Hi,
Welcome kittykotty and AlecLightwoodMagnusBane, I'm so glad you are interested, thank you, and thank you for all of you who follow this story, you all make me so happy I began to share this, it feels great to know that people actually read these words. Every review is welcome, I cannot tell you all how curious I am to hear your thoughts!
Of course, whatever you recognize is not mine, I make no money and I'm grateful for being allowed to play.
Oh, and rated M for reason, there will be an injury described in naturalistic detail, if that's not your thing, well, I'm sorry.
Chapter 39. Panic
Not for the first time, Severus Snape had the deceptive impression that adrenaline was actually a living thing with pastimes, preferences and opinions of its own.
He could feel it course through his veins, taste it on his tongue, even had the impression he could smell it on his own breath. Such moments followed each other erratically throughout the day. That was its pastime.
Talking about preferences, it didn't seem to be linked to his activities or his thoughts. It just surged. It ran its route, hastened his heartbeat and excited his stomach whenever it pleased. It lingered in his skin's crawling, his muscles twitching, and he just couldn't force it to rest. More times than not, when he finally managed to focus on his day, knowing he couldn't possibly do any more at the moment, the familiar blast of excitement and an enormous supply of energy just detonated inside him. It flushed his mouth with the sweet taste of fight, adventure, or, heaven forbid, courting – pushing him to have, to get, to win, or to flee with every might he ever had.
It seemed to close away threads of thoughts within his mind, barricaded even words from him, so he grabbed after them in vain. He couldn't chain them in his speech as if the hormone wished to profess an opinion. It drove him mad with fear, want, and impatience: to go and find her, to get to her and finally to get her, to escape his meaningless chores in teaching disinterested brats and just kill the pink monster holding him back! Or anyone!
There was no sign of Chubby even by mid-day, and although the elf told him the task wasn't simple, it was hard to accept that eight hours was not a lifetime in his impatience. If only he just knew where she'd taken Trelawney! Had he just once asked or tried to pry it from her mind or – it was illogical. The plan was good. He made sure it was, especially because he didn't like it. He couldn't possibly betray Sybil or the Prophecy again, and he could easily dissociate Sage's memory from the rest. They built it all, covering their tracks in mind. At the moment, that seemed to be the greatest threat. Where is she?
By the end of the lunch break, Severus even began to question if Sage had had a chance to relocate Trelawney. Sybil had never been a picture of wisdom; she might have opposed the move. If she had resisted Sage's help in the worst possible moment, they both could be… No, he had to stop driving himself mad. They possibly couldn't even depart. But then Sage would have been back in time, and they would have – Shite, he shouldn't think of that of all things now! What kind of a barren piece of rake would think about such a thing in a moment like that?! But where is she?
At least he could make sure Sybil wasn't in the Hog's Head anymore! Severus already started towards the massive oak doors at the entrance when he remembered he couldn't leave. Not without permission. His cynical mind offered a bunch of useless barbs to offer to Umbridge by means of explanation.
Headmistress, I need to have a look at your victim; I wonder if she has already fallen to the Dark Lord too.
Headmistress, it was a joy I hoped I would never know, but one more moment breathing the same air as you do, and I would rather strangle you than suffocate!
Let me out, you bloody bint; I need to know where the fuck she is!
Probably not the last one… Two first-year Hufflepuffs lost ten points to their House for gaping and gawking after Professor Snape kicked into the oak door, seemingly without reason.
Two afternoon classes and a preparation period to go, and he would be free to get stir crazy, drink himself into oblivion, or kill the Toad…. Maybe in this particular order, Severus lamented. After the fourth-year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw combined class, he closed himself up into his office and admitted his need for a Calming Draught. He might have prided himself in his skills in Occlumency, but in this case, some artificial help couldn't be shameful. It was still better than fire-whisky or anything along the semi-legal lines.
Still, he had promised himself after Christmas to stay clean as fresh parchment, and this was a step in the wrong direction… Severus stood by his desk, with the purple liquid in his hand, and he argued heatedly pro-and-con when a timid knock sounded at his door. First, he was tempted to neglect it, but the knock repeated, and the handle turned before he could decide whether to drink up or to risk going mad.
"Professor, please, I need your help!" – the voice was just as timid as the first knock on the door, and Penelope Padgett's face turned even paler when she spied the purple phial in her Head of House's slightly trembling hands.
Severus closed the phial with the cork and put it back on his desk with a disgusted grimace he usually reserved only for the Gryffindors.
"And, of course, that enjoys precedent to anything else in this quickly declining world, doesn't it, Miss Padgett? Don't waste a moment on such superfluous efforts as common courtesy or respect! Why would anyone have privacy in a castle full of prying dunderheads and–" – Severus stopped short when he turned and saw the abundance of tears on the girl's face.
Two short steps, and he was next to his sixth-year, careful not to touch her, he conjured a handkerchief and didn't even notice his misgivings vanish in a blink.
"Who hurt you, girl?"
Padgett looked up but couldn't give more than unintelligible babbling through shaking sobs.
"Listen to me, Padgett, I will not tolerate this behaviour," – Severus tried his usual tactic. "You may either drink up my Calming Draught and faint before reaching the Infirmary or pull your shite together and tell me what you wanted."
It seemed to work. Padgett put in a visible effort to calm herself. She even laughed at hearing her Professor cursing. Then, when her tears changed into sniffing, Severus touched the handkerchief dangling from her hands.
"If you use it, you may sit down," – he offered with some amusement glinting in his eyes.
Nel Padgett nodded, apologized, blew her nose – it really began to grate upon his nerves, then she hoarsely asked for a note for the library to research in the Restricted Section.
Severus stared at his Prefect. "All these histrionics for a library slip? Are you out of your mind, girl?"
"I apologize, Professor," – Padgett sniffed again. "I really, really need a research note," – the waterworks started again – "just for today! Please, sir! Please, I need your help!"
Snape's veteran eyes would have recognized homework-business, and he was confident this wasn't about concealing some private cursing-bash going awry. Was it Padgett last night worrying for Montague so deeply?
"What's the title?" – he asked on an even tone.
"Wha- erm,… excuse me, sir, what was the question?"
"The title, Padgett," – Snape repeated, now sure about his game. "What's the tome you need?"
After side-glances and coughing, the Prefect finally spat it out. "Cords and Cuts – the Magic in the Veins by–"
"By Adorian Zyppo," – Snape finished for her. "Blood magic, Miss Padgett?"
"It's–" – it was easy to smell the lie even before she formed a full sentence, and Snape's eyes narrowed on the girl.
She closed her mouth suddenly like a fish, swallowed, then looked up at her Head with confidence and trust. "I found Graham's razor, sir. He wanted to keep this a secret because it's not magical at all, but he uses it because he got it from his maternal grandfather… who… who is a Muggle, sir. Graham made me promise not to tell, but every summer he sees them, and there he was when he first needed to shave. I know because he cut himself, and I was–" – she took a shaky breath. "I just need to make that potion, sir!"
"Ostendere Potion," – Severus breathed, nonplussed. "I should have thought about that!"
"Sir?"
He quickly pulled himself together for formalities' sake, but truthfully, he was grateful for the idea. Vehemently disturbed by not thinking of it himself in the first place, but grateful!
"No slip, Padgett," – Professor Snape decided. "You've always been pants at Potions. No wonder you couldn't make it to my NEWT class. But for your honesty, you may come to sit a detention with me right after your last class."
The girl gaped at him, maybe even a little hurt. "I wouldn't have done it alone, sir. Are you sure you cannot give me the–"
"How many times have you seen me change my mind, Miss Padgett?" – Severus' gaze hardened, and Snape returned. "Who is your accomplice?"
"Sir–" – Padgett shook her head, unknowingly pushing her Professor to the limit of his patience.
"Was it Pucey or Higgs, Miss Padgett? You've always loved the sport," – Severus attacked.
The girl looked scandalized. "Neither, sir! Jugson is the best, and he agreed!"
Severus snorted. Jugson was the best indeed. "Tell him he is also welcome to the detention. And don't be late!" – Severus pushed himself from his desk and walked to the door.
"But sir…"
"Yes, Miss Padgett?" – he sighed impatiently and opened the door.
"Detention for what?"
"Asking stupid questions," – Severus grumbled. "Hurry to your class and don't dawdle on your way back, or else you will get into real trouble, do you understand?"
The Prefect tried to make out his meaning, but eventually, she only nodded. "Thank you, sir," – she said silently, it was unclear if out of habit or true understanding, still, Severus nodded.
"And take that razor," - he whispered as he closed the door. He looked about the corridor, but no one was close enough to hear him. For the first time that day, he finally felt confident.
A tedious class with the third-year Gryffindor-Slytherin combination came next. Young Avery cluelessly ambled through his storage and spilled a jar of salamander blood. Severus finally had some time to sneak up to the second floor and steal into Sage's quarters. Whatever made the witch adjust her wards to accommodate him, he was grateful beyond measure, but his small hint of comfort vanished as soon as he looked around.
Three elves were busy packing up the living room with little concern for the state of the drying ingredients above her cauldrons or the priceless tomes from her shelves.
"Stop that already!" – Snape barked out. "What came over you to touch anything belonging to a teacher?"
"Shiny is not bad elf, Professor Snape! Shiny, Blinky and Winky does Headmistress's command. Mistress Moody is not teacher in school anymore, Headmistress says. Mistress Moody's things needs to be packed and shipped."
"Shipped to where?" – Severus grabbed on the word.
"London, Professor Snape. Headmistress says pack and send to Mistress' father in London. Shiny knows no more, Professor. Does Professor want Shiny to be punished?"
Having a look at the haphazardly dismantled workstation and the half-packed bookshelves, Severus was tempted to say yes; however, such a thing wouldn't have solved any of his problems.
"I want you to stop," – he told the elves with great effort to keep a semblance of calm. "What have you packed away already?"
"Blinky cleaned and packed up the bathroom, and Winky was just to do the bedroom, Professor, sir," – Shiny blinked in surprise. "Professor talked to Headmistress already?"
Severus swallowed but remembered what Chubby told him about the house elves hating Umbridge. His swelling malevolence this time didn't feel shameful.
"No, I have not, Shiny. I only wonder what you were thinking to obey. Are you serving Evil One, whom the castle chose to deny? I thought a good elf knows to serve well, obeying to the castle you belong to instead of Evil One who dreams herself to be Headmistress of Hogwarts."
The three elves looked at each other, changing more and more troubled glances by the second. Finally, Blinky broke down crying, and Winky seemed outraged.
"Shiny says working, Winky comes. Shiny says not working against castle. Castle wanted Headmaster not go! Shiny is a bad elf obeying Evil One, making Winky bad!"
"Shiny does what she was told. A good elf asks no questions. A good elf obeys!"
"Good elf has Master! Shiny knows dumb! Shiny works, not serves. Winky wants to serve, Winky wants good elf!" –with that Winky, the ragged house elf popped away with so much self-assurance, Severus had to wonder again if the popping sound in an elf's wake was a form of communication.
Shiny crouched down and hid her face behind her long ears.
"Shiny wants good elf, castle disobeys, Shiny disobeys…"- she looked up at the Professor helplessly. "But Shiny never disobeys!"
Blinky wiped his tears and snot with his dishtowel and stepped closer to his fellow, patting her head. "Shiny needs good order to obey. So Shiny and Blinky can be good elves. Professor belongs Hogwarts, Professor gives order," – and with these words, both elves stared up at Severus, who did his best to hide any astonishment he felt.
"First of all, I forbid you to tell about any of this to Evil One, are we clear?" He only went on when both elves nodded. "You will give me half an hour because I have work to do here. Then you may pack up these quarters, but you'll be careful! If anything gets harmed, you'll both be punished," – he warned. "Then you'll send all trunks and boxes into my quarters. I will know when to give them back. And you will seal these rooms so no one can breach them but the Headmaster of Hogwarts or Sage Moody. Shiny," – he added as an afterthought. "You are to serve Hogwarts. I direct you to listen to the castle!"
Shiny, the house elf grinned with relief. "Yes, Professor, thank you, Professor!"
Blinky lingered for a few seconds when she popped away and watched Severus with keen eyes. "Professor Snape understands house elves. Professor Snape gives good chores and does not afraid to punish. Chubby is the luckiest house elf in Hogwarts," – he finally said before he followed his friend, popping away.
Well, there's that – Severus couldn't feel elevated by the elf's conclusion. He had already wasted precious time before the Preparation Period he was supposed to supervise, and these bloody elves just admitted to having packed up and cleaned the bathroom, the most likely place to find anything helpful if he wanted to find Sage with blood magic. Cursing, he went to look around anyway, but regrettably, Winky was thorough indeed. Severus unpacked the boxes he found left on the floor, but the toothbrush was brand new, and the brush was as clean as an apothecary on a Monday morning. Shite.
He hurried over to the bedroom, and with some unease, he turned the handle. He imagined himself stepping through this threshold more times than he would dare to count or recall, but none of those dreams and daydreams dealt with a scenario in which she wasn't there with him… and she didn't feel far away even now. Sage's scent faintly drifted all around the place. Her blue robe lay across a chair, an empty cup on her nightstand smelled like lavender tea, her pillow…. Severus swallowed and took in a shaky breath.
Surely, he wouldn't begin to act like some miserable sentimental fool now! The problem was that he actually felt like he was just that, with a misguided wish to slip into her bed just to feel warm with her scent all around… Creep! – He chided himself and tried to rationalize: He was going to find her. She would return. He would have time for whatever idiocy after. Now he needed something, anything that blood magic might recognize as her own. Something personal or a piece of her.
Severus fervently wished he wouldn't need to search through her drawers! One more wistful look at the bed and the creepy lecher he frequently berated finally proved himself exceptionally useful!
Severus lifted the long single hair he spotted peeping from under the pillow and twisted it into a ring around his middle finger. Not much, but something. He searched through her bed, but he couldn't find any more. With a reluctant sigh, he stepped to the chest drawer. The upper drawer held money, some candles, and a disturbingly dark book about ancient magic; the second lingerie; the third even more lingerie… Severus swallowed dry and opened the last drawer to find a bunch of old magical photographs and some muggle ones, none of those he could recognize. There wasn't much else in the room.
The prep class was a strange mix of frustration, excitement and anxiety, with her hair twisted still around his finger. It felt soft but strong, it gave him all the wrong ideas to entertain, made him feel like a fool, and he couldn't help himself.
Severus left for his dungeons at the first opportunity and burst into his lab through his office. He carefully put the thread of a single hair into a glass bowl and looked around. He hadn't made anything even remotely as questionable as this in company since – well, since the end of the last war. However, if there was one thing he could understand, that was the desperation in Nel Padgett's eyes. And if there were two, that must have been the desire someone felt to prove himself professionally, such as Jugson must be eager to do so, no matter what.
Severus lifted a hand, and he casually called two middle-sized cauldrons onto the worktable, and with a flick of his wrist, he opened his storage room's door from afar. He reminded himself of discretion when his students would arrive. Neither should be ready to see his solitary practice brewing wandless and without a word, but it had been too long in these past handfuls of months since last he used his wand inside here. Grimacing, he offered an apologetic shrug to his eager magic and pulled his wand to rest it on the desk but didn't stop calling the ingredients from his stores with only a thought.
The phials and jars began to line up obediently before his desk by the time he heard the tentative knock on the door, followed by more pronounced knocking before the handle turned. Jugson entered before the now timid Padgett, and the boy wisely closed the door before he spoke:
"I heard I needed to report to detention, sir," – he began with probably more confidence than he could possibly feel at the moment.
"Yes, you did," – face unmoving like a mask, Snape fixed his student with a scrutinizing gaze. "Are you into proving your skills in dark magic, Mr. Jugson? Have you perhaps also practiced outside of class?"
Jugson swallowed audibly, and Padgett looked uncomfortable.
"The razor?" – Professor Snape turned to her, his voice the softest in terrifying controversy with the look in his eyes.
The Prefect produced the object with Montague's stubble and a bloodstain on the double blade. Her Professor's contented nod must have been the last thing she expected, judging by her shaking hand. Severus put the razor onto a small glass plate on the other side of his text.
"There are two commonly used sayings about the method of learning; I wonder if you've heard them, Mr. Jugson," – Severus went on in the lightest tone, spreading his collection of knives, pipettes, and spatula on the hardwood working surface. "One states that pushing boundaries and leaving one's comfort zone can be beneficial. The other suggests that learning by mimicking can be most efficient. Perhaps more efficient than perusing books. Do you feel up to a challenge, Mr. Jugson?" – He looked up, straight into the boy's eyes.
Jugson stared at him wide-eyed with disbelief, hope, and trepidation.
"Now, now, Mr. Jugson, Miss Padgett had just declared you the best not three hours ago!" – Padgett sent an apologetic look to Jugson, who seemed torn between pride and embarrassment. "Cat got your tongue, Mr. Jugson? I asked you a multitude of questions already, or would you prefer us to work in perfect silence?" Snape lifted a wand to cast the silencing charm when Jugson violently shook his head.
"No, sir, please! Please, I–" – he struggled. "I know I'm far not proficient… especially not with blood magic… and NO," – he hurried to point out. "I haven't practiced blood magic. I only hoped I may be ready to follow instructions. That is… that is if Nel could procure the recipe from the library."
"Alas, she failed," – Professor Snape assessed, almost casually. "Padgett, if you please," – he gestured towards his bookcase with his head, now arranging the ingredients around his cauldron. "Second shelf from the floor, on the right. Please take care not to touch anything else!"
"Yes, sir!" – The girl scurried away.
"Jugson, I don't see you preparing," – Snape noticed maddeningly calm. "You don't imagine I would assist you, do you?"
Jugson gaped at him like a fish, but only for a moment before he cast a quick cleansing charm on his hands and set to work swiftly, unfurling the set of spare tools he found by the cauldron opposite to his Professor's and trying to arrange the ingredients similar to what he saw at the other side of the wide desk. At the same time, Padgett returned with the tome, which opened on Severus's snap of his fingers to show the Ostendere Potion.
"If you read up, Miss Padgett, please," – Severus continued, frightening the ever-living daylights out of his students without raising his voice or even lifting an eyebrow. "I understand Mr. Jugson intended to follow the text."
With much more than a little confusion, his Prefect began to read the text:
"Potio Ostendere – Ostendere Potion," – she began. "Sir, I–"
"Read on!" – Snape commanded with a hard stare. Padgett quickly obliged.
"Potionem Ostendere est ad ducem cum virtute sanguinis et cum oblationebus meis – Sir, I don't understand."
"Do you, Mr. Judgson?" – Snape swiftly turned his head to question his NEWT.
Tom Jugson put in the effort as it was his wont:
"A potion to show with the power of blood and my offerings, I believe, sir."
"Not wrong, Mr. Jugson. Miss Padgett, you may go on. We understand you."
The girl read on with her voice trembling: "Perge diligenter, scrutator, hinc fortasse plus sacrificas quam quod facturus es." (*Proceed carefully, searcher, for you might sacrifice more than what you intend to)
Jugson's breath hitched.
"Is something the matter?" – Severus asked innocently.
"N-no, sir."
"Ad primam, oblationes tuam pura sit, absque malitia collecta aliter tua potestas est unduantum."
"First of all, have your offerings be pure and collected without malice, otherwise your power would be used," – Jugson attempted a translation. "Our intent is pure, sir, we only want to find Montague, and we don't want to harm him!" – Jugson quickly interjected.
"Collecta absque malitia, Mr. Jugson, not fac sine militia or uti sine militia," – Snape reminded.
"So– so the potion will use my– our power while brewing?"
"It will use your magic," – Severus conceded to explain with a painful grimace, if nothing else but for efficiency's sake. "What did you think brewing used?"- He snapped. "You link by your magic. Now you will take a step maybe too far… you will feed the magical process while we use the potion after you have readied it."
"But… but, sir, this means the strain on my magic is unforeseeable, indeterminable, I can even…."
"Die?" – Severus offered coldly. "It's possible in extreme circumstances. However, tonight I don't expect such a flashy outcome. Are you still ready to practice dark magic, Mr. Jugson?"
The boy hesitated, then nodded. Severus tried to hide a bitter smirk. He knew what a pull it was indeed.
"Miss Padgett?"
"Ad secundam, hoc album rerum ponendum sub calore in reverso ordere post orationem ad deum. Oblationes cum malitia collecta oratione non egent. Cavete periculosum intentum!"
"As the second step, all this list of ingredients should be placed under heat in reversed order, after a prayer to God. Offerings collected with malicious intent don't need prayer. Beware of dangerous intent!" – Jugson supplied. His voice only trembled a little.
"Nunc procedere," – the girl finished and looked up with alert. "Sir, there are no more words here!"
"Describe what you see, Miss Padgett," – Snape commanded the girl.
"It's– a triangle, standing on its angular, with a horizontal line, and perhaps also a point inside, and then a bunch of symbols I haven't seen... these are not Runes, sir, what are these?"
"Alchemical symbols," – Severus took the book from her hand. "The recipe is plainly written for all who can read it. But, Mr. Jugson, you perhaps would prefer relying upon your ability to copy?"
The two kids shared a look that suggested to their Head of House that neither would ever try for a restricted book again without guidance. Good. Now he was ready to brew.
Professor Snape's knife was cutting up the ingredients neatly, dictating a rhythm for the moves the boy struggled to follow, yet he persevered in relentless effort. Mortar, cold tincture, powdered goods – they used all the scale of possible groundwork, and the fire was yet to light before Tom Jugson's temples began emitting small pearls of sweat. His eyes widened in his desperate attempt to focus on all the nuances, his face considerably paled with fatigue within only half an hour of preparation.
Then they lighted a fire under the cauldrons, and the ingredients began to add up to the foundation of the complex brew. Snape only had to intervene twice, which wasn't a bad average. Unfortunately, he still seemed unable to stop grinding his teeth, unknowingly driving his student into distraction. Padgett didn't dare to move or breathe too loudly. She was desperate to act in a way that would never call attention to herself while she stared at the swift, precise moves of her friend's and her teacher's in more synchronicity than she would ever be capable of.
Severus was only distantly aware of that. His thoughts focused on his work and to forego this dabbler to bungle the other brew, but his feelings were quite far away, somewhere in the unknown distance where he hoped to find Sage. The possible reasons behind her delay ranged from perilous to fatal. Otherwise, he would have heard about her within a day. He should have heard about her. What could have become of that half-witted elf? At least he should have appeared by now….
"Jugson, if you don't like sudden and loud noises with uncontrollable flames, I suggest you begin stirring to avoid a detonation" – he threw the words through the desk.
He would need a good reason to go after her once he'd located her… perhaps another flight while Disillusioned would also do the trick. Maybe he could depart from one of the towers and return before dawn. Hell, he was already tired like a dog, not having slept for about thirty hours. There was Invigoration Draught in his stores. Perhaps it was time to use some artificial help….
"Not Moonstone, Jugson, Agate, to broaden perspective!" – he snatched the wrong stone from the boy's hand and made the Agate fly above the other cauldron with a commanding motion of his finger. It escaped his notice when his student stared at him because his brew boiled up, and he had to focus on stirring it.
It would have been easier alone – he groused under his breath, but he still had other priorities besides the personal, whether he liked it or not. These kids messing up a brew like this one would have eventually demanded his time anyway….
Severus put down the flames under his ready foundation and grudgingly walked over to Jugson's cauldron. The boy couldn't keep up, but at least he didn't mess it up either. He took the stirring rod and rounded up the other brew, all the while lecturing to keep himself from thinking.
"In those endeavours, a lot call the Dark Arts, one should obey rules unless he wants to lose more than what he was ready to offer. That's what Zyppo warned against in the description. Intentions are the basics of all magic you perform, but consent is another criterion you should observe. These brews don't have special ingredients besides those to be added in the end. The ingredients and our intent to use them will also determine the success and the purity of magic.
"Neither of the ingredients we are to use for that were collected with consent. It is unavoidable by the nature of our predicament. So the magic is indeed dark, despite our intent. That may be good, but still impure for our decision to use these items is considered selfish. We are the ones who decided to obtain information that was not naturally given to us. This is not some 'detective work' or inquisitive method: We are using our magical prowess to bend the natural rules of the world around us to our benefit, or worse, to satisfy our curiosity.
"You may begin to dice the augurey eggs, make them cubical, and do a double measure," – he added as an afterthought.
"Blood magic is not in the brew but in the intent, the offering, and the final additions. Without those, it's a useless but common brew. The offering is not just blood or any other personal item or body parts. It is also offering the status of your mind and soul for your gain. That's why the old alchemists were frequently thought to have signed a diabolical pact. You offer yourself partly in exchange for your gain. To what measure you do so can be tempered by the purity of intent, but you cannot escape the deal. All blood magic is linked to the blood of the caster as much as to the blood, or as a matter of fact, any other personal parts of the subject whether you cast wards, a curse, or make a brew."
He returned to his cauldron and used the diced egg sections Jugson had made with the most attention he had ever seen him giving to his work. There was no flaw in his attempts, and Snape had to nod.
The second step was dressing up the brew to their specific intent, using the symbolism of matter to convey their demand. He tried to explain it and had a feeling he'd lost Padgett somewhere along the lines. Jugson seemed to be vitalized by his explanations, his eyes were shining brightly, and he just drank up all his words. It reminded Severus too much of his younger self, enough to fall silent for a while.
But the room was heated and silent, and Severus found himself struggling against the lullaby of the fire and the boiling cauldrons. He lectured about the symbolism of blood as a lifeline, then broke down the used materials to their alchemical place and symbolism. Jugson paid close attention, and Padgett seemed to come back to life by following the symbols in the book and memorizing the new knowledge about them. By the time he finished his explanations, the two brews were ready for the final touch.
"Scoop it into a glass bowl, we want no more interaction than what we consciously attempt," – Snape advised his student, and he did the same. The crimson liquid silently sat and cooled within minutes in the small bowl before him. His stomach churned with anticipation.
Before they added their offerings to point magical recognition towards the people they wished to find, Severus produced a detailed map and laid it out on the cleaned surface of his desk. Now the hair – he commanded himself not to show any signs of his internal havoc and cautiously let the single thread of hair fall into the liquid while he recited the first few lines of Zyppo's work.
"Duce me virtute cum huius sanguinis et meae magicae! Accipe et duce me ad eam!"(*Lead me with this blood and my magic! Accept and lead me to her!*) It wasn't a spell, strictly speaking, rather a state of intent which in his experience was more common in the darker aspect of magic. Sage would have argued in ancient magic in general and would have begun a debate upon the origins of spell-craft – if only!
With that wistful thought, Severus felt his magic surge within him, enveloping the room, then coming back to focus, fuelling the propped-up brew in front of him. The liquid's crimson colour lightened into a curious shade of mauve, which Severus quickly took up into a pipette and dropped on the map spread in front of him.
The two kids were still waiting in eerie silence after the paper soaked up the liquid, waiting for something – anything – to happen, when Severus teetered, feeling his heart sinking with fear. He couldn't breathe, and the walls around him seemed to have come closer, collapsing on him in the heat and horror: Nothing happened. The brew couldn't show her on the map. She was gone.
"No."
Severus thought he would only shake his head, but he lost balance and almost fell, calling all the attention he wanted to avoid. He snarled and grumbled so neither of his students could have a misguided thought about helping him up, and he wouldn't look at them for anything in the world. Looking back at the map, his eyelids fluttered with the effort to keep himself from fainting, his face felt sweaty and cold.
"No."
He must have bungled it up. It was a sensitive process he should never have attempted with distraction… anyway, it was only a thread of hair. That must have not been enough to point the magic. Blood would have been more sufficient or more substance… He should never have tried this while distracted in the first place…
Intending to shout his pain and fear as anger, Severus looked up at his students to throw them out – then he saw the pipette in Jugson's hand and the anxiety on Padgett's face. Montague.
"Why, get on with it, we have not all day!" – he scolded instead, clutching the edge of his desk in a death grip that made his fingers white.
If the map didn't show Montague either, he could calm down, knowing that Jugson messed it up. He would find the point where it must have gone all awry. Then, he would just have a little rest before he attempted to think again…
Jugson's hand trembled above the map – did he have scruples? Interesting. How unexpected! After the shock, his mocking sense of dark humour came around first. Then Padgett stepped closer, feeding his antisocial and cynic mind with more bad jokes to make.
"Here, I'll do it," – the girl softly told Jugson, took the pipette and read the words while dropping the liquid onto the map. How bloody touching!
A half-formed barb stuck somewhere among Severus' thoughts when the girl's magic combined with the drops and the map alighted in a shade of light coral, pulsed, then showed a small dot in London.
"There he is!" – Padget screamed with relief. "How did he get there?"
"And why," – Jugson added. "Sir, I don't think he would voluntarily run away, risking expulsion. Can we contact him? It's really not like–" Jugson's voice broke by some reason. Severus momentarily couldn't care less in his single-minded effort to come to terms with what just happened. He kept staring at the map. "Sir– excuse me, sir, a-are you feeling all right?"
He most definitely wasn't feeling all right, but that couldn't be a reason to show weakness in front of the nitwit. With years of practice, his occlumency shut out all personal thoughts and feelings like a thick and heavy wall falling into place, and Professor Snape looked up at his student with cold and hollow eyes, making him flinch.
"It disappeared!" – Padgett's voice interrupted the wordless exchange. "Sir, is it okay if the dot disappears?"
One look at the map showed no sign of Montague in London, but the curiosity only grew when after some seconds, the coral dot re-appeared in Scotland.
"What?" – Severus barked, having a double-take, then without losing time, he produced a map of London he obtained after Christmas and drew up a schematic map of Hogwarts, assuming that the boy might have not left at all. What then had his consciousness do in London? He smelled dark magic, stronger and darker than the childish introductory course he just held. "Two more drops, Padgett," – he barked hoarsely, and the girl obliged.
Two maps pulsed up in coral, then Montague's dot appeared on Hogwarts' fourth floor.
"That's the old History of Magic classroom, Binns' place with the clutter," – Jugson quickly identified.
To the two kids' great astonishment, their Professor strode into his storage room without a word. They might have been surprised, but neither knew the need of an Invigoration Draught so severely like Severus did at the moment. After these two days and the recent emotional breakdown he'd hiddened, he was dead on his feet.
"Let's go," – Severus signalled as soon as he returned to them. "Padgett, you take all the maps. If we meet anyone, you will vanish them wordlessly; I don't care what you feel about it. Jugson, you're not a Prefect, so you must be the student in need of discipline. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir" – both Slytherins grinned excitedly.
By the time they arrived at Binns' classroom, Montague's dot had travelled back to London again. Magical London, as it seemed, somewhere in Diagon Alley, but it was impossible to specify on a Muggle map.
"Sir?" – Padgett looked up at him with worry and trust Severus wasn't especially used to. Closed up like a shell, it barely touched his conscious mind.
"Let's try to wait it out."
They heard strange wailing from one of the cabinets before Montague's dot fully formed on the scroll Severus had haphazardly drawn up, and Jugson forced open the cabinet's door, so their Head of House could pull out his sixth-year student. He wasn't in good shape.
"Miss Padgett, try to calm yourself if you please," – Snape reminded the squeaking girl and tried to examine Montague.
The boy was dizzy and disoriented, and it was only due to his Invigoration Draught-sharpened reflexes that Snape could avoid Montague tossing his cookies on his robe. Since he couldn't extricate a coherent word of his student even after that, Severus decided to spell him asleep before he conjured up a stretcher and navigated him to the Infirmary.
It would have been sensible to send his students back to their dorm at this point, but Padgett's barely ruled histrionics and Jugson's eagerness foretold an argument that wasn't worth trying. Had he had a chance to sit by Lily if she'd been injured during their Hogwarts years or was able to stay close to Sage after he found her – because he would… the thought broke on his discipline and the implacable walls of his Occlumency.
Poppy Pomfrey looked aghast, seeing all four of them marching through her doors two hours after curfew, to say the least. But, to her credit, the medi-witch didn't say a word out of her line of duty. Soon Montague lay on a hospital bed with a diagnostic spell hovering above him, and several phials were flying through the air on Madam Pomfrey's wave of her wand.
"Concoction, dehydration, fatigue, and something more I cannot name," – Poppy listed, staring at Severus. "What on earth had happened to this boy?"
Pulling his face into a baleful grimace felt like re-forming a mask.
"I don't know, Poppy, but I will," – he silently promised. "We found him in Binns' old classroom in a suspicious cabinet that smelled of dark magic from a mile."
The medi-witch swallowed and observed his eyes carefully.
"Thank you for taking him to me. By any chance, could he meet with what you–"
"No."
"I apologize," – Poppy Pomfrey let her lashes fall. She knew about his involvement with the Death Eater attacks again, Dumbledore insisted upon it. It wasn't about distrust. Severus helped her out with more cases dabbling with dark magic than she would be able to count. From earlier, she also had most descriptive memories about various states of disarray in which she had received him. Some of those had also been of darker origin than she would have liked it.
"Can you put him together?" – Severus asked softly.
"Not without understanding the dark side of his predicament," – she admitted. "Judging by you taking him to me, I expect that so can't you?"
He shook his head. If they couldn't help Montague, the boy needed St. Mungo's. In which case this couldn't be kept away from Umbridge as Slytherin's business, and also, he would need to deal with parents again, possibly the only kind of creature even Hagrid couldn't tame when they got going. However, before he grumbled his dissatisfaction, an idea began to shape in the shadiest nooks of his cunning mind.
"Poppy, could we talk in private? I'd like to–"
The familiar and repulsive click-clacking of prissy high heels interrupted him, claiming both of their attention, and Severus turned furious eyes on the medi-witch.
"Some of the portraits agreed to report to her. I didn't–" – she tried to quickly assure and moved in front of the two Slytherin curfew breakers as if she could hide them behind her skirts and robe.
It didn't seem sufficient, so Severus conjured a folding screen between them, not giving notice to the kids' wide-eyed bewilderment. If he went as far as to blow up a part of the castle for goddamn Potter, he wouldn't serve up his own!
"Headmistress, finally!" – He stepped front as soon as the pink cardigan appeared in the door. It seemed to take the wind out of the Toad's sail.
"Have you been expecting me?"
Merlin put you among his messmates you gormless bint, haven't you just betrayed yourself again?
"Naturally. One of my students got injured. The castle must have given you notice."
"Why- why, yes, of course. I came to investigate the–"
Spare it!
"Alas, Montague is not in a state to give us any clue, is he, Madam Pomfrey?"
Poppy shook his head, torn between secret amusement and anxiety. Severus took the initiative again with cold boldness.
"I was just to contact you, Headmistress, about my student's immediate relocation to the St. Mungo's."
Umbridge's gaze travelled to Montague for the first time. "Is that necessary?" – she asked the medi-witch.
"I'm afraid it is, Headmistress. Mr. Montague suffered a severe concussion which would be nice to have seen after there too, but that's nothing compared to this phenomenon". She showed a smudgy spot of discolouration on the diagnostic charm she still kept projected above Montague. "Have you ever seen the likes of it, Headmistress? Maybe in the Ministry, you had a chance to encounter the meaning of this stubborn glitch."
Severus suddenly caught himself staring at Poppy with misbelief, and he quickly averted his eyes. Was that possible that goody two shoes Poppy Pomfrey was openly mocking a ministry-witch, the current Headmistress of Hogwarts? Then he remembered. Poppy was a Slytherin too, about the same year with his mother… the witch once tried to talk to him about it, but at that time, a sleeping draught seemed to have been a better choice. Maybe it had been a mistake.
Umbridge faffed her way through Poppy's utter compliance to send Montague away. Severus only interjected when he volunteered to escort his student. After a momentary shock, Madam Pomfrey was convinced about the soundness of this idea and adamantly argued that it was the only way to arrange their task. Severus was secretly impressed.
Now the two yet unexposed delinquents behind the folding screen – Severus stepped behind the Toad and sent two wandless and silent Disillusionment charms to cover them as good as he could.
"Let's hope Poppy, that no more curfew breakers get caught tonight," – he said with a significant stare at the medi-witch by means of farewell just before he stepped into the Floo, carrying Montague.
The green flame spat them out into the atrium of the Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries. Their appearance in the middle of the night must have been a novelty. Certainly, it was peculiar enough to have the medi-wizard on duty, and two apprentices came running for their aid. Settling the boy and owling to his parents took less time than Severus expected, which perfectly suited his plan.
He began on the ground floor, the artifact accidents. Sage had enough cursed toys around to be wary of an outcome such as this. Disillusioned and stepping silently, Severus stopped by every room. He didn't dare to ask after her, so he was preparing for a long night. He read through the Specialist Healers' Chart and Schedule in the Admission Area when the Receptionist went out for a coffee. He found nothing which would have reminded him of Sage.
First floor. He didn't have his hopes high in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, but he wouldn't fault himself for leaving it out. He cast a bubblehead charm before entering the Ward of Contagious Magical Maladies on the second floor. She wasn't there either. Thank Merlin!
Potion Poisoning, third floor; Janus Thickey Ward, fourth floor – he had a little mishap here, bumping into a strange witch who called herself Aretha and who happily mistook him for an incubus she believed she once knew. Severus reinforced his Disillusionment charm after the encounter, although it didn't seem to have slipped. Peculiar.
The fifth floor held the worst surprise. Montague's parents sat in the silent and empty visitor's tearoom. He supposed he could also get it over with before revisiting all the wards, being afraid he missed something on his route. She had to be around here, or else he had no idea where to find her… maybe at Grimmauld Place! The thought renewed his faint hopes and gave the needed push towards the parents.
"Professor Snape!" – Mr. Montague stood up when he saw him – "Look, Edna, the Healer was right indeed."
"Mr. Montague, Mrs. Montague, I'm sorry about the accident." – Severus told them as tactfully as he could – which was not much, but a visible effort compared to his average, which the couple seemed to have noticed. "Is there anything new the Healers have said about Graham?"
"He seemed to have encountered an uncodified spell. They are trying to decipher the details," – Mrs. Montague sniffed.
"Professor, do you have any idea who cursed and abused my son?" – Mr. Montague looked less sentimental.
"Regretfully, no. I intend to find the perpetrator, but I have to remind you, sir, that Hogwarts is a magical school with about a thousand worthless little rascals. Therefore, I cannot promise you to be able to serve you with the culprit's head."
"And you call this education? I would expect discipline and authority in a school teaching magic and care for magical creatures! Have you gone off your rockers there in these last ten years?!"
"Did you also attend Hogwarts, sir?" – Severus asked back with relentless politeness, although with a face of stone.
"Yes, from sixty-seven to seventy-four, Edna was three years behind me, albeit she was a Ravenclaw."
Was? – Severus' eyes narrowed for a split second, understanding probably decades of household dynamics in a wink, which sorely reminded him of one he intimately knew.
"Then you must know about the school's supervision. I haven't had a student at such risk in fifteen years of teaching at Hogwarts. If you decide to remonstrate with the Ministry or the Board of Governors about the incapability of the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, I would sadly have no way to argue against your case."
"Wha- How?" – The older Montague was beside himself in his astonishment. "The Daily Prophet assured us all about the timely intervention in the school's leadership. Are you suggesting, Professor, that flipped old Dumbledore would have prevented my son from getting injured?"
"I suggested no such thing. I only enumerated facts," – Severus turned away from him and addressed Mrs. Montague. "Is there a prognosis about Graham's health, madam?"
She first cast an anxious look upon her husband, then she risked a smile. Severus hated his premonition proving true so much it curbed his hands into fists.
"They say he will recover fully, but it will take time," – she softly spoke up. "Graham told us about you, Professor, and I knew professor Slughorn almost as much as Robert. It is very reassuring to know how much you did for our son. No one would have done more," – she added, peeking at her husband again, who grudgingly acquiesced with a nod.
"I'm the Head of his House, madam," – Severus told her, in lieu of an explanation, and his posture conveyed the rest of his opinion as he stood up. "I have to leave you now, but if you need my assistance, please send your owl," – he only addressed her, but Robert Montague was the one who thanked him. Severus walked down to the Hall to Apparate with a nasty snarl on his face.
His mood didn't get any better when he popped up at Grimmauld Place. The news that Montague would eventually recover gave one less thing to worry about, even if the accident bothered him greatly. Still, he had other problems to occupy his mind aplenty.
It was already late at night and the full moon. Even if Lupin drank up his tonic this time, he wasn't eager to run into the werewolf. And encountering Black or – Merlin forbid – Alastor Moody wasn't a jot more sympathetic possibility, especially if Sage wasn't here. But, on the other hand, she might be here….
Standing in the darkness, Severus questioned everything he knew and lamented all he didn't. The brew should have worked! Coming to think about it, he didn't even know if he was supposed to leave Hogwarts, counting in everything he knew about Dumbledore… But somehow, he couldn't be arsed to follow others' opinion. In that regard, his whole friendship with Sage threw him back in time when he rebelled and fought and wished for the Moon. A dangerous place to be, he should have learned his lesson. At the end of that road was only death and Dementors and Azkaban.
He stared at the narrow line where the houses Grimmauld Place No. 11 and 13 touched. Surely, the brew would have shown her in London if she was here. Also, she would have contacted him some way or another if she was around. She knew only too well how much he worried. That's why she offered to wait in her quarters for him – Gods, could she have regretted that?
For some dreadful moments, Severus believed she hadn't returned only to avoid making good on her promise and let him explore every inch of her to make sure she was all right. It seemed possible, more, it seemed very likely. Why would a witch like her not try to avoid him? Being selfish to think she would have left Hogwarts and the war, Dumbledore and students and everything behind just to avoid him was just an afterthought.
He tried to rationalize. She might want to avoid him. The Dark Lord wanted to see her. Lucius wanted her out of the school. She wouldn't join the greedy and the evildoers just to avoid him. It was bonkers! The map didn't show her. He should find out what was wrong with the brew; it worked for Jugson! Jugson. Of all people!
But if there was nothing wrong with the brew, and if there wasn't a problem with him - if – then there must have been a problem with the map! The map of Britain – who said she was still in Britain? And if she wasn't, she was most likely in France, just the way Lucius wanted! And by some reason, Narcissa was adamant about having a talk.
All details ran together with a flash he almost saw before his eyes! She wasn't at Grimmauld, she was with Lucius, or the bastard would know where she was!
Severus Disapparated with a loud pop only to – apparently – freak the hell out of Malfoy when he suddenly appeared in their London house's mudroom just a stroke before midnight. He knew enough about the Malfoy-wards to stay put after arriving but having the house elf and Lucius kick the door in on him, wand standing tall, in the style of some Muggle film or an armed police operation… despite it all, he almost laughed up.
"Having the jitters, friend?" – he asked Lucius, still amused watching relief flooding the blond's face.
"Laugh until you don't come where I came from," – Malfoy grumbled. His words sounded curiously slurred. He dismissed the house elf and gestured for Severus to leave the mudroom, carefully reapplying the wards before leaving for his upstairs study. This was smaller and less intimidating than the one still wearing Abraxas' hand all around. "What do you drink?" – Lucius stepped straight to the liquor cabinet.
Severus hesitated.
"You pop up in the middle of the night, the least you can do is to keep me from drinking alone," – Lucius grumbled, uncharacteristically showcasing his bad mood, and he held out a fire-whisky, not waiting for protests. "What the sodding hell are you doing here in the first place?"
Severus watched him filling up his glass too. The liquid looked like blue mead. If the potions even changed the mead's colour, he was glad he didn't need to try it.
"I'm here enjoying your matchless hospitality. Quite obviously," – he took the glass from Lucius and drank. The heat of the flames filled him up, so he had to stop for a second to savor the moment. "This is the only possible hour to join you since that deranged hag closed us all up like firsties on detentions."
Malfoy snickered much longer than he thought he had given him a reason. "Have you then misbehaved at Hogwarts? Surely not your first time!"
"I don't take it kindly, for your interest" – Severus huffed, but his purpose in visiting quickly returned. "Not that any other would have a problem with the Dark Lord had He in his wisdom required my presence…. Your charge was dismissed this morning," – he added after a short contemplation. "I didn't know she would be when I reported last night. Our lord wished to enjoy her company again."
"Did he?" Lucius's brows ran together, and his expression seemed more troubled than surprised. Severus watched his eyes darting around the room and his lips pulling into a painful grimace. He knew this face. Lucius had something to hide.
"Quite decidedly. You don't say there might be a problem?"
Malfoy regulated his features as much as he could against the high he obviously experienced enjoying his who-knows-which drink. A weak effort.
"That depends," – he sniffed and gulped into his mead with a bitter expression. "He's already proved he was into necromancy, so he might even enjoy this approach–"
Severus slapped his glass on the table, unbothered by the whiskey sloshing with his force. He couldn't help staring at Malfoy. "WHAT?"
Lucius stood and turned away, hurt by his outcry enough to totter over for a refill.
"And why would that be my fault?" – he fought back. "It is her aunt, after all! And even if I agreed with Jamie Roux, I couldn't have known–" – he gulped down the glass of mead as if it was a shot and poured again. His gaze told the tale of torture and pain and devastation as he helplessly stared back at his friend. "Jamie should have known even if I didn't," – Lucius said softly, shaking his head. "It was–"
Under other circumstances, Severus might have understood his reluctance to recall whatever horror but not this time. Not when he implied– the unthinkable…. "What happened?" – he asked hoarsely. His wish to use Legilimency was tempered by his fear of what he would have to watch.
Lucius sat down. "It's already a war, that's what," – he grumbled. "And don't be mistaken because it's not a jot like the one we've seen. The Roux… they are a powerful lot, but their greed is even greater. We had an argument. Whatever they had against the Coquinnes and the Poultrons, they wanted to beat it down by gathering all Sage could offer. It was not enough. They tried to deny me my share! So we made a pact. Do you remember Polla Poultron? That shady aunt of Sage's and Iris' who was famed by her dark practices and blowing up a Muggle road somewhere in the north?"
Severus nodded.
"Well, they wanted her alliance. That which you cannot gather, you understand, so we naturally rallied up to attack her. Iris refused to come, no wonder since she knew–"– he sighed and drank. "Anyway. I did it for the Dark Lord. He needs the funds, and I would rather get that from them. As you very well know, Nott agreed, and so did you, I remember, even Alex. We didn't call you for you, since you cannot leave before the summer. It wasn't the first attempt of the Roux. They took a handful of wizards. I didn't recognize any of them. And Lefevre. Sage called some witch who I can't really recall. She didn't say a word anyway. I only heard her voice when she was shrieking like a pig before the end.
"The hexes filled the air. I haven't seen the like of it before. The Poultron house is more like a stronghold. We struggled but attacked through the outer walls. That's when she appeared on the balustrade. Some shadow stood behind her. I couldn't make out what it was. Her first curse got Nott square in the chest. It lifted him in a bubble of bright flames, as high as the branches of the beech above him. The poor sod was screaming his lungs out, but he got stuck in a fork. Roux ordered his wizards to attack her, so she must have released the spell to defend herself.
"The next curse came for Sage, but she dodged it. It hit that strange witch she dragged along. She was shrieking in that flaming bubble, flew up as high as the highest tower and disappeared with a pop as loud as a blast. Polla aimed for Jamie then. She got him on the second try. I–" – Lucius drank up the rest of his mead, and sank low in his armchair. His face was pale and distant.
"I haven't seen a curse like that in my life," – he tiredly looked up at Severus. "It peeled his skin off his body, leaving all flesh, joints and muscles intact. It didn't even scorch his robe! Then, as we were just standing there, watching him cry and scream with pain, he– he began to choke. Like he'd been retching– then the fuckwit turned and puked his lung on the ground… it fell right before my feet!" – he stared at his friend wide-eyed with disgust and terror. "I didn't need to see any more than that! I tried to gather Nott from the tree when I saw that bubble curse hitting Sage too. She flew up and disappeared like the other witch before her. I levitated Nott down, and Side-Alonged him to Calais, then to Dover and finally to the Notts. Aurelia didn't thank me, but could I care less?" – he stared unseeing into the air and tried to sip into his drink, but his glass was empty.
"I don't suppose the Dark Lord would talk to her anytime soon," – finally looked up at Severus. "She's as dead as it comes, and so we all would be, unless our lord himself joins there an attack. The Poultron castle is invincible." With that, he stood and poured him another glass with trembling hands.
Severus couldn't speak. The room was dark, and the fumes of the drinks bothered his nose. He felt hollow and nauseous. He faintly realized that Lucius sat back, and some minutes later, he realized the bastard had dozed off. It didn't mean a thing; he was paralyzed.
A long time later, he found himself wandering out of the room and strolling down the stairs without any aim. When Cissy's voice called for him from the parlour's door, he could only look up but still had no words to offer, not even a greeting. The vision of an empty map hovered in front of his mind's eyes.
"Severus," – Cissy stepped closer and hugged him. "Did he tell you what happened? I couldn't make him talk."
He only nodded.
"Come."
Unthinkingly like in a dream, Severus followed Cissy into the parlour and let her sit next to him on a double seat. He hazily was aware of her touch on his knees but didn't recognize when she began to caress him.
"It was about the French, was it not?" – Cissy asked. "Thank you for coming to talk to him. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but- Severus, he wasn't like himself even before he departed, and he didn't tell me a thing since he returned. Is it that bad? I can feel it!"
"Bad," – Severus repeated after her, more hoarsely than he thought he would. Cissy leaned onto his shoulder.
"I hope this won't get back to Bella. She's already so horrible… did you know she was mocking Lucius ever since she returned?"
Absently he shook his head.
"She does. And all because of that bloody diary! Lucius should have known better than to frame that girl, but honestly! You know how insufferable the Ministry was. All the nonsense about dark artifacts, and why would we have thought the Dark Lord would return? It was only sensible to get rid of something so obviously dark, but that's what you get for engaging with blood-traitors and fools!"
Severus turned his head slightly to look at her, but Cissy was too deeply immersed within her whining.
"And my bitch of a sister dares to say the Dark Lord is justified in his anger! She tells me that she got a cup when Lucius was entrusted with that silly book. She's cackling with glee for still keeping it in her vault!"
She kept on with her complaining, but Severus couldn't follow. After what he just heard upstairs, he thought he would never feel a thing again in his life. He was wrong, though. Now he was gobsmacked.