CHAPTER 13
Pre-Emptive Strike
Harry threw down his quill and looked at his watch. Nearly time for dinner, and he was already finished with his Transfiguration homework. Even Hermione couldn't say as much, he thought smugly. Since the weather had warmed up she and Ron had been spending more and more time outdoors--helping Hagrid feed and care for his collection of creatures, going on long walks by the lake, or just practicing their flying at the Quidditch pitch.
As Harry stretched and began rolling up his parchment and putting away his books and quills, he thought how strange it was that Quidditch had taken a back seat to so many other concerns this year. Of course he enjoyed being captain of the Gryffindor team--so far this year they had won their matches against both Slytherin and Ravenclaw--but somehow the game wasn't quite as absorbing as it had been in previous years. It didn't bother him, but it did rather surprise him.
Ron was as enthusiastic a Quidditch player--and fan--as ever. He somehow managed to find the time to fit some of everything into his schedule--Quidditch, classes, Hermione, homework, and regular visits to Hagrid--and still had time left over to hang about in the Gryffindor common room. In fact, if Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought Ron possessed a Time-Turner; but these were carefully monitored by the Ministry and were not given out without very good reason. Even with all his extracurricular activities, Ron was still maintaining decent marks in all of their classes.
Make no mistake, Harry was glad that Ron was happy and his life seemed to be going so well. But sometimes he felt a bit jealous of how easy Ron had it. Harry was keenly aware that if he wanted to get top marks he would have to sacrifice a significant amount of his social time to study; that he had no girlfriend or even any prospects; that his future seemed as vague and undecided as it ever had, Auror studies notwithstanding. He had a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, made worse by the fact that he didn't know what to do about it.
He was infinitely grateful to have had Professor Lovejoy come into his life. Over the past few months they had gotten well acquainted. She always had time to talk to Harry. She had quickly gotten over her exasperation with him and Snape, and an uneasy truce was in effect between the two men in her life. Of late, she had been spending more time than ever with Snape, and Harry was putting in even longer hours than usual studying due to the approach of final examinations. He missed talking to her, but there was talk of him spending part of the summer with her and her parents so that he could meet his grandfather and get to know that side of his family.
Until then, he lived for the weekends. He rationed his time strictly, allowing only one day each weekend in which he could do whatever he wanted. He was glad today was Thursday and there was only one more day of school that week. Tired, but feeling virtuous about the early completion of his assignment for Professor McGonagall, he dug his robe--very much the worse for wear--out of the depths of the chair in which he had sat most of the afternoon and prepared to go down for dinner. No one else was in the common room, so he exited through the portrait hole alone and went to find Ron and Hermione.
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"Damn and blast," Snape muttered. He was alone in his rooms in Slytherin, and he was bored. He had no potions or essays to grade; thinking up detentions for Potter had palled since Trillium was making them "try harder" to get along with each other; and speaking of the good professor--where was she?
In Hogsmeade, that's where. She and Minerva McGonagall had no afternoon classes today and were taking advantage of the free time to shop. He tapped the end of his wand on his desktop. Shopping! He snorted. Tap tap. He hated shopping. Tap. Should probably be glad she hadn't insisted that he go along. Tap tappity-tap. He wouldn't really have minded, though. He enjoyed spending time with her; it didn't really matter what they were doing.
Time...what time was it? He glanced at the clock on the wall, black marble with tiny ivory skulls in place of numbers, reputed to be the very clock Lucrezia Borgia had kept in her personal laboratory. He put down his wand upon seeing that it was just on five o'clock. Surely Trillium would have returned by now--her parting words had been, "See you at dinner!" Cheered by the thought of seeing her, he pulled on his robe and left the dungeon, heading upward toward her quarters. The symbolism of that was never lost on him; actually, he thought it rather appropriate since when she was with him she truly did lift him out of the darkness. The fact that she could, and moreover wanted to do so was a large part of what he loved about her. He started to whistle, only realizing what he was doing when Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, passing him in the corridor, gave him very odd looks.
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Professor Lovejoy felt the afternoon had been well worthwhile. She had found some lovely scented candles that she intended to burn the next time Snape spent an evening with her in her room. It was wonderful to get away from the school for a few hours, and she had truly enjoyed the time spent with Professor McGonagall. They had more in common than she had realized. Professor McGonagall had introduced her to Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks, and the three ladies had enjoyed a jolly conversation over tea and cakes in Rosmerta's personal quarters at the back of the inn.
The afternoon flew by and before they knew it, it was time to return to Hogwarts. The professors bade Madam Rosmerta goodbye and started back along the road leading to the entrance to Hogwarts, chatting as they went. Before long they came to Professor Lovejoy's favorite part of the walk, a sweeping curve in the road where no sign could be seen either of Hogsmeade behind or Hogwarts ahead. For this short stretch the road ran along the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, with towering trees on both sides that extended back into the gloomy interior.
As soon as they had rounded the first part of the bend and could no longer see the last of the outlying houses of Hogsmeade, Professor McGonagall came to an abrupt halt. Professor Lovejoy looked at her inquiringly and opened her mouth to say something, but the older woman held up a hand to stop her. She had a peculiar look on her face.
"Do you hear that?" Professor McGonagall asked very quietly. Professor Lovejoy stood there silently, listening. All she heard was the rustle of a little breeze in the evergreens.
"I don't hear anything," she said finally. "Do you?"
"No--and that's very peculiar, don't you think?" Professor McGonagall asked. "There were birds singing all about us just a moment ago. Now it's completely silent." She looked at Professor Lovejoy. "Not a good sign."
"Should we go back? Do you think something is wrong?" Professor Lovejoy asked in a whisper. Now she, too, was beginning to feel apprehensive, although she couldn't have said why.
Professor McGonagall stood listening for a moment longer, then drew herself up. "I suppose not. We'd best be getting back--it's nearly time for dinner." She peered into the trees on either side of them but saw nothing unusual. They started walking again, more quickly this time, Professor Lovejoy resisting the temptation to look behind her. In a moment they would round the far end of the curve, and Hogwarts Castle--and safety--would be in sight.
Which is undoubtedly why the six Death Eaters chose that particular moment to step out of the trees with wands drawn and confront them. Professor Lovejoy's packages dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
"Good afternoon, ladies," one of them said in a rasping voice. "Been doing a spot of shopping, have we?" He stopped directly in front of Professor McGonagall. "Not a word, Professor. I doubt the likes of you needs a wand to do magic, and I've no wish to be transformed into a teacup or a pincushion, thank you very much."
Professor McGonagall peered under his hood, trying to see his face, but his hood was pulled far forward and his face was in darkness. "I know you, don't I?" she said. "Your voice is familiar. A former student--Slytherin, no doubt?"
He tsk'd. "You'd best hope it doesn't suddenly come to you, Professor--for your own safety, you understand." He motioned to the others, who moved to surround the two women. Professor Lovejoy stood wide-eyed and silent.
"And just look who we have here," said the leader, reaching out to grasp her wrist. "As I live and breathe, here is Severus Snape's light-o'-love her very self. Just who I was looking for."
He whipped his head around just as Professor McGonagall withdrew her wand from her pocket, where she had managed to sneak her hand unnoticed. "Petrificus totalus!" he shouted, brandishing his own wand at her. She gasped, stiffened, and fell over backward, completely immobilized. The leader returned his attention to Professor Lovejoy, who exclaimed in horror at this treatment of her elderly friend and immediately started toward her. The leader stepped in front of her, blocking her way. He laughed at her attempts to push past him and, when he didn't move, to kick him.
"Oh, you think so, do you?" he chuckled. He gestured toward Professor McGonagall, who stared skyward with unseeing eyes. "I can treat you to the same, if you insist," he rasped. "But it would be so much better if you arrived in...mint condition."
He motioned for the others to gather round. From somewhere he produced an old derby hat which apparently was to serve as a Portkey, and each of them put a hand on the brim. He forced Professor Lovejoy's hand onto the hat, and she felt the familiar jolt behind her navel that was characteristic of this mode of travel. Colors streaked past as she was whisked to an unknown destination.
In moments she was regaining her feet and her balance. She looked around. They were in some sort of hall--a mansion or possibly a small castle, she thought. But where? And why?
One by one the Death Eaters removed their masks. She recognized Lucius Malfoy and assumed the delicate, dark-haired woman next to him was his wife Narcissa; she didn't know any of the others.
"Where are we?" she asked, trying to sound confident but not really succeeding. "Why have you brought me here?"
The leader bowed. "All in good time. Someone wishes to see you, so we brought you to him."
"Who?" she asked. She was afraid she knew the answer--after all, these were Death Eaters--but she couldn't make herself believe it. This could not be happening. It was almost time for dinner, which she had planned to eat with--
"Severus," she said softly.
"No--not Snape, although I'm sure His Lordship would like to discuss him with you," the leader said. "Come along, now. We mustn't keep him waiting."
"Him who?" shot back Professor Lovejoy. The leader, however, merely smiled and shook his head, pulling her along with him to a large chair in front of the fire.
A thin, cold voice came from the depths of the chair. "Trillium Lovejoy. Come round where I can see you." When she didn't immediately obey, the leader pushed her around in front of the chair. She cringed, not sure what sort of monstrosity she was about to behold.
At first glance it seemed nothing so awful after all. A man sat in the large wing chair. He was tall, thin, and perfectly bald. He looked old and frail--until he pushed back the hood of his robe and she saw his eyes. They were little more than slits, and of a chilling blood-red. Her heart was pounding, but other than the fact of her having been kidnapped, she was not certain whether she was in any immediate danger. She didn't underestimate either Voldemort's powers or his probable evil intentions, but she felt she owed it to herself, and to Snape, not to let the Dark Lord see her fear.
She lifted her chin proudly. "Voldemort." She mimicked his expressionless stare. Moments passed while neither spoke.
"Well? What have you to say to me?" he said finally.
She frowned. "I? I have nothing to say. You brought me here. Presumably you have a reason other than simply to waste my time."
"Show some respect to your betters," growled the leader.
She snorted. "Betters? What nonsense."
"Enough," hissed Voldemort. "Avery. Leave us." The Death Eater opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it and quietly left the room. Voldemort contemplated Professor Lovejoy in silence for a bit longer; she recognized this as one of Snape's own favorite ploys to intimidate people, so she stared back, a look of boredom on her face. She sensed icy little tendrils in her head and knew he was not sitting there idly, as it seemed, but exploring her thoughts, looking for bits of useful information he could pick out of her brain. She deliberately fixed a vision of the lake in her mind, trying to keep all other thoughts out in order not to inadvertently give him something he could use.
He chuckled. It was a high, thin sound, like fingernails on a blackboard, and she winced. "You think to keep me out? You can't, you know. One way or another, I will have what I want from you."
Somewhat to her surprise, Professor Lovejoy felt her initial shock and fear wearing off, leaving in its place annoyance and frustration. No doubt this is what caused her to speak more sharply to Voldemort than perhaps she should have.
"Instead of poking and prying like a common sneak thief," she said incautiously, "why don't you just tell me what it is you want to know?" He gave a small start of surprise, quickly subdued, but not before she saw. "How do you ever get anything done if all you do is throw out hints and innuendos? You may be able to read minds, Voldemort, but the rest of us poor mortals--" sarcastically-- "don't have that ability. So if you want to know something, you'll have to say so. Don't waste my time playing silly games."
Her attitude seemed merely to amuse him. "Very well, then. What I wish to know is this: what exactly is the nature of your relationship to Severus Snape?"
The question wasn't what Professor Lovejoy had expected. "Severus?" she repeated. She had a momentary picture of him in her mind, tenderly looking down at her right before he kissed her. Ruthlessly she banished the thought and replaced it with a mental picture of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.
Voldemort made a strange sound which possibly was intended as laughter. His eyes ran slowly up and down her person, and she shuddered at the unspeakable thoughts that came to her. He spoke again.
"Fool! Be assured I have no interest in your person. Give me your answer."
She answered with a question of her own. "Why do you want to know?"
"You are trying my patience," he snarled. "Tell me what I want to know, or suffer."
Professor Lovejoy had not been an Auror for nothing. During her years of service to the Ministry she had seen plenty of suffering caused by Voldemort and his minions. She had seen the physical consequences of his attentions many times; the pain, she thought she could imagine. She didn't believe she was a coward, but still she dreaded what was inevitably about to follow. Because of course she would give him nothing willingly. She only hoped her own will proved strong enough to withstand whatever he was going to do to her. She gathered her courage and stood ready.
"You truly are predictable, Tom," she said, calling him by the name she knew he hated--the name of his weak human father that had been bestowed on him. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you." She waited calmly for the storm. She had had training in resisting the Imperious curse, but more experienced witches and wizards than she had fallen before the Cruciatus. Neville's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom--Aurors themselves--were prime examples.
Voldemort didn't disappoint her. He rose to tower over her, arms folded inside the sleeves of his robe. "You leave me no choice," he said flatly. So fast that she didn't see it happen, his bony hand appeared in front of him, gripping his wand. Professor Lovejoy tensed. "Crucio!"
She had been wrong about the pain. It was unimaginable. It was everywhere--inside of her, surrounding her--she was the pain. It was impossible to fight against this, and she wasn't sure she could even manage to endure it. She tried to think of Snape, of her Auror training--but she couldn't think at all. She felt herself spin away into nothingness, like water down a drain. She screamed once, a high, quavering sound that wrapped her in echoes as she fell into endless Dark.