The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 31

By Pigwidgeon37

"Another sample?“ Lucius said, quite exasperated. “Sev, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a vampire.”

“I wish I were. Maybe that would make things easier,” Severus replied glumly. “But I already took four samples of my own, so I have to ask you.”

“Why not Owen?”

“Owen is next,” Severus said, grinning. “Don’t worry, he’ll have to contribute his share. Any news on the alchemy front?”

Lucius, perching on the edge of the worktable in Severus’s now rather empty laboratory at home, shook his head. “It’s as I told you. We don’t have much. It never was of great interest to my ancestors, or so it seems. You’ll have to wait until you get back to Hogwarts.”

While disinfecting a small knife similar to a scalpel by first holding it into a flame and then dipping it into alcohol, Severus pondered this. “No,” he finally said, “I simply can’t take the risk. Formal won’t be alone next year—I told you about the assistant, didn’t I?” Lucius nodded. “It’s too risky. I don’t want Dumbledore to know, at least not now. Roll up your sleeve.”

Lucius grimaced but did as he was told. After making a small incision right under the crook of his elbow, where a vein stood out clearly under the milk-white skin, Severus held the rim of a small glass vessel under the steady trickle of red. When he had collected enough, he healed the would with a simple spell. “You know what’s worrying me even more?”

“I could think of a few hundred things,” Lucius replied, rolling down his sleeve and buttoning the cuff. “But tell me.”

“Indeed.” Severus put a glass stopper into the vial and cast a preserving spell before putting it away and perching on the table next to Lucius. “I mean, we know now that Voldemort will wait until Halloween 1981 with the really big coup. That’s reassuring, in a way. But he has that…” He paused for a moment and looked down at his feet. It seemed so base and blasphemous to even pronounce those words. “I’d almost call it an obsession. He needs to gather magical strength… it has to do with that alchemy thing…”

There was silence. “Sev,” Lucius said finally, “Don’t you think it would be better if you told me the whole story? I’m not a clairvoyant. I’ve no idea what to make of all those tidbits.”

“It’s all so… so tangled…” Severus stared out of the window, into the hazy dusk.

“Yes, I know it’s complicated, but you can’t work it all out on your own. I don’t want to sound like a bloody Gryffindor, but we are the Phoenixes, we have to do this together, exactly because it’s too much for a single person to shoulder.”

“I know!” he almost shouted. “But… I can’t really explain it… it’s different whether I betray him, or…” Severus’s voice trailed off into the semi-darkness of the room.

Lucius sighed. “You are a sentimental idiot, Sev. Try to take a step back from all those feelings and emotions. Besides, your choice is already made.”

Eyes smouldering with suppressed rage and frustration, Severus turned to look at him. “I have stepped back so far that I’m on the verge of falling, Lucius. Every day, every goddamned day. I’m not a monster, you know? I can only dissociate myself from my own feelings to a certain degree, otherwise I’ll go mad. You have Narcissa, and Owen… well, I don’t know how he does it…”

“Owen is an unfeeling brute,” Lucius observed dryly. “And neither he nor I ever had the emotional bond you have with Voldemort. For us, it’s easier. And, as you said, I have Narcissa… I’m doing this mostly for her, just in case you weren’t aware.”

A chuckle—or was it a sob?—escaped Severus’s throat. “I suspected as much. I cold only do it for myself, and that wouldn’t be worth the trouble. And I’m not enough of an idealist to do it for the world at large. What’s it to me, if they live or die? It’s just… I don’t want to see that much power in one single hand. Not if he continues down that road… he’d annihilate us all…”

“Mmmh, I guess he would…” Lucius gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Come on, Sev, let’s go to the Manor, this house has become too depressing. Or do you have to work on the blood sample now?”

“No, and to tell the truth, I’m not feeling like work right now. Maybe a drink and a talk in your library…”

“Exactly. If I ever saw anybody who badly needed a drink…” And he Disapparated, closely followed by Severus.

~~~~*~~~~

“Better?” Lucius asked.

“Hazier, and that’s definitely an advantage.”

“You should eat something, Severus,” Narcissa said, frowning at him. She had joined them in the library and was looking rather worried. “You have become fearfully thin, you know?”

“I suppose it’s the stress and all,” Severus said, rather weakly. “I simply don’t feel like eating much.”

Lucius refilled his wineglass. “All right, tell us about your worries. Maybe that helps. And, for Merlin’s sake, eat some of those canapés—they are delicious, and you won’t get completely drunk.”

“My worries… Where to begin? Last time I saw him, Voldemort told me—”

“When was that?” Narcissa interrupted.

“About two weeks ago. Why? Is that important?”

“No,” she said, “Just for me, so I get the picture.”

“Women!” Lucius muttered, rolling his eyes, and Severus snorted.

“Well, as I said, that day he told me he needed me to brew strengthening potions for him. Did you notice how skeletal he has become recently?”

“You’re one to talk,” Narcissa said, “But why doesn’t Lestrange make them? It would be easier for him to take them to Voldemort, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s exactly what he has been doing. For how long, I don’t know. But Voldemort isn’t really satisfied with what he has produced so far, and therefore wants me to step in. Power-enhancing potions, not physical strength.”

“Not satisfied?” Lucius cast him a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean? What did St. John concoct for him?”

“I have no idea. Voldemort was very vague on that subject. However, he told me that St. John was experimenting with snake venom.”

“And that’s a problem because?”

“Lucius, you really don’t have the first idea of potions, do you?” Severus said, sneering at him.

“Oh, thank you. I do, in fact, have a very good idea of potions, but snake venom doesn’t seem to go too well with the idea of strengthening, whether physical or magical.”

“Not at first sight. But that’s where the alchemy bit comes in. Did you ever hear of the ouroboros?”

“Well, yes…” Lucius said, evidently loath to admit he did not have a clue. “Vaguely. The snake that eats itself, isn’t it?”

“”That’s like saying that stars are small points of light on a black background, Malfoy. The ouroboros is an ancient magical symbol, known in practically every culture from Scandinavia to Africa, and from South America to Persia. It symbolizes—”

“Beginning and end, eternity, circle of seasons, bla bla,” Lucius interrupted him. “Yes, of course. What’s so interesting about that?”

“That’s what the Muggles think it symbolizes,” Severus retorted with a malicious grin. “Really, you surprise me, Lucius!”

Narcissa was unable to suppress a giggle at the sight of her husband’s visible embarrassment.

Severus continued, unperturbed. “As a magical emblem, it symbolizes the rite of the snake poisoning itself. It seems—or at least that’s what Voldemort told me—that nobody has yet gone through that rite successfully. Not least because it requires a lot of strength and power.”

“Ah.” Lucius nodded. “Hence the potions.”

“Exactly. And hence the one potion, made from the blood of a child that has been exposed to the Jupiter-Mars conjunction twice. The icing on the cake, so to say.”

“You mean,” Narcissa chimed in, “that this would lend him enough power to undertake the ritual?”

“Yes and no. Because, you know, Muggles might be non-magical, but they are by no means stupid. The alchemists knew that the ouroboros is a powerful symbol. And they recognized that, in order to accomplish that ritual—of course they didn’t know exactly what it was, but I suppose that traces of it have survived and made their way into their scripts… Where was I? Ah, yes. They understood that, besides the power, there was another indispensable element you need for it to be successful. And so, they tried to create that element. Most of them failed, but—”

“Not the…” Lucius swallowed. The expression on his paler-than-ever face was everything but happy. “Not the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Very astute conclusion, Lucius. Mind you, it’s merely a theory of mine, but yes, I think Voldemort will need the Stone.”

“You said most of them failed?” Narcissa, too, was sounding slightly hoarse. “Did anybody… but wait, of course! Nicolas Flamel created the Stone, didn’t he?”

Lucius nodded gravely. “Yes, but that’s not all. He was not alone, you know, my dear?”

She looked at him with furrowed brows. “No? I was sure…”

“No, Narcissa,” Severus said, “He wasn’t. Number two was Dumbledore. And that, I daresay, makes our situation quite unpleasant.”

“Bloody hell,” Lucius muttered. For a moment, he buried his face in his hands. “So, let me summarize: exactly on 31 October 1981, Voldemort will have obtained enormous magical power, courtesy of Severus, and be ready to undertake that blasted ouroboros ritual. All he needs to accomplish it successfully is the Philosopher’s Stone, which is somewhere—though we don’t know where—because Dumbledore and Flamel have created it. Sev, I really don’t like to say this, but we are in the shit up to our eyeballs. Sorry, Narcissa.”

Severus nodded grimly. “That pretty much sums it up. Of course, we can’t be sure unless we check some arcane texts on Alchemy. However, I have a feeling as if Voldemort had found what he needs in Grindelwald’s library. But these are not all our problems.”

With a wide-eyed stare, Narcissa said, “There’s more to come?”

“Oh, yes. And, in terms of the near future, it is maybe even more alarming.”

Lucius opened another bottle of wine. “I think we should switch to whisky rather soon,” he said with a wry smile, “If Severus continues with the happy news.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed, “It seems that getting thoroughly drunk is the only possible solution. Now let me explain: Voldemort wants to gain strength, and the more traditional draughts and concoctions seem to have had a rather limited effect. Therefore, unless I’m able to come up with something absolutely sensational, three guesses what he’ll do?”

“I don’t really feel like guessing,” Narcissa said and closed her eyes, “Just tell us, Severus.”

“I have reason to believe that, as soon as I have finalized the formula for the potion—the one I’m researching, only it doesn’t have a name yet—as soon as the formula stands, he might—”

“No!” Lucius’s eyes had lost their steely glint. Now there was only horror. “Don’t give me that look, Narcissa, I am not mad. But it’s clear as daylight, isn’t it? He’ll want to test that blasted potion, using the blood of the most powerful among us, and I assure you that a mere blood sample will not be enough. That’s what you meant, Severus, isn’t it?”

Severus sighed. He had to admit that, irrational as it maybe was, being able to share his worries did relieve him. “Yes. I’m not sure whether I’ll need all the blood, but certainly a large enough quantity to entail the… er, donor’s death. And even if he or she survives, I’m not sure about the effect this… let’s call it ‘shared magic’, for lack of a better term, what effect it might have on the donor. The worst case scenario—”

Lucius gave a short laugh. “Oh, yes, please, Sev, give us the worst case scenario. Just to lighten our mood a bit.”

“Well, I guess the effect could be similar to that of vampirism. Donor and receiver are connected, and given Voldemort’s strength, he might gain control over those whose blood is used in the potions.”

“But this…” Narcissa looked from one to the other. “This is terrible! Just imagine… He gets more powerful with every new dose of potion, and at the same time he’ll have… something… something like an army… entirely at his command…”

“Sev,” Lucius said, breaking the gloomy silence that had ensued, “Much as the idea disgusts me, you must tell Dumbledore.”

“Agreed, but that won’t save my hide. My only choice is to botch the formula. Deliberately. And pretend I can’t get it right for as long as possible. I just…” He paused and looked at Lucius. “You know I’m not a coward, but I don’t even want to imagine the consequences.”

“Is there no other possibility?” Narcissa asked. “I mean, it is simply not fair that you should be the one who pays for all of us. Couldn’t you…” Her eyes lit up. “Couldn’t you ask Dumbledore to stage something together with the Ministry?”

Severus frowned at her in incomprehension. “Stage what, Narcissa?”

“Well,” she said, suddenly looking quite smug, “You are on the Ministry’s list of suspects, aren’t you?” Severus nodded. “Right. And it would not be completely improbable that Dumbledore might have his little doubts on your behalf, would it? So he might turn to the Ministry, asking them to perform a search of your quarters… and they might confiscate all your notes… Of course, you would have to clean and duplicate them before, because Voldemort will want you to start again immediately. But I think it might buy you a lot of time.”

The two men looked at each other. “Well, Lucius, what do you think?”

“I think that I am married to a very cunning, brilliant woman. It’s insane, but it might actually work. Although the risk for you is considerable. You’d have to choose very carefully what you allow them to take and what you keep. Don’t forget our allies at the Ministry. If one of them—and Rookwood might do it, and a few others, too—if one of them gets his hands on those notes… come to think of it, that might destroy the whole plan…”

“Stop babbling, Lucius!” Severus said, “And kindly express your thoughts in comprehensible form.”

“If Rookwood or whoever manages to steal your notes back, the outcome of this whole beautiful scheme would be nil, that’s what I meant,” Lucius snapped.

“Oh, that… yes, indeed. What if Dumbledore merely asked for an escort of two or three Aurors, but kept the notes? So my story is airtight, because there are witnesses, but nobody can filch the notes and bring them back?”

“That,” Lucius said, “sounds a lot better. And now I suggest we have a whisky. I almost feel like celebrating.”

~~~~*~~~~

Time had never passed so rapidly, Severus thought, while he was strolling through Diagon Alley. Today was already 19 August, and tomorrow he would have to return to Hogwarts. The past six weeks had flown by in a blur, not an unpleasant one, but those days had been gone far too quickly. Not that he had been idle, on the contrary. He had been working on the potion for Voldemort, and quite successfully so. The formula was almost ready—seen from that point of view, he should be glad about having to go back tomorrow. A meeting with Dumbledore in the middle of the holidays had seemed to hazardous, but tomorrow he would have to talk to the Headmaster. He doubted the conversation was going to be very pleasant—after all, he had held back vital information. And the news he was about to break to Dumbledore was not exactly happy. Then again, ‘happy’ was a word the meaning of which he had almost forgotten. Some years ago, there had been sparks of happiness in his life. Only he had not recognized them as such. Maybe there was no other way of being happy than hindsight. Although he doubted very much that, if he was going to look back at this summer in a few years’ time—provided he was still alive then—he would see so much as a single moment of happiness. Too many and too heavy were the burdens he was carrying.

Severus had never thought of himself as an easy-to-depress person, but right now, he was having difficulties getting up and facing a new day. Especially because every new day brought more unpleasant revelations. After combing through Lucius’s library, they had come up with enough material to confirm their suspicions on behalf of the ouroboros and the Philosopher’s Stone. Nothing clear, of course, and nothing explicit. But enough to worry them deeply. Even Owen, who had helped them plough through the ancient tomes, had been thoroughly shaken. The thought of his blood being used for a potion that would transfer his magic onto Voldemort had been sufficient to stir some emotions even in him, Severus thought with a smirk. No, their future was not rosy. And Dumbledore would not be able to change a single iota of that whole, bloody mess. Knowledge did not always mean power. It could also mean hopelessness, if not desperation.

All these worries notwithstanding, Severus had to fulfil certain obligations: the depleted stores of potions ingredients for the students had to be restocked, he needed to replenish his own supplies, he needed teaching robes, some books… And those were only today’s duties. Once at Hogwarts, he would have to brew industrial quantities of medicinal potions for Madam Pomfrey, so as to be well-prepared for the assault of students. Staff meetings, lesson plans to prepare, Mathilda would need some briefing. And the talk with Dumbledore. It sat in his stomach like a stone.

Not much later, Severus was on his way back to Nature Alley, carrying only few of his recent acquisitions, for most of them were going to be dispatched directly to Hogwarts. The street was already quite crowded—people were back from their holidays, and not everybody waited until 31 August to buy school supplies. Voices and laughter were forming a chaotic pattern of noise, uniform but intricate. And like an alien thread, thicker than the others and of hideous colour, Severus suddenly heard a laughter he knew and hated. Self-satisfied, viscous and sticky. Sirius Black. Using the cover of the crowd, Severus moved behind the trunk of a tree, leaned against the rough bark and listened intently. Yes, Black’s voice. Unmistakeably. Loud, offensive. Gryffindor-ish. It was coming from the left side, slightly ahead of him—Fortescue’s! Now that was interesting. Who was Black laughing with? Know thine enemy… it certainly would be a good idea to watch for a while and possibly catch some scraps of conversation.

Grateful for the bustle of the anonymous crowd, where nobody took the time to look what their fellow human beings were up to, Severus drew his wand and cast a Dissimulating Spell over himself. Those spells were not only difficult, but also extremely fragile. Less reliable than Polyjuice Potion, which at least guaranteed you an hour of  undisturbed identity change, they had the annoying habit of wavering and oscillating unless performed by a master. He was no Flitwick, but the result would do—at least he hoped so, for the effect was, of course, invisible to himself. But half an hour should be enough for watching Black’s company without having to worry about the spell’s stability.

This seemed to be his lucky day, Severus thought, for there was a free table next to Black’s group. Just as he had expected. The Potters, and Pettigrew, that lame excuse for a wizard. Severus ordered a coffee and some water, opened one of his books and listened intently.

“What are you going to do at home all the time, Lily?” Black asked.

Lily Evans—no, Potter, he corrected himself mentally—at home? Why? She was an Auror like Mr. High-And-Mighty, her husband.

“Try and think of ways to blow up the Ministry, I suppose,” she answered, obviously miffed. “I can’t believe that they are so… so medieval. It’s all McDonald’s fault. Plus the fact that we don’t have a proper Minister. Otherwise McDonald would never have been able to make such a stupid decision.”

“But Lily,” that was Pettigrew. “I mean, don’t you think it’s better like that? You know how those bastards fight… maybe women really shouldn’t—”

Severus could not see Lily’s face, but he saw her back tense. What an idiot, he thought, that certainly was not the right thing to say to a witch of her calibre.

“My dear Peter,” her voice was edgy with indignation “I could give most men a run for their money, even when—no, scratch that, especially when it comes to dirty fighting. Of course, some of our female colleagues are not top of the top, but the same is true for the men. Take Arabella Figg, for instance! She’d blow you off your feet before you even have your wand out!”

How strange—Pettigrew didn’t seem to mind this severe rebuff in the least. On the contrary. He was eyeing her with something not too different from adoration in his eyes. Of course, it had not escaped Severus, back when they had all still been at school, that Petty Peter was not at all unsusceptible to the fiery redhead’s charms. But now… Severus watched fascinated, while sipping his coffee. Those feelings seemed to have deepened. And when James spoke… Did none of the others notice that look of pure loathing in Pettigrew’s eyes? The man had to live in a hell of jealousy.

“What about your mother, Sirius?” James asked, “I can’t imagine that she is too happy with this situation.”

“On the contrary. I think she’d rather join forces with Lily and blow up the Ministry. I mean, she and dad have always worked together. It’s not wise to separate a winning team and partner them up with somebody else.”

“Do you think they’ll hire more men, then?” Pettigrew inquired.

“Think you got a chance, Peter?” James asked. “Yes, I suppose they will. We don’t have that many women, but it won’t do to reduce our forces even by one single person. Those bastards are everywhere, and they are getting stronger every day. Sirius, you sure that you still want to teach? Wouldn’t you rather come back?”

Trust Gryffindors to dig their own graves, Severus thought. Did they not see that in their middle, there was a dangerously hissing and bubbling cauldron? But no, they did not see. They continued tossing in the wrong ingredients, and when it finally exploded, they would stare at the catastrophe with great big eyes and swear they had not seen it coming. Yes, that was their typical weakness: a self-confidence beyond limits, without even the slightest shade of doubt. They always thought that people were exactly what they seemed to be. For them, Pettigrew was forever the slightly clumsy boy, who was just not quite good enough for everything, including their attention. What other way was there to explain that nobody appeared to notice the expression of furious humiliation crossing his face after Potter’s comment? Probably that moron had even been convinced he was making a good-natured joke.

“No,” Black said, “I couldn’t, even if I wanted. Dumbledore needs me at Hogwarts, as you well know.”

“We could swap,” Lily remarked. “I could go teach DADA, and you could return to the front.”

“Certainly not.” James’s voice held a sharp edge.

Now that was truly interesting. Severus had never thought very highly of the Gryffindors’ attitude towards women, but that James Potter would speak to his wife in such a fashion…

“Come on, James,” Black said, “I’m sure Dumbledore would accept. Lily is a member of the group, she’s one hell of an Auror—”

“Yes, and that’s exactly what we’re married for.” Now Potter’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I want to wake up next to my wife every morning, not just Saturday and Sunday. Hogwarts is out of the question, and that’s final.”

Severus could see Lily’s hand, resting on her thigh, clench and unclench convulsively. The little woman was a bit upset, or so it seemed.

“I suppose that ‘waking up’ is a polite euphemism,” Black retorted with a dirty grin, “But I can’t say I don’t understand you. Would be a good time for having a baby, though, don’t you think so?”

It was difficult to keep his eyes glued to the book. He simply could not believe it. Lily was—and not only in Severus’s opinion—more powerful than those two stupid males put together, yet Mr. Potter thought that being her husband entitled him to deciding what was good for her, and he and Black were talking about her as if she were not even present.

“That’s what I keep telling her, don’t I, darling?” Lily merely nodded, and Severus half and half expected something was going to burst, so tangible was her ire. “But she says she’s too young.”

“But she’s only twenty-two, James.” Ah, Pettigrew, would-be knight in shining armour. “And I think Lily is right—this is no time for having children.”

“What would you know about that, Peter?” James asked sharply, “You aren’t married, you have no idea—”

“Well, neither is Sirius!”

They all looked up in utter astonishment when Lily Potter rose so abruptly that her chair toppled over. “I’m going to Flourish & Blotts,” she spat, “Seeing as how I’m not needed here. Throw a coin to decide whether I’m going to have a baby—maybe you’d also like to pull straws to determine who will have the honour of being the father.” With these words, she turned on her heel and walked away, imposing and regal.

“Holy shit,” Black breathed, “What’s got into her?”

James shrugged. “That time of month, you know…”

Severus decided that he had heard enough, paid for his coffee and left.

~~~~*~~~~

Back at Hogwarts, his first way was to the staff room. His sense of duty found immediate reward in the good news that the first faculty meeting was scheduled only for next morning. Severus had arrived quite early, and thus had the whole day to himself. This was not unwelcome, as he needed to re-establish himself in his new-old surroundings. Much to his surprise, he had felt something like satisfaction at returning to his quarters. He had come to love those rooms and was glad that all the problems he constantly carried around with himself had not poisoned this simple pleasure.

The packages from Diagon Alley had already arrived, and he was busy unwrapping them and dividing his own from the students’ stuff when Dumbledore’s head appeared in his fireplace.

“Ah, Severus,” he said cheerily, “You are already here. Would you like to have lunch with me in my study? So we can talk?”

It was not at all what he wanted, but it was better to get it over with. “Of course, Headmaster, I’d be delighted. Which time would suit you?”

Dumbledore appeared to be checking his watch. “In an hour, I’d say.”

“Very well, Headmaster, I’ll be there. What is your password?”

“Tequila Sunrise. Although I have to change it before the students arrive,” the Headmaster said, winking at him. “We wouldn’t want to give them bad ideas, now would we?”

“That is exactly why I prefer Greek Mythology, Headmaster. Even if the meaning is embarrassing, they would have to go and look it up first. And if there’s something you can rely on, it is that students never do more than they have to.”

“Words of wisdom, Severus. I’ll have to find out about cocktails in Ancient Greece, then.” The head disappeared, and Severus returned to his previous occupation.

~~~~*~~~~

A round table near one of the windows in Dumbledore’s office was already set for two when Severus arrived. The Headmaster was not in his study, but the door leading to his private rooms was slightly ajar; so Severus decided to talk to Fawkes the Phoenix while waiting for his host. He did not remember ever having actually touched the bird, and was curious how his plumage would feel.

“Hi Fawkes,” he muttered. He was standing in front of the golden perch—the phoenix had stuck his head under his right wing, and Severus did not want to touch him unless allowed to do so. At the sound of his voice, the long neck uncurled gracefully, and Fawkes looked at him out of those wise, black eyes. “Do you think I might stroke you?” Severus asked. The bird uttered one single, lilting note. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t bite me, eh?”

The feathers were warm. Not hot, but slightly warmer than Severus’s hand. And soft, more than any silk or fur he had ever come into contact with. Even softer than a woman’s skin. Not that he had many memories of that kind… Strangely, it made him think of Clarissa. Her hair had a similar texture, in spite of its curliness. Clarissa… Gods, if only she could be with him… Maybe he would have come to love her, provided he was capable of loving. Instinctively, he touched the medallion. Damn Sybil and her poetic crap. He should have got rid of that piece of paper long ago, the very evening she had sent it to him…

“Severus, I am sorry for having kept you waiting. But I thought you ought to see this…” He held out a small roll of parchment. “Interesting news, I’d say.”

Severus nodded, unrolled the parchment and stared. This was… uncanny, to say the least. Five seconds ago, he had thought of her, and now… “From Sybil,” he said, incredulously, as if Dumbledore could convince him that this letter did not come from his former classmate.

“From Sybil. And it’s quite something, to put it mildly.”

“Bombshell would be more like it,” Severus muttered, perusing the missive.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,

I hope this letter finds you well. As you probably know, we are not allowed to keep much contact with the outer world here at the Institute, and thus I have only a very vague idea of what is currently going on at home. The rumours reaching me are none too reassuring, however.

What I have to tell you might increase your worries, or alleviate them—I don’t know. But I know you are a very wise man and will certainly use this information in the right way.

These last weeks, I repeatedly had a vision (through different channels of Divination, hence I do not doubt its veracity): On the last day of July, next year, during a particularly powerful magical conjunction of Jupiter and Mars, a child will be born in Great Britain. A magical child that will alter the fate of this world. Whether for good or evil cannot be told. But this will decided when the conjunction repeats itself, on the last day of October of the following year, when the child is exactly 457 days old. Then the powers of Light and Dark will clash, and the child’s fate will be clearly delineated.

May this be of use to you.

Yours faithfully

Sybil Trelawney

For a while, all Severus could do was stare at the Headmaster, and back to the letter.

“Well,” Dumbledore said gravely, “it seems that this letter means more to you than it does to me. Let’s have lunch, shall we?”

“Lunch? Headmaster, this is… How can you think of lunch now?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Is there anything in this letter that calls for immediate action?”

“No, but—”

“You see? Then we can just as well have a look at what the House Elves have prepared for us and discuss this matter over lunch.”

Severus merely nodded and let himself be guided to the table. Like an automat, he sat down, unfolded the napkin and spread it over his lap.

“A glass of wine?” Dumbledore asked genially.

“Y-Yes, please.” He downed the wine in one gulp and put the glass back on the table.

“I trust you feel a little better now?”

Severus shook himself. “Yes… well, not exactly better. But I might be able to talk coherently.”

“That sounds definitely encouraging. Aaaah!” Dumbledore lifted the lid of the soup tureen and inhaled deeply. “Tomato cream with meat dumplings! Bless the little creatures!”

Despite himself, Severus grinned. And felt his mouth water. The Headmaster served himself a generous portion and then handed the ladle to his Potions Master, who did the same. After he had tasted a few spoons, Dumbledore said, “Believe it or not, Severus, but I am very curious to hear what you have to tell me.”

Severus told him about the potion he was researching, about the ritual, the Philosopher’s Stone… and Dumbledore listened, calm and composed and without interrupting a single time. “I would have told you today in any case,” Severus ended his account, “because our worries have been confirmed. Needless to say that none of us is too eager to see this happen.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said amiably, “I think that is only natural.” He rang for Kitty the House Elf who cleared the table and brought the main course. “I really appreciate that you told me,” he continued, his blue gaze resting on Severus.

“I know I should have told you earlier,” Severus said defensively, “but—”

“My dear boy,” the Headmaster interrupted him, putting a bony hand on Severus’s forearm, “There was no hidden irony in what I just said. I do appreciate your honesty.” Obviously, this was his Speechless Day, Severus thought, staring at the old wizard. “You know,” and Dumbledore gave first the roast chicken and then Severus a beatific smile “I may be a Gryffindor, but then I have the advantage of being a very old Gryffindor, and old age brings not only wrinkles and a bad memory, but a bit of wisdom as well. Breast or drumstick?”

“Er… what?” Severus blinked, then understood. “B-breast, please.”

“Therefore,” Dumbledore continued, “I am not fool enough to believe that you would give yourself into my hands without keeping anything up your sleeve. After all, you may trust me, but I am sure you have a few resentments, and rightly so. Mashed potatoes?”

“Yes, please, and lots of gravy.” He had said it without thinking, and blushed.

“Old habits die hard. So, I suppose this potion you are researching was one of the assets you preferred to keep up your sleeve. Entirely understandable. But, as I already said, I appreciate an ally who knows when he has to be shrewd and when he has to be honest. Slytherin at its very best, if I may say so.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Headmaster. But what are we going to do? We can't prevent children from being born. And we can’t watch over every single child that sees the light of this world on 31 July of next year.”

“Very true,” said Dumbledore and rolled up his sleeves. “Forgive me, but chicken drumsticks are lots better if eaten like this.” He started to nibble with relish.

Severus pensively stirred gravy into his mashed potatoes. “The problem is that there are simply too many sympathizers. Otherwise we could drop a hint to mediwizards and midwives—they can influence the time of birth, if only a little.”

Dumbledore nodded and wiped his mouth and hands. “Yes, but we need not worry too much about that now. We have time, Severus, and can devise a suitable strategy.” He put down his napkin and scrutinized Severus's face intently. “I have a feeling as if there were something else troubling you. Anything you’d care to tell me?”

“Yes.” He had not eaten a single bite and was toying with his food. “We have reason to believe that, in order to accumulate magical power, Voldemort will use us. Our blood, I mean. Maybe I’ll be the last one, for he needs me to complete the potion with that child's blood. But after that, it might be my turn. As potion ingredient or otherwise.”

Leaning back in his chair, the headmaster looked out over the grounds. For a long time, he remained silent. “You know,” he said then, and his voice was less full and confident-sounding than usually, “many people think I am omniscient. I wish I were. I had no idea of Grindelwald’s library—had I had but an inkling that it existed, I would certainly have destroyed it. As things were, I thought he was after the Stone only because he wanted money and eternal life.” He paused again, and his face seemed to by ageing by the second. “I was a fool, Severus, such a fool,” he whispered. “For instead of destroying the Stone, I destroyed only Grindelwald. I believed… No, I didn’t even believe anything. I was convinced of my own infallibility, and that the stone in itself was not bad. But things are always good and bad, as long as there are human beings who can use them both ways.”

“Then destroy it now,” Severus said. “Flamel is dead and—”

“No, no, my dear boy. Flamel isn’t dead. I would have to destroy the stone and kill him or myself, in order to deprive Voldemort of his possibilities. But it’s no use dwelling on impossible solutions. Tell me rather, do you have any ideas how to avert the more imminent danger?”

Severus told him about Narcissa's idea. “I can’t think of any other possibility. It is quite risky, but at least feasible. Not even Lord Voldemort would expect me to kill you in order to arrive at my notes. At least I hope so,” he added, in a vain attempt at humour.

“Oh, he would,” Dumbledore said, the merry twinkle back in his eyes, “But he knows me well enough to be sure that my death wouldn’t bring you closer to something I really want to hide.”