II.13. - Liberation

All is not lost – the unconquerable will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate,

And courage never to submit or yield –

And what is else not to be overcome.

That glory never shall his wrath or might

Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace

With suppliant knee, and deify his power

Who, from terror of this arm, so late

Doubted his empire – that were low indeed;

That were an ignominy and shame beneath

This downfall. –

JOHN MILTON – Paradise Lost

She jumped up and fell down to her knees beside her husband, who was cringing in pain. He had grabbed his left underarm and collapsed on the floor, his face contorted, gasping for breath, moaning heartbreakingly.

“What is it, Lucius? What –”

He couldn’t answer, and for a minute, Narcissa was deadly scared that he was having a heart attack – but the only heart attack she had ever witnessed had looked differently. She comprehended that it was something with his arm, but he wouldn’t let go, turning blue in the face with the lack of oxygen. She produced her wand and cast a relaxing charm on him, muttering soothing words and making sure he started to breathe again properly before doing anything else.

She then took a closer look at his arm, rolling up his sleeve and seeing the possible cause for his pain at once. The Dark Mark – god, what was this – it was kind of flashing, from black to red to black again, practically pulsating, as if there was a snake underneath his skin trying to burst out. She knew a couple of healing charms, but she had no idea what could help here, and besides, both her mind and her pulse were racing. What could it mean? This was no calling, definitely – no use calling someone by sending him to the floor in agony –

She screeched on top of her lungs for the servants, sending one of them to fetch Abraxas. She bedded Lucius’ head in her lap and stroked his forehead. “My love – Lucius – what – what – is there anything I can do –”

“Burning – tearing – scourging –”

“Breathe, hon, you must breathe!”

She was panicking – they couldn’t call for a Healer; this was the Dark Mark after all! Or they’d send for a Healer and Obliviate him afterwards, or… Abraxas stormed in, for the first time in his life looking as if he truly cared for his son. As soon as spotting the origin of this one’s pain however, he put on his familiar sneer.

“There you go! That’s what you get for meddling with this bastard!”

“Please, Father, not now!” Narcissa cried, shooting him an imploring look. “What can we do? He needs help!”

“He needs a sound thrashing, as soon as this is over!”

“Father! If you don’t want to help your own son, do it for my sake, at least! For Draco! I really, really need your support now, he –”

“Lucius!” From downstairs, a familiar voice was crying, and Narcissa shouted back, “In the Golden Parlour, Savvy! Quick! You’ve got to –”

She was so agitated, she didn’t even wonder what Severus was doing here, or why he would yell all through the house. Important was that he was here. The kid – he’d always remain a kid for her, even after graduating from college – knew his way with all sorts of Healing Charms, potions and other medicine. There might have been a time when she was his superior, but nowadays, he was one of the greatest wizards that she knew, particularly when one regarded his youthfulness.

He came sprinting into the room, his face ashen and – sooty? – and taking in the situation with one glance, he whipped out his wand, waved it and muttered something under his breath. Lucius instantly slackened, his spasms loosened, his face relaxed. Severus knelt down next to his friends and Abraxas, uttering in a hollow voice, “Make haste, Lucius! He’s gone. Dead. I’ve seen it. He’s – just gone.”

“What?!” Narcissa gaped at him, incredulous.

“You’ll see – later. The Dark Lord is vanquished, that’s all you need to know for now. Go and turn yourself in, Lucius. There’ll be investigations, heads will roll – go and turn yourself in now in the very moment when he’s gone, so you can claim he had Imperiused you. It’ll make your testimony more credible when you go at once! If all goes downhill still, say my name.”

“What?” Lucius croaked.

“Say that you believe I was the first one Imperiusing you.” Narcissa opened her mouth for a reply, but he shook his head and went on, “It’s all right, Cissa. It’s going to be all right. I know what I’m doing.”

It didn’t happen too often, but in these minutes, even Abraxas was pretty speechless. Narcissa’s main sentiment was nervous anxiety – Severus was right, time was of the essence, though she was terrified by the idea of Lucius in the hand of some Aurors. She tried to get her head clear. Voldemort was gone – she wanted to assume for now that this was true. Everyone connected to him would be called to account for their doings. Just in how much danger was Lucius? Could he be incriminated? Yes, she decided without hesitating. Knowing these rabid dogs from the Dark Order, they wouldn’t falter for a second dragging anyone with them! Even if there were no innocent eye witnesses, his buddies would snitch on him if they could gain anything by it.

“Severus – is it really sure? Are you dead sure that it’s true?”

He nodded with a strangely beaten move. They quickly consulted what to do; Severus produced some tiny pills with an antidote for Veritaserum and gave it to Lucius. “Take one in the moment when you enter the Ministry. Keep an eye on your watch, the effect lasts for three hours, no more. Take another if you’re not out yet.”

She marvelled at him. “You – you’re sure they work?”

“Absolutely sure. I developed and tested them myself.” She smiled and embraced him quickly, and in utter embarrassment, he murmured, “Please, don’t make such a fuss, Cissa.”

“You’re – you’re the best, Savvy! – Lucius, are you all right? – Abraxas – please, be so good and don your most impressive robes. And your Order of Merlin. You’ll accompany Lucius – please!”

Abraxas obeyed and vanished to get dressed, and so did Lucius. They were ready in less than five minutes and after one last, fierce embrace, Narcissa let her husband go and swore she’d follow in a few minutes, after fixing Draco, and then they were gone already. She was paralysed with confusion. On the one hand – he was vanquished?! This was too good to be true! On the other hand – what if they didn’t buy in Lucius’ ad lib story? What if – could they imprison him?! What sorts of crime could he possibly be linked to, and what punishment was in store for these?

She gazed at Severus, realising that he was still there. “What are you doing here – shouldn’t you go to the Ministry, too? What if –”

“It doesn’t matter, Cissa.”

She was too distressed to wonder why he looked so strange, and cried, “Of course, you must! These bastards will give you away, and the Ministry –”

“I needn’t do that, Cissa…”

“So – so you did it?” she cried, overwhelmed. He’d killed him! Her little Savvy – had managed to kill the mightiest Dark wizard of their time! “Oh, I knew you’d make it!”

“No, Cissa, you’ve got that wrong. I had nothing to do with it.”

That admission didn’t stop her from jubilating. “He’s gone… He’s gone! We’re – we’re free, Savvy! God! Now if Lucius can go free, this will go down in history as Liberation Day, it’ll – how could that happen, anyway? Oh, and I told you guys that he was not immortal!”

He turned away with a weak shrug.

Narcissa followed him. “But what happened?”

“I have no idea how it happened. Or perhaps I do, he – he tried to kill the kid, you know, and… and…”

Again, he turned his head away, and very jerkily so; Narcissa got a sudden notion what was bothering him so much. If Voldemort had managed to get to the Potter boy, he must have got past the boy’s parents for a start… Little Lily Evans –

“Is she – has something happened to Lily?”

“She is dead, of course,” he said bitterly, jerking his head around to scowl at her, looking defiant. “Figure out why she is dead, and He is dead, and only the boy lives, Cissa!”

She didn’t know what to say, although she thought she understood. If Lily Potter had – had sacrificed herself for the child, the boy was untouchable. This was Ancient Magic, she had indeed thought of this possibility back then when learning that Voldemort meant to spare the mother but murder the child. But in all truth – she hadn’t expected that the most sodding powerful wizard in the world could fall because of such an error. How could someone become so powerful, and forget the most basic magic in between?! “Bless her,” she whispered, reaching out for her friend’s hand and pressing it briefly. “She’s saved us all!”

“Yes… I reckon she’s saved everyone but herself…”

His hair covered his face, only his nose stuck out. Narcissa squeezed his hand once more, but now he twitched back.

“What about the boy?”

“He’s alive… Dumbledore will take care of him. I… I –” He shuddered and Narcissa was terrified looking into this face, it was like looking at a complete stranger. His face was mask-like, only his eyes looked like brimming over. He held her gaze for a second, then broke away and headed for the door. “I – I think I’ve got to leave, and so have you, Narcissa. Especially today, a young mother with her baby in her arms will work miracles. Lucius needs you now.”

She got up. “Yes! Yes… And you?”

“We’ll see… Good bye, Cissa.” And he marched out without further ado. She watched after him for a moment, composed herself and went over to Draco’s room. He was sound asleep; she stood in front of his cot and looked at him. A silky strand was curling in the middle of his forehead; one of his chubby fists before his tiny nose, the epitome of peacefulness and innocence… Had Lily Evans truly given her life for her son? Possibly. Yes. Every mother would do the same if she got the chance. Narcissa would have given her life at once if that meant that she could save Draco’s.

She summoned a white romper suit and carefully lifted the child out of the cot, trying not to wake him up while changing his clothes. She wrapped him up in a woollen blanket, pressed him to her chest and left for the Ministry, too. She made a little detour though, Apparating to the house of the Goyle family. She had to ring three times before Norma Goyle would finally open, shaky and pale. Graham had sustained the same fit like Lucius – Merlin, Narcissa should have asked Savvy what he had done to stop Lucius’ pain. She swiftly related to Norma what she had heard, and urged her to find some soothing potion and to take Graham to the Ministry, too.

Her next way lead her to Magna Timor, Rodolphus’ and Bella’s house. Bella had managed to master the searing pain in their wrists already, but was a nervous wreck otherwise. Narcissa didn’t have the time to fuss; she produced her wand and aimed it at her sister’s back. “Imperio! – Goodness! Now, Rodolphus, get your act together and turn yourself in, all three of you. He – he – is gone. I can’t explain it now, all right? Just go, before Bella manages to throw off the curse. I’ve got to see after Lucius.”

Not fifteen minutes later, she had found Abraxas, sitting and waiting in one of the Ministry’s long corridors. Lucius was interviewed by some exhausted Auror doing the night shift; Narcissa and his father adjusted their own testimonies, just in case. Suddenly, two Ministry wizards jogged along the corridor, shooting them some perplexed glances and crying in passing, “It’s over! The war’s over!”

They were followed by others; in less than half an hour, the entire Ministry staff appeared to have shown up, exhilarated with the happy news. Someone came over to them, an elderly gentleman in purple robes, who had forgotten to take off his night cap. “How can I help you on this joyous day, Ma’am?”

Narcissa had adapted an expression of anxiety mixed with happiness. “My husband – but your colleague is already helping him, I guess – he’s had some sort of shock – my father-in-law and I figured he might have been under the influence of an Imperius Curse, so when he awoke, we thought it safest to bring him here… But is it true? Is it really over? We have nothing to fear?”

The old wizard gave her a radiant smile, “Yes, little lady, there is nothing more to fear! But tell me – you’re one of Cygnus Black’s daughters, aren’t you?”

She feigned modest surprise. “You know my father?”

“Indeed I do! Which one are you? I always mixed up the names of you three… Narcissa, right? I am Mr Withers, perhaps you’ll remember me?”

No, she hadn’t got a clue, but that didn’t matter. “Mr Withers! Of course! Now that you – please, Sir – would you be so kind and look after my husband?” She rocked the sleeping baby in her arms, bringing him to the attention of the old wizard. “We were so – so shocked! I’d like to make sure he is all right, you see…”

“Of course, my dear! Cygnus’ daughter, look at that… Come, we’ll have a look together. He’ll be pleased to know that his wife and – son or daughter?”

“Son, Mr Withers, Sir. This is our little Draco!” She presented him the child with a proud smile; knowing how irresistible he was, and counting on it. He looked like a cherub.

“Lovely! Just like his mother! Just come with me, dear, we’ll sort out whatever it is with your husband in no time at all. The paperwork can be finished later. The little one here needs his cradle – and you ought to return home and celebrate!”

*****

Useful Links: previous chapter, next chapter, Dramatis Personae

II.12. - Letters From Old Friends

Just give me a reason, some kind of sign. I need a miracle to help me this time. I heard what you said and I feel the same, I know in my heart that I’ll have to change. How did we get to be this far apart…I want to be with you, have something to share. I want to be here. I’m not there. Even the stars shine brighter tonight – nothing’s impossible. I still believe in love at first sight. Nothing’s impossible.

DEPECHE MODE

“I’ll expect your treatises on the Malchut Friday at the latest.” He looked down in the blank faces of the children, wondering if they had listened to a single word he had said. So far, he didn’t get that impression, really. “Two foot. And before any of you thinks he can be smarter than me – if you write less than eight words per line, I’ll make it six foot.”

He heard a couple of groans and sighs, confirming that at least now, they were listening. Or some of them. He squinted at his list, looking for the name of this jackass in the last row. “Please, could you repeat what you are supposed to do, Mr Brent?”

The kid next to the one he had meant, stirred and said in a meagre, but eager voice, “Sir, two foot on the Malchut, each line eight words or more, until Friday, Sir!”

Severus goggled at the weird kid for a second. He saw the matchbox haircut, the unnaturally straight posture, the hollow zeal, and he knew without taking another look that young Brent – the real one – had a Muggle father in the Muggle forces, and how he was the first in his family ever showing traces of magic, and how his Muggle mother never knew what to answer when someone asked her to which school she had sent her son…

“Yes, that’s right,” Severus gnarled, shooting Mr Brent’s neighbour a filthy glance, but this one was too busy staring out of the window to take much notice. “You can go now.”

That they had heard, the little buggers. They were out in less than thirty seconds, even the dreamy neighbour of the eager Mr Brent. Severus slouched down in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. This had been his fourth performance as a teacher now, and if there was one profession he could safely rule out from his eligible-jobs-list, it must surely be this. He couldn’t remember to have ever sucked so big time, at anything. He was no teacher, absolutely not, and he couldn’t imagine for the life of his what Professor Sprout had tried to tell him, at his first evening in the staff room, when stating with glowing eyes that teaching was ‘the most rewarding profession in the whole wide world!’

He tried to remember if his own classmates had been only half as witless and cumbersome as the lot he saw dawdling through this classroom now. Yeah, all right, they had been. Most people were dunderheads, it was as simple as that. But Arithmancy wasn’t mandatory! The students actually chose to have it. Was it too much to ask that they showed a minimum of enthusiasm, or interest, in a subject they had personally selected?!

This was a fascinating subject, and in his very first lesson, he had held a passionate speech on the amazing possibilities of well-conceived Arithmancy, in front of a bunch of supremely disinterested Sixth Years. In his second lesson, he had tried it with a sprinkle of humour here and there. Exactly one student had laughed – and that one was a terrible sycophant – none of the others had even heard him. Yesterday, he had given ‘strict’ a shot, but nobody appeared to have taken him any seriously. And today? Today he felt as if he had already given up.

“You don’t look too happy, Severus,” old Sluggy welcomed him with a genial giggle and a pat on the shoulder when he sat down next to him for lunch.

“Is it really that obvious,” he snarled.

“Why on earth did you become a teacher, boy? Could have told you that this isn’t for you… But if it was your good mother’s last wish…”

Severus goggled at him. “Pardon?”

Slughorn’s cheeks coloured. “Oh, you know, Dumbledore told me. He said you don’t like to talk about it, and I – couldn’t hold my tongue, could I…”

“That’s all right,” Severus croaked, relieved, and shoved a load of potatoes into his mouth. His mother’s last wish?! What the hell had Dumbledore been thinking?! And wouldn’t it have been better to inform him, Severus, of such things?! Well, he could ask him that tonight! And for something else… For that he’d have to ask him, too.

He had spent the whole last night sitting at his desk in complete darkness. He had gnawed on his quill and deliberated every single word, knowing that he couldn’t scratch out anything, to write this one letter that Dumbledore would have to pass on for him. Hopefully. He couldn’t have written and looked at it, too great was his fear that the Dark Lord would manage to overcome his defences, see, read Severus’ begging for forgiveness, his excuses, his animate gratefulness for Lily’s help after his mother’s death, and his vow to set things right again. ‘When you have seen me do all in my power, and more, to make up to you, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me at last,’ he had scribbled on the parchment, feeling his way in the dark with his fingertips.

At first, he had merely wanted to say thanks for her kindness, for delivering the message. Then he had realised that by then, she must know that the Dark Lord had singled out her son to be murdered, had singled her out to die, too, because of something he, her friend of childhood days, had said. So he had begun his letter by addressing this point. What could he say? What excuses could he possibly make? How was he supposed to reason that his fancy for the Dark Arts, the fact that the Death Eaters had accepted, even respected him in their rows just like he was, how these trivialities had led to her death sentence? He couldn’t, but he had tried nevertheless.

“Please, Sir, give this to her,” he muttered when pushing the parchment roll into Dumbledore’s hand that evening; he looked at his feet in embarrassment. “To Lily.”

“What is this, Severus?” the Headmaster asked, his voice honed with suspicion.

“An apology, and thanks.”

He still didn’t dare to look over, feeling Dumbledore’s eyes lingering on him. This one nodded at last and put the parchment away. “I have heard that Regulus Black disappeared. Did your master have your hands in this?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Lucius mentioned that Narcissa is quite worried for her cousin, and his parents appear to be out of themselves.”

“Does Regulus have a reason to escape from his master?”

Severus shrugged. “No specific reason I had heard of… But – if you’d want me to make a guess, I’d say that Regulus has been given a mission that he couldn’t fulfil, and therefore ran away.”

“What makes you say so?”

“He… Regulus… He – he doesn’t fit in there. I’ve never understood why he joined in the first place.”

Dumbledore sneered. “So what do you fathom why so many young wizards join the Death Eaters after all?”

Severus looked blankly, wondering if the question was meant seriously. “Sir?”

“More concretely – why did you join them, Severus? You see, I was astonished when realising that you were one of Lord Voldemort’s men. In my opinion then, you didn’t – fit in, you say – there, either.”

“I’ve got to find the place yet where I fit in, Headmaster,” he said sarcastically and curled his lip.

“Why, I had hoped you might feel at home here in Hogwarts. How was your first week?”

“Disastrous.”

Dumbledore grinned. “That’s what I imagine, oh yes. It takes a while to settle in – find one’s personal style of teaching – accustom to the students…”

“Sir, I am grateful that you gave me this chance to seemingly continue serving the Dark Lord, but if there is one thing for sure – I’m not going to accustom to the students, not in a thousand years.”

“Severus, Severus… Not everyone – no, as a matter of fact only very, very few students – can boast such talents as you showed in your youth already. Or Lily Potter. Or Narcissa Malfoy. I am convinced though that you’ll come to like the job in the end. Just think of it, Severus – you can teach these young minds, it is in your hands to make them see the true beauty of your subject, you can infect them –”

“With the Morose Measles?” Severus suggested dryly.

Dumbledore raised a disapproving brow. “With the enthusiasm that you had yourself.”

The enthusiasm he had had himself, ph! His enthusiasm hadn’t been incited by some teacher! The only thing old Horace Slughorn had ever incited in him was a fleeting fondness for butter fudge toffees! If anyone had had some impact on his scholarly fever, that would have been Damocles Belby, Narcissa and Lucius. But neither of them would have born with fools! And fools were these kids that he was supposed to teach! Some might be gifted but didn’t give a damn and childishly wasted their natural skills, others might have merited a certain degree of mediocrity if they had strained just a little bit, and most of them were simply, plainly and irredeemably stupid.

That conclusion seemed all the more justified when he sat down to assess the Seventh Years’ essays. These students were just two or three years younger than he, but they had less of a clue of Arithmancy than he had had in his second year! Here – Jake Thruston wrote ‘so it is fair to claim that the number 12 receives its magical properties mainly because of the zodiac’. Severus had never heard such nonsense! Or Jessica Smythe – ‘the importance of the number twelve is derived from it being the product of the first four prime numbers’. One student had multiplied 12 and 93 and got 1111…?! What the – how had these students ever made it to NEWT level?!

He had just scribbled the forth ‘D’ in a row when he heard a peck on the window. He recognised the majestic eagle owl at once; it was Freia, Narcissa’s favourite, carrying a middle-sized package and a letter. The package turned out to be a slender book with an engraved snake-skin cover, entitled ‘Rhetoric and Didactic – from Δράκων to Machiavelli’. He smiled and unfolded the letter.

‘Dear Savvy,’ she wrote in her elegant, even hand. ‘The first week in Hogwarts is, as I recall, always the worst. I hope you are doing well nonetheless, and that your marvellous talent isn’t entirely wasted after all. Lucius sends you, I may quote, ‘the best wishes and thumbscrews for the truculent’. And both of us send you the book, trusting that it might be of some use for you in your new position.

I was very sorry that we didn’t get the chance to celebrate your fantastic graduation – I am so proud to call you my friend, Severus, and so is Lucius. I can only hope that we’ll have an opportunity to make up for this later, at a better time, all of us together, that you’re not going to forget your friends now that you’ve found yourself this fabulous position. No, seriously – I hope nothing but the best for you. And that you’ll seize your first free weekend for a visit to Malfoy Manor.

Our little angel Draco has started to crawl last week, and he is already a true expert on the field. I do practically nothing else but scamper after my sweet darling, and try to prevent him from bumping against the furniture. He has come to be very attached to the cat, but so far, it is an unrequited love, because poor Emma clearly isn’t half as keen on him as he is on her. He’ll grow on her eventually, I know, because he is just too adorable. You should see (and you will, I put some photos into the book, as you might already have noticed) Lucius looking at his son. He is in awe, and I’m not exaggerating here, sometimes I think he’s more awed than even I am.

My dearest, dearest Savvy, I can only imagine that you have more urgent business to attend than reading this letter, so I’ll finish for now. Think of us, as we think of you – all the best and all our love – Narcissa ’

His lips had twisted into a smile while reading. Yes, he didn’t doubt Narcissa’s sincerity in her well-wishing, but he also saw how slyly she had woven in all the invocations of their old friendship. She didn’t believe in the Dark Lord’s immortality, she believed he could be beaten, and she was the only person except Dumbledore and Lily who did have an inkling what Severus truly had had in mind when accepting this job. Would she have told Lucius? Possibly not. Narcissa was a very careful creature, and she knew for a fact that Lucius’ capacity for Occlumency was limited. Did she want the Dark Lord gone? Oh yes, certainly. Did she want him gone, without seeing her husband go to Azkaban? That was even more certain.

He opened the book and found the photos. The first one depicted an angelic baby crawling towards the camera with a wild grin on the tiny face. On the second picture, Lucius was playing gee-gees with the child, and Narcissa indeed hadn’t exaggerated. Severus had never seen his friend with such an enraptured expression. He smirked fondly; Lucius’ worries appeared to have been unfounded after all. For all the picture showed, Lucius made a patent father, and the kid in turn seemed to be exceedingly fond of his dad. The last photo showed the whole little family, but it was clearly a snap shot. Narcissa and Lucius wore magnificent robes, the little boy was clad in an expensive-looking romper suit, everyone was groomed at their best, and in the background there was the leather armchair that could be seen on every painted family portrait of the respective Malfoys since 1645. Someone, perhaps Abraxas, had taken the photo in the break of a painting session, probably, and belying their dignified apparel, Lucius and Narcissa were tussling on the shiny parquet floor, little Draco between them clearly having the time of his life. All three were laughing and gasping.

Severus thought he knew what was going through Narcissa’s head, sending him these pictures, and such subtle entreaties. ‘Forget us not – think of us, all of us together in better times…’ He also believed that she was serious – she wanted him to succeed in protecting Lily, for once because she wasn’t wholly indifferent about Lily either, and then because Lucius, like many other Death Eaters, did believe that it might be true that Lily Evans’ child could somehow be the means of the Dark Lord’s undoing. Both Narcissa and Lucius wanted their freedom back – but they were also aware that without the Dark Lord, Lucius might be in trouble, too.

He had been racking his brains what he could do, for Lily just like for the Malfoys. It seemed impossible that Lucius and Lily came through this unscathed… Dumbledore had asked him the same, at the evening of the alleged ‘job interview’. ‘Are you truly ready to betray your friends, Severus?’

No, he wasn’t. He had answered that knowing Narcissa and Lucius, the latter would be prepared in any case; Lucius had always been more than capable to look after himself, and when the Dark Lord was defeated tomorrow, Lucius would know what to do. Dumbledore hadn’t commented on this statement, but he probably thought the same like Severus himself – that this was mainly wishful thinking. Lucius was far too high up in the Death Eater chain of command to go unnoticed in the so far unlikely case that it all came down. So far, he had been careful; Severus wasn’t aware that Lucius could directly be connected to anything, simply because his great value for the Dark Lord consisted, among other advantages, in the fact that Lucius Malfoy was irreproachably respectable, a young gentleman from a family of good standing – the best one could have – and everyone was fairly wild to have him as an addition for their dinner parties.

‘Forget us not…’ He was slightly angry with Narcissa. What did she expect from him, eh? What did she think he could do for her husband? Who was the Dark Lord’s right hand after all?! But he also remembered that he had given her his word – their ways would not part, he wouldn’t allow it. So what could he do?

He returned to mark the papers on his desk, after putting the happy-family photo at his chest of drawers, next to a very old picture of his mother. – Another ‘D’, a ‘T’ – actually, there was no letter appropriate for this heap of dragon dung – and when he had already lost his last bits of hope in them, two ‘As’, at last. He checked his watch, finding that it was already pushing three o’clock in the morning, and conjuring a glass, he poured himself a scotch soda to go to sleep.

There was a knock on the door, making him give a start. “Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore entered with a strange expression. “I’m not waking you up? Good, good… I have delivered your note, Severus –”

He thought his heart would just stop beating, and he forced himself to mouth, “Thanks…”

“And I was asked to deliver the reply as well.”

Severus stared at him, feeling utterly torn. The greater half of him wanted to have that reply at once, read it, devour it. Another part of him was scared of the contents though, and his caution warned him that he must not read it by all means, it was too dangerous, it might endanger his entire mission, it –

Dumbledore read his thoughts on the subjects, no Legilimency needed. “I told her that a written answer would not do, Severus. There you go, and good night.” He handed him a tiny, folded note, and left with a curt nod.

He didn’t dare looking at the piece of paper in his hand. What had Dumbledore meant, what… But the note began to move in his hand, turning warmer, and shooting it a bewildered gaze after all, he saw the parchment unfold itself magically. It was empty – his stomach was curling – and in the next second, he heard her – Lily’s – warm, wonderful voice.

“Sev,” it began, quavering gently, and his pulse quickened with hearing that name he hadn’t heard her say for so long. “I got your letter, and I – I – what do you expect me to say now, Sev? For a start – I am very happy that you seem to have realised at last what you are doing. Honestly, I am very, very happy – grateful – relieved, thinking that we’re back on the same side. I wish you all luck, I truly do, you know that. But as for my forgiveness, that you demanded so urgently… I don’t know, Sev. There’s been so much… I hope we’ll have an opportunity to talk, about all this, about the past. Let us see about forgiveness then, all right? I’m not saying this to hurt you, or because I doubted your sincerity. But we’ve always been honest with each other, were we not, Sev, and to be very honest with you now as well – I have laid my baby down to sleep tonight, knowing he is supposed to die, knowing he is supposed to die because you wanted to distinguish yourself. I can’t say I forgive you in this moment and mean it with all my heart. Can you understand that? But I want you to know one thing – if I ever feel differently, I will tell you at once, and I will mean every word of it then. God speed you, Sev, I’ll be thinking of you.”

The tiny piece of parchment in his hand went up in a single blue flame. He felt his knees going weak and he staggered to grab the desk for support, slowly sinking to the floor. Her voice still ringing in his ears, his fists clenched, he made no effort to keep the tears at bay, tears of relief, tears of movement, tears of hurt, of fear, of disappointment. But most of all, it were tears of hope. He would manage this, he would, and he would earn Lily’s forgiveness after all these years. They’d be friends again once all this was over.

*****

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II.11. - Regulus' Remorse

Cave tibi a cane muto et aqua silenti.

WALTHER – Proverbia Sententiaeque*

There was another other young Death Eater who felt thoroughly dissatisfied with the situation he was in. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t say. Yes, he had been fascinated with the Dark Arts. Yes, he had dreamt of joining the Dark Order and prove himself – prove that he wasn’t the little, soft fool that everyone was taking him for. He had wanted to step out of the shadow of his elder brother, be truly respected by his cousins… But the prize had been too high.

It hadn’t taken him long to realise that he wasn’t cut out to be a killer. He really, really wasn’t. He wasn’t like Bellatrix – he didn’t find any pleasure at all in tormenting helpless victims. He wasn’t like his cousin-in-law Lucius either – he couldn’t be indifferent, so coldly efficient and single-minded. He winced back every time when he witnessed torture and death; in fact, it got only worse the more often he saw it. Those poor people, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers or not! When they were begging for mercy – pleaded for their lives – for their loved ones… It was terrible! It gave him nightmares, made him nauseated and sympathetic in a way that he hadn’t believed to have in himself.

Regulus Black was underestimated by anyone but his own mother. Nobody had ever seen him for real. He was immensely talented, but also suffered from a sort of stage-fright. He was clever and sly, but with a face like his – good-humoured, cheerful, harmless – nobody would believe it. For almost twenty years, he had cursed his bad luck, but lately, he had come to appreciate those apparent drawbacks. Nobody kept an eye on you when they thought you were an idiot.

He had found out some things… The Dark Lord was said to be immortal, and he had always wondered if that could be true, and if it was true – how the hell had he brought it about? Well, he thought he had got a clue now. In the extensive College library, he had come across an ancient tome, mentioning in passing what a Horcrux was… And Regulus had counted two and two together when he had heard from Kreacher… Poor, poor Kreacher… And he, Regulus, had given him to the Dark Lord like a lamb for slaughter!

He had found the spot that the elf had described, and managed to enter that cave, but after many attempts, he had to give up. This was no task that could be mastered by a single person. He had to give up and return home, racking his brains for two days and nights. Whom could he let into the secret? He had no true friends outside of the Dark Order, and if he had, he wouldn’t want to endanger them. The same was true for his parents. Where to find someone he could trust enough, and whose life he could bring in such peril? Kreacher had merely survived because he was a house-elf… But asking him was out of the question. The poor sod had suffered enough.

The Dark Lord… How could he have been so – so stupid to fall for his shit?! To disprove his wretched brother?! Well, maybe Sirius had been right all along, because he was a goddamned idiot! The first Muggle he had killed to show that he was capable of it, the second one he had killed to silence the sceptics, but number three had already been killed merely because he had been too frigging cowardly not to do it! That man – perhaps he had had a family? A wife? A kid? A whole lot of kids? Undoubtedly, he had had a mother, and Regulus knew about mothers. His own might rage and rumble because of Sirius, still she was totally heartbroken since he had left. How bad would she feel if he was murdered?! By some bastard who was just too much of a chicken, like Regulus?! For absolutely nothing?!

He had murdered three human beings, and he couldn’t forgive himself for it. They had been Muggles, all right, but that didn’t make them any less human! And he had slain them, one little incantation and woosh, they had dropped dead, like flies in autumn, like dead leaves from a tree –

He wasn’t yet twenty, and already he had messed up his entire life. Had ruined it beyond repair – he couldn’t make those Muggles alive again. But there was something he could do… He… – But this was too big for him. Everything anyone had ever said about him was totally true. He was a coward, he was weak and foolish, and silly, and an utter and complete failure!

But after a while, he calmed down again, enough anyway to contemplate the mess he was in. Fact number one was: he had reached the end of the line. He couldn’t do this any more. Fact number two: this meant his end. He’d be killed like a rabid dog. Fact number three: he alone knew where the Dark Lord had hidden this certain something, which must be so terribly important that he had taken a dozen security measures. Fact number four: apart from all the other atrocities, a child had been sought out to be murdered, and the parents considered to be just collateral damages – and that child was said to have the power of vanquishing the Dark Lord…

And then there was the wide field of guesswork. Firstly – the likeliest cause for the master’s alleged immortality was that he had crafted a Horcrux. It was the only thing Regulus had ever heard of that could make someone ‘immortal’. Or had Snape, the ingenious potioneer, invented some potion with the same effect? Snape had risen high in the Dark Lord’s favour, and very quickly so – could the reason be… No. No, Snape might be the best potion-maker he had ever seen, but it was nigh impossible that he should have invented such a thing, before the age of twenty-two. No…

Secondly – if his life was forfeited anyway, he could just as well use the rest of it for something useful, something good. He could help to save that little boy, perhaps… He could help saving the lives of many people. Without the Dark Lord, the others wouldn’t dare to act like they did now…

Thirdly, and in this context possibly most important – if that item that Kreacher had helped to hide was so important, it might well be that Horcrux, and if it was that Horcrux, it could be destroyed, and if it was destroyed, the Dark Lord was a mere mortal again and could be killed. He’d be careless, because he’d think nothing could happen to him anyway, he’d be injured, and killed – and for once in his life, Regulus Armando Black would finally have achieved something good.

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* Beware of still waters and silent dogs.

*****

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II.10. - The Last Straw

Life is, in fact, a battle. Evil is insolent and strong: beauty enchanting but rare; goodness very apt to be weak; folly very apt to be defiant; wickedness to carry the day; imbeciles to be in great places, people of sense in small, and mankind generally unhappy. But the world as it stands is no illusion, no phantasm, no evil dream of a night; we wake up to it again for ever and ever; we can neither forget it nor deny it nor dispense with it.

HENRY JAMES

He had managed to slip a message into his pursuit’s pocket, but he didn’t know if this one had found and read it, or if he had, whether he would follow the call. It wasn’t just that. He was even less sure if he hadn’t been followed by someone, or if he had got himself into a neat trap set up by Dumbledore, or if the old man wouldn’t solve the problem by killing his observer straight away. He knew which wizard Severus Snape had called his master for more than two years now.

But it all didn’t matter, nothing of this really mattered, if only… Yes, if only he’d let Severus live long enough to say what he had come for. He was almost mad with fear, but it wasn’t for his own life – if he had had a nerve to think about it, he would have come to wonder if he had ever feared for his life… He had been in lethal danger a number of times, but in the moments itself, he hadn’t felt anything. All the close moments when escaping from the Aurors, seeing the green jet of light fly past him only inches away, fleeing from Dumbledore himself… All these moments had been like the very first time when he had glimpsed around a corner, only to see that he was facing his own end there. He had instantly known that it was over, every time he had firmly believed that, and he had accepted it every time, too, only going on for the firm will to not go down without a good fight. Only later, the fury would come, the shock… But it was good that he had this time delay in his solar plexus – it helped him keep his cold blood – perhaps it was this lack of fear in crucial moments that had repeatedly saved his ass in the end.

This time was different. He had to talk to Dumbledore before it was over – no matter what was to come, Dumbledore must hear him out – he dreaded to think what would happen if he didn’t last long enough to say it all. He was eaten up with breathless horror that he might fail, shaking as much on the inside as the tempest that was tossing and turning him along on that hilltop.

Suddenly, a blinding ray of light flashed over the dark, stormy sky, pushing him down and forcing his wand away. “Don’t kill me!” he shouted.

“That was not my intention. Well? Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”

Severus got to his knees showing his empty hands, and cried against the gust, “No – no message – I’m here on my own account!”

Anxiously, he looked up into the little he could see of the Headmaster’s face. He was clenching his hands, scared that he would say the wrong thing, that Dumbledore would not believe, or not care, or…

“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”

“The – the prophecy – the prediction… Trelawney –” His panic put out his last bit of sense; the more he panicked, the less he could speak, and the less he could properly communicate to Dumbledore, the more his panic grew.

“Ah, yes… How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything… Everything I heard,” he panted, almost glad that this point was out in the open. “That is why… It is for that reason…” Dumbledore raised a brow, and Severus almost choked on the words. “He thinks it means Lily Evans!”

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July,” Dumbledore said coldly, and Severus thought he had only got one chance left.

“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son! He is going to hunt her down – kill them all –”

Again, a cold sneer marred the wizened face. “If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”

The man didn’t understand – why wouldn’t he understand… “I have – I have asked him –”

“You disgust me. You do not care then about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die as long as you have what you want?”

Severus looked up to him, incapable to put any of the things rushing through his head in words… As if Lily would have him under any circumstances! As if Lily would step aside, watching her kid being murdered! Everyone kept on saying oh-how-great Dumbledore was, what a delightful human being – but even the Dark Lord had reacted with more sympathy when Severus had scraped together all the courage he could ever possess and begged for Lily’s life. What did the old crackpot think that Severus had come here for?! Had he even understood him?

“Hide them all, then! Keep her – them – safe! Please!”

“And what will you give me in return, Severus?”

He thought that it was now he who didn’t understand. “In – in return…” he muttered blankly. Maybe it was the realisation that Albus Dumbledore was just a man after all that preoccupied Severus most in this moment. Do ut des*, it was the way of the world, and also Dumbledore’s, clearly. Not even the famous, benign old warlock would want to save a life for the mere sake of it. Swallowing with the bitter taste in his mouth, he realised that he still hadn’t given an answer. “Anything.”

Of course. If he could save them – if he could somehow keep the blood of these people off his hands – he didn’t care how much other blood he’d have to shed to achieve that. It was obvious, wasn’t it, what the old man wanted. He’d demand Severus to kill the Dark Lord, right? He had spent many a night in the last two months, ever since talking to Narcissa about the same topic, contemplating her suggestion. He did not doubt that she was serious, he knew her well enough for that. But unlike her, he did believe in the Dark Lord’s immortality, and therefore considered her plan to be impotent. Perhaps Dumbledore would have an idea how to bypass that snag. And if not – well, if he could elicit that promise from Dumbledore – that the old wizard would personally see to Lily’s safety – in that case Severus didn’t mind dying during the attempt to fulfil his part of the bargain.

Dumbledore slowly pointed his wand at the young man on the ground, blinding him with the light beam from the tip. Severus thought he knew what he was doing, but he let him, feeling an odd sort of peace. Yes, if the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were at their merry feud, and Severus, the other Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s own order folks were mere mercenaries, Severus would always give his allegiance to the highest bidder. And this was whoever guaranteed the life and well-being of Lily Evans. He’d die – no doubt, Dumbledore was going to ask him for the same like Narcissa had – and he’d die in the pursuit of it. Well, it didn’t matter. It really didn’t matter, as long as Lily was safe.

“Sir, I’m a great Occlumens, though I say it myself. Please, I ask you to use Veritase-”

“I have seen all I need to see,” was the curt reply and the glaring light turned softer. “I take it Lord Voldemort still craves for a spy in Hogwarts, does he?”

Severus nodded. “Yes, Sir. He wants me to take that position if I can.”

“Send me an application, Severus. I think it’s time your master gets his wish fulfilled. Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt if you hinted that you had infected my Arithmancy teacher with the Morose Measles. You will return to your master and spin him a tale. You know better what might work than I do – tell him how you had persuaded me of your changing allegiance, and being the old crackpot that I am, I believed you. Something like that.”

Severus nodded once again. “You – you’ll keep her safe. Them safe. You’ll look after Lily and her kid, yes?”

Dumbledore nodded, too. “I’ll do what I can, yes. Tell me… Do you know the name? Do you know how Lily Potter’s child is called?”

“Harry,” he whispered, “he is called Harry.”

“And do you believe in what the prophecy said?”

He couldn’t but give a beaten chuckle. “No,” he said with emphasis, “I certainly don’t. But it doesn’t matter what I believe. He thinks it’s true.”

“Then he’s less high-handed after all than I had come to believe.”

“So – you believe it’s true, too?”

“I believe that Lord Voldemort cannot be killed like that, regardless how mighty the wizard, or how Dark the spell, and you should better believe that, too, and forward this message to whomever it may concern.” Dumbledore shot him a poignant glance. “But I also believe that little Harry Potter may well be the only chance we’ve got.”

“I thought – I take it… You don’t want me to kill him, then?” Severus asked in genuine bafflement.

“I don’t want you to kill anybody and tear your soul apart. Most of all, I don’t want you to do anything that could make him doubt you. Lord Voldemort desired a spy in my ranks – I am delighted to have one in his. You can do so much more for your old friend by providing us with information, than in an useless act of ill-conceived heroics, that won’t lead anywhere, anyway. He cannot be undone like that.”

“I… I see…” he murmured, though truth was that he didn’t comprehend anything at all.

“It’s getting late. Send me your papers as soon as you can, and wait for my answer. Oh – and one more thing… Welcome, Severus. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, and you have chosen the right way after all. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Not eight hours after this meeting, and absolutely unwitting that this one had taken place to begin with, Lily Potter was once more the object of a conversation between two other, and just as unlikely people. Old Tobias Snape had woken up with a bad hangover, and while still trying to get his act together and his body off the couch, he remembered two or three things. Firstly – his wife had died the previous Wednesday. Secondly – he’d have to remember to somehow get hold of his wretched son to tell him that his mother was dead. Thirdly – last night in the pub, an idea had darted through his head how he could bring that about. What had he been thinking though…? He remembered after his third cup of coffee, and after the sixth he set out to pursue his plan.

He sought and found the house of the Evans people. He was fairly sure that their kid had been in the same school like his kid, meaning that she was a witch, too, meaning she had other means of communication than Tobias had himself. His son didn’t deign to have a telephone, or a postal address than one could actually send a letter to by the Royal Mail! Disgruntled by the mere thought of all his son did not have, he rang at the door and explained the rather bewildered Mrs Evans that he hoped she could be of help in conveying his son the urgent message.

Of course, Rosy Evans agreed at once – not for the sake of the terrible man before her, but because of the fond memories she had of this one’s son. She instantly contacted her daughter, and this one… This one became very still for a moment. Mrs Snape was dead… She couldn’t have accounted for it, but she was overcome with unaccountable grief. She had lost so many people in the last year alone, friends, acquaintances, her parents-in-law, fellow order members – but Mrs Snape she hadn’t even seen in four of five years. Neither had she been very fond of that woman back then. Still, she was awfully upset.

When her own dad had died then, shortly before the start of their fifth year, Sev had been there for her… And now she couldn’t return the favour. She couldn’t. He… He had long burnt that bridge. But what she could do, and what she would do was inform him, of course. She looked after Harry in his cradle, told her puzzled husband that she’d be gone for half an hour, soothed his concerns about her looking so pale, and was gone.

She had never been in Haddon House, where most of the male junior years lived. On the way, she tried to breathe calmly and get her head clear. She’d tell him and that was it. She would not argue with him. She would not be sentimental or melancholic either. Just the plain facts and off she’d go –

But she didn’t come any further than into the entrance hall anyway, because there she was stopped by the stately-looking Matron. “And where do you think you’re going, Missy?”

“I’m looking for Severus Snape.” The Matron pointed at a sign forbidding ‘young ladies’ all entrance, and Lily wrought her hands. “Please, Ma’am, it’s really urgent. Can you please call for him?”

“No, I cannot.”

“Madam, please, it’s – his family – he ought to –”

“I can’t call for the young gentleman because he isn’t here, Missy!”

“Oh! And where is he?”

“He is presently sitting his Transfiguration exam, so if you don’t mean to wait for another four or five hours, I suggest you leave that urgent message with me instead.”

Lily felt numb, and meekly nodded. “Yes… Please, tell him that he ought to get in touch with his father at once – his mother, she – she died…”

The old witch mustered a mildly pitiful face. “Perhaps it is better if I merely say that Mr Snape is supposed to go home, and let his father explain –”

Lily was on the verge of saying that Sev would never listen to a single thing his father said, but she also realised that he would know what had happened as soon as hearing that he wasn’t supposed to get back to his mother, but to ‘old Toby’ instead. It couldn’t mean anything else, could it… She felt tears welling in her eyes, shrugged, pressed a ‘thank you’ through her tight lips and turned on her heels.

“And your name was…?” the Matron cried after her.

“He’ll know,” she cried back and stormed out.

So this was the chain of communication finally delivering the dreadful news. Four days after her death, Eileen Snape’s son was literally the last one to hear of it. The official investigations announced that her death had been a tragic accident; in a crowd on a subway platform, she had stumbled and fallen onto the track bed seconds before the Circle Line had arrived. But Severus didn’t believe that. Either she had jumped deliberately that morning. Or she had stumbled, and decided on the spur of the moment that getting up again, saving herself, wasn’t worth the trouble. More and more things hadn’t been worth the trouble in Eileen Snape’s life.

At first, she had stopped taking care of herself. Severus knew only from old photos how much she had changed in fact. Of course, there had never been enough money for her to go to the hairdresser, or buy herself some new clothes, but she had made ends meet for a long time. She had cut her hair herself; not very artfully, but still. She had sewn her blouses and everything else, out of cheap rags that she had found somewhere. But one day when coming home from primary school, Severus had pointed out to her that her coat was missing two buttons, and she had merely shrugged. A few days later, she still hadn’t fixed it, and the seam of her church skirt had been falling apart, but she hadn’t done anything about it either. In less than one year, most of her wardrobe had looked like this. She had worn her hair lank, indifferently tied up in an untidy tail, she had had dirt under her fingernails, and her reading glasses had been mended with a piece of Sellotape.

To be capable of buying her son the necessary school equipment for Hogwarts, she had sold all the books she had inherited from her parents. He had grown and needed new robes, so she had sold her mother’s modest wedding ring. With every bit he had grown, another item had disappeared from their house, always the magic ones only – Tobias would have gone berserk if anything of his property had gone missing, no matter how useless. And along with the books, the silver picture frames, the magic camera, the chandelier that had been in the Prince family for more than 150 years, the light had gone out of Eileen Snape. As long as Severus had constantly lived at home, she had tried still, but from the moment on when he had gone to Hogwarts, her decay had accelerated. Severus was going to be twenty-two in a few months. She had probably thought that her child was truly old enough to look after himself, and he was.

Yes, he thought grimly, he was ready. What did he still have to lose? Exactly… He had lost her once, and completely, but she was still there, and he had never fathomed how much this could mean to him. She had come to tell him – Lily herself – Lily! Despite everything, she had come in that desperate moment – some hours later, and she might have come no more. Once Dumbledore had told her that she was marked for death because of a nonsensical prophecy that he, Severus, had overheard and passed on…

He’d do it for her. He’d make it all up to her. Lily was going to live, and so was her son, and even her bloody jerk of a husband. They would live. Dumbledore had promised. But there was one more thing he had to do yet.

That night, he waited in a dark backyard, behind Tobias’ residential pub, for this one to come out. He thought he knew how to use an Avada Kedavra, but this one didn’t seem remotely appropriate. Avada Kedavra was instant, painless death. Tobias didn’t deserve ‘painless’, or quickness – his death ought to be as agonising and slow as his wife’s undoing had been. Severus had conferred with Lucius and Mulciber what curses might do instead, and the mourning about his mum’s death had been mitigated by his ferocious determination to finally pay back for everything.

When he was younger, Severus had often fantasised in painful detail how it would be to just kill his father. As a small boy, he had often resolved to simply jump at him with a knife, the next time he harassed Severus’ mum. One time he had even tried it, but Tobias hadn’t paid much attention – hadn’t even realised what his own son had been prepared to do. He had simply hurled the boy across the room and continued to beat up Eileen and scream at her that she’d ‘deserve to be burnt at the stakes’. Then the boy had come to Hogwarts, and additional to the curses he had already learnt from his mum, he had happily employed his time by mastering every single nasty jinx he had come across, and by inventing new ones, too. Every now and then, he had tried these on Tobias, but his mother wouldn’t have it, making her a bit of a hypocrite, because Eileen herself had often enough cursed her husband secretly. Had jinxed his briefs to shrink while he was wearing them, until he had to run out of the pub because of the pain. Had poisoned his booze, making him cringe with stomach aches. Had turned the tobacco in his cigarettes into dried horse dung. Severus smiled fondly with these memories. ‘You couldn’t part with him in life, Mum, I hope you’re glad to be joined in death, too!’

But Tobias didn’t show up this night, and his son was compelled to satiate his rage by hexing the obnoxious barman instead, who had never wavered in serving his old buddy Toby as many drinks as he liked and put them on the slate, just like had never shown any scruples to send a gang of thugs to their house and threaten his customer’s wife to pay the debts, or dare their retribution.

Maybe his moment for revenge would have come at last, but not three days later, he received an owl announcing that he’d be more than welcome to join the staff of Hogwarts School as soon as possible. He finished his last College Junior exams three weeks later, half a half year earlier than his peers, summa cum laude, and started as a teacher for Arithmancy in Hogwarts, for the time being. In his spare time, he tried to shadow the Potters as well as some of his fellow order members, to find out what they were going to do, to find out who the cursed traitor among Dumbledore’s men might be. He slept no more than four hours per night, and Tobias lost the last bit of significance he had ever had for his son. He was too unworthy even to be killed.

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* Do ut... This for that.

*****

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