In One Spirit - Chapter 15
By mavidian
Shingle by shingle, the warm orange rays of daybreak creeped up the sides of the little gray farmhouse stripping the house of its glaze of early morning frost. In time, the light fell in through the now wide open windows. Cold invigorating air flooded the once stifling space banishing the rancid, malodorous heat. Inside, cool vapor swirled about a clean, spartan room. The earthen floor was freshly packed unmarked by sorcerous symbols. A large mouse-sated snake sat compactly coiled directly in front of the fireplace where a rousing fire held the cold air at bay.
Nearby, Peter Pettigrew poured hot tea for both himself and his lord. The bags under his bloodshot eyes testified to his restless night. He had tried the strongest sleeping draught he could find but his body had twitched and jerked about all night. Sometime before dawn, the palsy had subsided and he had been able to get a few hours of sleep before his lord's summoning. If Wormtail looked frazzled, his lord gave the impression of newfound vigor as he consumed a breakfast fit for two.
"Excellent fare, Wormtail," Voldemort praised tucking into his kippers with enthusiasm. Wormtail had nearly dropped his bundles upon his arrival when he was greeted by his lord dressed in muggle clothing with what had to be a glamour charm masking his normally snakelike features. Voldemort looked almost normal. "You don't look well, Wormtail, have you been taking care of yourself?"
"I am not ill, my lord, just tired. I don't seem to be sleeping well lately and I have . have nightmares." Wormtail replied while buttering a muffin.
"Really, what kind of nightmares?" Voldemort sipped his tea enjoying the way it seared his lips and tongue. Every new sensation was a wondrous new experience as his senses slowly improved.
"Strange, inconsequential dreams. As if I was being chased and I ran and ran. But in the end, I was devoured no matter what I did. Then I would wake up and the dream would start all over again." Pettigrew eyes grew vacant as he remembered his nocturnal adventures.
"Hmmm. Have you tried sleeping draughts, Peter?" Voldemort added Wormtail's experience to his series of mental research notes.
"I have for the last few nights. The strongest I could find were -" said Pettigrew.
"Well, those commercial ones won't do. Ask Severus. He has an original potion he calls the Sweet Sleep and it is very effective. You'll feel like a new man the next day. Tell him I said to make several for you." Voldemort instructed.
"Thank you, I'll do so once Snape comes back from his leave of absence."
"What leave of absence?" Voldemort lost his indolent posture fixing an intent look on his disciple.
"The Malfoy boy owled Lucius on Saturday that Dumbledore made the announcement at breakfast. Slytherin house was told that Professor Snape was taking a short leave to attend to some personal matters." Wormtail said the words carefully and succinctly. "It seems that he has left Hogwarts."
"Severus has not informed me of this. It must be his father's health. Yes, that must be it." Voldemort postulated.
"What's wrong with his father?"
"It is easier to say what isn't wrong with him. The Snape males do not as a whole live to old age." Voldemort explained. "Severus explained it to me once before. The family has an inherited malady that over time, certain males of the line seem to lose their magical powers leaving them as little better than muggles. His father has suffered in the advanced stages of this illness. Severus is the only heir and has taken in hand many of his sire's responsibilities. Because of that, I try to put the least burden on his time and resources."
"I see, my lord, a very wise and considerate decision," said Wormtail.
"I hope you do see, Wormtail. Severus serves as he must and as he can. Now, I have a task for you." Voldemort said. "Get some sleep for the rest of the morning then in the afternoon I want you to secure some office space in London. Not too posh but very professional in a high visibility location."
"An office for what, my lord?"
"We are creating a legitimate business, Wormtail, catering to both muggle and wizarding customers in need of the services of a superlative travel agency." Voldemort explained. "New Day Travel it is to be called."
"Very well, I will register it in the usual manner as a division of the Malfoy interests and -"
"No, Wormtail, not this time. This new company must have no obvious connection to the Malfoys that the Ministry could uncover. We, the two of us, will set up this company ourselves in our new identities. You have two days to get the business operational."
"It will be done, milord," Pettigrew smiled confidently. He had used muggle sources to create two new documented identities for him and his lord last year complete with immigration papers and bank accounts. These identities were known only to the two of them. His work was finally making an impact.
"Now, why don't you have your rest here, Peter. Nagini will protect you. I need to walk about. It is a fine morning for a short hike." Voldemort rose and shrugged a coat and scarf on. Wormtail climbed gratefully into bed and succumbed to exhaustion immediately. Voldemort closed the windows and drew the curtains closed. He covered his hairless head with a hat drawing the brim lower to further shade his features and left the house.
- * -
The headmaster looked around the Great Hall as he ate breakfast eyeing each and every student from fifth year to seventh year with equal regard. Collectively, the seventh years all looked worn and ragged around the edges. Too many sleepless nights studying for NEWTs, he thought. The Christmas break would not come soon enough for them. The sixth years had acquired the air of absent-minded rumpled civility common to young people who suddenly realized that the dreaded NEWTs had taken wing and were now circling their lives like vultures salivating at future carrion. He heard many sixth years comment on the highly specialized bent their classes had taken and more than a few switched specialties midyear.
His gaze then fell on his most idealistic and impressionable class - the fifth years. They had neither the suppressed panic of the seventh years nor the sixth years' resigned acceptance of the inevitable. The fifth year as a group still had that indefinable bounce of the child in their hearts matched by the volatility of adolescence while their forms and figures hinted of coming adulthood. Their preparation for and performance on the upcoming OWLs would say much about each of them and their prospects in subsequent years. He and the other house heads wholeheartedly agreed with Snape that it was the fifth years that needed the most attention and care. Thinking about his ailing potions master brought his mind to a conversation with a very old friend and colleague only hours old.
Rapier thin, intense of eye and face, with a trimmed beard of gray and a head of thinning salt and pepper hair, he was not what one expected of someone more than five hundred years old. Nicholas Flamel placed the thick, bound book unto the headmaster's desk. "Albus, this young man hath found a way to trespass through hell, yet his soul he has kept to his breast, bruised but untainted. Truly, the risks one indulges in when youth is at one's free disposal."
"Did you find anything useful among Severus' notes, Nicholas?" Dumbledore sat behind his desk stroking Fawkes' feathers.
"Oh, many things, but none form a singular piece. Ideas I have but solutions have not yet come to hand or mind," Nicholas said placing the heavy book on Dumbledore's desk.
"Time is running out. Poppy calculates that at the rate his genetics are changing, we have less than three months before it becomes irrevocably permanent."
"That is in agreement with my own assessment. What is his condition now?" Flamel stood in front of Dumbledore's desk with arms crossed.
"Unchanged for the most part though he drifts from lucidity to mild hallucinations as a result of all the medications being used. It has been hard on the minders by his bed to hear his memories and sometimes to see them unfold before them as his mind projects them outward. The horrific, damning ones far outnumber the happy and joyful. " The headmaster stood and placed Fawkes back on his perch. He then sat on the edge of his desk beside another old friend. "According to Poppy, he is over the worse part but after that she is at a loss on how to proceed."
"Albus, I tell you truth, were it only the involvement of demons, I could devise a palliative then a cure. But, this mark. this mark and the method of its creation complicates matters. I fear that the genetic transference is too far advanced to eradicate. Though I believe that it may be possible to arrest its further development."
"Do what you can to help him. I need him, Nicholas," Albus pleaded. "I need him to protect Harry when I will no longer be able to."
"There are others about, perhaps not nearly as powerful as a Snape, but just as capable, such as the Ollivanders or Minerva," Nicholas said.
"I have charged Minerva and Flavius with the protection of Hogwarts in my place. It must be Severus as he is the best positioned in Voldemort's inner circle. I can trust Severus to assure that Harry is at the right place at the right time. I know he will do what must be done."
"Is that a burden that sits well upon your chosen avenger or is it, as with all things, precariously dependent on the caprices of fate?" Flamel now sat in the armchair facing the headmaster. His eyes, focused and bright, made a lie of his relaxed posture.
"It sits grudgingly but accepted," said Albus.
"Of the Tradition, I expect no less," Nicholas said. "But this burden is grotesque in its implications."
"You are starting to sound like Flavius. It is too late for lectures, Nicholas. I have heard them all and given most of them to myself. It is done."
"True, Flavius can a most relentless prod of conscience be." Nicholas grinned. "Where is he about? You said he resides here."
"He is. He and Minerva haven't returned from a night out on the town."
"Indeed, the sun is almost risen, perhaps, this plague shall result in something good."
"One man does not a plague make, Nicholas. Voldemort is -"
"Is he not? History has passed before my senses, Albus, in ways beyond even your understanding. I have watched as Voldemort resurrected this cancer of hate and intolerance. A cancer I surmised to be in decline long before his first rising. But now I see it rooted and thriving once more in places high and low, far and near." Nicholas looked on his friend of many years trying his best to make his meaning clear to the younger man. "You are fighting one man yet the forces arrayed against you do not bleed, do not cry out in anger and see passing time not at all. How do you conquer an idea, Albus, after it has been uttered aloud?"
"I can't. I don't intend to. I can only fight what is here and now while trusting that the future will be in better hands than mine." Albus countered. "People must realize the truth about Voldemort. He is not after universal power per se, nor does he see himself as a herald of a new age for our kind and only our kind though he styles himself as such. No, he craves recognition."
"The very thought of his name invokes terror. What better recognition is there?" asked Flamel.
"Yes, but Voldemort is his nom de guerre. He wants to be known by his true lineage, his true name. Tom Slytherin Marvolo Riddle was denied a name, denied a glorious birthright, abandoned to make a life on his own." Dumbledore explained. "But the boy . the boy, Nicolas, was blessed with intellect, ambition and charisma. He made the most of his scholarship here. Had either his mother or father's families shown an iota of concern or interest in him as a youth, I am convinced that he would not have become what he became. As a bastard, the family would never, could never publicly recognize him as blood to Salazar. What else could he do? He decided to force the issue himself, as was his right. He wants to be recognized as the heir and also respected for being the most powerful wizard of our times."
"Yet another megalomaniac. It would be far more acceptable were he a monster in spite of his virtues not because of them." Flamel observed. " I recollect the clan Marvolo - collectively tenacious when given purpose and duty."
"Tom is more determined this time around. But he has to rebuild all that he lost that night at Godric's Hollow - his body, his followers, base of operations, everything. It goes slowly but he is doing it." Said Dumbledore stroking his beard. "To that end his success hinges on two things - Hogwarts and Harry. The acquisition of one will give him unparalleled power. The death of the other will prove once and for all that no one can oppose him."
"I see then the fulcrum resting on your prodigal potions master." Flamel said. "Timing will be crucial."
"Harry will open the door to Voldemort's defeat but Severus, like Brutus was to Caesar, will wield the knife that proves the dark lord false. And it shall be the deepest, most disturbing cut of all." Dumbledore said gravely and finally.
His thoughts turned once more to the present, as he looked at all the students table by table as well as the staff beside him. He felt a decided chill come upon his person. He would one day feel the cut of betrayal himself from a student in this very room today. Of this, Sybil Trelawney's prophecy was most insistent. Whether the deed was done willingly or unknowingly the prophecy did not make clear. Besides himself, only Hagrid and Madam Pince knew of this prophecy. They had witnessed Sybil having the prophecy in the staff room last year. He finished his breakfast resolved to do the most he could for loyalist and betrayer alike. Fate would take care of everything else.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron and Seamus were plotting some possible tactics against Professor McGonagall's orb attacks. They knew their head of house would keep her promise of surprise quizzes on the subject and they wanted to be prepared. Hermione had one on one tutoring sessions with them and now tactics were next on their preparation list.
"It makes more sense for the things to chase us instead of us doing the chasing," Ron said moving some food dishes around to illustrate his point. "We can stand ready and just wait for them to come to us."
"Yeah, and when they get near, cast our spells," Harry agreed. "Everyone has their list of spells in order. It's just a matter of casting them."
"Well, those orbs move fast. It's going to be hard to hit them even if we were standing still." Said Seamus.
"I don't know how Hermione can cast her spells so fast. I get the words mixed up in my head before they can reach my mouth," Ron said. "She does hers in one breath, practically."
"Well, she was always a quick study, Ron. Remember how she got through Snape's logic puzzle?" Harry observed Hermione a few seats down talking animatedly with Neville. There was something different about her but he couldn't identify it. Come to think about it there was something going on with Neville too. He hadn't blown up a cauldron in days. Seeing the two of them together was making him feel slightly creepy. They still looked the same, talked the same. But they didn't join in with the usual Gryffindor activities as much as before. Hermione was easier to explain with her constant projects and extra studying. But lately every time he saw Neville he had his head in a book or scribbling madly on parchment. It seemed almost a competition between him and Hermione as to who could read the most books in one week. Then, Neville was always the first ready and fully awake in the morning. Seamus and Dean used to have to nag him out of bed. What was going on? "We need to practice our spell casting. Maybe have some mock games and we'll throw balls at each other."
"Great idea, Harry. It's just the trick," Ron exclaimed.
"I'll reserve us an empty classroom, say tomorrow tonight after dinner?" Seamus asked.
"Yep, let's make a general announcement in the common room later," said Ron.
Harry looked at Hermione and Neville again. He would make sure that both of his friends were at the practice tomorrow night and he would have a chance to talk to both of them. "I got a better idea. I'm going to ask Hooch if we can use the practice bludgers. They'll move around on their own without actually hitting anyone."
"Oh yeah! That'll do great!" said Seamus. "We should be in pairs one bludger apiece."
"A real test. Let's McGonagall do her worse!" Ron crowed. Harry left the table to go talk to Madam Hooch. He passed by Neville and Hermione on the way.
"I'm up to two mile runs twice a day." Said Neville heaping a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
"I dread starting a running routine but I really should. It's supposed to be great for stress relief." Hermione commented taking a bite of toast.
"Oh, my lungs were on fire and I was on my knees by the half mile point my first time out," Neville replied pouring himself a second tall glass of milk. "But you know he wouldn't let me quit. We half walked and half jogged the rest of the mile. I want to get to five miles eventually."
"You know I had my misgivings about your, er, situation."
"So did I, but I think it's what I needed. It feels right, anyway. What about you?" Neville stabbed another sausage and added it to his plate.
"Honestly, I feel a bit out of my element sometimes like I'm still missing information. I know you know more than you're letting on. What's the big picture?" Hermione picked at her food.
"I think we're making the big picture as we go along, Hermione. We have to learn to follow before we can lead." Neville said. "You know you really don't sound unsure of anything."
"Thanks. I have so many questions I can't ask. How can they be so calm?" Hermione poured more tea for herself.
"They have been through this before." Said Neville. "Listen, this isn't the place to talk. How about a study session? I have to give you library access, don't forget."
"Yes! How about 9 tonight?" They both agreed to meet in the Eyrie later that night.
- * -
The realtor secretly hugged herself. The commission from this sale would set her well for the rest of the year. Her client seemed to love the office space - a small standalone office building with a storefront on the first floor and offices on the second and third floors in London's Notting Hill district. The building had been considered unsellable due to the exorbitant asking price.
"Now, Ms Georges, when can I expect the paperwork? I will arrange a transfer of funds as soon as I receive the sales agreement." Peter Pettigrew asked.
"I will have the paperwork tomorrow, Mr. Lowell. I can send it to you by courier. I would need Mr. Radcliffe's signature though."
"Certainly, certainly. How about we all meet here tomorrow about 1pm?" Pettigrew smiled his most engaging smile.
"Perfect. I'll see you then. Here's the key and you can just let yourself in."
Pettigrew gallantly ushered her out and locked the door behind him. Before he went back to his lord, he had one more errand to run. He was going to look in on the Grangers.
- * -
Dumbledore, Ollivander and Madam Pomfrey shielded their eyes from the blaze of colorful, undulating waves of pure energy that encircled and levitated Severus Snape two meters above his sick bed. Nicholas Flamel squinted in concentration as he brought to bear his considerable expertise to the matter at hand - a thorough cleansing of Snape's physical matter of physical toxins as well as destructive remnants and impurities left by dark magic. Sweat beaded down his face as he sought to master the escalating powers he was commanding. The humming in the room increased and Pomfrey hugged her earmuffs to her head. Flamel slowly rotated Snape for the third time until he was face down. As he was turned like an animal on a rotisserie spit, Snape was fully conscious, eyes open, fists clenched fighting down the nausea that the aerial maneuvers were causing. His skin felt as if every pore he possessed was simultaneously subjected to a thousand needles pistoning in and out every second of time that passed. He would have screamed if he could.
Poppy could make out dark blobs and droplets streaming out of her patient. As the shapes were ejected out of the pulsating field, they burst into flames, burned to cinders and fell like dust to the floor. She, Albus and Flavius stood in various corners of the room with strict instructions on how to assist if they were needed. After a thorough examination and a lengthy morning conference, Flamel had decided that the best most immediate need was an extreme cleansing at the tissue level. In effect, this would excise the effects of decades of abuse done on Snape's body and remove any complications caused by his dabbling in the dark arts of late. Flamel theorized that this procedure would also permanently sever Demos from Snape. The level of dependence that Demos needed from Snape was unknown. Demos may or may not survive the severing. Both Severus and Demos were told of the plans and they asked for a few private minutes before giving their permission. Demos was then escorted out of the Counsel Room premises and the portcullis defense ward was changed to refuse him admittance. Hagrid, Trelawney and Filch were stationed just outside the portcullis keeping Demos company with orders to take whatever action may be required should the demon wraith behave strangely. Right now, Demos paced the corridors involuntarily phasing now and then.
After almost two hours the colors subsided leaving only a bright while glow about the now unconscious Head of Slytherin. Flamel carefully lowered Snape back to his bed. Then he himself collapsed into a nearby chair completely drained. Poppy was at his side immediately administering healing and recovery spells to the great wizard. Ollivander went to check on Demos while Albus roused Snape.
Albus cast an enervating spell and said "Severus, wake up. How do you feel?"
"I don't feel Demos, anymore. How is he?" Severus rasped through dried lips.
"He should be all right. Flavius went to check on him. Do you feel any pain?"
"No, no pain. Look!" Severus weakly lifted his arms. "They don't feel heavy anymore."
"That's very good, very, very good." Albus adjusted the blankets adding a warming spell while he did so. "Get some rest now. You're on your way to recovery."
Amazingly, Flamel recovered very quickly and he stood up straight stretching his arms out. Any other wizard would be laid out asleep for several days after the feat he had just performed. At Poppy's slack jawed awe, Flamel chuckled and said "Years of exposure to the Philosopher's Stone, Poppy, I am much, much healthier than I seem."
Ollivander returned with Demos. They stood by Snape's bed for some time. Flamel observed the wraith running a hand against Demos' forehead and shoulders. "Demos, I desire to examine you and execute some tests with your permission, of course. Never have I seen anything like you. You hover on the edge of full sentience, did you know? Physical sentience will come as you mature, I suspect."
"I will have a true physical body?" Demos asked turning his face left and right as the alchemist continued to explore.
"Eventually. Your phasing abilities interests me greatly." Flamel examined Demos' back and he said to Snape. "Though having read through your notes, Severus, I still cannot decipher how this uniquely fascinating creature came to be. I, too, am familiar with the Consula Econtra in its original form but even your modifications should not, could not result in this. You may have just created a new lifeform, young man.."
"I can only attribute it to lady luck, sir." Severus greedily drank down a glass of pumpkin juice. It was the first drink he had been able to keep down in days. "Perhaps we can go over events in more detail before you leave."
"That would please me much. Tomorrow, I want to examine your mark in more depth. If you will excuse me I am ravenous." Flamel declared. "Since I cannot show my face to the students, can someone direct me to the kitchens?"
"Come with me, Nicholas. I'm feeling peckish myself," Ollivander and Flamel went off to the kitchens catching each other up on events in the other's life as they went.
"He is incredible! That procedure has only been described as legend. Yet, he just did it with no preamble, no great preparation that I could see," Poppy looked at Dumbledore and Snape and they all laughed.
"One of a kind, Poppy, one of a kind." Said Dumbledore.
- * -
Tension was all too evident in the ramrod postures of the two people squaring off in the study of Malfoy Manor. Lucius had finally broached the subject of Narcissa joining the Death Eaters. He was prepared to be persuasive. However, he was not prepared for his wife's unusually vehement attitude.
"I am not interested, Lucius. I've told you that before." Said Narcissa.
"Why? Look at me! This . this has not done any harm to me. There is nothing to be afraid of, my dear." Said Lucius revealing his dark mark.
"It's not the mark or that I'm afraid. I am opposed to the basic philosophy." Said Narcissa.
"Narcissa, I don't understand. You believe as I do in the inferiority of muggles."
"Yes, I do. But I don't want to kill any of them either. Peaceful, ignorant coexistence is my preference."
"Is there nothing I can say to -"
"Stop, we've had this argument before, Lucius. My answer will not change. You are wasting your time." Narcissa left the study and knew she would sleep alone this night. Lucius could be so tiresome when he was bent on recruitment.
Lucius watched his wife leave and poured himself a scotch on the rocks. He should have known that he could not move her. Her family's teachings were too deeply ingrained. His mind mulled over different approaches to get Draco on his side. If anyone could convince Narcissa, it would be Draco.
- * -
Author's Notes:
The Story of the real-life Nicholas Flamel can be found at http://www.alchemylab.com/flamel.htm. This is a really late update. I had an extended business trip last week.
Enjoy!
mavidian
By mavidian
Shingle by shingle, the warm orange rays of daybreak creeped up the sides of the little gray farmhouse stripping the house of its glaze of early morning frost. In time, the light fell in through the now wide open windows. Cold invigorating air flooded the once stifling space banishing the rancid, malodorous heat. Inside, cool vapor swirled about a clean, spartan room. The earthen floor was freshly packed unmarked by sorcerous symbols. A large mouse-sated snake sat compactly coiled directly in front of the fireplace where a rousing fire held the cold air at bay.
Nearby, Peter Pettigrew poured hot tea for both himself and his lord. The bags under his bloodshot eyes testified to his restless night. He had tried the strongest sleeping draught he could find but his body had twitched and jerked about all night. Sometime before dawn, the palsy had subsided and he had been able to get a few hours of sleep before his lord's summoning. If Wormtail looked frazzled, his lord gave the impression of newfound vigor as he consumed a breakfast fit for two.
"Excellent fare, Wormtail," Voldemort praised tucking into his kippers with enthusiasm. Wormtail had nearly dropped his bundles upon his arrival when he was greeted by his lord dressed in muggle clothing with what had to be a glamour charm masking his normally snakelike features. Voldemort looked almost normal. "You don't look well, Wormtail, have you been taking care of yourself?"
"I am not ill, my lord, just tired. I don't seem to be sleeping well lately and I have . have nightmares." Wormtail replied while buttering a muffin.
"Really, what kind of nightmares?" Voldemort sipped his tea enjoying the way it seared his lips and tongue. Every new sensation was a wondrous new experience as his senses slowly improved.
"Strange, inconsequential dreams. As if I was being chased and I ran and ran. But in the end, I was devoured no matter what I did. Then I would wake up and the dream would start all over again." Pettigrew eyes grew vacant as he remembered his nocturnal adventures.
"Hmmm. Have you tried sleeping draughts, Peter?" Voldemort added Wormtail's experience to his series of mental research notes.
"I have for the last few nights. The strongest I could find were -" said Pettigrew.
"Well, those commercial ones won't do. Ask Severus. He has an original potion he calls the Sweet Sleep and it is very effective. You'll feel like a new man the next day. Tell him I said to make several for you." Voldemort instructed.
"Thank you, I'll do so once Snape comes back from his leave of absence."
"What leave of absence?" Voldemort lost his indolent posture fixing an intent look on his disciple.
"The Malfoy boy owled Lucius on Saturday that Dumbledore made the announcement at breakfast. Slytherin house was told that Professor Snape was taking a short leave to attend to some personal matters." Wormtail said the words carefully and succinctly. "It seems that he has left Hogwarts."
"Severus has not informed me of this. It must be his father's health. Yes, that must be it." Voldemort postulated.
"What's wrong with his father?"
"It is easier to say what isn't wrong with him. The Snape males do not as a whole live to old age." Voldemort explained. "Severus explained it to me once before. The family has an inherited malady that over time, certain males of the line seem to lose their magical powers leaving them as little better than muggles. His father has suffered in the advanced stages of this illness. Severus is the only heir and has taken in hand many of his sire's responsibilities. Because of that, I try to put the least burden on his time and resources."
"I see, my lord, a very wise and considerate decision," said Wormtail.
"I hope you do see, Wormtail. Severus serves as he must and as he can. Now, I have a task for you." Voldemort said. "Get some sleep for the rest of the morning then in the afternoon I want you to secure some office space in London. Not too posh but very professional in a high visibility location."
"An office for what, my lord?"
"We are creating a legitimate business, Wormtail, catering to both muggle and wizarding customers in need of the services of a superlative travel agency." Voldemort explained. "New Day Travel it is to be called."
"Very well, I will register it in the usual manner as a division of the Malfoy interests and -"
"No, Wormtail, not this time. This new company must have no obvious connection to the Malfoys that the Ministry could uncover. We, the two of us, will set up this company ourselves in our new identities. You have two days to get the business operational."
"It will be done, milord," Pettigrew smiled confidently. He had used muggle sources to create two new documented identities for him and his lord last year complete with immigration papers and bank accounts. These identities were known only to the two of them. His work was finally making an impact.
"Now, why don't you have your rest here, Peter. Nagini will protect you. I need to walk about. It is a fine morning for a short hike." Voldemort rose and shrugged a coat and scarf on. Wormtail climbed gratefully into bed and succumbed to exhaustion immediately. Voldemort closed the windows and drew the curtains closed. He covered his hairless head with a hat drawing the brim lower to further shade his features and left the house.
- * -
The headmaster looked around the Great Hall as he ate breakfast eyeing each and every student from fifth year to seventh year with equal regard. Collectively, the seventh years all looked worn and ragged around the edges. Too many sleepless nights studying for NEWTs, he thought. The Christmas break would not come soon enough for them. The sixth years had acquired the air of absent-minded rumpled civility common to young people who suddenly realized that the dreaded NEWTs had taken wing and were now circling their lives like vultures salivating at future carrion. He heard many sixth years comment on the highly specialized bent their classes had taken and more than a few switched specialties midyear.
His gaze then fell on his most idealistic and impressionable class - the fifth years. They had neither the suppressed panic of the seventh years nor the sixth years' resigned acceptance of the inevitable. The fifth year as a group still had that indefinable bounce of the child in their hearts matched by the volatility of adolescence while their forms and figures hinted of coming adulthood. Their preparation for and performance on the upcoming OWLs would say much about each of them and their prospects in subsequent years. He and the other house heads wholeheartedly agreed with Snape that it was the fifth years that needed the most attention and care. Thinking about his ailing potions master brought his mind to a conversation with a very old friend and colleague only hours old.
Rapier thin, intense of eye and face, with a trimmed beard of gray and a head of thinning salt and pepper hair, he was not what one expected of someone more than five hundred years old. Nicholas Flamel placed the thick, bound book unto the headmaster's desk. "Albus, this young man hath found a way to trespass through hell, yet his soul he has kept to his breast, bruised but untainted. Truly, the risks one indulges in when youth is at one's free disposal."
"Did you find anything useful among Severus' notes, Nicholas?" Dumbledore sat behind his desk stroking Fawkes' feathers.
"Oh, many things, but none form a singular piece. Ideas I have but solutions have not yet come to hand or mind," Nicholas said placing the heavy book on Dumbledore's desk.
"Time is running out. Poppy calculates that at the rate his genetics are changing, we have less than three months before it becomes irrevocably permanent."
"That is in agreement with my own assessment. What is his condition now?" Flamel stood in front of Dumbledore's desk with arms crossed.
"Unchanged for the most part though he drifts from lucidity to mild hallucinations as a result of all the medications being used. It has been hard on the minders by his bed to hear his memories and sometimes to see them unfold before them as his mind projects them outward. The horrific, damning ones far outnumber the happy and joyful. " The headmaster stood and placed Fawkes back on his perch. He then sat on the edge of his desk beside another old friend. "According to Poppy, he is over the worse part but after that she is at a loss on how to proceed."
"Albus, I tell you truth, were it only the involvement of demons, I could devise a palliative then a cure. But, this mark. this mark and the method of its creation complicates matters. I fear that the genetic transference is too far advanced to eradicate. Though I believe that it may be possible to arrest its further development."
"Do what you can to help him. I need him, Nicholas," Albus pleaded. "I need him to protect Harry when I will no longer be able to."
"There are others about, perhaps not nearly as powerful as a Snape, but just as capable, such as the Ollivanders or Minerva," Nicholas said.
"I have charged Minerva and Flavius with the protection of Hogwarts in my place. It must be Severus as he is the best positioned in Voldemort's inner circle. I can trust Severus to assure that Harry is at the right place at the right time. I know he will do what must be done."
"Is that a burden that sits well upon your chosen avenger or is it, as with all things, precariously dependent on the caprices of fate?" Flamel now sat in the armchair facing the headmaster. His eyes, focused and bright, made a lie of his relaxed posture.
"It sits grudgingly but accepted," said Albus.
"Of the Tradition, I expect no less," Nicholas said. "But this burden is grotesque in its implications."
"You are starting to sound like Flavius. It is too late for lectures, Nicholas. I have heard them all and given most of them to myself. It is done."
"True, Flavius can a most relentless prod of conscience be." Nicholas grinned. "Where is he about? You said he resides here."
"He is. He and Minerva haven't returned from a night out on the town."
"Indeed, the sun is almost risen, perhaps, this plague shall result in something good."
"One man does not a plague make, Nicholas. Voldemort is -"
"Is he not? History has passed before my senses, Albus, in ways beyond even your understanding. I have watched as Voldemort resurrected this cancer of hate and intolerance. A cancer I surmised to be in decline long before his first rising. But now I see it rooted and thriving once more in places high and low, far and near." Nicholas looked on his friend of many years trying his best to make his meaning clear to the younger man. "You are fighting one man yet the forces arrayed against you do not bleed, do not cry out in anger and see passing time not at all. How do you conquer an idea, Albus, after it has been uttered aloud?"
"I can't. I don't intend to. I can only fight what is here and now while trusting that the future will be in better hands than mine." Albus countered. "People must realize the truth about Voldemort. He is not after universal power per se, nor does he see himself as a herald of a new age for our kind and only our kind though he styles himself as such. No, he craves recognition."
"The very thought of his name invokes terror. What better recognition is there?" asked Flamel.
"Yes, but Voldemort is his nom de guerre. He wants to be known by his true lineage, his true name. Tom Slytherin Marvolo Riddle was denied a name, denied a glorious birthright, abandoned to make a life on his own." Dumbledore explained. "But the boy . the boy, Nicolas, was blessed with intellect, ambition and charisma. He made the most of his scholarship here. Had either his mother or father's families shown an iota of concern or interest in him as a youth, I am convinced that he would not have become what he became. As a bastard, the family would never, could never publicly recognize him as blood to Salazar. What else could he do? He decided to force the issue himself, as was his right. He wants to be recognized as the heir and also respected for being the most powerful wizard of our times."
"Yet another megalomaniac. It would be far more acceptable were he a monster in spite of his virtues not because of them." Flamel observed. " I recollect the clan Marvolo - collectively tenacious when given purpose and duty."
"Tom is more determined this time around. But he has to rebuild all that he lost that night at Godric's Hollow - his body, his followers, base of operations, everything. It goes slowly but he is doing it." Said Dumbledore stroking his beard. "To that end his success hinges on two things - Hogwarts and Harry. The acquisition of one will give him unparalleled power. The death of the other will prove once and for all that no one can oppose him."
"I see then the fulcrum resting on your prodigal potions master." Flamel said. "Timing will be crucial."
"Harry will open the door to Voldemort's defeat but Severus, like Brutus was to Caesar, will wield the knife that proves the dark lord false. And it shall be the deepest, most disturbing cut of all." Dumbledore said gravely and finally.
His thoughts turned once more to the present, as he looked at all the students table by table as well as the staff beside him. He felt a decided chill come upon his person. He would one day feel the cut of betrayal himself from a student in this very room today. Of this, Sybil Trelawney's prophecy was most insistent. Whether the deed was done willingly or unknowingly the prophecy did not make clear. Besides himself, only Hagrid and Madam Pince knew of this prophecy. They had witnessed Sybil having the prophecy in the staff room last year. He finished his breakfast resolved to do the most he could for loyalist and betrayer alike. Fate would take care of everything else.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron and Seamus were plotting some possible tactics against Professor McGonagall's orb attacks. They knew their head of house would keep her promise of surprise quizzes on the subject and they wanted to be prepared. Hermione had one on one tutoring sessions with them and now tactics were next on their preparation list.
"It makes more sense for the things to chase us instead of us doing the chasing," Ron said moving some food dishes around to illustrate his point. "We can stand ready and just wait for them to come to us."
"Yeah, and when they get near, cast our spells," Harry agreed. "Everyone has their list of spells in order. It's just a matter of casting them."
"Well, those orbs move fast. It's going to be hard to hit them even if we were standing still." Said Seamus.
"I don't know how Hermione can cast her spells so fast. I get the words mixed up in my head before they can reach my mouth," Ron said. "She does hers in one breath, practically."
"Well, she was always a quick study, Ron. Remember how she got through Snape's logic puzzle?" Harry observed Hermione a few seats down talking animatedly with Neville. There was something different about her but he couldn't identify it. Come to think about it there was something going on with Neville too. He hadn't blown up a cauldron in days. Seeing the two of them together was making him feel slightly creepy. They still looked the same, talked the same. But they didn't join in with the usual Gryffindor activities as much as before. Hermione was easier to explain with her constant projects and extra studying. But lately every time he saw Neville he had his head in a book or scribbling madly on parchment. It seemed almost a competition between him and Hermione as to who could read the most books in one week. Then, Neville was always the first ready and fully awake in the morning. Seamus and Dean used to have to nag him out of bed. What was going on? "We need to practice our spell casting. Maybe have some mock games and we'll throw balls at each other."
"Great idea, Harry. It's just the trick," Ron exclaimed.
"I'll reserve us an empty classroom, say tomorrow tonight after dinner?" Seamus asked.
"Yep, let's make a general announcement in the common room later," said Ron.
Harry looked at Hermione and Neville again. He would make sure that both of his friends were at the practice tomorrow night and he would have a chance to talk to both of them. "I got a better idea. I'm going to ask Hooch if we can use the practice bludgers. They'll move around on their own without actually hitting anyone."
"Oh yeah! That'll do great!" said Seamus. "We should be in pairs one bludger apiece."
"A real test. Let's McGonagall do her worse!" Ron crowed. Harry left the table to go talk to Madam Hooch. He passed by Neville and Hermione on the way.
"I'm up to two mile runs twice a day." Said Neville heaping a generous helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
"I dread starting a running routine but I really should. It's supposed to be great for stress relief." Hermione commented taking a bite of toast.
"Oh, my lungs were on fire and I was on my knees by the half mile point my first time out," Neville replied pouring himself a second tall glass of milk. "But you know he wouldn't let me quit. We half walked and half jogged the rest of the mile. I want to get to five miles eventually."
"You know I had my misgivings about your, er, situation."
"So did I, but I think it's what I needed. It feels right, anyway. What about you?" Neville stabbed another sausage and added it to his plate.
"Honestly, I feel a bit out of my element sometimes like I'm still missing information. I know you know more than you're letting on. What's the big picture?" Hermione picked at her food.
"I think we're making the big picture as we go along, Hermione. We have to learn to follow before we can lead." Neville said. "You know you really don't sound unsure of anything."
"Thanks. I have so many questions I can't ask. How can they be so calm?" Hermione poured more tea for herself.
"They have been through this before." Said Neville. "Listen, this isn't the place to talk. How about a study session? I have to give you library access, don't forget."
"Yes! How about 9 tonight?" They both agreed to meet in the Eyrie later that night.
- * -
The realtor secretly hugged herself. The commission from this sale would set her well for the rest of the year. Her client seemed to love the office space - a small standalone office building with a storefront on the first floor and offices on the second and third floors in London's Notting Hill district. The building had been considered unsellable due to the exorbitant asking price.
"Now, Ms Georges, when can I expect the paperwork? I will arrange a transfer of funds as soon as I receive the sales agreement." Peter Pettigrew asked.
"I will have the paperwork tomorrow, Mr. Lowell. I can send it to you by courier. I would need Mr. Radcliffe's signature though."
"Certainly, certainly. How about we all meet here tomorrow about 1pm?" Pettigrew smiled his most engaging smile.
"Perfect. I'll see you then. Here's the key and you can just let yourself in."
Pettigrew gallantly ushered her out and locked the door behind him. Before he went back to his lord, he had one more errand to run. He was going to look in on the Grangers.
- * -
Dumbledore, Ollivander and Madam Pomfrey shielded their eyes from the blaze of colorful, undulating waves of pure energy that encircled and levitated Severus Snape two meters above his sick bed. Nicholas Flamel squinted in concentration as he brought to bear his considerable expertise to the matter at hand - a thorough cleansing of Snape's physical matter of physical toxins as well as destructive remnants and impurities left by dark magic. Sweat beaded down his face as he sought to master the escalating powers he was commanding. The humming in the room increased and Pomfrey hugged her earmuffs to her head. Flamel slowly rotated Snape for the third time until he was face down. As he was turned like an animal on a rotisserie spit, Snape was fully conscious, eyes open, fists clenched fighting down the nausea that the aerial maneuvers were causing. His skin felt as if every pore he possessed was simultaneously subjected to a thousand needles pistoning in and out every second of time that passed. He would have screamed if he could.
Poppy could make out dark blobs and droplets streaming out of her patient. As the shapes were ejected out of the pulsating field, they burst into flames, burned to cinders and fell like dust to the floor. She, Albus and Flavius stood in various corners of the room with strict instructions on how to assist if they were needed. After a thorough examination and a lengthy morning conference, Flamel had decided that the best most immediate need was an extreme cleansing at the tissue level. In effect, this would excise the effects of decades of abuse done on Snape's body and remove any complications caused by his dabbling in the dark arts of late. Flamel theorized that this procedure would also permanently sever Demos from Snape. The level of dependence that Demos needed from Snape was unknown. Demos may or may not survive the severing. Both Severus and Demos were told of the plans and they asked for a few private minutes before giving their permission. Demos was then escorted out of the Counsel Room premises and the portcullis defense ward was changed to refuse him admittance. Hagrid, Trelawney and Filch were stationed just outside the portcullis keeping Demos company with orders to take whatever action may be required should the demon wraith behave strangely. Right now, Demos paced the corridors involuntarily phasing now and then.
After almost two hours the colors subsided leaving only a bright while glow about the now unconscious Head of Slytherin. Flamel carefully lowered Snape back to his bed. Then he himself collapsed into a nearby chair completely drained. Poppy was at his side immediately administering healing and recovery spells to the great wizard. Ollivander went to check on Demos while Albus roused Snape.
Albus cast an enervating spell and said "Severus, wake up. How do you feel?"
"I don't feel Demos, anymore. How is he?" Severus rasped through dried lips.
"He should be all right. Flavius went to check on him. Do you feel any pain?"
"No, no pain. Look!" Severus weakly lifted his arms. "They don't feel heavy anymore."
"That's very good, very, very good." Albus adjusted the blankets adding a warming spell while he did so. "Get some rest now. You're on your way to recovery."
Amazingly, Flamel recovered very quickly and he stood up straight stretching his arms out. Any other wizard would be laid out asleep for several days after the feat he had just performed. At Poppy's slack jawed awe, Flamel chuckled and said "Years of exposure to the Philosopher's Stone, Poppy, I am much, much healthier than I seem."
Ollivander returned with Demos. They stood by Snape's bed for some time. Flamel observed the wraith running a hand against Demos' forehead and shoulders. "Demos, I desire to examine you and execute some tests with your permission, of course. Never have I seen anything like you. You hover on the edge of full sentience, did you know? Physical sentience will come as you mature, I suspect."
"I will have a true physical body?" Demos asked turning his face left and right as the alchemist continued to explore.
"Eventually. Your phasing abilities interests me greatly." Flamel examined Demos' back and he said to Snape. "Though having read through your notes, Severus, I still cannot decipher how this uniquely fascinating creature came to be. I, too, am familiar with the Consula Econtra in its original form but even your modifications should not, could not result in this. You may have just created a new lifeform, young man.."
"I can only attribute it to lady luck, sir." Severus greedily drank down a glass of pumpkin juice. It was the first drink he had been able to keep down in days. "Perhaps we can go over events in more detail before you leave."
"That would please me much. Tomorrow, I want to examine your mark in more depth. If you will excuse me I am ravenous." Flamel declared. "Since I cannot show my face to the students, can someone direct me to the kitchens?"
"Come with me, Nicholas. I'm feeling peckish myself," Ollivander and Flamel went off to the kitchens catching each other up on events in the other's life as they went.
"He is incredible! That procedure has only been described as legend. Yet, he just did it with no preamble, no great preparation that I could see," Poppy looked at Dumbledore and Snape and they all laughed.
"One of a kind, Poppy, one of a kind." Said Dumbledore.
- * -
Tension was all too evident in the ramrod postures of the two people squaring off in the study of Malfoy Manor. Lucius had finally broached the subject of Narcissa joining the Death Eaters. He was prepared to be persuasive. However, he was not prepared for his wife's unusually vehement attitude.
"I am not interested, Lucius. I've told you that before." Said Narcissa.
"Why? Look at me! This . this has not done any harm to me. There is nothing to be afraid of, my dear." Said Lucius revealing his dark mark.
"It's not the mark or that I'm afraid. I am opposed to the basic philosophy." Said Narcissa.
"Narcissa, I don't understand. You believe as I do in the inferiority of muggles."
"Yes, I do. But I don't want to kill any of them either. Peaceful, ignorant coexistence is my preference."
"Is there nothing I can say to -"
"Stop, we've had this argument before, Lucius. My answer will not change. You are wasting your time." Narcissa left the study and knew she would sleep alone this night. Lucius could be so tiresome when he was bent on recruitment.
Lucius watched his wife leave and poured himself a scotch on the rocks. He should have known that he could not move her. Her family's teachings were too deeply ingrained. His mind mulled over different approaches to get Draco on his side. If anyone could convince Narcissa, it would be Draco.
- * -
Author's Notes:
The Story of the real-life Nicholas Flamel can be found at http://www.alchemylab.com/flamel.htm. This is a really late update. I had an extended business trip last week.
Enjoy!
mavidian