Chapter Ten: A Night In Godric's Hollow
'There are some feelings Time cannot benumb.' -Lord Byron
'...fear is a powerful force, I am not about to deny that. Nor shall I deny that the obstacles we find ourselves facing are anything other than perilous. But as has been shown repeatedly through our history, the English nation is never so great as in adversity..."
Severus was seated in his customary seat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place listening with the rest of the Order to the WWN, where Ahlgrim, in a singular exemplification of stupidity, had just announced her belief in the Dark Lord's return. The Order had had knowledge of the impending speech for a week, as Albus had told them of Ahlgrim's plan. Severus had been furious with the decision and had demanded the Headmaster beg her to reconsider. Despite her idealism and young age (she was four years his junior), Ahlgrim was a strong candidate. Strategically, it made far more sense for her to keep her mouth shut until after the election. As the Dark Lord's own candidate was denying His recrudescence, the Dark Lord would be remaining inactive for the time being, and thus Ahlgrim had just declared her belief in an unsubstantiated rumour the public would never want to believe.
The Headmaster had said Ahlgrim was resolute, that she felt that the public deserved to know the truth. Severus was convinced the witch's decision was influenced by the fact that Fudge had been keeping the truth of the Dark Lord's return to himself (another gem of information the Order had received from Ahlgrim). Albus had said she was doing what she felt was right. Severus was uncertain of the Headmaster's feelings on the matter. Albus was a big believer in morality, but surely he saw that Ahlgrim's decision was ill-considered?
Severus let his gaze wander over the assembled group as his attention wandered from Ahlgrim's speech. Most of their faces were grim. The Order meeting that had just concluded had been taxing for all as they tried to decide who needed protection and how to best divide their extremely limited resources. Shacklebolt noticed he was being observed and inclined his head in Severus's direction; he received a curt nod in return. Shacklebolt was a worthy addition to the Order. He was one of the few who did not despise him and Shacklebolt had extended him the same regard and trust as he had bestowed on the rest of the Order; when Severus had contacted him and told the Auror that Ahlgrim's signature had been forged on the order that sent the dementors to Little Whinging, the Auror had responded immediately. At their next meeting, Shacklebolt had actually thanked him, saying that if it were not for his tip, Ahlgrim would be dead.
The public, even many in the Order, had been shocked when The Daily Prophet reported that Dolores Umbridge had attempted to murder Hailey Ahlgrim, right inside the Ministry no less. Severus had not been surprised. Just because the woman was not a Death Eater did not mean she was incapable of casting Dark Magic or wanting someone dead. There were plenty of twisted souls who had never entertained the notion of joining the Dark Lord's fold or had even fought against Him. Bartemius Crouch Sr was one individual who came to mind, though there were many others. The attempt on Ahlgrim's life had granted Ahlgrim much publicity, which she had used to her advantage.
'...Tonight every one of us is faced with a choice: whether to stand against the Dark forces that once again threaten all we hold dear, or the choice to stand for nothing and leave all of Britain dependent upon the virtues, conceits and wickedness of a man we dare not name.'
And with that, Ahlgrim's speech ended and the programme cut to Barry Curtis and some other newsreader for the promised analysis and discussion. For almost a full five seconds there was complete silence before Curtis stammered for someone to cut to a commercial break; evidently, Ahlgrim's speech shocked the press as much as it had everyone else. The Dark Lord would not be pleased by this development; Severus doubted Lucius Malfoy would escape the next meeting unscathed.
Molly Weasley had made her famous meatballs and the table was already set for dinner. She asked him if he wished to stay and dine with the rest of the Order; he brusquely shook his head in denial. The majority of the Order members were relieved by the pronouncement (though they tried to conceal it). He left Grimmauld Place without a word; indeed he had not spoken all evening. Severus ducked behind the rubbish bins outside Number Eleven and Apparated to the clump of trees outside of Hogwarts's gates, where the Anti-Apparation wards ended.
The August dusk was warm. Overhead the sky was a vast array of indigos and blues interrupted by the faint pinpricks of the night's burgeoning stars. He made his way to his quarters without encountering another soul save for the Bloody Baron who merely inclined his head in acknowledgement before passing through a dungeon wall.
The door to his quarters was located behind a tapestry of a Common Welsh Green dragon crouched menacingly on a mountaintop. He pulled the heavy fabric aside, unlocked the door with his wand, and let himself inside. Pulling a small key out of his pocket, he weaved through the stacks of books, spare cauldrons and boxes of empty phials resting on the floor, past the armchair in front of the hearth and to his cluttered desk.
There were two competing theories as to how to best ward an object such as a door, drawer or chest: the McGinnis Rule, and the Law of Superfluity. The McGinnis Rule argued that the best way to keep a lock locked was to place a myriad of heavy wards on the lock to make it impossible to open without a key, while the Law of Superfluity put forth the idea that, due to the danger of losing the key, the best course of action was to rely on spells to guard the lock so it was nearly impossible for anyone other than the original spell caster to break the wards. Most wizards followed the Law of Superfluity. But most wizards did not practice the amount of caution Severus did.
He unlocked his desk and pulled out the contents of the left drawer: ledgers containing the grades of all his students, lesson plans, several capped inkwells of red ink he used for grading. He stared at the empty drawer, composing himself, before he reached into the drawer and pulled out the false bottom.
Regulus Black grinned at him from a wrinkled photograph. Severus, who was also present in the picture, glanced up from the thick text he was reading to scowl at being interrupted. His look of displeasure faded to be replaced by a small smirk when he realised who was behind the camera.
Life was not easy then either. Severus had battled with the Marauders' ridicule and vicious pranks almost daily, the Slytherin House mostly ignored him, only his usefulness as a tutor in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts kept him from being ostracised completely. And above everything else was the dark, ominous cloud of the war that raged outside the castle walls. Despite the tumultuous times he had grown up in, his two friends had made the years bearable. The photograph was painful to look at. Severus pushed it aside, shifting through the stacks of old letters, crinkled Cauldron Cake wrappers, a silk ribbon, Regulus's wand and a stoppered phial containing a lock of hair to grab the iron key in the corner of the drawer. Secreting the key into the innermost pocket of his robes, he returned the drawer to its proper place and secured it.
After casting a muffling charm on his boots and a Bedazzling Hex on his cloak, Severus left his office, his usual stride which students had always bemoaned as unnaturally stealthy now completely silent; neither ghost nor portrait would detect his presence in the castle halls. The sound of the main doors was nearly impossible to deaden, so he exited by way of a side door that lead to a secluded courtyard. Severus scaled the wall with ease and made his way down the sloping lawns to the castle gates.
Fang, who was tied up outside Hagrid's darkened house, lifted his head aroused by a curious smell. As Severus spent so much of his time surrounded by potion ingredients which ranged from the malodorous (sulphur, distilled wand wood) to the saccharine (Billywig stings and pomegranates), he carried with him a unique scent. Minerva had once complained he smelled like a walking apothecary. To a dog, the smell must have been curious indeed. But the wind shifted and the scent was lost; Fang lowered his head with a faint whine.
Once outside the castle wards, he spun on his heel and Disapparated.
The wind was stronger in Somerset, the air laden with the expectation of a coming storm. Severus glanced up at the darkening skies. The clouds were rolling in, but he thought the storm should hold off several hours at least.
Godric's Hollow was a place forgotten by time. Each year Severus returned he expected it to be different, for something to have changed, but it never did. The houses were all lit from within, beckoning playing children to return home. Across the street an old woman unloaded a bag of groceries from the boot of her car, if she had seen him, she doubtlessly would have waved and extended a cheery hello. Some might have found the village charming, picturesque even, but to Severus, it was nothing but a facade. He ignored the warm glow from the houses and focused instead on the creeping shadows, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. He crept to the humble, white-washed church that reminded him of the one found in his hometown of Dun's Mill.
The graveyard was behind the church, a simple plot of land with a low, wooden fence and a towering oak tree on the border. The trickling of a nearby creek could be heard. Unlocking the gate with the iron key he carried, Severus stepped around the tombstones and plaques, taking care not to step where any of the bodies were buried. At the edge of the cemetery, under the eaves of the oak was the grave he sought.
The white monument depicted a woman, whose beauty put Aphrodite to shame, clothed in a flowing gown leaning over a slab of marble. Her head was pillowed on her arms, as though it was a lazy summer afternoon and she simply wished to close her eyes and daydream as she felt the breeze through her hair and listened to the birds sing to one another. The tombstone read:
Lily Potter
Beloved Wife, Witch, Mother and Friend
12 August 1960- 31 October 1981
Speramus melior; resurget cineribus
He ran his hand over the monument, the marble smooth under his fingertips. The funeral had been simple. In all the confusion after the Dark Lord's defeat- the remaining Death Eaters who needed to be caught, witches and wizards being freed from the Imperius Curse to learn they had committed atrocities- there had been no time for fanfare. Dumbledore had wanted a modest grave, believing it would be best not to draw attention to Lily and Potter's resting place- lest it be desecrated by the Dark Lord's followers. But Severus could not stand the thought of Lily being forgotten, of being dumped in a hole in the ground with no honour or recognition. He believed Lily would have preferred to be buried in Cumbria, near her grandfather's house. She had been happy there, and for a brief time, he had been as well. But his wishes were less than worthless, he wasn't considered a friend of Potter's so he wasn't considered a friend of hers. Still, he had written a letter for Lupin, pleading his case... but he had never sent it. Severus knew any words on his behalf would not have been well received.
The grave was surrounded by lush green grass, with heliotropes blossoming near the headstone. He wondered if the caretaker was ever curious as to why the grass never browned nor the flowers ever faded, even in the driest of summers.
Lily Evans had been the best part of his life. She was his first and dearest friend. He had loved her more than anything, and even though his most ardent love for her hadn't been enough, he still acted under its sway. Still returned every year on her birthday because he could not let go. Resting his back against a nearby tombstone he sunk to the cool earth, resting his arms over his knees as he gazed at the familiar grave. The lamps from the inside of the church were no longer enough, so he added the glow of wandlight.
The first drop of rain landed on his nose and was soon joined by a volley of others. The promised storm had arrived, but Severus had no intention of leaving. Even after he was soaked to the skin, his wet robes clinging to his body, he remained where he was.
On occasion, he had given thought to whether his assistance to the Order, his longing to see the Dark Lord dead was a matter of personal revenge, or if Lily had managed to reform his character and his desire was simply for a better world. Then he had seen Harry Potter, and he had known. Severus was aware that his behaviour towards Potter was somewhat petty, Albus had spoken to him about the matter countless time, but each time he saw Potter he had been unable to help himself. James Potter had known that he had loved Lily, had taunted him about that fact secretly, away from prying ears. Potter had never loved Lily, she was just another way for Potter to score a point against him. A way for Potter to best him once and for all. Lily should have seen it. 'There's something good in everyone,' she had told him once, 'sometimes you just have to dig deep to find it.'
Harry Potter's behaviour was beyond presumptuous, taking credit for something that had all been his mother's doing. Lily Potter had been the one who had defeated the Dark Lord, she had been the one who cast the spell. Potter had nothing to do with it. Instead of being remembered as the strong, vibrant, amazing witch that Lily was, she had been relegated to the position of being the mother of 'The Boy Who Lived', a ridiculous moniker if he had ever heard one. Merely surviving wasn't much of an accomplishment, and it was insulting to imply those who survived were somehow stronger, better people than those who had not. There were plenty of good people who had perished in the war. And there were plenty of people who survived who did not deserve to. Severus was reminded of that fact every time he looked in a mirror.
Before Lily had been drawn into the War and became part of the Order of the Phoenix she had wanted to be a Healer. Her dream was of helping people, of easing the suffering in the world. She certainly had enough opportunities to practice on him. Even before Hogwarts he was often getting into fights, Dun's Mill was full of impoverished boys who had nothing else to do but bully those weaker than themselves. And Severus, an awkward, ugly child with his nose always in a book and a mother who was widely regarded as insane, was the perfect target. Lily often played nursemaid in such situations, helping him stuff his bloody nose with tissues, splinting broken fingers and using bags of frozen peas as a cold compress.
After the clouds had hurled down every last drop on the muddy ground the storm died, leaving the strong smell of earth and life. The sun was rising over the horizon and everything around him was cast in a wan, grey light. It was morning.
Severus wiped the damp streaks from his face and spelled his robes dry. His white mask was already concealed within the folds of his robes for he knew what was to come. He leaned forward to brush his lips against the monument when he was interrupted by the loud creak of a door opening; the Muggle vicar was awake. Severus dashed to the low fence surrounding the cemetery and climbed over it, slipping away like a common burglar. He had just enough time to flick his wand at the door, locking the gate, and reforming the magical wards surrounding the cemetery before the vicar noticed there was anything amiss.