See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.
So very, very sorry for the late update. But anyway, hope you enjoy.
Chapter 16
The month of September and the first part of October passed in a curiously quick blur, of classes and nonverbal spells and Quidditch tryouts. The academic tedium was regularly punctuated by Harry's lessons with Dumbledore, but Harry sometimes half-wished that Dumbledore could just tell him everything. Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle's unfortunate story was a depressing one, true, but exactly how would it help him defeat Voldemort? For that matter, Harry often came away from the lessons with his forehead aching; the Occlumency lessons, to his dismay, were conducted the same way by Dumbledore just as Snape had done.
"Isn't there an easier way to learn Occlumency?" he had complained one time, rubbing at his scar.
Dumbledore gave him a look and shook his head. "No, Harry," he said. "I'm afraid not. Occlumency can only be acquired through practice, Harry, and it must be confrontational. After all, Legilimency is an attack on the mind. The more forceful the attack, the more it forces you to defend against it. You must recognise that the voice in your mind isn't your own, and turn against it. When you know you're under attack—then you can defend. Now, clear your mind again, Harry. Your mind must stay clear of any strong emotion, or otherwise the attacker can use that emotion against you. For that matter," he sighed, "I should not have had Professor Snape teach you—you two are not on the best of terms."
"Damn right," Harry muttered.
Dumbledore seemed to have been mysteriously afflicted with selective hearing. He continued, gently, "Even now, you only know that your mind is under attack because I am speaking the spell out loud. But you must train yourself so that you can guard against any outside influence and force it out immediately." His blue eyes twinkled as he raised his wand. "Now," he said mildly, "try again. Legilimens."
I suppose it's a little better, thought Harry, on a Saturday in October. Voldemort's stopped trying to pry into my mind, at any case. But then again, maybe that means he's got other things that he's plotting right now. He shuffled his feet impatiently as the Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch waved a long, thin Secrecy Sensor around him. And again. And again.
"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff out?" muttered Ron behind Harry, as Filch performed the same procedure on him. "Shouldn't they be checking what we bring in? … Ow!"
Due to some supposedly misplaced jabs by Filch with the Secrecy Sensor, Ron was unhappily rubbing his arm a few minutes later as he joined Harry and Hermione on the road to Hogsmeade. It was their first trip of the term, and Harry had been pleased to find out that they were allowed to go, despite the stringent security measures, the fear of the Death Eaters, and the spectre of the Hogsmeade attack that summer.
Unfortunately, the weather was not as lenient. Harry winced and wrapped his red and gold Gryffindor scarf over his lower face; the wind whipped against them with a searing intensity, and the exposed part of his skin felt raw and numb with cold. Ron and Hermione fared no better. By the time they reached Hogsmeade, Ron's face was red from the wind's friction against his skin—which did not go well with his flaming red hair—and Hermione had steadily pulled up her scarf over her face until all that could be seen of her countenance were her brown eyes, the rest obscured by scarf and hat. Harry was beginning to regret coming to Hogsmeade in such weather, feelings only compounded by the sight of a closed Zonko's Joke Shop (boarded up, forlorn, and looking utterly deserted), and so they turned toward another interesting and close refuge: Honeydukes. When they stumbled into the crowded shop, toffee-scented air embraced them warmly, and none of them objected.
"Let's stay here all afternoon," said Ron fervently. "Merlin, it's so warm—"
"Harry, m'boy!"
Harry closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath. Professor Slughorn had been constantly inviting him to his "parties," and Harry had just as constantly been scheduling Quidditch practices which just coincidentally happened to take place at the same time. Hermione, who had not had any excuses, turned around and pasted a smile onto her face. "Hello, Professor Slughorn," she said. "What's that you've got?"
"Crystallized pineapple, Miss Granger," Slughorn replied. "My favourite treat." He looked over at Harry, without so much as a glance at Ron. "You've been missing all of my little suppers, but you really must come some time—" He tugged at the fur collar of his thick overcoat.
"I suppose so," Harry said uncertainly. He gave Ron a discreet glance which went unnoticed by Slughorn. Help me!
Ron looked almost sympathetic, but his eyes said, Sorry, mate. Mum taught us a lot, but she never taught us how to distract a person like Slughorn.
"—So how about Monday night, you can't possibly plan on practising Quidditch in this weather—"
"I'm afraid I can't, Professor," Harry said, trying to sound apologetic and suppress his relief at the same time. "I've got an—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening."
"Unlucky again!" Slughorn said theatrically. "But I'll make sure you come soon, Harry, you can't avoid me forever!" With a wave, he waddled out of Honeydukes.
"Lucky once again," Harry murmured pointedly.
Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I can't believe you managed to get out of another one!" she said. "Having to listen to Blaise Zabini go on and on about his mother, and Cormac McLaggen's an idiot as well—you know he's still annoyed about you getting the Keeper position," she said to Ron. "But at least he got one-upped that time!" There was a look on her face which Harry could've sworn was almost a smirk.
Harry recalled the slightly dazed look on McLaggen's face. He'd had his suspicions, and when he'd asked Hermione…
"McLaggen did look like he was Confunded, though."
"All right, I did it. Not because Ron's our friend, but because McLaggen is an utter prat. You should have heard the way he was insulting Ron and Ginny! And saying how he was better than everyone else. You wouldn't have wanted someone on the team like that—he's absolutely nasty."
"Still… aren't you a prefect? Isn't that—dishonest?"
"You'd probably have taken him off the team after one practice anyway—I don't think you could've stood it, him and his horrible boasting. I just decided to hit his ego earlier. Better to have a nervous Keeper than a stuck-up one. I don't care much for Quidditch, but a person like that doesn't deserve anything."
Harry had to agree, and privately thanked Merlin for giving him convenient excuses to skip Slughorn's parties.
They lingered in Honeydukes, Hermione purchasing a large box of deluxe sugar quills and Ron picking out some Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry bought plain old Honeydukes chocolate bars, and was already eating one of them as they left the warmth of Honeydukes behind them and braved the autumn cold on their way to the Three Broomsticks. He swallowed the sweetness of the candy down his throat, looking down the deserted streets. The only person other than them outside was a tall, lean man who Harry recognised as the bartender of the Hog's Head, who was gazing around at his surroundings, his face obscured by a grubby hat.
Ron pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks with an inelegant bang, and they quickly picked out a table. "I'll get some drinks for us," Ron said—Harry saw him casting a discreet glance at pretty Madam Rosmerta, who wore a smile on her face much more muted than usual, her face a little tired and blank. As he strode to the counter, Hermione threw her scarf down onto the table and shivered a little. "My god, it's cold out there," she said. "We might as well go back after our drinks—we won't be getting anything done here, and if we go back we'll be able to do our homework—"
"I knew you were going to say that," Harry said dryly. "You're so predictable."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she challenged. "Besides, I'm not always predictable."
"Good thing, I think," Harry replied, grinning. "Cheers to you for getting rid of Umbridge, I should say." He pasted a solemn expression on his face; leaned across the table, grabbed Hermione's hand, and said, seriously, "And so the Ministry awards the Order of Merlin, First Class, to Hermione Granger, for ridding Hogwarts School of horrible women in pink cardigans…"
Hermione looked rather amused and sheepish all at once. "Really?" she asked. "I didn't quite mean for her to be that traumatised—just to get her away from us—"
"Hey, look here, Hermione," Harry said, his levity vanishing as quickly as it had come. He lifted his hand up slightly, and even the slight shadows falling across their table, the greyness of the bleak afternoon could not keep Hermione from seeing the words on the back of his hand, still faintly visible, and barely, just barely, etched into his skin. I must not tell lies. "She did plenty of damage," he said, looking down at his hand. "I haven't forgot anything yet."
Hermione smiled a bittersweet smile at him. "And now the war's on in full force," she said. "It's odd, you know—since we're at Hogwarts—sometimes I think I can almost forget the war out there, but then I never do."
"Forget?" asked Ron behind her. She jumped a little, and turned around. Ron handed them warm butterbeers topped with airy foam. "Maybe ignore, but never forget. I think you chose the wrong word there, Hermione."
Hermione did not argue with him. She tipped her tankard of butterbeer back and sipped at the drink, making a face when some of the bubbles went up her nose. Harry stifled the urge to laugh out loud.
"Having trouble with that?" Ron said, a laughing look on his face. "Don't worry, we'll make a drunk out of you in no time."
Hermione turned upon the redhead, a scandalised look on her face, although Harry rather imagined that she looked almost as though she were trying to keep from giggling out loud. "Ron!"
oOo
Draco sat at the table in McGonagall's office, quill clutched in hand and glaring at the sheet of parchment in front of him. Merlin, he hated detention. And why did McGonagall have to have it today, of all days?
He closed his eyes for a moment. There was a dizzying second where he could nearly feel himself in Madam Rosmerta's mind, that ridiculous bartender's head, and he said—commanded, Go into the girls' bathroom.
There was an oddly disconcerting shift in his mind, a moment where his thoughts seem to overlap with her blank mind, a mind of tabula rasa, like waves rushing up along the shore of a smooth and bare beach. Then—
"Mr Malfoy." McGonagall's crisp voice scraped gratingly through his thoughts, a thoroughly unwelcome interruption. Draco fought the instinct to immediately open his eyes, and instead made sure that his command had been accepted, that she would obey—yes, yes, she would—and then he blinked, and gazed at the professor, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, dressed in dark green robes (Head of Gryffindor House, he noted. Then why is she wearing green?). "Yes, professor?" he drawled lazily, making sure not to sound very attentive. It was always a very good way to irritate McGonagall, and one of Draco's favourite methods.
"I assume, of course, that you are here for detention, and not for idle daydreaming?" The woman looked inquiringly and incisively and disapprovingly at him, her severe face not made any more bearable by her square spectacles. You'd think she could at least get better glasses, he thought snidely, and then realised that he ought to come up with a suitable retort.
He couldn't.
"Yes, professor," he said sulkily, and as she turned her attention away from him, he looked down at his parchment—barely marked by his copied lines—and inwardly scowled, berating himself. His father would probably have used up that time to think up an insinuating reply, or many insinuating replies, he thought bitterly. But Father's in Azkaban. And I'm doing this for his sake—I'll show him I can be a true Malfoy heir. To save the family. Father. Mother. He shoved away the frisson of terror that shot through him. What if you can't? it whispered, and he snarled, I'm a Malfoy, and a Black. I will.
He dipped his quill into the bottle of ink resting near his hand, and set quill to parchment. I will complete my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail, he wrote—carefully, so as to make sure of his elegant calligraphy (He most certainly wasn't about to scribble like some savage all over the place. He knew better than that.). I will complete my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail. Pause. Dip quill in ink. Parchment. Scratch against the smooth vellum. I will complete my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail.
The minutes ticked by slowly, painfully slow. Draco did not bother to check the time. I will complete my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail. I will complete my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail. I will complete—
My task, his mind whispered, and the bartender's consciousness, drifting and floating in blankness in the back of his head, tugged at his attention.
—my Transfiguration homework whenever it is assigned, without fail.
The bathroom door opens.
He did not dare close his eyes. So he wrote, his hand somewhat slack with disregard, I will complete my Transfiguration homework—
Steps. The door bangs shut.
—whenever it is assigned, without fail. He stopped, and tried hard not to screw up his face in concentration. The sensations he had, coming from Rosmerta the bartender, was interfering with his writing—
—No, he corrected himself. The writing was interfering with his task.
I will complete—
Walks forward.
—my Transfiguration homework—
Raises wand.
—whenever it is assigned—
Opens mouth.
—without fail.
"Imperio."
oOo
"We probably ought to be getting back to Hogwarts," Hermione said frankly, looking at Harry and Ron. "There's not much else to do here in Hogsmeade, and the common room's got a fireplace with nice armchairs, you know."
Ron drained the last of his butterbeer and set the container down on the table with an audible thunk. "All right," he said. "But maybe I ought to check on Ginny first—"
"Don't do that!" snapped Hermione. "Ginny will only get irritated. Dean is perfectly fine, there's no need to be overprotective like that—"
"I'm not being overprotective," Ron protested—Harry sniggered loudly, and his friend shot him a dismayed glance—"I'm only trying to make sure she isn't getting into any trouble."
"Overly so," Harry said, slinging an arm around Ron's shoulder and pulling him away from the table. "C'mon, mate, loosen up. It's not like Voldemort's taking her out for a drink."
Ron gagged. "Ugh, Harry," he said. "Don't."
"I don't see what's the matter," Hermione said mischievously, coming up on Ron's other side and linking her arm with his. "I think Voldemort would look rather nice in Madam Puddifoot's. Can't you imagine it? Pink all over the place—it matches his eyes."
"His eyes are red," Harry interrupted.
"But you see," Hermione continued smoothly, "isn't that the best thing? Tom Marvolo Riddle, felled by the power of true love."
"Hermione, now you're making me feel ill," Harry said.
"And it's more like true hatred," Ron muttered, although he looked mollified by the jests, oddly enough. "You don't suppose Ginny might throw a cake in his face?"
"Three," Harry said at once. "Three's the charm."
"Make it a peach flan," Hermione added. "And then treacle pudding."
"Nah, blood pudding's better," Ron said.
"Steak and kidney pie."
"A bowl of marzipan."
"Blackberry tarts."
"Essence of peppermint."
The three of them playfully traded names of foods as they strolled back to Hogwarts on the weather-worn path. As they kept walking, they came up behind Katie Bell and one of her friends, who seemed to be rather heatedly arguing over a package wrapped in brown paper which Katie held in her hand.
"Just let me see it!" Katie's friend was saying. "How come you won't let me?—"
Katie was already jerking away from her friend. "Leanne, don't!" Her words seemed a little slow, as though she were having to think for a moment. "Look, it's a present for someone, and I don't want to spoil anything—"
"I'm your friend, Katie!" Leanne snapped back. "If you won't even trust me to not tell what it is—" She made a grab for the package, and as she forcefully tugged the parcel from Katie's grasp, both girls stumbled, momentarily imbalanced. Harry caught a gleam of silver and opal as the package fell to the ground. Leanne and Katie both lunged at once for the necklace, Leanne's hand coming down on top of Katie's. Leanne twisted Katie's wrist, a look of irritation and annoyance on her face—
—and then she staggered away from Katie, her face wide and vacant. Katie stared back, her eyes just as glassy.
A sudden feeling of foreboding crept across Harry, and he abandoned his leisurely pace to rush on ahead, Ron and Hermione running behind him ("Harry! What's wrong?" Ron yelled). There was a frantic pounding of blood in his head, and he knew, deep down somewhere in that place where instinct reigned, that something, something bad was going to happen—
The wind seemed to suddenly pick up, and it blew past Harry, swirling around Katie and Leanne. It whipped angrily at their hair, swirling around their heads, and then the two girls began to rise into the air. Harry skidded to a halt just underneath them, staring up at them with something approaching a fearful apprehension.
Their faces were quite blank and void of emotion, their eyes closed as they rose up and up, arms flung out. Ron, standing besides Harry, was looking at them, blue eyes wide in shock. Hermione clutched on to Harry's arm with a tight hold, and whispered, "Oh god, what's happening?"
"I don't know," Harry said desperately. But Ron had already begun to run; he shouted back at them, freckles standing out against his pale face, "I'll get help!" before he raced around the corner and was gone. Harry looked back up at the hovering girls and reached for his wand, trying to think of a spell to bring them down.
And then their eyes snapped open, and they both began to scream.
Hermione gasped out loud and stumbled back. Harry shuddered. Oh, for the love of Merlin—there was nothing to scream about, nothing he could see, but they screamed and screamed as though the end of the world were coming.
Their separate screams mingled together and clashed against Harry's ears, a chilling cacophony which penetrated to his very soul and froze it with horror. His mind went blank, and he and Hermione both darted forward. He grabbed onto Katie, Hermione holding Leanne; they pulled and pulled, but Katie and Leanne writhed and twisted in their grasp as though possessed by demons. As Harry struggled to keep hold of Katie's right leg, her other leg came around and hit him savagely in the face; he could feel a sickening crack of and glass against his face (must be my glasses, he thought), and then she was flailing around and hitting him with her hands, gouging with her fingernails into his skin, and he let go, staggering back and hands over face, eyes closed and crying out.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed, her voice full of terror and pain. Harry groped at the ground, his eyes still closed, and then he heard an ominous thud, and Hermione's loud yell, cut short. "Hermione?" he called out, his voice cracking. Oh, Ron, Ron, hurry, hurry, hurry—
"Harry!" Ron's voice came. "Hermione!" Horror, worry, fear.
Then Hagrid's rough words: "Ron, yeh get to the school and tell 'em. Now!"
And then Harry sank like a stone, into a black abyss of peaceful oblivion.
oOo
It's happened, Hogwarts said, only half a minute before Rubeus Hagrid burst into Severus's office, yelling, "Students in trouble, professor! They—they've bin cursed—" Severus was already reaching for the satchel he had prepared that day in anxious trepidation, waiting for what would happen. He leapt up from his chair. "Infirmary?" he demanded, although he already knew the answer. Hagrid only turned around and charged back out of his office, Severus hard on his heels; he had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with the half-giant, and it was only when they reached the door to the infirmary that Hagrid came to a stop, Severus nearly running into his back. "Dumbledore tol' me not to go in," he grunted. "Just you an' him."
Severus didn't bother to reply. He pushed open the door and strode in.
"Severus!" Poppy Pomfrey grasped his arm and dragged him to a warded private room. "Oh thank Merlin you're here!"
When he entered the room, Albus was there, bent over the beds and his old face lined with worry. Severus almost stopped for a moment when he saw two bodies instead of one arched up in silent screaming. The girls' hands and feet were tied to the bed, bodies still trying to thrash around. Katie Bell, he thought. Wasn't it just her?
Now it's two, Hogwarts said despairingly. And Harry and Hermione are injured—they're all right. But Katie and Leanne! It came out as though it were a loud wail in Severus's head.
He looked at the other person and recognised her as Leanne Rosebay, a girl who in the other time had, at least, escaped harm. Damn.
"They've both already lost their voices," Albus said, his voice strained and tired. "About a minute ago." He continued to wave his wand over them, shedding gleaming silver light onto the girls. "I don't know how they've been cursed—I've stabilised them, but not for long. Severus, you must hurry."
"Understood," Severus said, setting his satchel on a nearby chair. Albus nodded, his eyes following his every movement, as he murmured his stabilising spell. Severus pulled out a sharp knife and came over to the bed, scrutinising Katie Bell and her friend. Bell's skin, normally tan from Quidditch practice, was now marred by an ugly black, and Severus followed the repulsive colour as it coursed through her veins, back to her hand. It was the same for Leanne Rosebay.
Damn, Severus thought again. It had been hard enough to save Katie Bell; now he had another life to save, and the other girl would be worse off. Unless he could deal with both at the same time. Except that meant he would have to exercise a lot of magic—too much magic for Albus to notice…
"Albus, go out, please," he gritted through his teeth. "I want to deal with this alone."
Albus blinked in surprise, but moved toward the door, and Severus relaxed as he heard the door close shut behind the headmaster and the lock click. Then he said, tersely, Shield the room. I'm going to let out my magic.
Very well. Hogwarts paused for a moment. Then: It's done. The castle fell silent; she knew Severus needed to concentrate.
Severus pulled the shields off his magic with a desperate urgency and seized upon the rising layers with a stern command. Stay, he snarled, and his magic, surprised and a little intimidated, spread up and along the walls and clung to the surfaces, licking with black flames at the walls.
He gripped the handle of his knife hard, and leaned over Bell, grabbing her left hand and turning it so that it was palm up. He set the sharp edge of the knife against her skin and made a surgical slit across the vein. "Attrahereme," he muttered quickly. "Attrahereme, attrahereme venenum, attrahereme venenum."
Where's the damn basin? he thought irritably. I need it now. There was a soft clink as a small basin came to him, summoned by his agitated thoughts, and he pushed Bell's hand over the basin. "Attrahereme venenum!" he snapped. I want that poison out, now. Now.
But the poison rested within her veins, spreading out and out and out. Severus cursed under his breath, but there wasn't time to wait for Katie Bell to bleed out the poison when there was Leanne Rosebay as well. He hurried to the other bed and did the same for her, cutting across her wrist and holding it over the basin. Neither of the girls even bled—the poison clogged up the pathways and congealed there, and Severus watched in alarm and anger.
He glared up at the ceiling. Get down here, he told them, and do as you're told to do.
But the magic had still been caged for too long, and Severus snarled with impatience when he heard the magic's petulant reply. No. I don't want to. I want to play.
Severus let out a savage hiss. Get down here, he said, his voice now frigid with anger, and pulled at it. It resisted, and he pulled harder. It coalesced into a black phoenix, and spat silver and black fire. Don't want to, it said sulkily.
NOW. It was a silky, cold tone; not a shout or yell, but glacial as ice.
Spoilsport, his magic said again, but it jumped from the walls and made a shining black halo around his hand.
He put his hand over Rosebay's wrist. Out, he thought with a fierceness that seemed to make the walls tremble and Hogwarts wince at his magic. And it did, spurting out of her cut vein in jets of black-coloured bile, splattering into the stone basin. Severus watched as Leanne Rosebay's skin slowly returned to normal, the darkness within her expunged from her blood. She stopped trying to move, and lay quite still on the bed, her eyelids fluttering and her chest rising, hovering on the edge of consciousness.
He turned to Katie Bell, ready to do the same, and saw that the poison had already worked its way to the bottom of her neck, and was spiralling up towards her head. If it did—
She will die. Severus knew that with a terrible certainty. He would not have time to work out all the poison out through her wrist—it would be too late, even then. So—
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Severus looked at her neck, her thin tan neck slick with sweat, and cut with his magic into the jugular vein, and the red blood flowed out, not blocked by any poison. His magic rose around him, and he narrowed his eyes at the severed vein—Poppy can fix that later, he thought almost detachedly—and then whispered, his mind sharpened by the spell even if it wasn't needed, "Expungere." And his magic—black and silver and dancing—shot into the vein and charged its way down, driving the poison out and through the cut wrist into the stone basin; the jugular vein stoppered, the flow of blood halted. He was aware, very aware, that if it weren't for Hogwarts shielding his magic from the others, Albus would be wondering just what in the world was going on. Then again, he was probably doing so anyway.
He wearily straightened up, and then a silver mole fluttered through the wall.
Severus jerked his head up, just in time to see the unfortunate mole buffeted by his swirling magic. He sighed. Come here, he said, and the silver mole made its way over to him, finally coming to his feet. He bent down, and then the silver Patronus touched its nose to his hand and dissipated into thin air.
Percy Weasley's voice, echoing in his head. He must have used the more complicated way of sending a message by Patronus, instead of the usual, quick Patronus flash. "I have something that you might find of interest, sir."
He wondered, tiredly, why the hell Weasley just didn't say what that something might be. He decided not to reply. The redhead was always at the Ministry anyway; he would be contacted when he had time.
The girls now seemed to be out of danger. Severus glanced at the basin, full to the brim with the poison that had nearly killed Rosebay and Bell (twice for Katie Bell, his mind whispered). It lay inert, its surface deceptively smooth and showing nothing of the danger that it was.
He reeled his magic back in as quickly as he could. It whined and sulked and said it didn't want to, it flicked lazily under his chin and shimmered around his arms, but in the end it was coiled up in layers, under his shields. Is Albus still outside? he asked Hogwarts.
Yes, he is, replied the castle. Pacing around and looking rather like a worried grandfather. You ought to let him in and put his mind at ease.
Perhaps I ought to lock myself in here and make him worry for the rest of the day, Severus said dryly, but he sent an unlocking spell towards the door all the same. It swung open with the barest hint of a squeak—must have the hinges oiled sometime, Severus noted—and then Albus stepped inside, his blue eyes bright with worry, his face relaxing when he saw Severus. He quietly stepped over, and rested his hand on Severus's right shoulder. "Are they all right?" he said, his voice more of a whisper than anything.
"As much as they can be," Severus replied tersely. "But they'll have to be moved to St Mungo's, I think. The poison's been purged—they're not in any immediate danger—but they need to recover from what it did while inside them."
Albus leaned against him slightly—Severus caught the whiff of sherbet lemon—and said, "Well." He sounded reassured, thankful. "Well done, Severus."
It was odd, Severus thought, how the most offensive of insults glanced off of him as though they were nothing, yet a few words from Albus made him feel… strange inside. Not quite happiness, so much as it was… ease. Satisfaction. Or maybe it was all the same. He turned his head to look at Albus, and saw the sudden image of the headmaster smiling in relief, blue eyes alive and twinkling, his step lively and not at all like the headmaster who had slid down the wall of the tower, the lightning-struck tower—defeated, tired, infinitely weary, and who had whispered, Severus—
—"please." Severus gave a violent start. He hadn't noticed that Albus had moved away from him and was now examining the girls, making sure they were all right.
"Excuse me, Albus?" His voice came out hoarse, and Severus cursed himself for being caught off guard.
"I was saying, Severus, that you need to get some rest," Albus said, his voice light. "You've been working yourself too hard these past few weeks—"
"You do know, don't you, who the perpetrator is?" The words came out more sharply than he'd intended them to be, and he winced inwardly at how the words, loud and curt, lingered in the air.
"Perfectly well, Severus." Albus's face was placid.
"And he won't stop at trying, even if his methods are crude—"
"Severus, Severus," Albus said patiently. "We've already spoken about this."
Severus shut his mouth. Albus's voice, calm but reproachful, nearly made him feel like a mulish idiot.
"And did you really have to sever Katie's jugular vein?" Albus continued.
"It was necessary," Severus said curtly.
"Yes, I suppose some things are," Albus replied casually. "But rest, won't you? I've already contacted St Mungo's, so—" He ushered Severus out of the room, and Severus blinked at the sight of two more beds with very familiar occupants, and a boy sprawled in a chair, flaming red hair marking his identity. What in the…?
I told you Harry and Hermione were injured as well, Hogwarts said. When they were trying to pull Katie and Leanne down.
Oh, that's smart, said Severus. Even though they had no idea of what had happened?
Hogwarts sighed. Well, you must give them credit for trying. How were they to know what was wrong with Katie and Leanne?
Exactly. They didn't know.
As the door of the room swung shut behind him, Ron Weasley turned around and gave Albus a weak smile (Severus was not so silly as to think it was meant for him.) "Katie and her friend," he said. "Are they all right?"
"Yes, they are," Albus said kindly. "Thanks to Professor Snape here." He inclined his head in Severus's direction, and as Weasley followed his nod, Severus scowled openly.
"Oh," said Weasley. He plainly didn't know what to say to Severus, and turned a little red; a "thank you" or a "glad you're with us" was obviously out of the question. Severus turned away, Albus following him, and walked to the door of the infirmary, pushing it open.
Albus patted his shoulder amiably. "But as I said before," he said softly, "Relax. I'll have the house elves bring you some dinner. Get some sleep. You need it."
When do I not? Severus wondered wearily; nodded; and left, his imposing black robes billowing out behind him. He could not have known that as he went, Albus Dumbledore watched him leave and thought, My dear boy; words that he never said—because Severus disliked such endearments—but the headmaster meant them, to the fullest of their meaning.
oOo
Ron glanced up from his vigil as Dumbledore came back in. The white-bearded wizard nodded to him, a small smile on his lips, and then vanished into Madam Pomfrey's office.
He looked back at Harry and Hermione. Harry's glasses had been broken, no more than shattered glass and now irreparable, not even with Reparo; he would need new ones, and Ron was already thinking what shop in Diagon Alley provided for eyewear. Hermione had suffered a mild concussion from being flung to the ground and hitting the roots of a nearby tree, but they were both all right.
He was relieved that his best friends weren't in a life or death situation—he was thankful for that—but his mind kept coming back to the words he had heard just a moment ago. When Dumbledore had gone into the private room where he assumed Katie and her friend Leanne must be, he had not fully closed the door behind him. Although Ron had kept his head bowed and down, as though he weren't eavesdropping, he had heard some of what Snape and Dumbledore had said. And even then, he had barely been able to hear it.
"I was saying, Severus, that you need to get some rest. You've been working yourself too hard these past few weeks—" Dumbledore's voice, blithe and untroubled.
Then Snape's words, cutting like a whip. "You do know, don't you, who the perpetrator is?"
"Perfectly well, Severus." It was odd to hear Snape's first name spoken aloud, Ron had thought, and yet he had heard a certain tone in Dumbledore's voice that sounded almost—affectionate. And somewhat reproving.
"And he won't stop at trying, even if his methods are crude—"
"Severus, Severus. We've already spoken about this."
But that means someone's trying to attack Hogwarts students, doesn't it? thought Ron. Or maybe—
Katie Bell's voice, detached. "Look, it's a present for someone, and I don't want to spoil anything—"
Or maybe Dumbledore.
"You do know, don't you, who the perpetrator is?"
"Perfectly well, Severus."
Then—and then Ron suddenly realised a rush of thought—Dumbledore must know! He knows someone's after him! And he isn't doing anything about it!
"And he won't stop at trying, even if his methods are crude—"
A he, Ron considered. Snape knows who it is, too. So it's got to be a boy—probably a Slytherin.
Slytherin boy. That's got to be Malfoy.
Ron thought fiercely about bouncing Malfoy around Hogwarts. That filthy little ferret, trying to kill Dumbledore—His head seemed to fill with a sort of red-tinged rage, and he gritted his teeth. Calm down, Weasley, he snapped at himself. It won't do any good if you try to strangle Malfoy right now.
I'll watch him, he decided. I'll watch him, and make sure he isn't going to pull any murder attempt soon. Harry's got enough on his plate with Occlumency and You-Know-Who after him, and Hermione will just say it can't be Malfoy, he wouldn't do that, he doesn't have the guts.
But I'll be keeping an eye on him, Ron thought to himself, filled with resolve. I will.
oOo
Some of the dialogue in this chapter is a loose version of dialogue from Chapter 12 of HBP: Silver and Opals. The reasoning on Occlumency is based upon the theory duj proposes in her excellent Who Lives in Disguise.
Tabula rasa is Locke's "blank slate," and although it is more often applied to the perception of human minds as being without innate conceptions, I thought it rather apt for describing poor Madam Rosmerta and her blank slate (mind, under Imperius) on which Draco Malfoy "scribbles" his orders, so to speak.
"Attrahereme venenum" is rough Latin for "to draw to me," as in Snape drawing the poison to him, out of Katie and Leanne.
IMPORTANT NOTE: The next update will definitely be after June 3. Why, you ask? (pauses, eyes the upcoming SAT I) Bloody stupid standardized tests, that's why. Standardized tests that happen to bevery, very important in university admissions. I'm trying to aim for at least a score in the high 2300s (full score is 2400), and let me tell you, it isn't easy. But don't worry about updates becoming few and far between; after the test is over, I have at least a month of freedom before my family moves and my life is disrupted once again. I should have more time to write then. (Finally!)
So, please review! It really encourages me; feedback is always appreciated.
Talriga