Sorry it's been so long, but I've been VERY busy. I hope this chapter
makes up for it – a bit longer but quite entertaining (in my opinion,
anyhow). I had it written for some time (shortly after the last chapter),
but couldn't get it 'quite right'. I'm still not 100% happy with it in
some areas, but I didn't want to hold it up any longer. Thanks for your
continued support and patience.
Please do leave comments, if you can. Of course, emails to me if you want to mention something in depth are welcome as well. Thanks again and I hope you enjoy.
~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~
Chapter 16 – Memoirs of a Nervous Illness
Harry stared out the cold train compartment window watching as the Scottish countryside raced by. His breath occasionally fogged the window, distorting the blur of white and browns that rolled passed with each clacking of the wheels on the track - each revolution hurling him closer towards where he least wanted to be. Exactly one year ago he was on his way to Grimmauld Place to spend Christmas with Sirius. Harry chocked back the anger as he remembered decorating the tree, singing carols and enjoying a modest, but well met, meal. But this year there was no Sirius and the only things that remained were shards of his gift, fragment memories of too few good times, and the cutting realization of how his own arrogance - his own insistence that only he knew the right way to go about things-- led to his Godfather's death.
And from that a deeper regret and swelling anger that perhaps Snape was right about him all along.
Hearing a soft clatter, Harry turned his head and watched as Ginny tossed some chipped second-hand wooden runes into a shallow box. The young red- haired witch rearranged the tiles with a few flicks of the wand and then took up her quill and notebook, hastily copying down a few notes while referencing a tattered, dog-eared book that was marked with a wide green silk ribbon with the letters R.A.M.L embroidered at the top. Harry tilted his head to read the spine. The embossed printing was worn with age and use, but eventually he made out the title: "Practical Rune Divination."
Allowing his companion to work undisturbed, the young wizard closed his eyes and exhaled, returning to his introspective self-lashing. Opening his eyes and turning his head to stare out the window again, he considered for a moment the good fortune that only Sirius' life had been lost -- as Hermione herself was badly injured and could just as easily been killed. He lifted his head off the glass and sat back in the seat, carefully pacing his breath as he practiced an exercise to quell his thoughts and emotions. Although Voldemort had been driven from his mind the past summer, Harry could occasionally feel the powerful dark wizard trying to regain entry; the tiny scratches and subtle probes that the marked the Dark Wizard's methodical attempts. By refusing to yield to his emotions, Harry had been, thus far, successful in keeping Voldemort at bay. And, he considered silently, his own self-loathing would only make easier work for Voldemort and do little to change what had happened.
What was done was done. Water under the bridge. Spilt milk. A shattered mirror...
He practiced his breathing as he had done many times this past semester during his tutoring with Lestrange and as routine before bedtime. The sessions with Lestrange were long and tedious and as the weeks wore on, Harry noted how he quickly gained the upper hand. Although he liked to think he was more powerful, he could see the strain wearing on the witch; the stress wearing deeper lines in her face and darker circles under her eyes as the days and weeks passed.
During their Sunday sessions, she would arrive dressed in her heavy wool cloak, apparently returning from Hogsmeade or somewhere from outside of Hogwarts. On Wednesdays she would rush in, often late by a few minutes, but her aloof aristocratic demeanor would never permit her to apologize for her tardiness. Her stuffed satchel, straining the seams with ancient tomes, parchments, scrolls, and – he suspected from the noise of clanking glass – a goodly assortment of potions, would have burst if were it not for a series of charms that unnaturally strengthened and lightened the bag. She would breeze in, as flighty as a bee, motioning for him to sit down as she prepared. He would use this time to clear his mind, burying his thoughts on whether she was friend or foe, compartmentalized his hatred of Snape, expel his guilt for unfortunate deeds... but he could never fully extinguish his pity that Lestrange was a victim of circumstance.
Just like he.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a neat folded parchment, a prepayment for some services he still had to render but both he and Lestrange agreed to hold off until after break. He carefully unfolded the paper and stared at the runes that lay in what appeared to be a haphazard pattern on the paper. She refused to see the future, and Harry surmised that it was either that she knew Dumbledore would find out, she was too weak, or more than likely some elements of both. But she had offered three clarifications in exchange for him teaching her how to properly do the Patronus charm. The first, the one that he held in his hand, was locked by an Enigmus charm and would be readable on Christmas. The others she would perform as he provided the lessons that would begin after winter break.
It was their little secret, fueled, he suspected, by her chilling encounter with the Dementor over Halloween and completed by his own desire for closure. Despite who she was and their circumstances, he allowed himself to share a tenuous bond; they each held secrets from each others minds-- scenes, thoughts, and emotions that accidentally leaked or were forced loose from their training. Harry knew she saw the images of Dudley, Aunt Marge and the others taunting him; she witnessed his happiness as he received and finally read his Hogwarts letter; she saw how his friends helped him through his darkest hours and how he recoiled and boiled in anger at sight of the young Tom Riddle standing over Ginny's near lifeless body. He knew she saw scores of other memories but he noted that she made no critique or comment other than to tell him to refocus and clear his mind. And, when he saw her countless images and memories, more detailed and vivid in the more recent sessions as her fatigue showed, he simply nodded and said that it was such a blur that he could make out nothing of importance, but certainly Voldemort or another more powerful wizard would certainly be able to.
It communicated what he needed while allowing both to save face.
She remembered herself as thin, scrawny girl with large teeth and bushy hair, always with a book and always plotting some way to get near Snape. An unkempt recluse who preferred sneaking into the restricted section of the library over perusing the latest edition of Witch Weekly, a little witch who was clever and sly, but homely and sheltered by her brothers who treated her like a fragile pet and ensured that any who tried to taunt her felt their wrath. Not coming from a loving household, Harry couldn't understand what was normal, but there were underlying elements of loyalty between the siblings and a sense of understanding and perhaps even affection, between her and Snape. The dark muses wove a complex fabric with her life and the same elements that kept her sane and secure were the very ones that could eventually take her life. But of all the memories; happy, sad, intimate and terrifying, there was one that he saw only once and quite briefly that took his interest more than the others. It was a memory of his father—James and she were in a tunnel. She had turned to look onto James and he was clutching a tear in his robe, blood tricking through his clenched fingers and he was screaming for her to run.
The memory was only for a split second, but Harry had every detail burned into his mind.
"I swear that they are completely out of control!" Hermione exclaimed and she and Ron walked into the compartment, slamming the door shut. Harry jumped and quickly folded the paper and put it back in his pocket.
"Who?" Ginny asked. She quickly wrote down a few more notes and began to put away her items, making room for her two friends and Luna and Neville who were following right behind.
"Crabbe and Goyle," Ron said. "Colin Creevey had the misfortune of running into them. They grabbed a fistful of hair before deciding to try to shove him out the window. Fortunately Malfoy saw us coming and told them to stop."
"Had we not been on duty, I'm afraid that Colin would have had to walk to Edinburgh for the next train to London!" Hermione protested. "We should file a report!"
"Nothing is going to happen to Malfoy, as it did 'appear' that he was trying to intervene..." Ron interjected.
"He was laughing until he saw us!" Hermione countered. Grabbing an offered paper and quill from Ginny, she began to write.
"Dear gods, you're not sending a copy to Snape as well?" Ron rolled his eyes. "He'll see your name and throw it in the fire without reading it."
"It is procedure to send a copy to the offending Prefect's Head of House," Hermione replied, not looking up. "What Professor Snape elects to do with it is hardly my concern. However, Malfoy is on probation and if Professor Snape overlooks too much, Dumbledore may intervene."
"Whatever," Ron said, waving his hand and simply sitting back in the seat. "Harry, do you have a ride?"
"Uncle Vernon is picking me up," Harry said. "Moody, Lupin and the gang are going to play look-out to make sure no one follows us. There have been some odd folks around Little Whinging asking questions about me. Fortunately, all the people in my immediate neighborhood never knew my last name and most never knew my first for that matter, so that helps, and I suspect that Dumbledore might have been placing a few pre-emptive spells."
"Does that have to do with last summer?" Luna asked. "My father had heard that there was a big cover up mid-summer at the ministry. Something about you, but he never did find out."
"Someone who shouldn't have accidentally found out where I lived. Dumbledore since then has put memory charms on just about everyone except Ron, his parents, and Hermione. Even Mad Eye Moody and Remus Lupin had something done to them," Harry explained.
"There is a rumor that Dumbledore put a Memory-Blotting potion in the Ministry drinking fountains and kitchen beverage dispensers so that everyone would forget. I also heard a rumor that he did a very advanced Erasing Charm that altered most records about you. At least information regarding your relatives names and where you live," Luna continued. "Father said he tried to do a basic look up and couldn't find a thing. He's quite skilled in research, so it sounds like a conspiracy to me. Besides, wouldn't a Fidelus charm be simpler?"
"Considering it failed for my parents, I think Dumbledore wanted to try another means," Harry said. As he thought about it, all the effort did not make sense and it almost appeared, if he did not know better, that Dumbledore did not really know whom to trust. Seeing that option being quite uncomfortable to consider, Harry decided that perhaps it was for everyone else's good so they would not become targets—it might not be the case, but the thought was more reassuring. "So far I am safe, and I hope to convince him that I only need to stay a week with them before I can go somewhere else. Needless to say, this is probably going to be a very uneventful Christmas."
~***~
"Mistress care for more tea?" Kreacher lifted the pot and motioned towards the delicate porcelain cup. He looked on as the witch offered her cup, her hand shaking so violently that the little bit of tea that remained splashed over the side and onto the floor. The elf quickly grabbed the cup and sat it down on a nearby table. He regarding the witch for a moment, her disheveled hair fell unbound around her face reminding the elf of a dirty brown mop. Deep black circles entombed her gray eyes and her face and cheeks were sunken giving a more skeletal appearance to her already bony face. The elf had served the Black household-- now the Snape household as he mentally corrected himself-- for several centuries. It was not the first time that a witch went mad, but certainly a record for so early in the marriage. "Perhaps Mistress would like to lay down? Or perhaps have Mistress' personal elf draw a bath?"
Ruedella sprung up from the chair, channeling a spring of newfound energy. She spun around disoriented and then her face drew into a wide smile. She remembered being carried inside and she remembered this house. She spun on heel a few more times, eventually losing her balance and falling on her rear. She looked at the elf and smiled. "Regulus, you look like a house elf! Did Barty hex you again?"
"Mistress!" the elf screeched. "Kreacher is not Master Regulus, Master Regulus is long... gone. Master said that Mistress was ill, that Mistress was working hard for the Dark Lord and that Master has given Mistress many potions over the past two month to help. Waking potions, speed potions, calming potions, memory potions, and even some time altering potions so Mistress would have enough time to complete Mistress' tasks. Master will be back soon and that Kreacher was to keep an eye on Mistress to ensure nothing befalls Mistress. When Master returns... Master had an important appointment."
Ruedella laughed in a high-pitched squeal. She fell backwards on the floor and looked straight up. "What are those, Regulus?"
"The family tapestries, Mistress," Kreacher said, aiding the witch to her feet. One of the younger elves appeared to clear away the dishes and fortunately was astute enough to bring over a chair as the elder elf steadied the unstable witch. Helping her into the chair, the elf pointed to the largest tapestry in the center. "The manor now belongs to the House of Snape, Mistress. Master is the son of Nefarius Black and the last remaining Snape."
"Severus..." Ruedella said. "You mean Severus is the Master?" She laughed out loud. "Now that is rich, Severus 'Snivellus' Snape lord and master." She stopped and looked at the elf. "Why do you call me Mistress, Regulus?"
The elf bit its lower lip, electing not to correct his Mistress as she was obviously of not the right mind and continuing on the course would probably end with him being clothed. Although the notion of handing her an axe and seeing what she would do, given her condition, did have some significant appeal. "Mistress is Master's wife. Mainly."
Ruedella looked at the tapestry and saw her name next to Severus' connected by two silver threads. She studied the other three tapestries, a Black, a Lestrange and a Malfoy. Each was constructed in the same manner and as her head stopped spinning, she did recall the last two being from her own ancestral home. "The rest of the threads are in gold. Why aren't we in gold?"
"Because Mistress has not given Master," the elf said, clearing his throat, searching for the right way to express it. "Mistress and Master have not finished binding the contract."
"Oh..." Ruedella said, stifling a laugh. She recalled Rodolphus and Bellatrix wedding night when she and Rabastan watched the tapestry as the crosses joining their names turned from silver to gold, signaling the exact moment they consummated their marriage. The voyeurism certainly surpassed anything else offered on the Wizarding Wireless Network including the premium broadcasts that her father used to watch in his study.
She slumped in the chair, slowly rubbing her face. "I remember... Runes..." she said with a giddy air, as the temporary lucidity passed and her mind wandered again. "Working on a project," she whispered as she turned to the elf, with her finger to her lip and a somber, scared expression on her face, "Shhh... very important. The Potter boy tried to get it out of my mind, but I kept him out..." She said the last with a smug air and a slight, girlish giggle. "I even kept it from Dumbledore himself..." she said the last sadly with a sigh of resignation.
"Yes, Mistress, quite an accomplishment," Kreacher said, fetching a pillow and fluffing it for the witch. "Kreacher heard from Mistress Black's portrait that Mistress and Master are to meet with the Dark Lord soon." The elf turned to the side and added under his breath, "Assuming Master fixes Mistress for the task." He felt a cold hand around his neck and he yelped as the witch dragged him closer.
"You know what Regulus?" she pointed her finger at the Malfoy tapestry, "Lucius' son has the divination ability of a Mudblood... no..." she chortled, her grey eyes drowned in a giddy glaze, "a Muggle. He has the talent of a bloody Muggle. A bloody Muggle could throw runes and in some random chance create a more compelling clarification..." She gave the elf a crazed toothy smile, "Oh I would love to tell Lucius. Perhaps I should wait until I am in front of the Dark Lord? To properly humiliate him for all those years of thinking he was better than us..." She gestured at the tapestry again and added, "Grandmother married a Malfoy, but her grandmother was born one. The talent may pass through the male bloodline too, but I don't think warlocks possess it... I could be wrong... but over there..." She pointed to blown off portions that existed on both the Malfoy and Black tapestries. "I wonder if it went over there too... lost... hidden..."
"Kreacher doubts that the ability went to blood traitors. Mistress Black has told me all about Mistress, and that Kreacher should treat Mistress just like Kreacher treated Mistress Black. Mistress Black said that the other portraits have heard whispers about Mistress, favorable whispers." The elf began to turn so that it could leave the witch for a few moments, hoping time would sober her mind. "When Mistress is feeling better, Mistress Black would like to talk with Mistress - it has been since summer - "
"Summer?" Ruedella looked at the elf and then to her watch. "The sixth hand is on chi and the twelfth is on... err... Regulus, what day is it?"
"The first day of winter break, Mistress. You were at Hogwarts..." Kreacher began slowly, his eyes occasionally darting over to the door hoping Master would arrive soon.
"I have to be at King Cross station!" Ruedella jumped from her chair. "Father would probably send Rodolphus to fetch us! Rodolphus doesn't care for us to be late. I am never late... but Rabastan..." she stomped her foot on the floor. Padding herself, she found her wand and rushed over to the fireplace. Grabbing an urn, she opened it, finding nothing she threw it on the ground, smashing it and then grabbed another and then another until she found the floo powder.
"Mistress!" Kreacher yelped. "Mistress does not have to be at King Cross station! Mistress is home. Mistress must wait here for Master!" The elf leapt and grabbed the witch around the waist, trying to hold her back. His watery eyes flew open wide as the witch stepped towards the fire.
~***~
Harry stood in line, leaning against his cart, as the porters unloaded the train and stacked the luggage in neat piles; first by house and then by year. Waiting his turn, he looked around, taking in his surroundings. Down platform 9 ¾ he could see wizard parent arriving via floo and a few disapparating in designated spots with soft pops. He smiled and nodded to those who recognized him, good naturedly taking a few friendly pats on the arms by well wishers. Taking another survey, he saw Shackelbolt at the main exit; the large bald wizard was casually reading a newspaper. Not far away stood Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody, who were apparently engaged in some discussion and otherwise trying to blend into the crowd. Well, at least as much as Mad Eye could blend in anywhere.
Retrieving his luggage and Hedwig, he pushed the cart towards the exit, constantly looking around as he walked. He assumed that although he only saw the three wizards, there were others in disguise or otherwise hidden in the crowd. He paused, as the line was slow and turned to try to find at least one of his friends. As he scanned the faces, he tried to guess which of the adults were simply parents versus guards, passing his time until a loud noise caught his attention. At the far end of the platform, he noticed a witch popping from the floo with a house elf attached to her waist. At first he did not recognize her, but did immediately recognize the treacherous Kreacher, and then realized it was Professor Lestrange. The woman stumbled along the platform, her hair tangled and knotted and her dress decidedly quite unkempt. She twirled around trying to shake off the elf as she hit the thing soundly with her fists.
"RABASTAN!" she yelled into the crowd. "RABASTAN! Rodolphus will be here shortly! If we make him wait, Father will allow him to practice curses on us!" She paused and grabbed a young girl in a Slytherin cloak by the arm. "You, where is the Slytherin luggage... fourth year..." She let go of the girl and stumbled towards the luggage, a spot quite near the exit line in which Harry was standing. The line had stopped moving, as everyone on the platform was watching the witch, unsure what to do or if they should even help. Lestrange approached the luggage, still struggling with Kreacher, who was now pleading with her. Taking out her wand, she zapped the elf with some obscure curse, laughing as the elf sailed down the platform and landed squarely in the Hufflepuff area, making a couple of hard bounces as it ricocheted off the trunks.
"My luggage!" Lestrange roared as she dug through the pile. She stopped and panned her eyes along the various trunks and cases, eventually looking up squarely at Harry. She froze as she stared at him and then with a whimper she cautiously made her way over. "Potter?" she whispered.
"Yes, Professor..." Harry said.
The witch grabbed his hand-me-down sweater, rubbing the material between her fingers. "Odd clothing Potter," she said, "I thought your family was one with means." Making eye contact again, Harry could see her drift off, her eyes becoming cloudy and dull. Then, a split second later, her eyes flew open, clear, and she shrieked. "How did you... the blood..." she stepped back, vigorously rubbing her arms. "It... the blood... spotted the walls." She laid her hand on Harry's shoulder, her fingers slowly sliding down and then grabbing Harry's right arm, turning it over slowly. "The bite..." she looked up and then closed her eyes, "Are you a... now...?" She licked her lips and let go of his arm, "The other day Quirrell said he saw Barty on the third floor landing at 1 pm, but Barty and I were in the library..." She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Lestrange whipped around to face Moody, who had pushed his way through the crowd.
"That's enough," Moody said softly trying to calm her. "Been a busy time and you need some sleep. Interference between the Runespoor eggs and some sort of time altering potion, I'd wager. And a few other potions..." Moody frowned as he reached for his wand. "Can't imagine who'd be supplying you... just a quick sleeping spell and..." He was about to issue the spell when the witch struck his hand, causing him to lose his grip, his long wand flew from his fingers and fell to the ground.
"MURDER!" Lestrange screamed at the top of her lungs, pointing to Remus. "MURDER!" She began to shake, her darkened eyes overflowing with tears. "He killed them! Ripped them..."
"ENOUGH!" a deep voice bellowed. Harry watched as Snape stepped out from the crowd and for a brief moment he was relieved to see him. The wizard swooped over and grabbed the witch, and with a fluid movement, produced a small green vial and leveled it to her lips. Lestrange took the potion without hesitation and was unconscious a second later. With a wave of his hand, Snape kept her standing and stable as he reached into his cloak and producing another vial, this one containing brilliant sapphire blue liquid.
"She sure as hell did not need any more of your concoctions!" Moody said. "I see a potions overdose when I see one. Gods only know what is flowing through her..."
"The gods and I know exactly..." Snape snapped back. He spun on heel and faced Harry. "Enjoyed the display, a little chuckle to enjoy over break?"
"I hope she is fine," Harry said. "Obviously a bit of... over work. I hope the break doesn't make things worse." With that, Harry turned and pushed his cart, ignoring the queue and headed straight for the exit.
~***~
"Were you going to have me wait all day?" Vernon Dursley's agitated voice boomed.
"There was a disruption," Harry said quickly. "Unavoidable."
"Well you'd think that with all their mumbo-jumbo that they'd be a bit more orderly," the man huffed.
"Sometimes the 'mumbo-jumbo' causes more problems than it solves," Harry said quickly, hoping the depreciating comment would placate the man so he wouldn't hear the rant the entire way back to Privet Drive.
"Harry!" a cheerful voice called out. "I'd like to take a photo!"
"You have a million photos of me Colin," Harry called back.
"C'mon!" the boy groveled, running up to Harry. "Just one of you and your Uncle. Hey, that would work." The boy took a couple of quick steps back and took the shot. "Maybe another, I didn't get your Uncle to smile."
"Forget about it," Harry said between clenched teeth. He looked at Colin for a moment. "Shouldn't you be in street clothes?"
"Oh, got so busy taking pictures I forgot to change. Without the robe it looks like any other stupid Muggle school uniform." Colin countered. "Sir," he looked at Dursley, who was turning a delicious shade of lavender. "Your name... for the scrapbook..."
"You There!" another voice shouted. "Keep moving unless you want me to paint a target on your head!" Moody hobbled briskly up to Harry and Dursley, shooing his bowler at him. He leaned over to Vernon who was trying to move away. "I have some of my people putting an anti-following charm and a disguise charm on your car. Heard that 'they' might have people here trying to follow you. We'll keep a close eye on things, but standing around waiting for something to happen isn't going to save your skin."
"How dare you!" Vernon shouted back. "Defacing my vehicle... and my name is Vernon Dursley, not 'You There'!"
"Fine, let them slit your throat in the middle of the night," Moody shrugged.
"The charms will wear off once we reach home?" Vernon repeated rhetorically with a controlled tone of voice.
"They will, Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "We should be going."
Colin waved goodbye and smiled. "Vernon Dursley," he said, committing the name to memory.
~***~
Severus Snape stood by the tall, ornate cage that sat in his private rooms. Opening the door he received the large male Eagle Owl on his arm, taking a few minutes to carefully stroke the owl's rich feathers. The female stood on a perch nearby, cocking its head slightly watching her mate. As a boy Severus always wanted an owl, but his mother was never able to afford one. As an adult he certainly earned enough money, but elected to use his income to purchase heirlooms and books—such expenditure would be an unnecessary luxury given Hogwarts had plenty of suitable owls.
With a flick of his fingers and a quick incantation, the nearby window and shutters blew open. The cold December air was instantly warmed with a charm, allowing the benefit of fresh air with out the frigid bite. Although the house elves had made considerable progress with restoring the house, the remaining stench of the Hippogriff - or was that of Sirius Black - was never completely cleaned from the Master Bedroom. That would simply require time. Attaching a few parchments to the owls, Severus sent them off, watching in satisfaction as they flew out the large window.
"Shut it!" he heard a muffled request from under the pillows.
"Feeling better are we?" Severus took a few steps to the bed and grabbed the comforter and sheets, ripping them off of her. "Up!" he commanded.
"Ohhh..." Ruedella Lestrange bolted straight up. "Agg..." she moaned and grabbed her head and fell back down on the bed. "Bloody... hell..." she cursed as she pulled the pillow back onto her face.
Opening a drawer in the nightstand, Severus picked up a waiting bottle and set it on the table. Grabbing the pillow, he yanked it away and threw it to the side. Pulling the protesting witch into a sitting position, he offered the bottle. "Drink," he said, unplugging the stopper with a practiced movement of his thumb. Squinting she took the vial and held it up. "It will take away the vertigo and light sensitivity," Severus said, sitting on the bed next to her.
Ruedella took the potion in a quick motion. A smile crept over her face as the elixir took effect. She sighed and handed it back to him. "Thank you. It was all a blur." She paused and then looked around the room. Seeing that both she and he were in their nightclothes, albeit Severus was wearing a dressing robe in addition, and the rumpled sheets next to her indicated she had a bed partner, she screeched, pulled up her legs and rolled off the bed, opposite of the wizard. Patting her body, she spat, "You didn't!!"
"We slept together, yes, as we are married and this is my room. However, do give me some credit in that I didn't take you while you were out cold," Severus replied. "That would be, well..."
"Unsporting?" Ruedella finished his sentence with a raised eyebrow.
"Do not lie and tell me that you did not want this," Severus said, patting the bed next to him. "Come here." He watched as the witch cautiously climbed back on the bed and then scooted closer. Truth be told he spent most of the night in the chair next to the bed, unsure how to emotionally and physically deal with the intimacy of someone sleeping next to him – the very thought terrified him as much as one of the Dark Lord's tirades. "Your wand is on the nightstand, if you feel you need it."
"What happened?" Ruedella asked, slowly moving towards the edge of the bed, but trying not to show that her ultimate goal was reaching her wand. "I remember taking Kreacher... or was that a dream?"
"These are a side effect when time potions are consumed with conflicting substances. The leveling potions I gave you allowed your body to avoid the side effects of the various potions you were downing over the past several weeks. However, once you were done, I withheld the leveling potions and the effects, shall we say, hit you all at once." The wizard offered a smirk. "Yesterday the portkey dumped us about a half block from here. Fortunately the Muggles were at work, so I could carry you most of the way and into the house."
"How romantic," Ruedella said. "I hope you didn't trip over the threshold."
"It would have been a bit more memorable had you not been passed out like a drunken Knockturn Alley whore," Severus snapped. "But your condition was for a good purpose, so I will not hold it against you."
"Such a forgiving man," Ruedella sniped. "So, I suppose that it would have been too difficult to give me something..."
"Sometimes even the most potent magic is time," Severus replied. "I left you in Kreacher's care as I met with Dumbledore. Although I did tell the stupid little elf that you would be quite out of your mind, I did not realize that the elf lacked the basic magical skills to block the floo or at least body bind you – or the common sense to ask the other elves for assistance. You needed several hours, free of potions, for the residuals pass through your system. Once that was done, I could introduce a simple potion to address the pain and vertigo. However, the time potions you took to 'buy' extra research time must have interfered with the other potions and while your body was trying to recover, you had a series of vivid flashbacks." He paused and added, "You also announced to the crowd at Kings Cross Station that Remus Lupin was a werewolf and a murderer. Had it not been for the fact that I had to attend to you, it might have been amusing."
"Lovely," Ruedella responded as she rubbed her face. She then motioned with her other hand for Severus to move. The wizard stood up and offered his hand, helping her off the bed as well.
"I trust you are now feeling well?" Severus inquired evenly.
"Yes, much better. Fit as ever. A pinch tired, but nothing..." Ruedella started to explain but was interrupted. Severus grabbed her hand and pulled her close.
"I have a gift for you," he said, whispering in her ear. Motioning with his head towards the door, he commented, "Time to change the threads on the tapestry." He pulled Ruedella back and at her directly, noticing that the witch was scowling. "We have discussed this at least a dozen time. The Dark Lord intervened on Rodolphus' behalf. He did not feel that your games were productive and the Dark Lord felt that it best served his needs to make sure his Runes diviner was... shall we say... well kept?" The wizard gently rubbed her arm. "I do not wish to ever harm you – unless in self defense, of course. Lucius felt that..."
"Lucius actually feels that although you are a blood Black, you are not of a status to marry into his family," Ruedella countered, pulling away and walking over to the nightstand. "Pureblood or not, he cannot get over that 'Borgin' blood. Nor what happened before you were born..."
"Your Grandfather has, Rodolphus has, and the Dark Lord has, so despite how highly Lucius thinks of himself, his opinion is irrelevant," Severus countered. "I know that you would not consider the union to be unpleasant." He placed his hand on her face and gently stroked her hair. "I say that we make the most of the situation. I promise a most attractive gilded cage if you work with me."
"A gilded cage?" Ruedella smiled and leaned into Severus hand. Taking the opportunity Severus leaned in, and kissed her. He could feel his cold thin lips warm on hers. Her body was stiff at first, but then relaxed as his hand moved onto her lower back, making small semi-circles. He moved his hand up, over her shoulder and began working the flexible material off of her shoulder. He allowed a small smile and disengaged from her mouth, kissing her down her face and neck towards her now bare shoulder.
"That's better," he said, as he felt her untie his dressing robe.
"Severus," her voice was soft and in his ear as he worked on her shoulder, his other hand now working on the other side in an effort to slide the nightgown completely off of her. "Severus, if you were me, would you enjoy the gilded cage?"
"Of course," he said dismissively. With a quick movement, he pulled the nightgown down over her shoulders and down to her waist. He stepped back to admire her. She was thin, but defined in what mattered. "Only a fool in these dangerous times would not appreciate..." Snape paused, noticing a small flicker in her light grey eyes.
He stepped back and reached for his wand, but the purple light of the spell caught him too soon, the force causing him to stumble backwards into the enormous owl cage as he emitted a loud, enraged bellow of pain.
~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~
Don't forget to leave a review, if you wish. I do appreciate the comments and hope you are enjoying the story.
Please do leave comments, if you can. Of course, emails to me if you want to mention something in depth are welcome as well. Thanks again and I hope you enjoy.
~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~
Chapter 16 – Memoirs of a Nervous Illness
Harry stared out the cold train compartment window watching as the Scottish countryside raced by. His breath occasionally fogged the window, distorting the blur of white and browns that rolled passed with each clacking of the wheels on the track - each revolution hurling him closer towards where he least wanted to be. Exactly one year ago he was on his way to Grimmauld Place to spend Christmas with Sirius. Harry chocked back the anger as he remembered decorating the tree, singing carols and enjoying a modest, but well met, meal. But this year there was no Sirius and the only things that remained were shards of his gift, fragment memories of too few good times, and the cutting realization of how his own arrogance - his own insistence that only he knew the right way to go about things-- led to his Godfather's death.
And from that a deeper regret and swelling anger that perhaps Snape was right about him all along.
Hearing a soft clatter, Harry turned his head and watched as Ginny tossed some chipped second-hand wooden runes into a shallow box. The young red- haired witch rearranged the tiles with a few flicks of the wand and then took up her quill and notebook, hastily copying down a few notes while referencing a tattered, dog-eared book that was marked with a wide green silk ribbon with the letters R.A.M.L embroidered at the top. Harry tilted his head to read the spine. The embossed printing was worn with age and use, but eventually he made out the title: "Practical Rune Divination."
Allowing his companion to work undisturbed, the young wizard closed his eyes and exhaled, returning to his introspective self-lashing. Opening his eyes and turning his head to stare out the window again, he considered for a moment the good fortune that only Sirius' life had been lost -- as Hermione herself was badly injured and could just as easily been killed. He lifted his head off the glass and sat back in the seat, carefully pacing his breath as he practiced an exercise to quell his thoughts and emotions. Although Voldemort had been driven from his mind the past summer, Harry could occasionally feel the powerful dark wizard trying to regain entry; the tiny scratches and subtle probes that the marked the Dark Wizard's methodical attempts. By refusing to yield to his emotions, Harry had been, thus far, successful in keeping Voldemort at bay. And, he considered silently, his own self-loathing would only make easier work for Voldemort and do little to change what had happened.
What was done was done. Water under the bridge. Spilt milk. A shattered mirror...
He practiced his breathing as he had done many times this past semester during his tutoring with Lestrange and as routine before bedtime. The sessions with Lestrange were long and tedious and as the weeks wore on, Harry noted how he quickly gained the upper hand. Although he liked to think he was more powerful, he could see the strain wearing on the witch; the stress wearing deeper lines in her face and darker circles under her eyes as the days and weeks passed.
During their Sunday sessions, she would arrive dressed in her heavy wool cloak, apparently returning from Hogsmeade or somewhere from outside of Hogwarts. On Wednesdays she would rush in, often late by a few minutes, but her aloof aristocratic demeanor would never permit her to apologize for her tardiness. Her stuffed satchel, straining the seams with ancient tomes, parchments, scrolls, and – he suspected from the noise of clanking glass – a goodly assortment of potions, would have burst if were it not for a series of charms that unnaturally strengthened and lightened the bag. She would breeze in, as flighty as a bee, motioning for him to sit down as she prepared. He would use this time to clear his mind, burying his thoughts on whether she was friend or foe, compartmentalized his hatred of Snape, expel his guilt for unfortunate deeds... but he could never fully extinguish his pity that Lestrange was a victim of circumstance.
Just like he.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a neat folded parchment, a prepayment for some services he still had to render but both he and Lestrange agreed to hold off until after break. He carefully unfolded the paper and stared at the runes that lay in what appeared to be a haphazard pattern on the paper. She refused to see the future, and Harry surmised that it was either that she knew Dumbledore would find out, she was too weak, or more than likely some elements of both. But she had offered three clarifications in exchange for him teaching her how to properly do the Patronus charm. The first, the one that he held in his hand, was locked by an Enigmus charm and would be readable on Christmas. The others she would perform as he provided the lessons that would begin after winter break.
It was their little secret, fueled, he suspected, by her chilling encounter with the Dementor over Halloween and completed by his own desire for closure. Despite who she was and their circumstances, he allowed himself to share a tenuous bond; they each held secrets from each others minds-- scenes, thoughts, and emotions that accidentally leaked or were forced loose from their training. Harry knew she saw the images of Dudley, Aunt Marge and the others taunting him; she witnessed his happiness as he received and finally read his Hogwarts letter; she saw how his friends helped him through his darkest hours and how he recoiled and boiled in anger at sight of the young Tom Riddle standing over Ginny's near lifeless body. He knew she saw scores of other memories but he noted that she made no critique or comment other than to tell him to refocus and clear his mind. And, when he saw her countless images and memories, more detailed and vivid in the more recent sessions as her fatigue showed, he simply nodded and said that it was such a blur that he could make out nothing of importance, but certainly Voldemort or another more powerful wizard would certainly be able to.
It communicated what he needed while allowing both to save face.
She remembered herself as thin, scrawny girl with large teeth and bushy hair, always with a book and always plotting some way to get near Snape. An unkempt recluse who preferred sneaking into the restricted section of the library over perusing the latest edition of Witch Weekly, a little witch who was clever and sly, but homely and sheltered by her brothers who treated her like a fragile pet and ensured that any who tried to taunt her felt their wrath. Not coming from a loving household, Harry couldn't understand what was normal, but there were underlying elements of loyalty between the siblings and a sense of understanding and perhaps even affection, between her and Snape. The dark muses wove a complex fabric with her life and the same elements that kept her sane and secure were the very ones that could eventually take her life. But of all the memories; happy, sad, intimate and terrifying, there was one that he saw only once and quite briefly that took his interest more than the others. It was a memory of his father—James and she were in a tunnel. She had turned to look onto James and he was clutching a tear in his robe, blood tricking through his clenched fingers and he was screaming for her to run.
The memory was only for a split second, but Harry had every detail burned into his mind.
"I swear that they are completely out of control!" Hermione exclaimed and she and Ron walked into the compartment, slamming the door shut. Harry jumped and quickly folded the paper and put it back in his pocket.
"Who?" Ginny asked. She quickly wrote down a few more notes and began to put away her items, making room for her two friends and Luna and Neville who were following right behind.
"Crabbe and Goyle," Ron said. "Colin Creevey had the misfortune of running into them. They grabbed a fistful of hair before deciding to try to shove him out the window. Fortunately Malfoy saw us coming and told them to stop."
"Had we not been on duty, I'm afraid that Colin would have had to walk to Edinburgh for the next train to London!" Hermione protested. "We should file a report!"
"Nothing is going to happen to Malfoy, as it did 'appear' that he was trying to intervene..." Ron interjected.
"He was laughing until he saw us!" Hermione countered. Grabbing an offered paper and quill from Ginny, she began to write.
"Dear gods, you're not sending a copy to Snape as well?" Ron rolled his eyes. "He'll see your name and throw it in the fire without reading it."
"It is procedure to send a copy to the offending Prefect's Head of House," Hermione replied, not looking up. "What Professor Snape elects to do with it is hardly my concern. However, Malfoy is on probation and if Professor Snape overlooks too much, Dumbledore may intervene."
"Whatever," Ron said, waving his hand and simply sitting back in the seat. "Harry, do you have a ride?"
"Uncle Vernon is picking me up," Harry said. "Moody, Lupin and the gang are going to play look-out to make sure no one follows us. There have been some odd folks around Little Whinging asking questions about me. Fortunately, all the people in my immediate neighborhood never knew my last name and most never knew my first for that matter, so that helps, and I suspect that Dumbledore might have been placing a few pre-emptive spells."
"Does that have to do with last summer?" Luna asked. "My father had heard that there was a big cover up mid-summer at the ministry. Something about you, but he never did find out."
"Someone who shouldn't have accidentally found out where I lived. Dumbledore since then has put memory charms on just about everyone except Ron, his parents, and Hermione. Even Mad Eye Moody and Remus Lupin had something done to them," Harry explained.
"There is a rumor that Dumbledore put a Memory-Blotting potion in the Ministry drinking fountains and kitchen beverage dispensers so that everyone would forget. I also heard a rumor that he did a very advanced Erasing Charm that altered most records about you. At least information regarding your relatives names and where you live," Luna continued. "Father said he tried to do a basic look up and couldn't find a thing. He's quite skilled in research, so it sounds like a conspiracy to me. Besides, wouldn't a Fidelus charm be simpler?"
"Considering it failed for my parents, I think Dumbledore wanted to try another means," Harry said. As he thought about it, all the effort did not make sense and it almost appeared, if he did not know better, that Dumbledore did not really know whom to trust. Seeing that option being quite uncomfortable to consider, Harry decided that perhaps it was for everyone else's good so they would not become targets—it might not be the case, but the thought was more reassuring. "So far I am safe, and I hope to convince him that I only need to stay a week with them before I can go somewhere else. Needless to say, this is probably going to be a very uneventful Christmas."
~***~
"Mistress care for more tea?" Kreacher lifted the pot and motioned towards the delicate porcelain cup. He looked on as the witch offered her cup, her hand shaking so violently that the little bit of tea that remained splashed over the side and onto the floor. The elf quickly grabbed the cup and sat it down on a nearby table. He regarding the witch for a moment, her disheveled hair fell unbound around her face reminding the elf of a dirty brown mop. Deep black circles entombed her gray eyes and her face and cheeks were sunken giving a more skeletal appearance to her already bony face. The elf had served the Black household-- now the Snape household as he mentally corrected himself-- for several centuries. It was not the first time that a witch went mad, but certainly a record for so early in the marriage. "Perhaps Mistress would like to lay down? Or perhaps have Mistress' personal elf draw a bath?"
Ruedella sprung up from the chair, channeling a spring of newfound energy. She spun around disoriented and then her face drew into a wide smile. She remembered being carried inside and she remembered this house. She spun on heel a few more times, eventually losing her balance and falling on her rear. She looked at the elf and smiled. "Regulus, you look like a house elf! Did Barty hex you again?"
"Mistress!" the elf screeched. "Kreacher is not Master Regulus, Master Regulus is long... gone. Master said that Mistress was ill, that Mistress was working hard for the Dark Lord and that Master has given Mistress many potions over the past two month to help. Waking potions, speed potions, calming potions, memory potions, and even some time altering potions so Mistress would have enough time to complete Mistress' tasks. Master will be back soon and that Kreacher was to keep an eye on Mistress to ensure nothing befalls Mistress. When Master returns... Master had an important appointment."
Ruedella laughed in a high-pitched squeal. She fell backwards on the floor and looked straight up. "What are those, Regulus?"
"The family tapestries, Mistress," Kreacher said, aiding the witch to her feet. One of the younger elves appeared to clear away the dishes and fortunately was astute enough to bring over a chair as the elder elf steadied the unstable witch. Helping her into the chair, the elf pointed to the largest tapestry in the center. "The manor now belongs to the House of Snape, Mistress. Master is the son of Nefarius Black and the last remaining Snape."
"Severus..." Ruedella said. "You mean Severus is the Master?" She laughed out loud. "Now that is rich, Severus 'Snivellus' Snape lord and master." She stopped and looked at the elf. "Why do you call me Mistress, Regulus?"
The elf bit its lower lip, electing not to correct his Mistress as she was obviously of not the right mind and continuing on the course would probably end with him being clothed. Although the notion of handing her an axe and seeing what she would do, given her condition, did have some significant appeal. "Mistress is Master's wife. Mainly."
Ruedella looked at the tapestry and saw her name next to Severus' connected by two silver threads. She studied the other three tapestries, a Black, a Lestrange and a Malfoy. Each was constructed in the same manner and as her head stopped spinning, she did recall the last two being from her own ancestral home. "The rest of the threads are in gold. Why aren't we in gold?"
"Because Mistress has not given Master," the elf said, clearing his throat, searching for the right way to express it. "Mistress and Master have not finished binding the contract."
"Oh..." Ruedella said, stifling a laugh. She recalled Rodolphus and Bellatrix wedding night when she and Rabastan watched the tapestry as the crosses joining their names turned from silver to gold, signaling the exact moment they consummated their marriage. The voyeurism certainly surpassed anything else offered on the Wizarding Wireless Network including the premium broadcasts that her father used to watch in his study.
She slumped in the chair, slowly rubbing her face. "I remember... Runes..." she said with a giddy air, as the temporary lucidity passed and her mind wandered again. "Working on a project," she whispered as she turned to the elf, with her finger to her lip and a somber, scared expression on her face, "Shhh... very important. The Potter boy tried to get it out of my mind, but I kept him out..." She said the last with a smug air and a slight, girlish giggle. "I even kept it from Dumbledore himself..." she said the last sadly with a sigh of resignation.
"Yes, Mistress, quite an accomplishment," Kreacher said, fetching a pillow and fluffing it for the witch. "Kreacher heard from Mistress Black's portrait that Mistress and Master are to meet with the Dark Lord soon." The elf turned to the side and added under his breath, "Assuming Master fixes Mistress for the task." He felt a cold hand around his neck and he yelped as the witch dragged him closer.
"You know what Regulus?" she pointed her finger at the Malfoy tapestry, "Lucius' son has the divination ability of a Mudblood... no..." she chortled, her grey eyes drowned in a giddy glaze, "a Muggle. He has the talent of a bloody Muggle. A bloody Muggle could throw runes and in some random chance create a more compelling clarification..." She gave the elf a crazed toothy smile, "Oh I would love to tell Lucius. Perhaps I should wait until I am in front of the Dark Lord? To properly humiliate him for all those years of thinking he was better than us..." She gestured at the tapestry again and added, "Grandmother married a Malfoy, but her grandmother was born one. The talent may pass through the male bloodline too, but I don't think warlocks possess it... I could be wrong... but over there..." She pointed to blown off portions that existed on both the Malfoy and Black tapestries. "I wonder if it went over there too... lost... hidden..."
"Kreacher doubts that the ability went to blood traitors. Mistress Black has told me all about Mistress, and that Kreacher should treat Mistress just like Kreacher treated Mistress Black. Mistress Black said that the other portraits have heard whispers about Mistress, favorable whispers." The elf began to turn so that it could leave the witch for a few moments, hoping time would sober her mind. "When Mistress is feeling better, Mistress Black would like to talk with Mistress - it has been since summer - "
"Summer?" Ruedella looked at the elf and then to her watch. "The sixth hand is on chi and the twelfth is on... err... Regulus, what day is it?"
"The first day of winter break, Mistress. You were at Hogwarts..." Kreacher began slowly, his eyes occasionally darting over to the door hoping Master would arrive soon.
"I have to be at King Cross station!" Ruedella jumped from her chair. "Father would probably send Rodolphus to fetch us! Rodolphus doesn't care for us to be late. I am never late... but Rabastan..." she stomped her foot on the floor. Padding herself, she found her wand and rushed over to the fireplace. Grabbing an urn, she opened it, finding nothing she threw it on the ground, smashing it and then grabbed another and then another until she found the floo powder.
"Mistress!" Kreacher yelped. "Mistress does not have to be at King Cross station! Mistress is home. Mistress must wait here for Master!" The elf leapt and grabbed the witch around the waist, trying to hold her back. His watery eyes flew open wide as the witch stepped towards the fire.
~***~
Harry stood in line, leaning against his cart, as the porters unloaded the train and stacked the luggage in neat piles; first by house and then by year. Waiting his turn, he looked around, taking in his surroundings. Down platform 9 ¾ he could see wizard parent arriving via floo and a few disapparating in designated spots with soft pops. He smiled and nodded to those who recognized him, good naturedly taking a few friendly pats on the arms by well wishers. Taking another survey, he saw Shackelbolt at the main exit; the large bald wizard was casually reading a newspaper. Not far away stood Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody, who were apparently engaged in some discussion and otherwise trying to blend into the crowd. Well, at least as much as Mad Eye could blend in anywhere.
Retrieving his luggage and Hedwig, he pushed the cart towards the exit, constantly looking around as he walked. He assumed that although he only saw the three wizards, there were others in disguise or otherwise hidden in the crowd. He paused, as the line was slow and turned to try to find at least one of his friends. As he scanned the faces, he tried to guess which of the adults were simply parents versus guards, passing his time until a loud noise caught his attention. At the far end of the platform, he noticed a witch popping from the floo with a house elf attached to her waist. At first he did not recognize her, but did immediately recognize the treacherous Kreacher, and then realized it was Professor Lestrange. The woman stumbled along the platform, her hair tangled and knotted and her dress decidedly quite unkempt. She twirled around trying to shake off the elf as she hit the thing soundly with her fists.
"RABASTAN!" she yelled into the crowd. "RABASTAN! Rodolphus will be here shortly! If we make him wait, Father will allow him to practice curses on us!" She paused and grabbed a young girl in a Slytherin cloak by the arm. "You, where is the Slytherin luggage... fourth year..." She let go of the girl and stumbled towards the luggage, a spot quite near the exit line in which Harry was standing. The line had stopped moving, as everyone on the platform was watching the witch, unsure what to do or if they should even help. Lestrange approached the luggage, still struggling with Kreacher, who was now pleading with her. Taking out her wand, she zapped the elf with some obscure curse, laughing as the elf sailed down the platform and landed squarely in the Hufflepuff area, making a couple of hard bounces as it ricocheted off the trunks.
"My luggage!" Lestrange roared as she dug through the pile. She stopped and panned her eyes along the various trunks and cases, eventually looking up squarely at Harry. She froze as she stared at him and then with a whimper she cautiously made her way over. "Potter?" she whispered.
"Yes, Professor..." Harry said.
The witch grabbed his hand-me-down sweater, rubbing the material between her fingers. "Odd clothing Potter," she said, "I thought your family was one with means." Making eye contact again, Harry could see her drift off, her eyes becoming cloudy and dull. Then, a split second later, her eyes flew open, clear, and she shrieked. "How did you... the blood..." she stepped back, vigorously rubbing her arms. "It... the blood... spotted the walls." She laid her hand on Harry's shoulder, her fingers slowly sliding down and then grabbing Harry's right arm, turning it over slowly. "The bite..." she looked up and then closed her eyes, "Are you a... now...?" She licked her lips and let go of his arm, "The other day Quirrell said he saw Barty on the third floor landing at 1 pm, but Barty and I were in the library..." She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Lestrange whipped around to face Moody, who had pushed his way through the crowd.
"That's enough," Moody said softly trying to calm her. "Been a busy time and you need some sleep. Interference between the Runespoor eggs and some sort of time altering potion, I'd wager. And a few other potions..." Moody frowned as he reached for his wand. "Can't imagine who'd be supplying you... just a quick sleeping spell and..." He was about to issue the spell when the witch struck his hand, causing him to lose his grip, his long wand flew from his fingers and fell to the ground.
"MURDER!" Lestrange screamed at the top of her lungs, pointing to Remus. "MURDER!" She began to shake, her darkened eyes overflowing with tears. "He killed them! Ripped them..."
"ENOUGH!" a deep voice bellowed. Harry watched as Snape stepped out from the crowd and for a brief moment he was relieved to see him. The wizard swooped over and grabbed the witch, and with a fluid movement, produced a small green vial and leveled it to her lips. Lestrange took the potion without hesitation and was unconscious a second later. With a wave of his hand, Snape kept her standing and stable as he reached into his cloak and producing another vial, this one containing brilliant sapphire blue liquid.
"She sure as hell did not need any more of your concoctions!" Moody said. "I see a potions overdose when I see one. Gods only know what is flowing through her..."
"The gods and I know exactly..." Snape snapped back. He spun on heel and faced Harry. "Enjoyed the display, a little chuckle to enjoy over break?"
"I hope she is fine," Harry said. "Obviously a bit of... over work. I hope the break doesn't make things worse." With that, Harry turned and pushed his cart, ignoring the queue and headed straight for the exit.
~***~
"Were you going to have me wait all day?" Vernon Dursley's agitated voice boomed.
"There was a disruption," Harry said quickly. "Unavoidable."
"Well you'd think that with all their mumbo-jumbo that they'd be a bit more orderly," the man huffed.
"Sometimes the 'mumbo-jumbo' causes more problems than it solves," Harry said quickly, hoping the depreciating comment would placate the man so he wouldn't hear the rant the entire way back to Privet Drive.
"Harry!" a cheerful voice called out. "I'd like to take a photo!"
"You have a million photos of me Colin," Harry called back.
"C'mon!" the boy groveled, running up to Harry. "Just one of you and your Uncle. Hey, that would work." The boy took a couple of quick steps back and took the shot. "Maybe another, I didn't get your Uncle to smile."
"Forget about it," Harry said between clenched teeth. He looked at Colin for a moment. "Shouldn't you be in street clothes?"
"Oh, got so busy taking pictures I forgot to change. Without the robe it looks like any other stupid Muggle school uniform." Colin countered. "Sir," he looked at Dursley, who was turning a delicious shade of lavender. "Your name... for the scrapbook..."
"You There!" another voice shouted. "Keep moving unless you want me to paint a target on your head!" Moody hobbled briskly up to Harry and Dursley, shooing his bowler at him. He leaned over to Vernon who was trying to move away. "I have some of my people putting an anti-following charm and a disguise charm on your car. Heard that 'they' might have people here trying to follow you. We'll keep a close eye on things, but standing around waiting for something to happen isn't going to save your skin."
"How dare you!" Vernon shouted back. "Defacing my vehicle... and my name is Vernon Dursley, not 'You There'!"
"Fine, let them slit your throat in the middle of the night," Moody shrugged.
"The charms will wear off once we reach home?" Vernon repeated rhetorically with a controlled tone of voice.
"They will, Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "We should be going."
Colin waved goodbye and smiled. "Vernon Dursley," he said, committing the name to memory.
~***~
Severus Snape stood by the tall, ornate cage that sat in his private rooms. Opening the door he received the large male Eagle Owl on his arm, taking a few minutes to carefully stroke the owl's rich feathers. The female stood on a perch nearby, cocking its head slightly watching her mate. As a boy Severus always wanted an owl, but his mother was never able to afford one. As an adult he certainly earned enough money, but elected to use his income to purchase heirlooms and books—such expenditure would be an unnecessary luxury given Hogwarts had plenty of suitable owls.
With a flick of his fingers and a quick incantation, the nearby window and shutters blew open. The cold December air was instantly warmed with a charm, allowing the benefit of fresh air with out the frigid bite. Although the house elves had made considerable progress with restoring the house, the remaining stench of the Hippogriff - or was that of Sirius Black - was never completely cleaned from the Master Bedroom. That would simply require time. Attaching a few parchments to the owls, Severus sent them off, watching in satisfaction as they flew out the large window.
"Shut it!" he heard a muffled request from under the pillows.
"Feeling better are we?" Severus took a few steps to the bed and grabbed the comforter and sheets, ripping them off of her. "Up!" he commanded.
"Ohhh..." Ruedella Lestrange bolted straight up. "Agg..." she moaned and grabbed her head and fell back down on the bed. "Bloody... hell..." she cursed as she pulled the pillow back onto her face.
Opening a drawer in the nightstand, Severus picked up a waiting bottle and set it on the table. Grabbing the pillow, he yanked it away and threw it to the side. Pulling the protesting witch into a sitting position, he offered the bottle. "Drink," he said, unplugging the stopper with a practiced movement of his thumb. Squinting she took the vial and held it up. "It will take away the vertigo and light sensitivity," Severus said, sitting on the bed next to her.
Ruedella took the potion in a quick motion. A smile crept over her face as the elixir took effect. She sighed and handed it back to him. "Thank you. It was all a blur." She paused and then looked around the room. Seeing that both she and he were in their nightclothes, albeit Severus was wearing a dressing robe in addition, and the rumpled sheets next to her indicated she had a bed partner, she screeched, pulled up her legs and rolled off the bed, opposite of the wizard. Patting her body, she spat, "You didn't!!"
"We slept together, yes, as we are married and this is my room. However, do give me some credit in that I didn't take you while you were out cold," Severus replied. "That would be, well..."
"Unsporting?" Ruedella finished his sentence with a raised eyebrow.
"Do not lie and tell me that you did not want this," Severus said, patting the bed next to him. "Come here." He watched as the witch cautiously climbed back on the bed and then scooted closer. Truth be told he spent most of the night in the chair next to the bed, unsure how to emotionally and physically deal with the intimacy of someone sleeping next to him – the very thought terrified him as much as one of the Dark Lord's tirades. "Your wand is on the nightstand, if you feel you need it."
"What happened?" Ruedella asked, slowly moving towards the edge of the bed, but trying not to show that her ultimate goal was reaching her wand. "I remember taking Kreacher... or was that a dream?"
"These are a side effect when time potions are consumed with conflicting substances. The leveling potions I gave you allowed your body to avoid the side effects of the various potions you were downing over the past several weeks. However, once you were done, I withheld the leveling potions and the effects, shall we say, hit you all at once." The wizard offered a smirk. "Yesterday the portkey dumped us about a half block from here. Fortunately the Muggles were at work, so I could carry you most of the way and into the house."
"How romantic," Ruedella said. "I hope you didn't trip over the threshold."
"It would have been a bit more memorable had you not been passed out like a drunken Knockturn Alley whore," Severus snapped. "But your condition was for a good purpose, so I will not hold it against you."
"Such a forgiving man," Ruedella sniped. "So, I suppose that it would have been too difficult to give me something..."
"Sometimes even the most potent magic is time," Severus replied. "I left you in Kreacher's care as I met with Dumbledore. Although I did tell the stupid little elf that you would be quite out of your mind, I did not realize that the elf lacked the basic magical skills to block the floo or at least body bind you – or the common sense to ask the other elves for assistance. You needed several hours, free of potions, for the residuals pass through your system. Once that was done, I could introduce a simple potion to address the pain and vertigo. However, the time potions you took to 'buy' extra research time must have interfered with the other potions and while your body was trying to recover, you had a series of vivid flashbacks." He paused and added, "You also announced to the crowd at Kings Cross Station that Remus Lupin was a werewolf and a murderer. Had it not been for the fact that I had to attend to you, it might have been amusing."
"Lovely," Ruedella responded as she rubbed her face. She then motioned with her other hand for Severus to move. The wizard stood up and offered his hand, helping her off the bed as well.
"I trust you are now feeling well?" Severus inquired evenly.
"Yes, much better. Fit as ever. A pinch tired, but nothing..." Ruedella started to explain but was interrupted. Severus grabbed her hand and pulled her close.
"I have a gift for you," he said, whispering in her ear. Motioning with his head towards the door, he commented, "Time to change the threads on the tapestry." He pulled Ruedella back and at her directly, noticing that the witch was scowling. "We have discussed this at least a dozen time. The Dark Lord intervened on Rodolphus' behalf. He did not feel that your games were productive and the Dark Lord felt that it best served his needs to make sure his Runes diviner was... shall we say... well kept?" The wizard gently rubbed her arm. "I do not wish to ever harm you – unless in self defense, of course. Lucius felt that..."
"Lucius actually feels that although you are a blood Black, you are not of a status to marry into his family," Ruedella countered, pulling away and walking over to the nightstand. "Pureblood or not, he cannot get over that 'Borgin' blood. Nor what happened before you were born..."
"Your Grandfather has, Rodolphus has, and the Dark Lord has, so despite how highly Lucius thinks of himself, his opinion is irrelevant," Severus countered. "I know that you would not consider the union to be unpleasant." He placed his hand on her face and gently stroked her hair. "I say that we make the most of the situation. I promise a most attractive gilded cage if you work with me."
"A gilded cage?" Ruedella smiled and leaned into Severus hand. Taking the opportunity Severus leaned in, and kissed her. He could feel his cold thin lips warm on hers. Her body was stiff at first, but then relaxed as his hand moved onto her lower back, making small semi-circles. He moved his hand up, over her shoulder and began working the flexible material off of her shoulder. He allowed a small smile and disengaged from her mouth, kissing her down her face and neck towards her now bare shoulder.
"That's better," he said, as he felt her untie his dressing robe.
"Severus," her voice was soft and in his ear as he worked on her shoulder, his other hand now working on the other side in an effort to slide the nightgown completely off of her. "Severus, if you were me, would you enjoy the gilded cage?"
"Of course," he said dismissively. With a quick movement, he pulled the nightgown down over her shoulders and down to her waist. He stepped back to admire her. She was thin, but defined in what mattered. "Only a fool in these dangerous times would not appreciate..." Snape paused, noticing a small flicker in her light grey eyes.
He stepped back and reached for his wand, but the purple light of the spell caught him too soon, the force causing him to stumble backwards into the enormous owl cage as he emitted a loud, enraged bellow of pain.
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