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FanFictionLover: Last try: Dumbledore. And you're sweet to worry about my health! That's a bit why I've reduced the speed of my updates, actually. I had a big buffer already written, but I always have to add in scenes and revise it and now that I'm in my end of semester rush too, well, let's just say that it takes time and energy. ^^'
ariana: Let me know if you find your question again, but I won't apologise for writing something that you like ;)
Chapter 39: 18th of December: While you were gone...
The days slowly stretched forward at Malfoy Manor. I felt like everybody were running at an accelerated speed around me while I could only move like a slug.
The Malfoys were caught in a whirlwind of preparations: for the upcoming raid, for the official Ministry ball that was planned for the 23rd, for the Malfoy ball on the 26th, for the Dark Lord's birthday celebration on New Years' Eve...it was a never ending flurry of activity. I thought I'd be safe from it since I'd leave again on the 20th, but I had been caught in the hurricane and I felt overwhelmed.
At the Rebel Camp, Yule season was a lot tamer than that because there were fewer people, because we had less money and because we had less reason to celebrate.
Another problem was that it seemed to me as if, with every day I passed at Malfoy Manor, my head got fuzzier and my thoughts unfocused. My temper had worsened and my magic felt agitated and itchy.
I was longing for the Dark Lord. I couldn't sleep the last few nights. I felt drained of my energy. I had concluded pretty quickly that doing a test by staying apart more than a day was stupid and reckless. For me, at least. As far as I knew, the Dark Lord wasn't affected by that at all, wherever he was.
I couldn't feel anything through the bond. That was another thing that worried me. Was it still there? Was he working on cutting our connection, or something like that? Was he blocking it because he was...with someone else and didn't want me to know? I didn't even know if he'd bother enough to block his feelings if he did that. He hadn't given me any sign that he was becoming bored with our relationship or anything of the kind, though. It was probably only Draco's words from the other day and my paranoia at work here.
It didn't help my slowly deteriorating state, however.
.
At the moment, on the evening of the 18th, I was sitting on an elegant upholstered couch, listening to the Malfoys bicker about colour schemes for their ball. I didn't know why they had insisted on my presence for this particular discussion. Lucius wanted the ballroom decorated in blue and silver, the Malfoy colours. Narcissa and Draco preferred green and silver, in homage to their allegiance to the Slytherin House. I had thrown in 'red and gold' at the beginning of the discussion to bring a bit of Gryffindorness to the debate. They had shot it down quickly and had gone on and on and on about season colours, and family blazons, and heraldic codes and alliances without paying attention to me.
A head-splitting headache had appeared in my forehead and behind my eyes sometime during the discussion and it was gnawing at my patience.
My foot had started tapping on the ground about half-an-hour ago. Draco had shot me two death glares to make me stop since then, but I had absentmindedly returned to it a few seconds after. I felt as if there was something growing inside of me, like a ball of restless energy waiting to explode.
I couldn't focus on the discussion. The only thing I could think of was how badly my head hurt and how my foot was tapping on the ground and produced weird vibrations through the floor. I couldn't get it to stop. I couldn't get them to stop their stupid, useless, idiotic conversation either. Why did I even need to be there if they were not taking my suggestions into consideration anyway? Why was I even here in Malfoy Manor at all? Why wasn't I with the Dark Lord? What was he even doing?
My hands grasped my hair, pulling sharply on it to wake me up. It brought a bit of focus back to my vision, but everything was still blurry. I blinked slowly. Nothing changed. The voices around me sounded like they were underwater. A dull ringing resonated in my ears. I looked around. The Malfoys were still engrossed in their conversation and not paying any attention to me.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and felt my head spinning. After a while had passed, a hand touched my shoulder and a sharp sting of electricity travelled through it. The hand withdrew immediately. I opened my eyes. Draco was cradling his arm close to his chest. Lucius' mouth was open and moving as if he was talking, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I narrowed my eyes at him. It didn't help. Narcissa took her husband's arm, but did nothing else other than look at me in worry. What was happening? I looked around confusedly, squinting through the fogginess. The room had become colder all of a sudden and a thin layer of frost covered the tea cups placed on the low table between us. I shuddered before I realised that I was the one producing the cold. I felt my magic pulsing around me erratically. My control on it was slipping and the cups had started to shake on their delicate saucers.
I needed to see the Dark Lord. I had told as much to Lucius that morning when I had started to feel really bad. He said that he couldn't reach his Lord. That he'd come back tomorrow. I couldn't wait anymore. I was going insane, I knew it. I'd hurt somebody with my uncontrolled magic if I stayed in Malfoy Manor. My eyes drifted to Narcissa's pregnant belly. I couldn't risk hurting their unborn child. I was dangerous. I had to go. I had to leave.
My eyes grew round at the realisation that I was a danger to my friends and my mouth fell open. I tried to articulate something, but I failed.
I stood up quickly, nearly tripping over the low table in the process, gathered my last remaining focus and spun around into an Apparition. The last thing I heard was their loud panic shouts.
.
I crashed on the top step of Grimmauld Place. The Locket, the Horcrux would help me if the Dark Lord was absent.
"Kreacher," I croaked with difficulty.
The Elf materialised in front of me and stared at me with his rounded globe-like eyes.
"Pop me in...Regulus' room."
I felt myself be transported and I landed in front of Regulus' old bed. I saw the drawer and stumbled to it like a drunken man, my vision swimming.
I opened it and grasped the Locket with desperation. The cool metal felt good against my palm. I shuffled to the bed and let myself fall on it before passing out, the familiar dark blue magic at last wrapped around me.
.
When I woke up, everything was dark and my scar was burning fiercely.
"Ow..." I groaned, rolling around on the bed, burying my head deeper in the pillow to try to ignore the pain. My cheek connected with warm metal. I opened my eyes suddenly to look at what I had touched.
It was the Locket, practically vibrating with energy by now.
Greedy bastard, I thought at it. If he had sucked the insanity and the dizziness along with the magic though, it suited me fine.
A new spike of fury passing through my scar made me bend in half with my palm scrubbing over my forehead to dull the pain unsuccessfully.
"Ow, ow, ow," I groaned, grabbing the Locket and throwing it back in its drawer before stumbling down the corridor and slowly trudging down the stairs, still hunched down. It must have been a particularly pathetic sight.
I sighed when I reached the Apparition point, straightening up with difficulty. Outside, the moon was up in the sky and it was a cool December night. I hadn't brought a coat with me, so I shivered and spun around to the Dark Lord's Fortress.
.
I crashed on the ground inelegantly. I heard shouts around me, but the only thing I could concentrate on was the sweet (and angry) magic unfurling around the entrance parlour.
I heard a voice bark something and sounds of Apparition, and then nothing. The energy drew closer to my still prone body. I tiredly opened my eyes to look at the Dark Lord.
His brow was creased in worry, but there was also a fading remnant of insane anger in his ruby-red eyes. Maybe our days apart had also affected him a bit. I gave him a faint smile and slid my hand forward on the carpet toward him. He took it in his indulgently. I heaved a deep sigh of contentment at the familiar warmth and magic.
I jolted slightly when I felt arms slide under my neck and my knees and gasped in surprise when I felt myself lifted in the air and placed against his chest. I couldn't resist turning my face toward him and inhaling deeply his comforting smell. I heard a chuckle escape his lips.
"What?" I asked groggily.
"You're like a kitten. The only thing missing is a purr," he teased in his annoyingly sexy voice.
"Not a kitten. Man. Manly man," I grumbled, snuggling closer to his chest.
He barked a laugh. Damn smug bastard.
"Stop being so loud. 'm tired. Wanna sleep," I protested.
He snorted. Loudly, of course. And then he dumped me on a bed unceremoniously.
"Hey!" I protested weakly at his treatment. I sleepily pushed my pushed my shoes off and rolled under the covers. When I didn't feel him join me, I cracked open an eye. He was just standing there, looking at me with a weird undecipherable expression.
"You're not sleeping too?" I articulated with difficulty.
"I would, but you are wearing far too many clothes to make the prospect attractive," he said with his usual teasing grin.
"Pervert," I accused, but I still made my clothes magically vanish in case he was serious.
He chuckled again and a few seconds later, I felt him slide in under the covers behind me, his warm body wrapping around mine. I sighed in contentment again.
"Hmm...You're perfect. Never leave again," I grumbled, half asleep.
I felt his head bury itself in my neck and nuzzle the skin there.
"I won't," I thought I heard him whisper before I fell into a deep slumber.
.
o0o0o
Severus stalked back to his High Tower. His ample robes billowing behind him majestically would have made an impressive sight, but sadly, anyone who wasn't a Death Eater kept up by an angry Dark Lord in search of his wayward lover was already sleeping.
The whole thing had been a loss of time. They had only stood there, waiting as all the scrying charms had failed to locate the brat and getting tortured for their incompetence. Of course, no one had dared point out that the Dark Lord's spells had failed just as spectacularly as theirs and that it was a waste of time and energy to punish them for that. The brat had been behind thick and old wards, that much was certain.
There was a moment, in that frantic hour between the Dark Lord announcing to them that Harry had disappeared and the brat's return, in which he had felt worried about his Potions pupil. Lucius had taken him aside when he had just arrived and had confessed that he thought that there was something quite wrong with the child. He had been tempted to dismiss Lucius' concerns, but the Dark Lord's attitude only seemed to confirm them.
The image of Harry collapsing on the ground at his arrival and lying there, unmoving, didn't seem to want to leave Severus' mind. What had happened to him? Had he been kidnapped by Mad-Eye? Had he left the Dark Lord of his own volition? And if the brat had seconds thoughts on his allegiance, where did that leave him?
The most surprising element of that late night visit at the Dark Lord's Fortress, however, was the worry his Master had displayed. Granted, Voldemort had only appeared angry, but it was obvious to anyone with as much skill in analysing body language as he had, that the Dark Lord had been nervous. And worried. For someone else than himself. And that was more than unusual.
Severus flirted with the tentative thought that perhaps Harry's foolish decision to embark into a dangerous pseudo-relationship with his prophesied enemy might just yet produce unforeseen consequences on the Dark Lord. An adjacent idea followed the first, unbidden. What if Albus, may his soul already be joined with Magic, had been right and the power described in the Prophecy really was love?
He shuddered at the candid notion, trying to dismiss it right away, but the thought, now expressed, would not let go of his sleep-deprived brain.
He prepared for bed in swift, precise and efficient movements.
Now lying down, he let himself think of the possibility.
What if the Potter brat, for all his idiotic charisma and naïve strength, had managed to make the most dangerous and powerful Dark Lord of the past century care about him? What if, by actively trying to forget about the Prophecy, they were in fact contributing to its fulfillment? What if Potter could only defeat the Dark Lord if he had managed to make the latter care about him?
Severus pondered the question while he scrutinised the star-filled ceiling above his bed. Had Albus done the same in his time and had his crazy schemes been elaborated in this very bed? Perhaps it was the setting that contaminated his thoughts with sentimentality.
He could not help but to think that, even if Potter was to win in an eventual showdown against the Dark Lord, given the current circumstances, the young man would be losing either way. After all, Severus knew something of the survivor's guilt.
There was a time in which, given the choice, he would have wanted Potter to win. Then, after years of a relatively peaceful existence as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he might have wished for his Master to just get rid of the nuisance, even if the brat was Lily's son. Now, for the first time in his life, he was not sure of where laid his loyalties exactly. The lines had blurred as the peculiar and nearly sacrilegious relationship between two strong wizards fated to be enemies developed and held true. The fight had stopped being between good and evil, right and wrong, Light and Dark. And, if one could believe the information given by Hermione Macmillan, it had become a struggle of 'us' against 'them'. And it somehow made his task all the more obvious.
And so it was that Severus Snape, a man of divided allegiances, took the decision to fight whole-heartedly for the survival and improvement of the Dark Lord's regime, nearly 14 years after its instalment.
.
o0o0o
One day later, 20th of December
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Just as morning dawned on the Rebel Camp, an owl swooped down to a young man still sleeping soundly in his bed.
Neville groaned and buried his head deeper into his pillow. However, the owl wouldn't let him ignore him so easily and nipped at the boy's neck. Neville jolted away from the beast with a shout, one hand covering his sensitive skin.
His annoyance disappeared once he realised who had probably written the letter and what it meant for him.
Nerves shot through him and his stomach grumbled ominously as he took the parchment and read it.
Today! Harry would come to pick them up and bring them to safety!
"Just stand outsides the Wards with Everybody that you fond and ill be their and pick you up and bring you to a saifehouse."
At last, he won't have to play hero anymore and maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to go see his parents again!
At what time did Harry say he would come again? wondered Neville, looking back down at the letter.
Harry said he'd send his Patronus fifteen minutes before he'd arrive, so to make sure that everybody would be ready in time. He also said not to tell anyone until then, but Neville disregarded the advice. After all, even if those who wanted to escape with him today had been discreetly packing their essentials for the past weeks, they needed to know more than 15 minutes in advance that they would need to leave! Some of them had lived here for the past 15 years, nearly! They needed time to say goodbye to their friends and family.
Maybe Harry was scared that the Rebels would try to capture him if they knew he'd come. He was, after all, putting himself in jeopardy just to get the neutrals out of this place.
How much time was necessary to finish packing, really? By now, everyone should be more or less ready. What if he just told them after lunch? Who knew when Harry would show up...maybe they would still have a few hours more to prepare then?
Suddenly, the realisation crashed down on him that he would not be sleeping again in the only bed he'd ever remember having, that he would never wake up to the same room, never see his garden again, never have his meals in the communal area, or meetings with the Council...actually, he was quite looking forward to never see the Council members again.
Moody hadn't get livelier in the past months, but he had at least stopped trying to train Neville to be the new Chosen One. He was never here those days. Always out, always busy with his mysterious contacts and everything. The only thing that made him come back was the reunions of the Council, and even then, he was only here to deliver harangues about how the Rebellion was stronger than ever, and how it was recruiting allies left and right and even overseas despite the 'set back' with the Ministry Bomb.
Personally, Neville would have more called the event of the last Samhain a 'disaster' and a 'monstrous act' and he hadn't been able to stop himself from twitching every time he heard them refer to it in a positive light. Then again, he was still jolting every time Moody barked 'Constant Vigilance', so he must have a pretty poor resistance.
Animated with a stressed energy, Neville finished packing his bags as quickly as he could without making too much sound. He was sharing his house with the Edgecombe family, after all, and even if they said they wanted to go with him today, he didn't want to wake them up so early and tell them what was happening.
.
He must not have been quiet enough, however, because he soon heard a sharp knock on his door. He hurried to answer it, but tripped on a potted plant he had temporarily placed on the ground while he moved his things around.
Neville fell on the floor with a muffled curse and a dull thud.
By the time he picked himself up again, the door was already half-opened and the curly reddish-blond hair of the youngest of the Edgecombe appeared in the door frame.
"Neville, are you alright?" asked Marietta, coming into full view and looking around the room. "You fell again?"
He brushed himself off with a sigh and bent down to straighten the poor plant up again.
"Yeah, yeah. You know me. 'The One Chosen to Have Two Left Feet' or something like that," he joked in a familiar routine between the two of them.
When he didn't hear an answer, he turned around and froze in place. Marietta was reading the letter!
"I just received it. I was gonna tell you," he defended himself.
She looked sceptical and worried.
"Right, that's why I've heard you move stuff around for the past hour or so. You could have told us, you know. We have things to pack too," she accused him.
"Yeah, but you've seen in the letter, Harry told me not to tell anybody until 15 minutes before! I'd have told you earlier than that, but I get why he wouldn't the others to know. He puts himself in danger for us, you know," he tried to explain.
She huffed once in derision. She had never been a fan of Harry ever since he turned her down years ago.
"Right, and if the Great Harry Potter tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked? Don't you think it's a bit out of character for him to just come back here and save us like a knight in shining armour?" she said, trying to hint at something.
"No, I think that Harry is a good guy, and that he knew that some of us didn't want to be associated with the Rebellion anymore, and that he's doing his best to get us out of here," reasoned Neville.
"If he really was doing his best, he would have come back months ago.
-I only asked him for help in November," he contradicted her. "And it takes time to set up a safe house for all of us! What are you on about, Marietta? Don't you want to go too?" he asked, getting frustrated at her.
"Of course I want to go! But there's something fishy going on! I bet you that it's not to a safe house that he'll bring us, but to a prison! We can't trust him!" she declared, running out of the room suddenly with Harry's letter.
"No, Marietta, wait!" he shouted, stumbling after her, forgetting his wand in his bedside table and realising it only seconds after he left the room in pursuit.
He bounded down the stairs as quickly as he could, nearly tripping a few times, but catching himself on the banister.
She flew through the door and out in the village before he could catch up with her.
As soon as he was out of the house, a Leg Locker caught him and he fell painfully on his face. He lifted himself up on his elbow and threw a hand forward where he could see Marietta running to the center of the village.
"No, don't do that!" he shouted desperately.
She stopped at his shout, pausing, and turning back to him for a second, the letter crumpled in her left hand, as she held on tight to her wand in the right. Then, she shook her head in denial and breathed in deeply. In just a few words, she could completely ruin everybody's chance to escape the Rebel Camp unscathed and sign Harry's death sentence.
Neville begged his Magic to cooperate with him to silence her, but knew it was in vain as she opened her mouth and emitted the first sound.
Then, his face twisted in silent horror when, instead of shouting to announce to everybody what was going to happen, Marietta cried in agony as lashes of black flames erupted from the letter and wrapped around her, ploughing red furrows in her pale skin.
She crumpled to the ground and the fire, as quickly as it had been ignited, extinguished by itself, the damage done.
Neville pushed forward and crawled as quickly as he could to reach the prone form of his childhood friend, but others, drawn by her screams, reached her before him. When he got close enough, they had already made the diagnostic: she was in a coma with a severe magical depletion. Neville frowned his brow and narrowed his eyes as he reluctantly looked at the marks left by the fire. There, carved in the skin in long bloody ribbons spiralling around her face and body were etched the word "Sneak" repeated over and over.
He barely felt when the Leg Locker hex was replaced by an Incarcerous. He only realised his dangerous position when they pulled him away from the unconscious girl to shove him against a nearby wall. The looks of fury on their faces did not bode well for him.
He could only hope that Harry would come earlier than later and would somehow find a way to enter the wards to pick them up.
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Harry did come eventually. Only, he brought an army with him. And a Dark Lord.
...
As you can probably guess, next chapter is the long-awaited attack on the Rebels by Harry and the Dark Lord's forces.
In the meanwhile, you could tell me what you thought of this one ;)