AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the interest, as always, of giving credit where credit's due, the quote about tear gas in the following chapter is from the song "WooHoo", written by Peter Furler and Phil Joel, and performed by Newsboys.

PS And no, I promise this is not turning into a songfic; it just happens that I found more applicable quotes in my music collection than on my bookshelf…for two chapters in a row. However, I am happy to say that we'll be returning to the literary realm soon enough—promise.
AE

Chapter 23: Dark Strength

PRESENT: EARLY DECEMBER

While Meli's logical mind was only too happy to inform her that she had spent a great deal of time brooding and not a lot of time solving anything, the illogical fact remained that something had been resolved amid her brooding and talking to people and reading what Sharpie had left for her. She couldn't explain it, even to herself, but somehow the words he had written and her thinking on them had put to rest the inner conflict she had experienced over killing him.

It was still true, and would never be otherwise, that she had killed him. It would also always be true that he had killed Crimson and Collum Fell and threatened her. She saw, however, that there were some other things true, as well, and in that understanding she found a peculiar peace.

Even though he had tragically miscalculated everyone and everything involved, Sharpie had joined the Death Eaters with a noble motive. He had gone disastrously awry at nearly every turn, but he had not been evil in the classical sense. He was, in the end, more to be pitied and mourned than hated and despised, and while Meli was fairly sure that she would ask herself for the rest of her life why he hadn't gone to someone for help, she also felt the last dregs of resentment sinking slowly away.

Whatever he had done, she found the strength and the will to call him her friend again.

It did not mean that she had healed, nor that she had ceased to be conflicted over either killing him or killing the nameless Death Eater that she had somehow linked to him…but it did mean that, after a great deal of serious thought, she felt herself ready to return to duty.

ooo

Her activities had only been suspended for a fortnight, but she felt that years had passed as she knocked at Dumbledore's office door. He called for her to enter, and she took a deep breath, feeling oddly as if the air she inhaled was somehow clearer than what she'd been breathing for the past fourteen days. She did as bidden, closing the door behind her, and found the headmaster standing at his desk, beaming at her from beneath two madly twinkling eyes.

Meli darted a narrow look at him, then glanced down and saw that her log was already laid out and open, with a Dicto-Quill ready to-hand but not yet standing to attention.

"News travels fast," she said dryly. How—!

"Not at all," Dumbledore countered. "Are you familiar with the Hebrew tale of the lost son?"

She arched an eyebrow. "If you're referring to the younger son who demanded his inheritance before his father's death, then went off and squandered it," she replied, "then yes…but I thought it was recorded in Greek."

He shrugged, and his eyes twinkled a bit more brightly. "The language is of less importance than the tale itself at the moment," he said. "The point of that story is that when the son repented and came home, his father saw him from a distance and ran to meet him, which in turn suggests that the father had been watching for him."

Meli offered him a wry smile. "So how long have you had my log book on your desk, then?"

"I never put it away after you returned from the Pierces'," he answered. "Though, of course, that may have been slightly optimistic, given that you still needed time to think."

She didn't even bother to suppress a laugh at the headmaster's almost childlike optimism; it felt nearly as good to laugh as it did to breathe clear air. "I think yours has to be one of the most irrepressible spirits I've ever encountered," she mused.

"Possibly so," he conceded. "But am I right in thinking that you have something official to record in your log?"

"If you think me fit for service, sir," Meli replied, "I'll be happy to return to duty, but that is, of course, your decision."

Dumbledore regarded her seriously. "I am not exaggerating when I say that, to my eyes, you appear more fit now than you did even a year ago," he told her.

Meli furrowed her brow for a moment…and then it dawned on her what he was probably referring to. In less than a week, it would be the one-year anniversary of Crimson Fell's death.

"A whole year?" she murmured. It didn't seem that nearly so much time could have passed, even with everything that had happened in the intervening months.

"You've carried the cloud over you for nearly a year," the headmaster confirmed gently. "And while it is not entirely gone, much of it seems to have dissipated."

Meli shook her head. "It hardly seems possible."

"I see no reason why you cannot resume your duties," Dumbledore said quietly after a moment. "Do you feel that you're ready?"

She nodded. "Absolutely," she replied.

With a broad smile, Dumbledore set up the Dicto-Quill, and they made an official record of it. Only after he had closed the log and replaced it on its shelf did he show any signs of sobering, but even then it was not to an alarming degree.

"If I may say so at the outset," he told her, "I think you could not have chosen a better time to come back."

Meli raised her eyebrows a hair. "Oh?"

He nodded, and she saw in his expression a strange look that was not entirely sly and not entirely cheerful, nor entirely triumphant, but some odd combination of all three. "Unless I am very much mistaken," he replied, "your particular skill set will be put to extremely important use within the next fortnight."

There was a flicker through his eyes that gave her grounds to ask a further question that otherwise she might not have entertained: "And what are the chances of you not being mistaken?"

The headmaster sobered slightly, but his confidence was unshaken. "Depending upon all of the people involved," he answered after a moment, "the chances are, as my counterpart at Prospero would say, fair to middlin'."

She stared at him in dark amusement, then shook her head and let out half of a laugh. "One thing I should have learnt long ago and never did," she sighed, "is that elderly wizards, be they true or fictitious, thrive on being cryptic."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Actually, I find that the fictitious wizards are rather boringly straightforward," he countered. "If it's Gandalf Greyhame you have in mind when you refer to fiction, Meli, I'm afraid I must disappoint you by informing you that that gentleman truly exists."

"Distant relative of yours?" she suggested sardonically.

"No," he replied matter-of-factly. "But his biographer was my second cousin once removed on his mother's side and my first cousin twice removed on his father's side."

She cleared her throat. "My fault for asking," she sighed. "If you don't mind, though, I think it's time I returned to Snape Manor; unless I'm much mistaken, there's a shot of Sambuca that needs seeing to."

"Welcome back, Meli," Dumbledore said cheerily as he walked her to the door. "I'll let you know when I learn more for certain about the upcoming mission."

He did notify her about a week later that her presence might or might not be required in the hospital wing a few days following…but he neglected to say anything further about the people or circumstances she would be dealing with.

ooo

Her final notification was brought to Snape Manor by owl, and it was cleverly disguised as a misdirected invitation. Had Meli not been in a rather dark mood, she might have been amused, but as it was, she perused it with a sense of foreboding.

We request the honour of your presence, it began, tongue firmly in cheek, and went rapidly downhill from there.

Has anything pleasant ever started that way? Meli wondered, feeling inexplicably trepidant. The last time I came across those particular words, they were followed by The tear gas has blown away. I half think that, far from reporting to the hospital wing tonight, I should be running away—far away.

Against what she considered her better judgment, though, she made her way to Hogwarts that evening and proceeded, unescorted, to the hospital wing. Her foreboding, far from being dispelled, was coldly and harshly justified before she even arrived at her destination, when the sound of raised voices reached her ears as she stepped out of the public part of the hospital wing and approached the private room Dumbledore had indicated in his invitation.

"Request the honour of your presence," Meli thought, her jaw tightening suddenly and painfully. "The tear gas has blown away"—maybe.

"…Forgive us for not being able to think of everything," Snape's voice was saying nastily, "but we were dealing with more pressing matters."

"They're going to have those scars for the rest of their lives," the unmistakable voice of Amber Ebony snapped back. "What do you have to say about that?"

"At least they have their lives," Snape countered coldly as Meli entered the room. "Would you prefer it to be otherwise?"

The scene that opened before her was one that simultaneously shocked and mortified her as it sank in—far too rapidly to be properly processed all at once—what was going on. There was a nasty face-off between Snape, Zarekael, and her Aunt Amber, who stood in profile, with the Potions teachers turned slightly toward the back wall. Between Amber and her adversaries was a space just big enough for Meli to see two hospital beds, each with a person seated on it…and those people were her grandparents, Henry and Rose Ebony, who did, indeed, have wicked scars curved under their chins, as if their throats had been cut and afterward healed rapidly and not very carefully. Beyond the elderly couple could be seen Dumbledore and Poppy, both of whom appeared to be staying out of the fray. Beside each bed was a compact worktable; these had obviously been in recent use, but the equipment and other implements were now neatly packed up and awaiting departure.

All of this she observed in the space of half a heartbeat, and by the end of that, Amber was already retorting. "I would prefer them not to be in this situation at all!" she growled.

"And what would you have had us do?" Zarekael asked, his voice calm but showing considerable strain.

"You could have given warning," Amber told him. "You've done it before—why not now? You've obviously been planning this for awhile." With an impatient wave of her hand, she indicated the worktables.

"We did," Zarekael said. "We just didn't know specifics."

To judge by the look Amber gave him, she was more likely to believe an offer to buy the Brooklyn Bridge. Meli, however, was a little less sure. Something had happened since the storming of Azkaban, something that had kept Snape and Zarekael from knowing as much as they might have done. That, coupled with Dumbledore's evident uncertainty about time, place, and even people involved, indicated that the two spies might very well have been as much in the dark as she herself had been.

Well, not quite that far, she amended silently. Whatever the mission, they had clearly known what the cleanup would involve.

Snape, meanwhile, had not taken kindly to Amber's displayed incredulity. "We knew it would happen," he stated, "but I didn't know who or when until today." He paused, then leveled a defiant glare at Dumbledore. "And even if I had known, I wouldn't have said anything because this mission had to look successful." He redirected his glare to Amber. "This was a test of my loyalty—we gave warning about Azkaban, and we've been under suspicion ever since. This was my final test of many, Minister Ebony, and it had to succeed. My only comfort is that it wasn't the Dursleys; some missions don't have loopholes allowing for survival."

Meli frowned, wondering what, exactly, he meant by that comment.

"So you did it to save your own skin, then!" Amber snapped with a nasty kind of triumph.

"You would prefer, then, that one spy, perhaps two, lay dead and your parents unscathed," Zarekael replied, his tone sounding rather peculiar. He turned his head to look at the Unspeakable from a slightly different angle, and Meli bit down on a gasp. His eyes, normally an inhuman shade of blue, were now a swirling mass, like a rolling fog-bank of blue and green; he was going into a rage. "Would it please you," he continued, "if we killed ourselves here and now, to see if the scars would disappear?"

Amber missed what Meli had seen, as she proved with her next action. She slapped the apprentice sharply across the face, leaving a stinging handprint to mark it, then, before anyone could react, whirled and slapped Snape, too. "And that's for thinking it!" she told the Potions master.

The scene descended further into surreality then, for scarcely had the words left Amber's mouth than Rose, who sat huddled on her bed watching the confrontation, started to giggle.

"That's my girl!" Henry crowed, smiling approvingly at his daughter.

"SHUT UP!"

That came from all three combatants, and was followed immediately by Amber turning on the spies and snapping, "Don't you tell him to shut up!"

Snape glanced then to Zarekael and came back for a covert second look, and Meli had no trouble concluding that he, too, saw the changing of his son's eyes. The apprentice took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, but when he reopened them, the roiling fog was still there.

"Our deaths now won't smooth the scars away," he said, his voice surprisingly softened. "Severus' death then wouldn't have prevented the attack; the initial result would have been the same. At least this way there was a chance, however uncertain, of their survival—or would you prefer that my father had died for nothing?"

"But you didn't have to resort to such a brutal method!" Amber retorted.

Snape shook his head, acknowledging the pointlessness of it all. "Despise us and revile us if you will, Minister Ebony," he told her coldly, "but you and the others have no qualms about reaping the benefits from these methods you so condemn." He and Zarekael picked up their potions kits.

"Enjoy these gifts, Minister Ebony," the apprentice said by way of a parting shot. "They weren't free."

Snape put a guiding hand on his son's elbow, clearly prepared to lead him out if necessary. "I believe we're no longer needed here," he said. "Good day to you, Minister Ebony." He bowed to each of the others in turn. "Sir…Madam…Headmaster…Poppy." He then smirked and bowed likewise to Meli. "Rasa." Zarekael bowed mockingly to Amber, and while he glanced at Meli, it was the most he did. He and his father then proceeded to the fireplace and flooed away.

In the spies' wake, Amber turned in surprise to face her disguised niece; Meli, her own thoughts in turmoil, gave her a noncommittal look in return.

"Ah, Rasa," Dumbledore said, crossing the room to meet her. "You received my note, I see."

"Oh, so you told Rasa, but you couldn't be bothered to tell me!" Amber nearly shrieked.

"He didn't tell me anything more than I daresay he told you, Minister Ebony," Meli said quellingly, feeling the sting of her aunt's words. "If even Professor Snape didn't know who or when until today, how could Dumbledore? All I received was a note telling me to come here tonight—neither names nor circumstances were given."

Amber turned fully on her now. "Well, you at least got a note," she growled. "I didn't even get that. They're my family, not yours—you're a complete stranger!"

Meli took it as a physical blow and was left swaying on her feet by the time her grandmother came to her defense.

"Amber, stop," Rose Ebony ordered. "That was completely uncalled-for—she had nothing to do with this!"

"You have no way of knowing that!" Amber snapped back. "I know all about Rasa! She's a rogue agent with a different identity every day. You think those two are two-faced?" She waved in the direction of the fireplace. "Rasa has multiple faces."

"Amber," Rose said warningly.

"Oh, no," Meli interjected silkily, sliding into a place of emotionless ill-will. "No, by all means, let's talk about Rasa." She took a step toward Amber, setting aside her fond memories of her aunt and calmly lashing out with all the grace of a wounded animal. "You know everything about me except the name I've had to leave behind, so examine my record, Minister Ebony. What has been my purpose in the Order? What sort of missions have I gone on? What actions have been attributed to me? My entire purpose and mission have been to help people like your family and to protect innocents from the Dark Lord and his ilk. Judge for yourself, and I daresay you will not find me wanting."

There was a brief, brittle silence, then Poppy interrupted briskly. "If you two ladies are going to argue, would you kindly do it elsewhere? Someone needs to see to these patients if you won't."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said smoothly. "As you say, there is business to attend to." He turned to Henry and Rose with an apologetic countenance. "I truly am sorry for what you've gone through tonight. I believe I speak for everyone when I say we wish it had been otherwise; however, what's done is done, and now we're left to deal with the consequences." He beckoned Meli forward while Amber glowered at him. "Obviously, since you are both presumed dead, you cannot return to your normal lives, which brings us to the reason for Rasa being here."

"What kind of a name is Rasa?" Henry asked derisively.

Amber snorted but held her tongue; Meli gave her a reptilian look before answering, "Rasa is a code name—the only name left to me—but that is of no importance. What does matter at the moment is that you're both in need of new names and identities, a safe-house, and"—here she turned to look Dumbledore in the eye—"a means of escape in future. May I have two portkey rings for the Ebonys' use?"

"I'll speak with the suppliers," the headmaster promised, a peculiar look in his eye suggesting that he appreciated, as she did, the irony of the situation.

Meli now turned back to her grandparents. "I am the operative who makes the arrangements necessary for people to disappear," she went on. "When Poppy sees fit to release you, we'll move you to a safe location, where you'll be under my direct supervision while the more permanent arrangements are made. You have an advantage over the rest of my charges, though—since the Death Eaters think you're dead, they won't be looking for you."

Take that, Minister Ebony, she thought darkly as her grandparents looked to their daughter for her input.

"There really isn't much choice, I suppose," Amber said ungraciously. She leveled a glare at Meli. "It's all right; you'll be fine with her."

Knowing full well that that was as much as she was likely to get, Meli nodded her acknowledgment of the backhanded vote of confidence.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore sighed. "Minister, we'll leave you to rest and talk with your family." He gave Meli what might have been a veiled look of apology, then led both her and Poppy from the room.

ooo

They maintained a necessary, if brutally brittle, silence the entire way to the headmaster's office, and no one dared to shatter it until the door had closed behind all of them and they were well and truly sealed off from the rest of the castle. Poppy glanced from Dumbledore to Meli, then stepped to the side and turned her gaze to one of the headmaster's particularly elaborate candy dishes, leaving the others to square off unhindered.

"What in bloody hell happened tonight?" Meli demanded, somehow managing a civil and more or less level tone of voice. "And I don't mean the official story, sir. I want every single detail known to you, and I want them now."

Dumbledore sighed, but there was more understanding than long-suffering in the sound and in his countenance. "I honestly had no idea until Severus returned who his targets would be," he told her wearily. "And then, of course, it was too late to warn anyone ahead of time."

He shook his head and leaned heavily on the edge of his desk. "We did know that this would be Severus' final test of loyalty," he continued. "He and Zarekael had been working on methods for falsifying deaths since before Voldemort's return, and they at last managed a breakthrough." He smiled soberly. "They created a potion that combines the Draught of Living Death with a slow-acting poison. The intended effect is, of course, to falsify death by a poisoned blade by causing the person to show symptoms and then apparently to die."

"So what went wrong?" Meli asked coldly. "Something must have done, judging by the argument I walked in on."

The headmaster cleared his throat. "I don't know what caused the precise effect," he answered. "From what was said in the hospital wing, I gather that the way the potion bound to the blade caused some interaction that prevented a complete healing of the wound.

Meli narrowed her eyes as a tiny suspicion took root. "Didn't they know from previous cases?" she inquired, a dangerous edge evident in her voice.

Dumbledore looked her squarely in the eye, but she saw that he had much rather look almost anywhere else. "There were no previous cases," he replied. "This was the first use."

Now her eyes went wide, and she thought she could actually feel them blazing. "What."

"There was no time to test it before this," Dumbledore replied uneasily. "It was a calculated risk—"

"On two seventy year-old Muggles!" Meli nearly shrieked. "How much, exactly, can you calculate ahead, Headmaster? They're in good enough health—I'll grant you that much—but at their age—!" She broke off, unable to articulate every single possibility for catastrophe that came readily to mind. It would be like experimenting on Dumbledore; perhaps he would do just fine, but there was always the chance as the body grew older and frailer that something could tip the delicate scales of health and result in truly tragic consequences. What in the world had any of them been thinking!

"The worst-case scenario in any case is that your grandparents would have died," Poppy interjected gently. "Here, at least, there was a chance of their survival."

It was a hateful thought, and Meli despised herself for grudgingly agreeing to it. As despicable as it felt, though—as coldly Machiavellian as it was—it was, unfortunately, the truth. Had there been no clever trick ready to hand, Snape would have had to kill them, just as Zarekael had had to kill the Goldens. By the same token, had Snape refused the mission and been executed as a traitor, Voldemort would simply have sent someone else, and the Ebonys would still have died. Had the experiment failed, they would have succumbed, either to the poison itself or to the life-sapping Draught of Living Death.

In the third case, however, there had been a chance for survival that neither of the others presented, and as Meli forced herself to see that, she was able slowly to calm down, if only a bit.

"How close did they come?" she asked quietly.

Dumbledore and Poppy traded glances. "They were touch-and-go," the mediwitch answered. "Severus and Zarekael knew in theory how to revive them, but as you can imagine, it was rather tricky and wanted some fine-tuning." She smiled grimly, with a strong hint of satisfied triumph. "Between the three of us, though, we made brilliant work of it, if I say so myself."

Meli at last permitted herself a tiny smile at the sight of Poppy's evident happiness with the outcome. "Aunt Amber seems to be of a different opinion," she observed coolly.

Poppy waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, her," she sighed. "She always was protective of her family—a good thing, mind you, and don't misunderstand me, but she's one of those rare souls who tended to take it too far."

Meli smirked. "If I were a blood-relation, I suppose I would make the observation at this juncture that at least I came by it honestly," she replied sardonically.

Poppy gave her a look of fond annoyance. "Don't think it never occurred to me," she rejoined darkly. "Many's the time when you still remind me of Amber Ebony!"

Meli shook her head, then looked to Dumbledore. "Obviously you'll be wanting them disappeared," she sighed. "And preferably before Christmas?"

The headmaster nodded. "You can manage that?"

"Of course I can," she answered. "As long as Aunt Amber is good enough to stay out of my hair. I like a good challenge, but I'd prefer to leave that pleasant pastime out of the bargain altogether."

"Fair enough," Dumbledore told her, nodding once. "Do you think there might be any possibility of Amber spending Christmas with her parents once they're settled in?"

Meli smiled wickedly. "As long as she keeps out of my way in the meantime," she replied, "of course. If she gets underfoot, however, I'm afraid I'll have to make an official recommendation that she stay away. Can't be too careful in maintaining new identities, you know."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly. "I'll be sure to pass that along," he promised.

ooo

FURTHER AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks once again to those of you who reviewed.

Cinammon- Buckle your seatbelt because there is a great deal yet to come, and Rasa's honeymoon with her job is definitely over. Hope you enjoy what's coming, and if not…feel free to let me know.

Omaha Werewolf- While I would love to take credit for the little emotional roller coaster having to do with categorizing characters…I can't. Sharpie went over my head on this one and was kind enough to let me know with a sound whack over the head while I was serving on a jury—not the best timing in the world. However, I'm glad that I'm not the only one who can't go through this story without a little (or big) twist throwing me for a loop, and I'm glad I was able to convey it well. Thank you for your very high compliment!
AE