's been Summoned. You've got to get out of here!"
Maura took her friend's hand. 'Hermione, I can't believe I'm leaving you and everyone else here, and not fighting at your side! We've been through a lot together, and I'm not great at saying goodbye to good friends."
Hermione's brown eyes smiled. "Have a good trip home, Maura," she said. "Don't worry about me – or Mr. Holmes. The Headmaster will make sure he gets home safely." She held out her arms, and the two young women hugged each other fiercely.
A sudden commotion caused them to look towards the side of the Hall: Severus Snape was bent double, with Holmes supporing him. "His Dark Mark has just begun to burn!" Holmes stated. "He has to leave; our count-down begins now!" Holmes helped Snape to walk to the doors of the castle. The Potions Master straightened up, took the mask from his face and looked at Hermione Granger. "I shall return to you," he mouthed, then clapped the mask back in place. A loud "Bang!" and the air rushed in where he had stood.
Students were running everywhere. The larger ones were carrying quarterstaffs; some had clubs. The smaller and younger ones had flasks of what was probably itching potion. Neville towed her to the side door, and then wheeled, blanching. Through the glass doors, he could see an approaching group of black-robed Death Eaters.
"Neville! Take Miss McNicholas down to her car, it's waiting by the kitchen!" Hermione gave Maura one last hug, then pushed her into the hands of Neville Longbottom.
"This way!" he puffed, leading her down two sets of staircases to the kitchens. The black car waited outside the kitchen door.
Finbar had already started the engine of the car. Jack looked around, and shouted into the driver's window. "Mothaím láithreacht an Tiarna Dhuibh gar dúinn. Ní mór dúinn í a thabhairt amach as an áit seo." "I feel the Dark Lord's presence near; we must take her out of here."
"Cuirfidh ár láithreacht trí chéile é. Ní mór dúinn í a choinneáil in aice linn," answered Finbar. "Our presence will confound him. We must keep her close to us."
Jack jumped into the passenger seat, and Finbar backed up the car as close to the door as he could. "Beidh sí againn faoi cheann cúpla nóiméad. Neart dúit!" Jack strained out of the window, hoping to see Maura approaching the car. "We'll have her in a few minutes. Strength to you!"
"Neart duitse freisin. Deimhneoidh mé an chosaint ar an gcarr," Finbar replied. "Strength to you as well. I'll check the wards on the car." He closed his eyes for a moment and held both his hands up, palms facing. "It's well." He looked around; "Here she comes."
The back door of the car opened, Maura half-fell inside, and the door slammed. The car took off – literally, rising above the surface of the road. And it's not even a Ford Anglia, she thought, belting herself in securely. The car circled the castle and then gained altitude, flying into a fluffy white cloud.
Jack turned around. Oh, if you give me that lopsided smile I'll have to kill you, she thought, but his face was serious. "We'll be at the airport shortly," he said. "You're safe, Miss Maura."
She must have dozed in the car. When she awoke, Jack was shaking her shoulder. "We've arrived, Miss Maura." Finbar got out of the car and shook her hand. "Safe journey, Miss Maura. Blessed be," he told her, and laid his hand on her forehead. He called something in Gaelic to Jack and got back into the car.
Jack hurried Maura through check-in procedures and even went through Security with her. He brought her to her gate as the passengers began to board the aircraft. She looked at him: no trace of the two-faced Death Eater who had given her such a terrible time, just a plain, high-cheekboned Irish face with bright blue eyes and short dark brown hair. He pressed a paper sack into her hand: "Brigit and Dame Angharad sent ye some good things to eat on the plane, "he said. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, a gentle, sweet kiss, whispered, "Blessed be," and sent her down the Jetway.
Maura settled herself in her seat. The plane was far from full; I can lift up the armrests and stretch out if I want to, Maura thought with glee. She'd always wanted to do that, and now she just might get the chance! Takeoff was uneventful, and there was nothing to see out of the windows of the 757. She opened the paper sack: a veritable Hogwarts feast lay within. There were slices of dense, rich wheat bread with yellow butter, a good wedge of Caerphilly cheese, two small, fragrant red and yellow Hogwarts apples – and a package of chocolate frogs. Tears ran down Maura's face and bounced off her smiling lips. What a time, what a time I had! What a story this will make, if I ever get the nerve to write it! She bit into an apple, and the sweet juice squirted all over her hands.
Maura's head jerked upright. She'd been sleeping at her desk! Her clock told her she'd been asleep for an hour. Her Internet connection had logged her off for lack of activity. Her neck ached. She stretched in her chair, and stared in disbelief at her PC screen. Blue. The dreaded blue screen. "The system has made a fatal error..." She groaned, clicked Control-Alternate-Delete, set the computer to run a series of self-diagnostics, turned off the monitor and headed for the bathroom, yawning. It was enough for one day.
Scene: the battle: Death Eaters circle around Voldemort, facing outwards from him, ready to kill. Dumbledore's in the middle of them, and Voldemort calls Snape to him, to tell him to kill the Headmaster. Snape approaches the Dark Lord, but it isn't Snape, it's Holmes, and with a swift and deadly strike, he jabs the hypodermic into Voldemort's chest, pushes the plunger home, and Snape shouts the spell that negates Voldemort and his idea together. Voldemort collapses, Lucius Malfoy tries to take command, but from the balcony, a massive Cruciatus curse flings him to the ground. His own son has been waiting for years to slam his old man.
Holmes and Snape ascertained that Voldemort was dead. It was certain that his essence, that noxious revenant that had arisen twice before, could reappear in future, but for the present, the menace was gone. The Death Eaters were marched off to await trial and sentencing to Azkaban. With the evil creature's demise, magic returned as one and all felt the familiar prickling in their wand hands.
Holmes ripped off the borrowed Death Eater mask. "It's stifling, Snape, I don't know how you endured it."
"One becomes used to anything," stated Snape. He was exhausted emotionally as well as physically.