DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR NOTE: Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, Niamh for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, At Any Moment.
Severus VII
One who would suffer, though gifted be
The first worthiest gift for he
Passage marked and like a book laid bare
The key to peace be for him to share...
About eleven o'clock at night...
Merlin's left testicle! Where on earth do I start?
I've got this overriding urge to write a short summary of the events and then burn the page... and so remove the whole episode from my memory. If it were that easy I'd have done it for so many things already. Cock-ups like this one are never easy to solve and even if I could erase my memory, it stills leaves me with Miss Granger holding a great deal of information I really would have wished she'd never ever known. I could of course Obliviate her, but I don't know that I really want to go to such an extreme. Albus, of course, was no bloody use at all. He just cryptically told me that sometimes, 'our lives are touched by others in ways that aren't necessarily cut and dried.'
I'm still trying to work out what the old devil was actually trying to say!
Exactly what I decide to do about the events in the dungeon is my most pressing dilemma, but it certainly isn't the only one. Poppy Pomfrey let me leave the Infirmary with no more than a cursory argument, and that was most unusual. Usually I have to threaten the woman with not supplying whatever she happens to be low on...in the way of supplies, before she huffs off and tells me that I'm a bloody inconsiderate fool to ignore her advice and the day she finds me dead from whatever injuries, she'll hunt down my ghost to tell me that she was finally right!
Pfft...whatever, Poppy. I am however all too aware that something is about to happen. After all, I have the proof of it on my left arm and no amount of healing will stop the rather particular scarring I shall have once the skin has re-aligned itself and healed...if it heals at all. Voldemort planned his revenge and message well and I may just pay for it by losing my left arm at the elbow. I suppose I should be upset, but if that's the worst that happens to me in the next little while, then I shall toast Poppy with one hundred year old cognac and happily surrender a mere limb as payment for all my spying activities. I'll also toast my freedom at the same time, though that's a shade premature. We still have to win this thing, but one thing is certain in all of this turmoil, and it's that I'm finally FREE! One way or another I will never have to grovel, nor condemn my memory to more nightmares than should ever be catalogued by one mind.
I will never again have to dance to the tune of two masters.
I'll be free to pursue the life I've wanted for so long, but always had on hold. First I was bound by family expectations, then the stupidity of poor choice, and then finally I've paid my reparations for that stupidity with Albus and the Order of the Phoenix. But no longer will I have to watch myself, nor guard a stray thought or word...and I won't have to teach if I don't want to either. I'm so close to it all that I can almost taste the ambrosia of the future, but it's something to hold in check for just a little while longer. I'll either soon be alive and free or dead and free. I know which I'd prefer, but as soon as I start wishing for one, then the other might just sneak up on me when I'm not concentrating on the matter to hand.
And then Riddle would have the last laugh and I'd be left with the spectre of looking wistfully back across an eternity of poor choices, and that would irk me even more! I've no doubt that Riddle thinks me already eliminated from the picture, and that may well have been right without Miss Granger's intervention...wanted or not.
I suppose I should just surrender to the need to get the following tidbit off my chest and then close the page on the whole intriguing episode, but it isn't easy to sit in front of a blank unbiased piece of parchment and spew forth the whole sorry episode in the Potions classroom earlier this evening. As I've already written, Albus was no help whatsoever, other than to give me some sort of nonsensical whimsy about things not being, 'cut and dried'. The meaning of that cryptic bit of nonsense is up for debate, but I'm too tired to try and unravel it tonight. I gave up trying to work out Albus' little quirks years ago, but still it was an odd statement at the end of a night of equally odd occurrences...
Miss Granger did indeed turn up on time for her detention at seven o'clock and it was the only truly rational part of the whole night. I asked Baron Romsey to keep an eye on her and let her know that I'd been delayed and would arrive as soon as I was able to do so. What the Bloody Baron and Miss Granger did not know is that one of my internal alarms for the Slytherin dormitory had sounded, and I'd gone to find out what had happened. Twelve students are missing from Slytherin, though I've a pretty good idea that they aren't missing in the traditional sense of actually being lost. They've left the grounds to meet up with Riddle's forces, with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson amongst them. It took me nearly an hour to confer with the other House Masters only for all of us to discover that those who'd thrown their lot in with Voldemort had also mysteriously disappeared from their respective Common Rooms.
I know it sounds stupidly naïve, but I do hope that most of them find themselves safely out of the action and soon realise their error in trusting a madman with their salvation. I would have extended that same hope to Draco Malfoy; for Minerva's sake, but he's been a lost cause for years and his absence now is merely confirmation that he is indeed Lucius' son, as revolting as that realisation is.
Once we'd all conferred and done a physical count of every student in the castle, I returned to the classroom to find that the Baron had applied a very loose translation to, 'keep an eye on Miss Granger so that she doesn't wander off.' She was sitting in my armchair drinking chocolate by the smell of it and nursing half a butter cake on her lap. The Baron; rogue that he is, was busy regaling Miss Granger with his theatrical flamboyance and so I kept to the shadows for a while just watching him. Then he surprised me by quietly extending his apologies at the death of Miss Granger's parents, and that he himself thought the crime 'heinous' particularly against those who had no defence for the magic used on them. Then he dropped another bit of information that even I didn't know. It is that the House ghosts have been acting as guardians for those orphaned, and that he himself had been shadowing Miss Granger. Now that was surprising and though I have heard the Baron talk before, never have I heard him sound so contrite or nervous in front of a student...or anyone for that matter.
He looked nervous...very nervous, and I made note of the fact that he carefully didn't tell her how he'd earned the title of the, 'Bloody Baron.' Now there's a tale worthy of a little digression.
Sir Archibald Romsey, Privateer and Gentleman, but a Baron of very little. Even Archie has always said that it sounds far grander to claim some obscure Muggle peerage than to actually have legitimately owned such an honorific. Then he'd laugh, slap his thigh and try to slap me on the back. He only did it once or twice because the sudden cold sensation was too unsettling, and the shoulder he decided to afflict with his matey salute would ache for hours afterwards. Archie has always told me that he ran afoul of the King's men once too often and having lost his wand in a card game, was then forced to rely on his cutlass and quick duelling skills to survive.
That's his version, but my version is probably more accurate though certainly not as exciting to recount. Archie fell afoul of the English Muggle Parliament's attempts to stop privateers...or more commonly, pirates from preying on English ships laden with riches from the Indies. They had no qualms about allowing privateers free reign; for a sizeable fee, to plunder the Spanish and French ships, but when those avenues became less profitable the privateers turned their roving eyes closer to home. The Ministry of Magic, in an agreement with the Muggle Parliament agreed to banish any Wizards caught dealing in piracy and Archie was caught up in the whole sorry mess. When the Muggle navy finally caught up with him, they decided to make an example of Archie. He was first hung from the main mast of his ship moored at Southampton, and then once dead, he was quartered and his body buried in portions across the Wizarding world. The lesson of the 'Bloody Baron' was meant as a warning to other Wizards seeking a quick fortune, and he's been here at Hogwarts ever since.
Archie's right about one thing, though. His version is much more heroic and daring than mine.
Show-off that he is, Archie managed a sly bit of wandless magic when I interrupted the pair of them. Miss Granger, in her haste to stand up, let the plate on her lap slip to the floor. Before I could say anything, Archie merely quirked an eyebrow towards me in warning and repaired the plate, placing it gently on my side table. Then he bowed towards me formally, and with his usual flourish which never ceases to amaze me. He doesn't do so for Albus or anyone else in the castle, but for me he always bows low and greets me warmly.
Perhaps he's been spying on me a little too closely?
Then the silver tongued old rogue muttered some nonsense about awaiting his, 'sweet lady' and the stupid girl fell for it by blushing and grinning like a witless idiot given a new toy to play with. I stopped any further reflection by clearing my throat and giving her a pointed look, before I moved to stand behind my desk on its raised platform. As far as intimidation of students goes, I've got it down to a fine art. Miss Granger stood quietly with her hands clasped in front of her waiting for her punishment to meted out. I asked her if she'd remembered to bring her potions kit with her and at her nod, I asked her to remove her cauldron brush and proceed to the back sink where she'd find some cleaning that needed to be done. She flashed me a filthy look, but said nothing and deposited her wand on the front of my desk before she turned wordlessly to the old iron sink at the back of the room.
It's the benefit of hindsight, but I know now that I should have dismissed her once my left arm started to feel as though someone had wrapped phosphorus ribbon around it and set it alight. The pain really was excruciating and quite unlike the 'normal' awareness I had grown to associate with Riddle when he used the Dark Mark as a beacon to call his followers to him. I sat there and tried to even out my breathing, but I was all too aware that Miss Granger was still in the classroom, and that she'd taken to cleaning one cauldron; all the while muttering under her breath, and then making a show of walking across the room to place it neatly on the shelves to the right of my desk. As she was nearly finished, I was sure I could try and deflect the pain for a moment longer...well enough moments as it would take for her to finish her assigned task and leave me to scream in peace. I know I looked at the mantle clock at one point, almost willing it to chime the nine o'clock curfew so that I could release her to The Baron's guardianship, but it was not to be.
I know she looked at me oddly at one point in time, but it's all a horrible blur, with only a few moments of clarity in the whole episode. The next thing I knew I was on the floor thrashing around uncontrollably...trying to protect my head from banging against the wooden platform or the table leg that kept getting closer. I vaguely remember my left arm snapping, but it was a trifle to the rest of the pain. I could feel my arm re-arranging itself. It was...well, I'm not sure exactly what it was, but it felt like some unknown thing was knitting my veins and arteries in ways that they never should have been merged.
Riddle. Only Riddle would not have to think twice before applying such a charm to another person, but then I tend to think he's so far removed from humanity, so as to be in a class all by himself. He would see the humour in that, but I suppose madness can find humour in all sorts of avenues that others might not see.
I don't know for how long I thrashed about, but I can remember Miss Granger calling out to me. I don't know what she said, but then she was looming over me and I was trying to move away from her, lest Riddle sense her presence and extend the charm further. She had the sense to keep away from my erratic movement, but she kept talking...shouting at me. Finally I stilled and she loomed over me again with her wand firmly clasped in her right hand. She bites her fingernails...right to the quick. I never knew that.
It's funny the things you notice when you think you're dying.
She was talking to me again, though I've no idea what she said. Then she raised her wand and ran a diagnostic spell on me, knelt down and brushed the hair away from my right eye so gently that I was engrossed in her steady movement. Rolling me on my back slowly she then cradled my head in her lap. I could feel her hands shaking on my shoulders, but she just keep murmuring disjointed bits of words at me...none that I could make out clearly though. She'd been crying too – her face was all red and her eyes were puffy. I know I tried to talk, but the oddest little half squeaks and grunts were all I could manage. I know she was saying something and it couldn't have been too bad, because she didn't look upset that I couldn't answer her. I do know that she was doing something on the edge of my left eye because every time I saw her hand move into my line of vision I tried to shy away from her, but I just didn't have the energy to manage anything more than I could at the time.
The next thing I knew was that she'd asked me in some fashion if she could have a look at the injury to my left arm. It's the only part of her mutterings that I remember clearly, but she said that no one would ever hear details of my 'accident' from anyone, and then she asked me if I trusted her. I do, you know...trust her, that is. I don't know why I should as I don't know her as anything more than a student in my class, but if it was in my power, I would do anything she asked of me. I tried to nod and answer her verbally, but I had to content myself with looking deeply into her eyes and then turning my gaze to the horror of an arm skewed at an unnatural angle.
That shock caused the pain to reassert itself, but I was determined to remain conscious. I wanted to know what the depraved bastard had done to me and I needed to visually see the evidence before anyone could tidy me up. She, Hermione, looked a bit stunned at my acceptance of her, and I suppose I would have been the same if our roles had been reversed. She cast a simple cutting charm on the fabric of my robe and shirt and then she gasped, swiped her hand across her eyes and let her wand drop to the floor. There in plain language is the truth that my deception has been discovered, and it's at least some cold comfort that Riddle was exceedingly creative when he branded me a traitor.
SPY!
I can only thank whatever Fates are watching over me that 'traitor' was obviously too long a word to cause such a vivid re-arrangement of the blood vessels in my forearm. Or perhaps it is that Riddle isn't as strong as we've always tricked ourselves into believing? I must pass that observation onto Albus in the morning when I can think more clearly.
I do vaguely remember patting Hermione's left hand with my right and telling her it would all be fine, but whatever else I said was lost in a haze of her tears. I felt my head shuffling under her knees and then she leant down and kissed me just at the top of my right temple. I can still feel the tingle in the skin and if I'd had the energy at the time I would have reached out and touched her cheek. I didn't sense that she did it out of pity or because I was dying...but because for whatever reason she wanted to.
She didn't see me as she'd covered her eyes and started crying in earnest, but I watched her until I passed out...again. I don't think anyone has ever cried for me and it's left me in the oddest position as I still have to teach her in my classes at the end of the week. Add the fact that she kissed me and it's left me in an awful quandary about how to re-assert myself as her teacher, and not...well, not something else.
Albus took over from Hermione as soon as he arrived in the classroom and then Poppy insisted on healing most of the damage to my ribs and legs with Miss Granger watching intently. Albus asked about my arm and Poppy told him it was, 'a bad break', with compound fractures to both the radius and ulna, and a dislocated elbow as well. Archie just floated at the periphery of my vision and I must have looked a real mess as he had no witty quips for me either.
I don't know what to do, and Albus can take his bit about 'other lives' and shove it in the darkest corner he can find. He's utterly useless, just like that bloody mirror and its inability to show me anything other than a halo of light blocking anything I might care to see for my future.
Just before midnight...I've just received the oddest message from Albus via my Floo. He wants me to make my way to the Staffroom on the fifth floor...and I have to bring my journal – this journal with me. No reasons, no explanation, just that it was a matter of he upmost urgency and, 'for mercy's sake could I at least do one thing without questioning his intent?' It was too tempting to say that I wouldn't need to question his intent if he wasn't so bloody cryptic, but the look on his face effectively stopped me voicing that observation.
I'll take you with me, but there had better be a damned good explanation for all this intrigue and I have a horrible feeling that Riddle will seek the cover of the 'witching hour' to wreak his own particular vengeance on those who seek to oppose his version of a perfect world.
I can only hope we're ready and that having relayed his intentions unwittingly this evening, he'll fall short of his target.
Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!