The elderly witch opened the door to Ollivander's Wand Shop. If there was one place she could count on not changing, it was Ollivanders. She put her many packages on a side table and looked around. She knew to wait until Mr. Ollivander turned up as he always did. In the meantime, she looked over the various wand holsters on display. She was examining one with an ornate belt clip when she heard an unfamiliar voice addressing her. She turned and saw someone very like Mr. Ollivander with glittering but kind eyes and shock of white hair, yet not Mr. Ollivander. She said nothing returning his greeting with a polite nod.
"Yes, all the customers have had the same reaction today, Madam. I am young Mr. Ollivander." The young man extended his hand. Shaking his hand, she took note of his face which was less lined and less gaunt than the senior Ollivander but there was no mistaking that he was in truth an Ollivander. "My father will be occupied for a few days so here am I at your service and behest. How may I help you today?"
His candid smile was so endearing that she was put at ease immediately. "I am in need of a replacement wand and I will also be buying this holster."
After taking her measurements young Mr. Ollivander disappeared to locate some suitable wands. He let his inborn gift guide him pulling out wand cases from different shelves his hands unerringly knowing what wands would suit the customer. He came back with four cases. Soon, the correct wand had been selected and the purchases made.
After she departed, he heard a voice from the back calling him for a well-deserved tea break. The senior Ollivander sat on a leather armchair sipping tea. The table in front of him was piled high with wand cases. Some were open and empty while others were tightly wrapped, banded and marked. He held up one wand for a quick inspection. It could hardly be called a wand as it was only 6 inches long, made of redwood and unusually heavy. A holographic sigil was branded on one end.
"I never thought that these would be needed again after Grindelwald was defeated," sighed Mr. Ollivander. "Yet, the most simplest things are usually the most useful."
"I should have the rest made by this evening right on time," said young Mr. Ollivander. "We should really just enspell them now and save time."
"You are simply eager to cast some of the ancient spells for your own amusement. Besides, these would never be allowed past the Hogwarts gates if they were enspelled. Who was that last customer? She seemed familiar."
"She said her name was Genevieve Longbottom," Young Mr. Ollivander checked and sealed a redwood wand into its case. "And she said to give you her greetings and compliments on having such well mannered offspring."
The senior Ollivander had a suffused look on his face. "Did she have her vulture hat on?"
"None that I could see," supplied the younger.
The graduate students had an invigorating effect on the rest of the Hogwarts student body. Classes taught by them were more enjoyable and interesting, even the History of Magic class. Their professors were in turn enjoying release from the daily tedium of teaching. At most, the teachers still had the upper level classes to handle. With the guest seminars tomorrow the professors would have an entire day free of teaching. There was almost a festive air about the place.
Draco Malfoy sat in his room late in the morning in between classes drafting a letter to his father. He kept rereading the letter he received this morning. His father had said that his research and notes were adequate and received favorably. In future, his father excoriated him to be more impressive and complete. However, this time it was enough. He was to stop his testing and continue his recruitment efforts. He was again reminded that his grades were slipping.
Draco stood and paced in silent, seething frustration. Well of course, his grades were slipping, he thought. I can hardly keep awake what with traipsing about the castle and grounds at night for months. He made a note to ask Professor Snape about some extra credit work at their monthly conference next week. It was ironic, to him anyway, that the most despised teacher at Hogwarts was also the most respected by his own House. He spoke with every Slytherin student once a month one on one during early morning walks or late afternoon tea times. That was more effort than most parents extended to their own children - Slytherin parents, at any rate.
Draco forced his attention back to his letter. He had planned to write his father about the substitute teachers and the seminars tomorrow. He felt that there was something that he was not seeing - a connection of some kind. He couldn't voice his suspicions without tangible proof. In the end, he decided that a letter was a waste of time. The response he was likely to receive back would only be another reminder to not waste his father's time with trivial inconsequentialities. He gathered his books and headed to Charms class.
His Head of House was at that moment in his quarters sitting on a worn but comfortable couch trying in vain to relax. He had to relax or he would be worse off. His muscles were constricting and spasming. His heart rate was rapid. His skin was clammy and he was taking lungfuls of air in short deep gasps. His panic attacks were becoming stronger and less predictable. He had to hold on until Pomfrey arrived. His nails dug into the upholstery and he stiffened his spine and resolve. All the school needed now was a potions master doing a dead on impersonation of a raving lunatic.
He started to feel the telltale sensation of a thousand crooked fingernails raking sharply over his body. It was far too late to relax now. He lifted a hand and saw what he expected - red angry lesions and gray pus-filled boils. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Demos, his shadow, materialize out of the wall. The door slammed open. Pomfrey ran in wand flicking reciting incantations as he started to writhe and moan. The lesions were getting bigger and uglier. Filch came in behind her and quickly cast a room silencing spell.
Pomfrey looked as Demos and then at Snape "You're right. He's never had an attack this bad before."
She uttered a spell that put Severus' physical body in stasis while she mixed vials of phoenix tears, powdered unicorn horn and dragon's blood. She carefully removed his teaching robes and undershirt. This time lesions covered his back while boils appeared mostly on his hands and arms.
Knowing that he was in too much pain to speak, she looked at Severus and asked "Are you ready? Blink once for yes and two for no."
Snape blinked once. Filch moved to hold down Severus' shoulders while Demos, with two now solid hands, pinned his feet. She took a dropper and began to place a drop on every lesion and boil. The lesions and boils began to emit scalding gray steam and the unforgettable smell of burning flesh suffused the room. Snape screamed and screamed his body twisting and arching trying to get loose and flee the torment that he was enduring but there was no escape and he never passed out. It was a full hour before all the lesions and boils were healed and gone.
In a tower, an old man stared at a mirror. His body shook as silent tears traced paths down his cheeks. His eyes never left the mirror. He knew more than most that war exacted a price. A price that was always paid in blood and a lifetime of regret. If only he had confronted Riddle and killed him. If only he had kept a more vigilant eye on the Death Eaters. If only he had insisted on being the Potters' secret keeper, things might have turned out differently. So many ifs. It would be different this time.
He looked at his reflection in another mirror and saw his true self. An old man,yes, but also a hardened man who had committed everything and everyone bowing to necessity and expediency. He would face his regrets later but he would win. He had to win for the faithful young man who suffered derision and hatred in silence. He had to win for the colleagues and friends he was planning on using as fodder and pawns, drained of their last ounce of bravery and heart. He had to win for the students caught in the crossfire who deserved a future of their making not Voldemort's. He had to win even if it meant joining the dark lord in mutual damnation for all eternity.
In Snape's dungeon quarters, Filch retched repeatedly into a conjured bowl. I thought I had a strong stomach but this. The burning, acidic scent he could bear. However during Snape's convulsions the very air had vibrated with magical forces; It was Dark magic not good magic. It left a strange, unpleasant aftertaste on the conscious mind. Gods, this is like a nightmare that's always there playing wi' your mind. Being a squib all his life he had never experienced such an effect. He felt like scrubbing his mind clear and could not. How does Snape bear this all the time?
Pomfrey sat down in the armchair, breathing heavily willing her body to stop trembling and her tears to stop falling. One of these days I'll be too late. He might be better off dead at this rate. She glanced at her patient.
Demos adjusted the cold compress on Snape's forehead and kept checking Snape for signs of a relapse. Filch recovered and began to tidy up the room. He picked up a small envelope, read the scrap of torn parchment inside. "This must have been what triggered his stress attack."
He showed the Voldemort's invitation letter to Pomfrey who got more upset "When will this end?!"
With certainty glinting cold and dangerous in his eyes he responded "That's up to us to decide now, isn't it?"
Pomfrey didn't flinch from the anger and hatred she saw in Filch's gaze. Instead she returned it in full measure saying in a voice quaking with outrage, "If I wasn't ready before, I am most ready now. After this, dear God help me, I need to kill that bastard!"
Filch levitated Snape to his bed. Pomfrey forced a sleeping draught down her patient's throat. After putting a warming spell on the bed, they drew the canopy drapes closed. Demos stood vigil by the fire. He was not going exploring or patrolling tonight. Sitting in his now customary armchair, he thought about what he had seen and felt today - anger, sacrifice, regret, hatred and even shame. But there was something missing and that was fear.
Professor McGonagall finished her last class. By day's end she was emotionally exhausted. Madam Pomfrey had sought her out earlier needing to cry and vent on someone. But Pomfrey would not be the only one in need of a good listener today. She sought out Dumbledore in his office. She approached him. "You did what you could, Albus, then and now."
"Will you be as forgiving of me when I say to you that you must hold no matter how many fall, how many are used up, how many are sacrificed?" Dumbledore looked at her with sad eyes. For once the twinkle in his eyes was absent.
"I won't forgive you. Don't ask me to, Albus. But I will hold and trust to God that it will be enough," McGonagall responded with an upturn of her chin and a voice that was icy and resolute.
"I lived through it once, Minerva. I will not live through it a second time," the headmaster looked out a window hands braced on the pane. "The world changes yet it remains the same."
"Then we need to keep giving the world another chance," McGonagall took his arm and led him out to the Great Hall for dinner so he could hear and see for himself why the only recourse was to win no matter the cost. On the way to the hall, she informed the headmaster that she intended to accompany Snape to his meeting tonight.
Hermione walked in with the rest of her Gryffindor year mates ready for dinner to begin. They had just seen their house points take a sudden plunge and Seamus was bound and determined to find out why. Hermione's mind was going a mile a minute as she thought of excuse after excuse as to why she had lost Gryffindor so many points. However, even she thought that a little attitude problem was not worth the three hundred points that their house was now down by. Professor McGonagall caught Hermione's eye and she approached the High Table fearing the worst.
"Ms Granger, please meet with me early tomorrow morning. I have an independent study project that I believe you will find fascinating." Hermione smiled at the prospect of something new to learn but her conscience got the better of her and she posed Seamus' question to her Head of House.
"The headmaster will be making an announcement about that matter, Ms. Granger." Professor McGonagall said. With her heart racing and fighting the urge to flee, Hermione returned to her house table to wait for the announcement.
The headmaster stood and the room grew silent. "I have a quick announcement to make. As many of you have noticed, house points have been fluctuating wildly the last few weeks. There is a problem with the spell and rules governing house points. This problem is being investigated. In the meantime I suggest that you avert your eyes from the hourglasses when passing by the Main Hall. That is all."
It was glitch! Hermione's sense of deep relief was replaced by even deeper curiosity. She looked up at the High Table for the man who could answer her questions but Professor Snape was missing as was Professor Sprout. Wait a minute, there's been a teacher missing almost every night. Sometimes more. Come to think of it Professor Sinistra was either late or never came to meals. It'sas almost like teachers took turns being gone.
Hermione remembered something else. The sixth and seventh year potions classes were not taught by Snape today. Eve Delacour had. She had said that Professor Snape was not feeling well. Even Snape is allowed to be sick. But her eyes kept straying to the High Table. She couldn't help feeling that there was a connection that was just beyond her grasp. There were too many things happening - the glitch, Snape being gone, the teachers disappearing, the seminars tomorrow, night detentions were no longer being issued by anyone and, if the rumor mill was correct, the corridors were being policed by far more teachers than before. What is going on?
At the Slytherin side of the room, Draco was hard pressed to keep the grin off his face. He had to write that letter to his father. My theory's been proven and by Dumbledore no less. He felt like crowing in triumph. Draco ate his dinner hurriedly and ran to his rooms. He wrote the letter but left out any mention of the substitute teachers or the seminars the next day.
Snape lost the argument with McGonagall that night. At midnight, he apparated to the meeting place. A tracing spell allowed McGonagall to follow him in owl form. He found himself next to a gazebo in a small nondescript muggle park. He looked around. He was alone. The gazebo was empty. He crossed his legs and stretched out on the bench feigning an ease he stopped feeling long ago. A minute later a tall robed figure stepped into the gazebo and sat down opposite Snape.
"Good evening, Severus," Voldemort said. Snape nodded but did not bother to stand or straighten. "Do you have news for me?"
"I have good news," Snape linked his hands behind his head and stretched his long body. "I have deciphered the research you provided regarding the Consula Econtra. It can be modified to be used as a controlling mechanism keyed to one person. However, I did not find the complete reference as to how to use the potion by itself to summon and bind demons."
"I had hoped that demon summoning would be possible," Voldemort supplied.
"It may be possible using the Egyptian procedure but the binding is problematical. Also, the notes themselves are incomplete on that matter," Snape looked him straight in the eye knowing that the Dark Mark would tell Voldemort if he was lying or not. There I've said things in a way that was not an outright lie just inaccurate.
"It was too much to hope for. However, what you do have I trust will be more than sufficient." Voldemort stood up and began to pace. "My reason for asking you to research this matter was because I wish to use its abilities to enhance the Dark Mark. I remember the day long ago when you created the first Dark Mark on your arm and showed it to me as proof of your loyalty. And you sealed that loyalty by never taking credit for it. I have never forgotten. Now I am asking you to make a new Dark Mark, stronger more powerful to bind the Death Eaters into an unbeatable force at my command."
Snape's sonorous voice rose out of the dim interior. "I am honored. And I assume that you wish this new mark to be used this Friday evening?"
"Always dispassionate and to the point," Voldemort let out a chuckle. "Yes, Severus, I want all the Death Eaters to be re-branded. I have no preference on the how this will be done."
"Then if that is all, I need to return and rest," Snape rose and bowed his head slightly making sure that he kept a certain distance from Voldemort at all times. "I will have something ready by then."
"You never disappoint me, Severus," Voldemort faced him and noted the signs of exhaustion on his disciple's countenance. "I should let you get your rest then. Good night, Severus. Oh, before I forget, I must congratulate you on your mentoring of Draco Malfoy. The research he gave me was a superb example of thorough, methodical and disciplined thinking."
"Malfoy is very bright. It's too bad that Lucius does not encourage the boy enough," Severus leaned casually against the gazebo railing.
"Well, if you are shaping the rest of Slytherin house in the image that we seek then our future is secure," Voldemort turned and descended the stairs.
Snape stood by the gazebo watching Voldemort disappear into the trees. Snape stood stock still for several moments straining his senses for any sign of Voldemort's return or the presence of his familiar, Nagini, who sometimes stayed behind and spied on those that Voldemort met with. Not sensing anything amiss he apparated. He met Professor McGonagall at the gates. They rushed back to the castle. Dumbledore greeted them and together they went to Snape's office. Demos remained on guard by the fire. The other two house heads, Sprout and Flitwick, were also in the office waiting.
As Dumbledore entered he said with a somber smile "Our plan is working better than we anticipated. We must keep ahead of him."