See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.
WT didn't win in the Sorting Hat awards, not like I really expected it to, what with all the great time-travel fics nominated as well :). The honor went to Sam Vimes's Cartographer's Craft and (honorable mention) S'TarKan's Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past, two stories which really deserved it. I encourage everyone to check them out; they're great examples of time-travel stories, with a quality of writing which many of us can only dream of. :)
Also, everyone, ignore my previous statement about getting Part 2 of FtS done. I've just decided to revamp all of what I've written—6000-odd words so far—and considering it's hard enough to find time to write WT, it's even harder to find time for FtS.
But I'm almost absurdly pleased with this chapter. It's twice as long as my normal length. I hope you like it. :) Thanks to all my reviewers!
Chapter 22
November passed into December, and the snow came in torrents from the sky.
Severus, standing in the library, looked out through the windows, windows decorated with ornaments of delicate white frost. He had just finished his rounds around Hogwarts, patrolling the corridors. It wasn't that hard—Hogwarts usually pointed out, helpfully, any miscreants that were sneaking around: to take food from the kitchens, to steal things from professors' offices, or—if not those options—usually engaging in romantic skirmishes.
Young witches and wizards—they were so ridiculous at times, so unaware of the conflict that raged outside of Hogwarts.
Severus did not think he had ever really been young.
The soft, faint light played across the snow, in spotted patches here and there. He turned away from the window, then looked back. He could see, on the horizon, small rosy tendrils snaking out and burning a trail through the cold sky. Dawn.
You haven't slept at all tonight, Hogwarts said in disapproval. Really, do have some regard for your health.
It's not like it would make a difference, murmured Severus. He smoked, his face a mask of calm. The habit came and returned at times, although he noticed that he did it most when his mood was especially dark. He was surprised, really, that he didn't crave it as much as he used to, back in the past-future (future-past?). But maybe it was because he was surrounded by familiar things, Albus and Hogwarts and stern old Minerva—even Sirius Black, who was always ready to take offence at one of Severus's taunts.
He wondered if Black would laugh at the idea that he was amused by him. He was contemptuous, of course, and scornful, and sneering towards him—and everyone else promptly took that as hate. Not that, really. It was only that Black couldn't think ahead, couldn't plan and strategise very well (Going with Potter to King's Cross in his unregistered Animagus form—what kind of a fool did that?). Black would never be a good chess player.
Black predictably led to Lupin, and his mind twirled and sped off on a new train of thought. Exorcism—a good theory. He marvelled that it hadn't been thought of before. And yet it had admittedly carried such a Muggle connotation with it that he supposed any wizard or witch might have dismissed it as "just another one of those Muggle things."
Muggles aren't forever inferior and wrong, you know, Hogwarts said gently.
I know that, Severus replied. The thing is, does anyone else? The Muggle Studies class is such a farce… although it's something in our favour, sometimes. He thought of the gun which lay unused in his rooms. His fellow Death Eaters probably scoffed at Muggle weapons, but Protego was a shield against magical spells, a shield that couldn't stop a bullet. They wouldn't have known what hit them, until it was too late.
But in any case, they had an advantage with exorcism. It seemed that Wang Qin's unwanted ability to see souls, for all that it had once distracted her and was now ignored by her, could be of some help after all…
The process of exorcism is very general as to how it should be performed. Each exorcism depends on the circumstances. However, it is highly advised to have three people besides the possessed person participate in the exorcism, because three is one of the magically powerful numbers (the other being seven).
The books had been somewhat helpful. They didn't exactly specify as to what would happen in the exorcism; rather, they pointed out facts that might facilitate the exorcism and—not exactly ensure—but at least make more great the possibility of success.
The first would be the main exorcist, the one who ventures the deepest in order to fully carry out the exorcism. The second and the third would be those who retain control of the overall space in which the exorcism takes place, also involved in the final destruction or banishment of whatever the possessor is…
He finished the cigarette and let it fall to the ground, carefully stepping on it to extinguish the barest flicker of a flame. It left a faint trace of black on the floor of the library, something that might have caused the librarian an aneurysm—but then again, Irma Pince need never know.
Severus. Hogwarts mentally prodded him. A little bit of news for you. Gillian West and the rest of her bookmaking cartel are in one of the empty classrooms, balancing their accounts and discussing new variations on magical contracts.
Severus nearly smiled. Gillian West was one of the few Hogwarts students not in Slytherin whom he actually almost liked. She could've been in Slytherin, he had said wryly to Filius Flitwick once. She was almost like Horace Slughorn in some ways, although not quite so blatant about it—establishing her own network in Hogwarts, of patronage and contracts and favours.
(She had died, too, in the war. She had pulled in allies from all levels of wizarding society, through glib persuasion and contractual force, and finally been killed by Bellatrix Lestrange. At least it had been a quick death, not prolonged torture.
Not like Filius Flitwick, head of her House—who had suffered and went on fighting in the Hogwarts battle, until someone had struck him with a blood-boiling curse, and he went down. The Death Eaters had not been averse to giving Severus gory details of the demises of his former colleagues.
Do not think of it, he said to himself. That is past. But the past of the once-future was always there, anyway, hovering in his consciousness.)
At least they're using their time wisely, he said blandly, and nothing more.
Also—apparently, Eleanor Branstone and Laura Madley have just discovered the wonders of the Hogwarts kitchens and the numerous denizens there. I know you must do your duty, but try not to terrify them.
I don't try to terrify, Severus replied archly. I just do.
He tilted his head to one side, contemplating the number of points to be deducted from Hufflepuff House—
—and his Dark Mark flared to life on his left forearm, underneath his robes. Damn it, Severus thought with annoyance. Why now? Has he no concept of proper sleeping patterns?
Hypocrite, Hogwarts said. It's hardly as though you have a proper sleeping pattern, Severus. I should say it's because he likes to catch people off guard, and most people don't function well when they're supposed to be sleeping.
Thank you for stating the obvious, he retorted. That is exactly why I do not have a proper sleeping pattern.
He thought briefly about telling Albus before leaving, but dismissed the idea. It was probably one of those routine meetings where the Dark Lord tried to pick his brain for information. The last one had been after the Wyatt murders, and he had simply reported, in a bland tone of voice, that Albus and Potter had regular meetings in Albus's office, and no, he did not know what they discussed—which the Dark Lord had mocked as planning sessions—"But they cannot defeat me," he had said, leaning forward, face twisted into a smile.
He left the library, Hogwarts checking to make sure that no-one was watching him, and walked through the corridors until he got outside. He stepped carefully in the snow, carefully shaking off snowflakes that stuck to the edges of his cloak and casting a heating charm on himself. It was when he got to the borderline area where Hogwarts grounds ended and the Forbidden Forest began—where the anti-Apparition wards stopped—that he conjured up a mask, fitted it over his face, and Disapparated to Castellum Serpens.
There was the faint sensation of the wards around Castellum Serpens as he did so, and then he was there, standing outside the great old edifice. The Dark Lord had connected his awareness to the wards of Castellum Serpens (much like Severus had done with Hogwarts, only that Castellum Serpens was not sentient). He could monitor who came into Castellum Serpens, who came with the Dark Mark on their arm; could set down anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards at once (Thank Merlin, Severus had thought more than once, that the Dark Lord could not actually monitor the Death Eaters' movements within Castellum Serpens, only the wards around it; otherwise he would have long since been dead.). Albus had never tried to ask where it was; there was a tacit understanding between them that if the Order attacked Castellum Serpens, the Dark Lord's suspicions would fall so heavily upon Severus that his position would be compromised—and in any case, what would they gain from it? The Dark Lord's forces scattered, hard to find. At least now, they were all gathered in one place.
Severus pushed open the doors and strode in. It was dark, as always—he paused as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, without the benefit of much light. Strange, not many of the others were up and about. Unless this was a special meeting, and not a general gathering?
Maybe he wants to see you alone, Hogwarts suggested.
Severus caught sight of another Death Eater, coming forth to meet him, and inwardly sighed. Sadly, no. Look, here's mad Bellatrix. She doesn't seem very pleased to see me. Not like I'm thrilled to see her.
"Snape," Bellatrix said, her voice stark and cold with dislike. "Our Lord wishes to meet with us both, to discuss… something." The tone of her voice implied, with a touch of malice, that she already knew what they were to discuss—while he knew nothing.
"Very well, Bellatrix," Severus replied, and added, "Take me to him," as though Bellatrix were nothing but a common house-elf.
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but she turned and walked off, Severus behind her.
Hogwarts said, delicately, Well, I see her feelings towards you haven't changed at all. She still doesn't like you.
Better that she doesn't like me due to rivalries than hatred due to suspicions of my loyalties, Severus said. But I have always had a terrible enough reputation among the Death Eaters. He smirked.
You just love to put the fear of yourself into people, don't you, said Hogwarts with a sigh of resignation.
Bellatrix led Severus past the entrance hall and into one of the many corridors that twisted around Castellum Serpens. She came at last to a large, plain door and knocked quietly. "My Lord?" she called.
"Enter." The Dark Lord's voice pierced through the wood like an arrow, swift and sharp; Severus checked his Occlumency shields.
As Severus and Bellatrix stepped into the room, the door swung shut behind them. The Dark Lord sat in an armchair by the flickering fire, the back of the armchair rising up over him and throwing its shadow upon the ground. The two of them knelt briefly; he nodded, and they rose.
"My Lord," said Severus carefully and cautiously.
"Sit," the Dark Lord commanded, gesturing to some nearby chairs.
They sat.
Severus bowed his head. "I am honoured to be called by you, my Lord. What is it that you ask of me?"
The wizard who sat before him lifted his head and looked at them both. His eyes were the usual chilling red, the red of blood—of his victims in the past, and in the future, whispered his mind—and when he spoke, his words fell like shards of ice on Severus's ears. "To listen," he said. "And to obey." He turned to Bellatrix. "Tell him, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, or even ten, and after a spasm of annoyance—and was that jealousy?—struggled across her face, she said, a note of protest in her voice, "But, my Lord—"
"Do you question me?" The Dark Lord sounded softly ominous.
"No, my Lord, no!" Bellatrix seemed shocked at the very idea. "But I did not think Snape had to know."
The Dark Lord stared at Bellatrix, who looked down and then faced Severus, a sulky look on her countenance.
Severus's interest was piqued, painfully curious. Bellatrix never wanted Severus to know anything, so that was no surprise. But what was it, anyway?
"My Lord," began Bellatrix with an air of grandiloquence, "wishes to strike a mighty blow against our enemies. Here." She handed him some papers, covered with crude drawings.
He glanced down at the papers. They were drawings of a squat building, with concentric circles radiating out from the center, and it was a sliver of a moment before Severus blinked and said, attentively, "I see," while Hogwarts hissed in his mind.
The circular building was the wizarding prison of Azkaban.
Should have expected it, he said quietly to Hogwarts, who sounded rather worked up about it, muttering a series of phrases unpleasantly directed at the Dark Lord. It was always a question of sooner or later, and it seems the Dark Lord has decided on sooner. He supposed it was because the Dark Lord's ego had been offended by the monumental—and very flashy—failure of his attack on Hogsmeade, all those months ago. And he did need more of his followers. Yes, it would be. And he thought of the sporadic murders that had started up again after Halloween. The Wyatts—they were the parents of Henry Wyatt—a senior Auror at Azkaban. Zilla Arwood—girlfriend of Fitzwilliam McKay. Maurice Boynton—the gatekeeper. The bloody gatekeeper. And the others…
Did the Dark Lord think that they might've been told something by those at Azkaban? Is that why they were targeted?
And Boynton was the gatekeeper, who knows what he might have screamed about before he died?
"You wish to free our brethren then, my Lord," he said calmly—or, at least looked calm, although on the inside his mind whirled at this new factor. "A worthy fight, in order to grant them the honour to serve you."
The Dark Lord smiled. Severus's response had pleased him.
And Bellatrix grudgingly, warily told him the rest.
Severus nodded, and listened, and complimented the plan; and thought of ways to undermine it.
oOo
"Azkaban," Albus said flatly.
"Yes," replied Severus as they watched his memory rise out of Albus's Pensieve. Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rang out, and another crease appeared on Albus's already lined forehead.
Albus sighed. "Unfortunate," he said, handing Severus a cup of tea. "Rufus Scrimgeour is not inclined to think in terms of how vulnerable Azkaban might be—more like how many prisoners he can throw into it…"
"Stan Shunpike, the idiot," Severus muttered.
Fawkes trilled in agreement.
"Bellatrix Lestrange told me what they would do once they were inside the prison," continued Severus. "She didn't tell me how they were going to enter the prison, though. They must've learned something from their victims—I hadn't heard anything about this until now, and it seems most of the others are unaware of it as well. The Dark Lord told me specifically because he wanted me to cause some—oh, misdirection, you know—and also I suppose it's a test, of sorts."
A test? Albus looked alert upon hearing this. "He suspects you?"
Severus raised an eyebrow. "He suspects everyone, Albus"—Well, yes, that was true, Albus admitted to himself—"and I feel it's just another of those things he does to assure himself of my loyalty. Nothing important."
"You're sure?" Albus pressed, an undertone of worry lurking in his voice.
"Yes, I am," Severus replied. "I checked around with Legilimency a little—I didn't sense any vibes of anger and blatant suspicion."
"Still," Albus murmured, "he could have kept it hidden…"
"Now you're just being paranoid, Albus."
"Says you," the old wizard retorted. You're the one who's paranoid about Draco Malfoy. What happens must happen. I'm expendable, I'm old—but you're not.
"Says me," Severus agreed, apparently unaware of Albus's present thoughts. "Now, the real problem is what to do about Azkaban? You can't increase the security suddenly around the prison—that would only raise the Dark Lord's suspicions about the remarkable coincidence, you see, and it wouldn't be particularly helpful to my position. As I said before, not many Death Eaters know about it, and I'm the only one who is regularly in contact with you." He said this with a rather dry tone in his voice.
"Well, I suppose there is no way to prevent an attack," mused Albus. "Perhaps we could minimise the damage? Send in an Auror from the Order who knows about the impending attack, and know what to do to counterattack once it begins."
"Only one person?"
"Percy Weasley can only do so much to tweak Auror scheduling discreetly, Severus, without being found out."
"True." Severus paused, a glint of wariness coming into his eyes. "Albus, who are you going to choose?"
"I was thinking," said Albus cautiously, "of Nymphadora."
"Tonks? That klutz?" Severus nearly dropped his tea cup. "She'll just trip over everything, and destroy the security wards while she's at it!"
"Now, now, Severus, have some patience…"
oOo
It was a little harder to morph these days, thought Tonks tiredly. Probably it was because she was so worn out by Dawlish's ridiculous demands for forever occurring patrols around the Hogwarts area. Not like it had stopped incidents such as the Bell and Rosebay fiasco. Proudfoot had been incensed about that. "The nerve of those people! Trying to do all that—" His tirade had continued with rather more forceful language. Tonks had ignored him, and ordered a butterbeer from a strangely dull-looking Madam Rosmerta.
Still, Dumbledore was waiting. So she squinted at her reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and concentrated. When she opened her eyes again, her hair was shoulder-length dark brown.
At least it's better than the mousy brown, she decided. Her mirror tutted impatiently. "Dearie, you look fine. I don't see why you should worry quite so much about your abilities—"
"Because," Tonks said shortly as she surveyed herself, "they come in handy for Auror work. And it's difficult for me to morph, and I think I'm going to demand leave from Dawlish for Christmas, because I'm tired. I'm not about to stay in Hogsmeade the entire time in the freezing cold and snow."
"But dearie—"
Tonks glared. The mirror, which had become used to Tonks's constantly changing appearance over the years, sighed but didn't continue.
She smoothed back her hair and went to the fireplace in her flat, throwing some Floo powder into the fire and calling out, "12 Grimmauld Place!"
After the disorienting whirl of sound and colour, she toppled out of the fireplace at the Order headquarters and promptly stepped on Remus Lupin's foot, who yelped. "Oh, I'm sorry, Remus!" she said rather hastily as she quickly moved.
Remus turned to face her and smiled good-naturedly. "It's all right, Nymphadora," he replied, emphasising her first name rather pointedly.
Tonks winced at that. "Tonks, Remus, say Tonks," she said, a note of suffering in her voice. "There's no need to punish my clumsiness by saying that abomination. How've you been? I don't think I've got to see you much, except for meetings."
"Passing well, passing well," Remus said vaguely, the corners of his mouth quirking up briefly. "Besides Voldemort and Fenrir Greyback, of course. I'm beginning to think I ought to have infiltrated his pack now…"
"And I'm glad you decided not to," Tonks said firmly. "Delusions of grandeur, I suppose, but I don't want you in any kind of contact with Greyback. I'm glad you were selfish then and decided not to. It's nice to be selfish now and then, you big bad wolf." The last phrase was said with affection. She patted him on the shoulder. "For the good of the cause, as they always say."
Remus grinned, undoubtedly amused. "Indeed." His smile disappeared. "Although, after the Montgomery child…"
"Don't." Tonks heard her voice cut sharply in the air. "You wouldn't have had access to Wolfsbane, so it would've been hard to control yourself anyway. At least Snape's making Wolfsbane for you—you couldn't have got it if you were with Greyback."
For some reason, Remus's face twisted slightly. "Oh yes," he murmured. "Yes, I do get Wolfsbane every month, don't I?" The moment passed, and he continued, "But anyway, what are you doing here? I'd have thought the Aurors were working you down to the bone."
"I managed to squeeze some free time out of it all—escaped from my terrible slavedrivers," Tonks replied lightly. "Thought I'd come and visit." She carefully omitted the fact that Dumbledore had asked her to come to 12 Grimmauld Place, although for what purpose she did not know (A visit to Hogwarts involved walking from Hogsmeade to the school, going inside, walking through the corridors, and being seen by a great deal of people. It meant lack of discretion, and discretion was what Dumbledore had wanted, undoubtedly, in asking her here.). "Where's Sirius?"
"Trying to decorate already," came a hoarse voice from the door. Tonks turned and saw Sirius, with a box of ornaments in his arms. "Christmas is soon, you realise that? Harry's coming here." His face lit up with a kind of happiness that sent a pain into Tonks's heart. Azkaban had taken so much from him, so that even his happy moments inevitably took a trail to the darkness.
"Yes, I heard," said Tonks, hugging him. "What are you getting him?"
"I don't know yet," said Sirius. "I could see if there's any more of James and Lily's stuff in my vault…" he trailed off with a wistful expression.
"I think the best present for him would be to just have a good time," said Remus quietly. "The both of you."
Tonks smiled at him brilliantly. Sirius nodded. "That's true," he said, his voice lighter than usual. "Butterbeer, Tonks?"
"I don't know," said Tonks uncertainly. "Who else is here?"
At that, a scowl crept over Sirius's face. "Snape," he said brusquely. "And Dumbledore. In the library. Snape's sitting there reading, and Dumbledore's doing whatever he always does."
"Really?" Tonks's curiosity was aroused. "You don't suppose I could go say hello to them? I haven't seen them much either."
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind," Remus commented, a wry smile on his face. "Although Severus might."
Tonks said, decisively, "I think I will. Who cares what Snape thinks? He always disapproves of us anyway, so it doesn't really matter. And anyway, I need to talk to Dumbledore about the Auror guard around Hogwarts." An easy lie to say. If Snape's here… hmm. Must be something more important than I thought it would be.
"That's the way to talk!" Sirius grinned. "Go on and barge in on them. Have fun!"
Tonks waved to them and went out through the doorway. Her idea of having fun wasn't exactly visiting a large, morbid house with screeching portraits, but… well. At least Walburga Black was silent, for now. She pushed open the library door and went in. The door shut behind her, and she heard the lock sliding back into place.
She looked up to see Snape lowering his wand—he must have been the one to lock the door, she realised. Another flicker of his wand, and silencing wards sprang up around them. Dumbledore rose from his seat and came forward. "Nymphadora!" he said quite warmly. "Good to see you again. Tea?"
"No thanks," she replied. "So what is it that you wanted to talk about, Professor Dumbledore?"
Snape turned his face calmly towards hers. "The Dark Lord's plans, of course," he said coldly. "What else would there be to talk about? Christmas decorations, for instance?"
Tonks's mouth thinned slightly; her bangs momentarily fell into her eyes, and as she brushed them away she noticed that the brown colour of her hair had darkened to black.
"There's no need for that, Severus," Dumbledore said mollifyingly. "Please sit down, Nymphadora. Now, we have some new intelligence which seems to suggest that Voldemort will attack Azkaban sometime soon, and I was hoping that you might consider agreeing to take on duties at Azkaban for the Order." He beamed at her, as though he had just stated that he liked sherbet lemons. Except that an airy "Voldemort will attack Azkaban" had taken its place.
Tonks stared. Trust Dumbledore to spring surprises like this on me! "Why haven't you told anyone else then?" she demanded. "We need to keep it from happening!"
"That is a bit of a dilemma, though," Dumbledore said, still maddeningly calm. "You see, if such a thing were to happen, Voldemort would be immediately suspicious of Severus here—" he nodded to Snape "—and it might compromise his position. It's a very fine line here, you see?"
Tonks looked at Dumbledore, loath to speak, but she did. "Yes, I do see. Then what can we do?"
"This is where you come in," Dumbledore said. "We will tell you all the information that is known of the prospective Azkaban attack, and you will go to Azkaban for your Auror duties. When it is attacked, you can use your knowledge to minimise the damage and casualties. That is—it seems to be the best way…"
The Metamorphmagus wished the Order could just simply ambush the Death Eaters during the attack, but then—she glanced at Snape. What does Snape really do for us? He gives us the information, but we can't even act on it. Blowing his cover, my arse. He does a better job of feeding misinformation to the bloody Death Eaters than he does finding out information for us, unless that was his purpose in the first place. It must be easier for Dumbledore to verify his reports of anything than You-Know—Voldemort could ever do, what with him being hidden away. But she pushed away her feelings of annoyance, and only said, "How do I get reassigned? And why me? Why not Kingsley?"
"We have an agent within the Ministry bureaucracy who will change your guard assignment. You do not need to know who it is." Snape leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering; when he spoke, his voice was dry and precise. "Kingsley Shacklebolt already has a prominent assignment with the Muggle Prime Minister, and as a higher-ranking Auror, it would be more obvious if he were reassigned to Azkaban. On the other hand, you, as a more junior Auror, could easily be reassigned without too much suspicion, and possess enough of a brain to not completely botch things up—although the same cannot be said for your ability to move," he added caustically. "Therefore, you are the least worst of the choices available to us."
Ow. "Least worst" of the choices—he just couldn't say "best," could he? Then again, to him I'm just the last resort. "Fine," she said. "I'll do it, if necessary." For the good of the cause, as they say.
… Maybe I might meet Aunt Bellatrix.
All of a sudden, the prospect of an Azkaban attack seemed a lot more personal.
"So what is it that I need to know?" she asked.
Snape spread out a map of Azkaban on a small, rickety table. "Azkaban is composed of nine concentric circles," he said impersonally. "Of course, the Dark Lord's objective is the one at the very center, here." He set the tip of his wand upon the parchment and traced around a marked circle. "The high-security section, where the Death Eaters—and suspected ones—are. It's divided into two semi-circles with corridors that lead to the center of Azkaban before out into the outer rings. Section A and B, each with five Aurors. You'll be assigned to Section A," he added.
"Why Section A?" Tonks said. "Why not B?"
"Because," said Snape, as though she was unusually slow in grasping this concept, "there is a vacancy in Section A."
"An Auror in Section A has unfortunately encountered some spell damage," said Dumbledore more gently.
Snape sneered. "He was experimenting with different variations on scrying spells to look around Azkaban, and evidently one of them somehow triggered the wards, so he suffered the backlash." He smiled, a smile of cool amusement. "Unfortunate for him, but fortunate for us. You're taking over Owen Zanar's position, short-term, until he recovers. Not exactly life-threatening for him, but it means a few weeks in St Mungo's. And by then, Azkaban will probably have been attacked."
"You're sure of the time?" Tonks watched Snape warily, wondering if she should expect a look which implied she ought not to ask, or maybe a flicker of contempt and anger—emotions which, it seemed to her, Snape possessed in vast quantities—but she saw nothing but a single purpose, a cold concentration.
"The Dark Lord has a preference for… distinction," said Snape, his eyes shuttered and blank. "Significant deaths, significant artefacts, significant dates. Yule is the winter solstice, the twenty-first of December, and then there is Christmas. It is a good thing that he is predictable about this, at least. He revels in the magical significance of Yule—and of course everyone's mind is on other things at Christmas. Like presents." He said the word in a strange tone, as though he did not really understand it. How many presents does he get? Tonks thought. "And Christmas trees, and carols."
"God rest ye merry hippogriff…" Tonks sang softly under her breath. Dumbledore heard it and beamed indulgently. Snape heard it, and did not seem pleased, although for a moment—Tonks blinked. Was that a smile I saw? Or maybe it was my imagination. No, it was contempt, definitely. A smirk. Not like Snape smiles. Wishful thinking on my part. "So, anyway," she said hastily, "what exactly can I do then?"
"The freeing of the Death Eaters is the main objective, as I said," Snape replied tersely. "So, if the Death Eaters penetrate deep enough into Azkaban, you will have to dispose of those in the cells."
Kill, Tonks's mind supplied. Get rid of them for good. It was odd, really, how the idea struck her as—cruel. But they were cruel to others, she argued with herself.
She wondered if she would ever be able to cast the Killing Curse—if she would have the hatred necessary for such a deed. She wondered if she really wanted to know.
"Otherwise"—and Snape's voice cut into her thoughts—"your main task is to get as many Aurors out of Azkaban as possible, alive. Azkaban is only useful as a prison with a reputation; the Ministry has other obscure prisons tucked away in places which they can utilise. The building is of no use; the people within are important. The Death Eaters must be killed. The Aurors must get out of there alive. Let the Ministry consider it a loss, for all I care. The Ministry is idiotic. It needs what fighters it can get, and we cannot lose Aurors in a suicidal battle. Although," he added, and cast a critical eye over her, "there is some doubt as to the quality of those Aurors."
Tonks did not bother to retort; Snape, in any case, would continue to make little remarks like that anyway, and probably would be able to render her incapable of a witty, sarcastic reply. "Very well," she said simply. Since the Death Eaters are probably going to put up anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards… "You don't mind if I nick some brooms from Hogwarts, do you, Professor Dumbledore?"
"Not at all, Nymphadora," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling at her. "Not at all."
oOo
For clarification: Exorcism as portrayed in this fic is a mishmash of different religions' perceptions of exorcism. I know that some religions do not support the idea of exorcism (i.e., Sikhism), and I don't mean to offend. (Being such an explosive subject at times, religion is, I think, something best left alone. Although sadly that seems to be quite impossible nowadays.) However, the concept of exorcism—banishing a spirit from someone's body—happened to fit in very well. The spirit in this case is lycanthropy, which was, after all, originally a soul twisted by wild magic experimentation, and which has been passed down through the centuries. (Poor Remus Lupin…)
On Azkaban: I have noticed many fics in which practically every attack is a surprise attack. However, I contend that Snape must still know some details of what is happening, if not every plan. From HBP: (Narcissa Malfoy) "… you are the Dark Lord's favourite, his most trusted advisor … will you speak to him, persuade him—?" It can be concluded that while the Dark Lord does not exactly have "favourites," Snape is clearly high enough in his councils so that Narcissa hopes Snape might be able to influence the Dark Lord. Thus, it seems plausible enough that Snape could be informed of the main plans of some attacks—if not the details—and thus inform the Order as well.
Of course, how to deal with attacks requires some skill of balancing and such. He is still not always informed—i.e., Hogsmeade—but that would be because the Dark Lord would rather Snape not be there at all, and not involve him (also because the Dark Lord has to keep all his Death Eaters guessing as to his view of their loyalties). On the other hand, Snape is somewhat in the know about Azkaban because it is a big enterprise, he is one of the more highly-ranked advisors for said big enterprise, and, in the Dark Lord's eyes, he can quite bluntly misdirect and say the attack's somewhere else—for example, Diagon Alley—then say, "Well, the Dark Lord must not trust me so much then," when the attack does not take place at Diagon Alley and instead at Azkaban, and thus Dumbledore would be more worried about his position among the Death Eaters and work to protect him from everyone's suspicions (Dark Lord, looking smug: So wonderful when your enemy does the work for you.).
And frankly, I feel the idea of surprise attacks can be tedious after a while. I already employed "surprise attack" for Hogsmeade, but the trickier ones are where they do know something about the plans, but sometimes not everything, and are forced to work around it. This is the category into which the Azkaban attack falls.
Now that that long-winded author's notes is over, please review! I'd like to know what you think of this chapter.
Cheers,
Talriga