The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 40

By Pigwidgeon37

“We have to keep this as short as possible,” Severus said, gesturing for McGonagall to sit down in his study. “I don't think that my house is being monitored, but better safe than sorry.”

“Of course”, she agreed, “Given the complexity of the matter, I doubt whether we would be able to arrive at any result tonight. So tell me about your thoughts.”

Severus repeated the essential part of his conversation with Owen, and what the Bloody Baron had told him. When he had finished, she merely nodded and leaned back in her chair, an expression of deep concentration on her face. Deciding that it was probably better to just let her think for a while, Severus, too, took on a more relaxed pose, reclining and crossing his legs, and from time to time taking a sip of his coffee. It was late, already past two in the morning, but he needed the caffeine to keep him awake. The namesgiving had been a long affair—or rather, the following reception had been, whereas the ceremony itself was relatively short—and although he had not ingested much alcohol, he had had more than usually.

Apart from Yelena’s return, which had truly filled him with joy, the evening had been devoid of interesting events, and he had found it difficult to escape the multitude of parents who took advantage of the occasion in order to have a word with him about their children's progress, or lack thereof, in Potions. The Lestranges had, of course, attended, and if they had taken offence at Lucius’s choice of godmother, they had at least not showed it openly. Tabitha, who had already entered the eighth month of pregnancy, had enthused over little Draco, and St. John had been his usual charming self. Death Eaters had mingled with Ministry staff, making genial conversation, murderers had shaken the hands of their victims’ relatives and offered their sincere condolences, traitors had raised their glasses to fanatics of their cause—all in all, Severus thought, it had been a very Slytherin evening.

Carl and Cedric Nott, both in black dress robes because of their recent loss—it had been publicly declared that Fiona had suffered a stroke while at home alone, so that she had already been dead when her husband found her—had chattered amiably with Stuart Wilkes, who had brought his fiancée. She slightly reminded Severus of Mathilda, with her soft brown eyes and unobtrusive demeanour; Lucius, however, had informed him that the girl, who was Stuart’s senior by one year, had been expressly chosen for him by Voldemort and Lestrange. She had gone to school at Beauxbatons, was German and the daughter of the ‘German contact’ who had rediscovered Grindelwald’s library. Stuart, still under the influence of the Imperius Potion, of which Lestrange had finally developed a variety that lasted six months, had of course obliged without objecting, and thus was now under even tighter control. Isolde—this was the fiancée’s name—was a devoted follower and powerful witch. Her soon-to-be husband did not stand a single chance. Upon closer inspection, Severus had noticed that her belly was slightly rounded; Stuart had confirmed that she was, indeed, four months pregnant. So Sybil had been right once again: an early marriage and… well, the number of children was of course unclear as of yet. But seeing as how the first was already on its way, maybe there were really going to be more. He would have to wait a little longer to verify whether the second part of the prediction, namely that they would all turn against him, had been accurate.

What a strange evening it had been… all those faces, some of which he had known for a long time—they had changed, mostly through age, but behind the lines and altered expressions he could still see them as they had looked when he first met them. So he had floated back and forth between the present and the past…

“Well,” McGonagall's voice cut through his musings, “I think we might stand a chance. I have done my fair share of research in my youth, before I started teaching at Hogwarts, and some of it was dedicated to elemental, ancient magic—it’s part of becoming an Animagus, or at least it was in my times. But I am by no means a Potions expert. What I know, however, is that before mediwizardry existed in the form we know nowadays, healers—and there were pretty few of them—relied on very raw powers only a small number of wizards possessed. They cured their patients without the use of a wand, purely by the strength of their… well, I suppose you can call it love, of human beings. Sometimes they were generous enough to put their capabilities at the disposal of Muggles, who promptly categorized these events as miracles, and those who performed them as saints. Therefore, if it were possible to channel this kind of energy into a potion, this might be the solution to our problem.”

“Hmm…” Severus put away his coffee cup and regarded her intently. “Lily Evans, er, Potter, sorry, Lily Potter is a very powerful witch. The question is: does she possess this kind of power, or would a mother's love for her child be sufficient in any case?”

McGonagall nodded. “Exactly. The entire problem boils down to this single question. If it were possible, then maybe a protective potion of the more elaborate variety would suffice, and she would have to transfer her love—”

“Hold on!” Severus interrupted her, “What if…” He fell silent and bit his lip. McGonagall knew a lot about his present predicament, she even knew about the Liberatio Potion, but should he really tell her about the Imperius Potion? On the other hand, Dumbledore knew. So what harm could it possibly cause if she, too, learned about its existence? There was no need for him to explicitly mention it, but if she asked, he could just as well tell her. “From… er, past research,” he took up the thread again, “I know that a person’s will can be extracted in the same form as memories are transferred into a pensieve. It has its difficulties, but it can be done. If the same were possible with love, a protective potion would indeed provide a sufficient basis.”

The look she gave him was slightly suspicious, but she did not make any further inquiries as to his ‘past research’. “Very well,” she said, “This seems to be a viable solution. More—” and the ghost of a smile lightened her severe features “—than we would have expected to find out tonight. I will tell Albus as soon as possible. For now, I think it would be preferable for me to change back.”

Severus nodded his assent and waited until she had transformed, then altered the colour of her fur and eyes and finally took off the Invisibility Spell.

The coffee’s effect had set in, and so he felt neither tired nor sluggish and remained in his study for a while after the cat had left, to ponder whether what had come to him as an inspiration might indeed lead to a tangible result.

His one big concern was Lily Potter herself: not that he doubted her abilities or power; but he remembered the conversation he had overheard last summer, her reluctance to have a child, and her fierce opposition to being reduced to a mere housewitch. If this attitude persisted, maybe the love for her child was not deep or intense enough to protect it. Maybe James… Severus's lips curled into a smirk of disgust. No, certainly not James. Apart from his own profound dislike for the man—although he admitted it was a little difficult to not take it into consideration—he had seen enough of James Potter to presume that his love, at least as far as his wife was concerned, was tainted by too much possessiveness. Of course, he himself was certainly not an expert in the matter, but somehow it simply did not seem right. Besides, a mother’s bond was probably stronger—as long as the child was still mainly in her care, in any case. So they would have to rely on Lily.

To his relief, he was not the one who had to decide which runes to put on the ‘pensieve’ and which stone to carve it from. This he could leave to Dumbledore. Not that he essentially objected to gleaning tidbits of knowledge in whichever field, but he did not feel like repeating this particular experience. It was too heavy with memories.

~~~~*~~~~

                                                        Hogwarts, 31 July 1980

Dear Severus,

Forgive me for disturbing you during your well-deserved holiday, but this is rather urgent. It seems that Peeves, who always becomes a little restless during the holidays, managed to escape the Bloody Baron’s attention and decided to use the Potions classroom and unfortunately also the storeroom as temporary playground. This must have occurred yesterday or the day before; the House Elves reported the damage to me today.

I am, of course, not asking you to clean up—our little friends are perfectly capable of that—but I suggest that you drop by, if only for some hours, to assess the damage and maybe assist in handling the more dangerous ingredients. Considering that most of them are probably not in any condition to be used anymore, I thought that maybe you might wish to modify your start-of-term shopping list as well.

Madam Pomfrey, who consented to have a look, declared herself unable to survey the cleaning operations in a satisfying way. So I am afraid it has to be you.

Again, I apologize for the inconvenience and remain

Yours sincerely

Albus Dumbledore

“So the child has been born,” Severus said gloomily to the cat, after he had read the letter to her. “And it seems as if the Headmaster wants to give me a perfectly unsuspicious opportunity to go to Hogwarts and have a look at the birth registry.” The cat’s tail twitched. “Yes, I am extremely worried as well. But I’ll send a letter to Voldemort immediately.” The cat looked up at him, doing a very convincing impression of frowning. “If you mean I could just Apparate over and tell him—definitely not. Not anymore, however. But I could…”

He got up from his chair and paced the room. This was, of course, a perfect possibility to humour Lestrange. To make him feel important and show him that he, Severus, had well understood who was Voldemort's right-hand-man. In a situation as risky as this one, pride certainly was not a factor to be considered.

“Professor,” he said, and the cat sat down before him, gazing up intently. “I decided that it's preferable for me to call St. John Lestrange. If you want to listen, you may do so, but please stay out of sight. Your ears are sensitive enough, however, so you can hear everything from the hallway. I’ll leave the door ajar.” The cat shook itself, gave a short hiss, but then made a beeline for the door, which he opened for her.

Severus returned to the fireplace—Dumbledore had sent the letter by their re-opened Floo connection—steadied himself for a moment, although not too much, as a bit of excitement would lend more credibility to his little act, threw some powder into the flames and called “Monrepos!”

The elderly House Elf, who was always on duty in the entrance hall to welcome visitors and answer calls, responded immediately. “Good afternoon, Sir, I is Minnie, how can I help you?”

“Is St. John Lestrange at home?”

“Yes, Sir, Master St. John is at home. Shalls I fetch him?”

Severus pondered this for a moment. He remembered St. John telling him at the namesgiving that his brother and sister-in-law were staying at Monrepos the whole summer. They had come to England to see their grandchild and, in spite of the critical situation, had decided to prolong their sojourn until the middle of September, if possible until Tabitha, too, had given birth to their niece or nephew. Therefore it was maybe unwise to talk to him via Floo. “No,” he said, “Just tell him that Severus Snape is preparing the syllabus for the next school year and needs his advice. I’d prefer if he could come here for a moment, because I don't want to take all the books and parchments with me.”

Minnie the elf repeated the message and disappeared. Severus strode towards the door—the cat had to disappear, now that St. John would be here any second—only to see that McGonagall had obviously understood. She was already streaking through the entrance Peggy held open for her. So he went back to the other side of the room and opened the French doors. The cat leapt onto one of the wicker chairs on the terrace and hid beneath a cushion. Severus gave a brief nod in her direction and started pacing the living room. This, however, was not an act; he was tense and worried.

So was Lestrange when he materialized a few minutes later and let himself fall into a chair without further ado. “Are you mad?” he hissed, “My whole family is there, and you just call me on some transparent pretext?”

“A good afternoon to you, too, St. John.” The other wizard merely harrumphed. “I would not have called you if the matter wasn't really urgent.” He held out Dumbledore's letter for Lestrange to take, carefully watching his face while he read.

“Now that's what I call good news,” Lestrange murmured, smiling up at him. “Do you think you’ll be able to sneak a look at the birth registry?”

“Not personally, no. But I’ll ask the Bloody Baron to do me a favour.”

Lestrange nodded. “Yes, that’s much better. The Master will be exceedingly pleased, for we would either have had to wait until the start of the new school year, or to tell Barty to check the registry at the Ministry. Only he’s bound to wonder why, even if he doesn't dare ask openly, so this is by far preferable.”

“Exactly what I thought. I guess Lord Voldemort doesn’t want to lose time, then. Are we going to get the child, or children, tonight, after the initiation? I have to take along the oil, you know.”

“Of course not.” Lestrange frowned at him. “You know as well as I do that we are going to wait till next Halloween.”

Severus tried to look appropriately contrite. “Sorry, I… I suppose I just thought we were going tonight because the master is so eager to know—”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Lestrange interrupted him. “After all, we have to know who the children are, and take measures to protect them well. They are precious, nothing must happen to them. I know it sounds paradox…” He shot Severus a grin.

“Not really. After all, you put a cooling spell on the milk bottle unless you use it all on the same day, don’t you?”

“Indeed.” Lestrange got up. “I think I’d better go back now. Would you mind giving me the letter? So I can show it to the Master. And I will, of course, make your excuses for tonight, just in case you don’t arrive in time. If Dumbledore keeps you there for dinner, it would merely make him suspicious if you got all fidgety because you have to leave early. Better keep the old man happy. The initiation starts at eleven, and I doubt you’ll make it.” He folded the parchment and put it into his pocket. “Oh, and don't try to Apparate into the circle after eleven. Your body parts would end up in every corner of the known universe.” He grinned.

True, Severus thought. What with the energy, both telluric and planetary, Voldemort unleashed during those ceremonies, chances were that he would not survive Apparating right into it. “Thank you for that advice, St. John. In case I can’t be present, I suppose Lord Voldemort will summon me tomorrow.”

“He certainly will. I really have to go now, Severus. Let's keep our fingers crossed for as many births as possible today.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, with a slight bow of his head. “Give my regards to Tabitha and the rest of the family. Till tonight—hopefully.”

“Don't worry,” St. John said and was gone.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Severus plumped down on the couch and raked his fingers though his hair. This had gone better than he thought, and with any luck he would not have to be present at tonight’s ceremony. With his head buried in his hands, he merely heard the soft impact of the cat's paws beside him on the couch. Without changing his position, he said, “I suppose your feline adventure has come to an end, Professor, hasn't it?”

The cat jumped off the couch and made straight for the fireplace. “No,” he said, looking up, “I can’t use the Floo. Too risky. I have to Apparate to the gates and walk. And the same goes for you. I’m not willing to jeopardize my safety just because you’re too lazy for a twenty-minutes’ walk.” The cat hissed, and he sneered down at it. “Ah, I see. You can’t Apparate in cat form. Well…” He sat on his haunches and extended a cautious hand. “You either have to run all the way to Scotland, as you shouldn't really be seen round here in your human form, or I’ll have to carry you. The choice is yours.”

For some moments, the cat looked at him out of narrowed eyes, then slowly moved closer to his hand. Severus snorted, highly amused by such reluctance, and scooped her up. He knew it was McGonagall, but the urge to bury his face in her fur, scratch her behind the ears and under her chin, and to hear her contented purr, was as strong as the sudden pang of longing for Esmeralda. And Clarissa. And pretty much everything he had lost. But he would rather be suffocated by his own unshed tears than give McGonagall this satisfaction.

~~~~*~~~~

As it turned out, Dumbledore had pulled a few strings—despite the growing number of sympathizers for Voldemort, the resistance against him was increasing as well—and instructed a handful of mediwizards to have an eye on pregnancies that might result in the birth of children on 31 July. Apparently they had been successful, for only one child—the daughter of Ridley Parkinson, former Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team and Severus's senior by three years—had been born on that day. Parkinson, however, was now a reserve player for the British National Team, and constantly frustrated at the lack of acknowledgement this position entailed. Dumbledore, who always insisted that no information, however inconsequential or trivial it might seem at first sight, was to be discarded lightly, had learned from the sports section of the Daily Prophet that Parkinson was seriously considering a change of team, as he had received various offers from foreign head-hunters. Via his contact with Solange Delacour, it had not been too difficult to persuade the coach of  Les Tonnerres de Toulon to make a proposal he simply could not resist, and so Ridley Parkinson and his family moved to the south of France by the middle of August. He was conveniently offered a house in the vicinity of Beauxbatons, and discreetly surveyed by Aurors. Voldemort was not enthusiastic, but did not seem to mind too much. After all, Harry Potter was there for him to pluck, so that on 31 first October of next year, vengeance was going to be combined with necessity in a most satisfactory way. To Severus's surprise, the Dark Lord even received the information that somehow all the refugees had been removed from Hogwarts’ grounds with relative equanimity. It seemed that he was more and more focusing on one single aim: the preparation of the Liberatio Potion on Halloween next year, and the ensuing ritual of power and immortality.

As soon as Severus had informed Dumbledore of the possibility to protect little Harry Potter, the Headmaster had immediately started a research together with a few trusted friends. The matter was now more or less out of Severus's hands. He felt immensely relieved, for this sudden freedom enabled him to do a bit of experimenting in order to find the right protective potion, which was going to serve as a basis for the final product, and otherwise simply enjoy his holiday. He did so very thoroughly, although, from time to time, he wondered how a simple missive from somebody like Sybil Trelawney could have restored his strength to such a degree. But the effect was indubitably there, and so he did his best to enjoy himself. Before his return to Hogwarts on 20 August, he was a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor. Yelena was still there, but already looking for a suitable place to stay at, and her presence had lightened the atmosphere considerably.

It was strange, he mused, how much Lucius had changed over the years. Not that they had become friends, at least not as far as he was concerned—he had been almost shocked when Lucius had spoken of him as his ‘good friend’ the day Draco was born, but that had, of course, been for the press people’s sake—but he had to admit that Malfoy was less of a power-hungry bastard now than he had been a few years ago. Although part of this change was certainly due to Julius Malfoy’s death, after which Lucius had been able to emerge from his shadow, the merit was largely Narcissa's, and no-one was more grateful to her than Severus. His role as a spy, the teaching and the hundred or more masks he had to wear did enough to complicate his life, so that it was an immense relief if he did not have to constantly watch his back. Or so he hoped. For now, he did not have any reason to doubt it. Lucius was being helpful in the extreme and took a not inconsiderable risk by gradually storing Severus's money in the bowels of Malfoy Manor. It had been augmented by the conspicuous sum he had paid for the Italian villa, offering a much higher price than Severus would ever have obtained on the free market. Seeing as how he might come to need that money, the loss of which did not really hurt Lucius, he had for once swallowed his pride and accepted.

Little Draco was doing splendidly, much to the joy of his parents—Severus more than once suspected that the child would turn into a horribly spoiled brat if they continued like this—and so it was with something akin to regret that he said goodbye to the Malfoy family on 19 August.

Between the twentieth and the twenty-fifth, the teachers returned to Hogwarts in a steady trickle, staff meetings were held, class rooms subjected to a last inspection and cleaning, and sooner than anybody had expected, the students arrived and the school year began. After the long period of relax and recovery he had enjoyed, Severus had to admit to himself and to the Bloody Baron that he was facing the next ten months with a lot more equanimity than a year ago. He still did not enjoy teaching, but during the last school year he had forged himself a reputation not unlike Lestrange's. With the exception that he neither wanted nor encouraged any personal contact with his students, be they Slytherins or not. Not only was it too dangerous, it was also against his very own nature to let people he deemed his inferiors in many respects come too close to him. His feeling of superiority extended, of course, to most of the faculty members as well, and thus he remained rather isolated. Not that he minded, especially since his colleagues’ hostile suspiciousness had somewhat decreased, due to McGonagall's more reasonable attitude towards him. As Deputy Headmistress, her opinion had considerable influence upon the other staff, and the absence of open enmity on her part soon led to an all-over friendly indifference towards the Head of Slytherin. Even Black had lost some of his usual aplomb after a less-than-friendly sermon by his protector.

Severus had just tidied up his classroom and returned to his quarters on Friday afternoon of the third week of school, to correct at least a part of the papers received today before dinner, when an owl peremptorily demanded access to his living room. As it was pouring with rain outside, the bird’s urgency seemed more than understandable, and so he hurried to open the window and let the bird in. Fortunately, the sender—and, considering this was an Eagle Owl, it was probably Lucius—had put an Impervius charm on his letter, otherwise there would not have been much left for Severus to read. He did not approach the bird until it had thoroughly shaken the water from its plumage. After eliminating the resulting puddle by a quick spell, he untied the missive and, careful not to get his finger inadvertently hurt by the sharp beak, offered the owl a treat which was gratefully accepted.

Elias gave a furious croak from his vantage position on the mantelpiece, where he had cautiously retired when the much larger bird arrived. “Shut it, you coward,” Severus said, smiling at him. “You really can’t complain about being underfed. Be grateful, rather, that I don't send you out into the rain.” When he sat down to read the letter, the raven fluttered onto his shoulder—he always did that, evidently in the hope of being offered the ribbon securing the roll. He was seldom disappointed, and Severus sometimes wondered where exactly Elias's ribbon collection, which had to be quite impressive by now, might be hidden. For now, the bird stayed on his shoulder, playing with his hair, while Severus read:

Sev,

This is just a short note to let you know that Tabitha has given birth to a girl in the early hours of this morning. Nimue something—I don't remember the middle name. The namesgiving is to take place next Friday, 26 September—I suppose you should participate. The formal invitation will doubtlessly arrive soon.

I am already busy searching some—to say the truth, any—suitable match for Draco, so as to avoid the betrothal of Nimue Something Lestrange to my son. Maybe I’ll write to Ridley Parkinson. To say the truth, I would rather beg McGonagall on my knees to marry my son than promise him to St. John’s Daughter.

My mother and Narcissa send their regards. See you next Friday.

Lucius

“Well, Elias,” Severus addressed the raven, “19 September certainly is a lucky day for the Lestranges. With Owen and myself unmarried, and Lucius a liability, St. John's position as crown prince and éminence grise will be more secure than ever.”

He got up and crossed the room, to sit down at his desk and write a short answer.

Lucius,

Thanks for the warning. I’ll see Dumbledore immediately about a leave of absence next Friday. Probably also Saturday, as I can’t see how I am going to survive this doubtlessly disgusting event without lots of alcohol.

Good luck with the wooing. Give my regards to Yelena and Narcissa.

Severus

~~~~*~~~~

The official invitation card, bearing the Lestrange coat of arms, arrived two days after Lucius’s letter. Severus immediately dispatched his answer. On the following Friday, after having finished teaching, he hurriedly returned to his quarters to get ready.

“Ah, Baron,” he said, giving the folds of his dress robes a final, critical look-over, “how good of you to join me.” The ghost bowed his head. “I know, of course, that you are perfectly capable of looking after the students on your own. But the Headmaster insisted that Professor Sinistra take over for tonight, therefore would you please report to her if necessary?”

“Of course, Professor. When are you going to return?”

“Oh, not too late. Probably even before curfew. But then, you know how it is on Friday evenings…”

The spectre smiled thinly. “Almost eight hundred years of experience have certainly taught me that students never change, and that their creativity reaches astonishing heights on Friday evenings. Enjoy the celebrations, Professor, and give my regards to Professor Lestrange and his wife.”

The rain last week, which had lasted for three days, had brought considerable chill, especially at night, and so Severus threw a light cloak over his dress robes of black velvet. His wand—only the official one today—was stored in the special pocket of his shirt sleeve, and now he only needed the… “Elias!” he called, “Come here immediately!” The raven obediently alighted on the bedspread. “Bad, bad bird,” he scolded, “you know you mustn’t steal everything that glitters.” Elias tilted his head. Were he human, he would probably chuckle, Severus thought. “Accio namesgiving token!”

In a way, he thought when the object came soaring into his outstretched hand, the bird's fascination was understandable. Unlike the parting gifts for wizarding funerals, there was no choice of material where namesgiving tokens were concerned. They had to be of silver, because this metal had lots of magical, above all protective, properties. Only the size varied according to the financial possibilities of the donors; otherwise there was little room for creative imagination. It was basically a coin, on the one side of which the child’s name was engraved. The reverse bore the donor’s name. Although the origins of this tradition were unclear, it was pretty obvious that it was meant to symbolize protection in every sense: by the magical properties of the material itself, by the donor—although this was merely a formality nowadays—and, last but not least, by its value. If necessary, it could always be sold. With a smile at his unrepentant familiar, Severus examined the token: about an inch and a half in diameter, for more would have verged on tasteless showing-off, the highly polished surface showed the names ‘Severus Snape’ and ‘Nimue Hermione Lestrange’ in slight relief. No wonder that Elias had been attracted by the glittering thing. He should have wrapped it, at least as long as he kept it in his rooms, or perhaps locked it away in some raven-proof place. He pocketed it, and left his rooms rather hurriedly, because he was already late.

~~~~*~~~~

The first stars were blinking in an almost-dark sky when Severus Apparated at Monrepos. He was by no means the last to arrive, but the crowd milling on the lawn was already impressive. It was considerably warmer here in the south, and thus the event could take place outside. Severus handed his cloak to a House Elf and scanned the masses for familiar faces.

“Oh, there you are,” a silvery voice came from behind him.

“Yelena,” he said, bending down to kiss her hand. “Where are Lucius and Narcissa?”

“They will arrive a little late, I suppose. Draco got hungry when we were about to leave, and Lucius evidently has to watch whether Narcissa feeds him properly.”

“Oh, of course, seeing as how he's the expert…” They both laughed. “I think we should join the queue, shouldn’t we?” Severus said, offering her his arm. “It’s going to be a long wait.”

St. John and Tabitha were standing on top of the broad flight of stairs leading up to the entrance door, receiving the tokens and congratulations of their guests who, in a steadily moving line, ascended the stairs from the right side, passed by the couple, and descended again towards the left. It was quite an impressive spectacle, although Severus deemed it slightly exaggerated.

“Would you mind waiting for Lucius and Narcissa?” she asked, taking his arm, “We could go for a little stroll in the meantime. But I don't think Lucius would be overjoyed to be last in line without the two of us.”

Severus smiled down at her, briefly wondering when exactly his fervent, juvenile adoration had turned into sincere friendship. “Of course,” he said. “As a group of four, it’s going to be a little more comfortable. They aren't bringing Draco, are they?”

“No, of course not. Oh, I forgot to tell you that Lucius has been successful: Ridley Parkinson agreed to the betrothal.”

“Really?” Severus said, stopping and turning to look at her. They had left the area that was well-lit by torches, and he could hardly make out her face. “I’m glad for Draco, but—” he looked around for possible eavesdroppers; although he could not see anybody, he lowered his voice and continued, “But there might be… consequences, you know? I only hope—”

“Severus!” Lucius’s voice came creeping through the darkness, “How very unusual for you! Sneaking off with some—Oh, it’s you, mother. I… er, apologize.”

Severus bit his lower lip to stifle a chuckle. “Good evening, Lucius. How is the baby dragon?”

“I had to change dress robes at the last minute, because he vomited all over my shoulder.” Severus snorted. “That’s not funny, Snape. Come on, let’s join the line.”

Narcissa, eyes still shining with mirth at Lucius's mishap, greeted them, and together they walked towards the slowly dwindling line of guests.

“Oh, no!” Lucius muttered under his breath, “Because of that little troublemaker we are the last ones. He’ll have to pay for that, as soon as he’s old enough.”

Another fifteen minutes, and it was their turn. Lucius and Narcissa climbed the stairs first, and when Severus and Yelena had reached the top, he released her arm and beckoned for her to precede him. He had never seen Tabitha wearing any other colours than black or some shade of red, but today she had chosen dress robes of primrose-coloured silk. This was most unusual, but easily explained by the fact that evidently Nimue Hermione's birthstone was as yellow as Draco's, because she, too, was hidden beneath countless layers of sunflower-yellow material. Maybe it was even jasper. In any case, the colour would have clashed horribly with Tabitha’s usual red, not to mention that the combination would have evoked Gryffindor associations. Together with black, the guests would surely have thought of Hufflepuff, and thus the combination of yellows was probably the best choice.

“Congratulations,” he said, shaking St. John’s hand after he had deposited the token into an almost overflowing basket. Lestrange inclined his head, and Severus turned to Tabitha, who was looking rather tired after more than an hour of constant greeting, smiling and nodding. Strange, he thought, her smile looked almost genuine. Maybe there was hope for the—

St. John quickly grabbed his hand to prevent him from tumbling down the stairs. “Severus, anything the matter?”

“I… no… I mean… oh, Merlin!” he stammered, trying to regain his composure but failing. “Tabitha, do you think I might hold her for a moment?”

She frowned at him, visibly puzzled, but then handed him the yellow bundle. “If you are sure… Would you take her inside and give her to the House Elves, please? My arms have already gone numb.”

He merely nodded and slowly walked towards the entrance, the newborn in his arms, unable to pry his eyes from hers, from that small, heart-shaped face, the tuft of light brown hair on her head… he was so completely shattered that it was impossible for him to determine whether it was by happiness or desperation. The moment he had looked into her eyes, he had known… it was exactly as Sybil had predicted it. He had know it was Her, and the sensation of happiness had almost made him burst, so that he had even lost his balance for a moment. Immediately after that, though, he had been overcome by a desperation so profound that he thought he might die of it. Yes, She had indeed entered the scene. But what cruel irony that she had done so by being born. He had expected anything, even for Her to be among this year's first-years, even a Hufflepuff, or maybe a new colleague, maybe even ten or more years his senior. But this—this was the Ninth Circle of Paradise, this was the Garden of Hell, a maddening, inextricable blending-together of his wildest hopes and worst nightmares.

The child was quiet but not asleep. With wide-open eyes, she looked at him, and when his first tear fell on her face, near the corner of her mouth, she smiled, although he would have expected her to scream, because he thought the drop had to be icy cold or scorching hot. He staggered towards one of the fragile-looking Louis XVI chairs in the entrance hall and sat down heavily. “Nimue Hermione,” he whispered, and her eyes went wide. “It can't be. It simply can’t… You know whose daughter you are? Do you have any idea what they will turn you into? And if we succeed, what on earth will become of you?” Careful not to hurt her, he held her a little closer. “And how am I supposed to cope?” Another tear, another smile. “Fifteen years, at the very least. And I thought that the last seven months were a long time…”

He had, of course, forgotten about the prediction’s second part.

~~~~*~~~~

“Severus, what are you doing in here? We—”

Unable to speak, he looked up at Yelena, who had come to an abrupt halt and was now standing before him.

“What is the matter with you, Severus?” She stepped nearer and looked at him. Nobody had ever seen him in tears, but he did not mind. “Are you… crying?” she asked, breathless and incredulous, “What on earth happened?”

He swallowed and tried to answer. “I… she is…” He gave up. The baby in his arms was still wide awake and silently taking in his face—which to her probably appeared as a mere white patch, he thought—evidently feeling very much at her ease in his arms.

“She is what, Severus?” Yelena asked, kneeling down beside him. “She is all right, isn’t she?”

Severus nodded. “Yes, she is perfectly all right. It's just…” His voice faded.

“You should probably hand her over to the House Elves now, otherwise the Lestranges might find your behaviour a little odd.”

“I know,” he whispered, and stroked the tiny face. “I know… But somehow, I don't seem to be able to let go of her.”

She stood up and looked round. “Very well,” she said, “Then let us at least make this as unobtrusive as possible. Accio chair!” From the other side of the hall, a chair similar to the one Severus was sitting on obediently placed itself next to his, and Yelena sat down. “Do you think I might hold her for a while? So you can still look at her, but if anybody runs in on us, it will look less strange.” Reluctantly, he let go of the baby, only to put his hand on the heap of yellow frills as soon as she was comfortably ensconced in Yelena's arms. “And now tell me,” she prompted.

Usually, he would have hesitated to reveal so much of himself, but recognized that he was unable to resist. One-handed, he opened the medallion, took out the parchment with Sybil’s prediction, restored it to its original size and put it into Yelena’s outstretched hand. The expression on her face changed from curious to bewildered to compassionate. “Are you sure that she is the one?” she finally asked.

He nodded. “Yes, without any doubt. I felt it when…” His voice grew hoarse, and he had to clear his throat a few times before he could continue. “I can’t possibly describe what I felt, but I assure you that there cannot be the slightest doubt. I wish I were at least her godfather,” he blurted out, “in spite of—”

“Shush!” She put her free hand over his, so that both now rested on the small body. “You should be more careful, now that you have found her. Listen, the ceremony is about to start any second now—” she rose and rang a silver bell on a nearby table “—so we have to give her to the elves.”

Helplessly and with a sudden feeling of loneliness, he watched as the child was taken away.

“Come,” Yelena said, holding out her hand for him to take, “Let us sneak out and search for a place where we can talk in private. I suppose you need it.”

His attempt at smiling was probably a miserable failure, but he tried his best. Hand in hand, they strolled out of the entrance hall and down the stairs, passing the crowd—fortunately they were all turning their backs towards the building—until they had arrived at the opposite side of the manor. The huge edifice completely blocked the noise and light from the other side, so that the soft murmur of a fountain and the chirping noise produced by hundreds, maybe thousands of crickets were the only rumours in the night beside the crunching of their shoes on the gravel. It was now completely dark, the trees of the vast park bulky black outlines against an inky-blue background. They sat down on a bench, silent at first, merely watching and listening to the nocturnal whispers, until Severus felt he had calmed down a little.

“Why does she have to be their daughter?” It sounded petty, and angry. Yelena seemed to understand, though.

“It would have made things easier, had she been my granddaughter,” she agreed. “On the other hand, what really counts is that she has… well, arrived, and that you found her. There will be ways of seeing her now and then. Maybe it is even better for you not to be too close to her while she is still a child. She might grow up to regard you as an older brother, or an uncle, if she saw you too often.”

“The prediction speaks of love,” he remarked dryly, hoping she would contradict him, “but it doesn’t specify which kind of love.”

“True. But it also calls her your soul mate.” He gave her a grateful smile. “I don’t think it meant love in a platonic sense.”

“This is completely absurd.” Seeing her astonished look, he hastily explained, “Not what you said. It's just that I used to be… well, quite taken with you, and now I’m sitting here with you, telling you about a girl that has only just been born.”

Her hand came up to cup his cheek. “Yes, that really seems strange. However—”

“I am not going to call him father!” The rage in Lucius’s voice was barely contained. “Snape, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Speaking of absurd situations,” Yelena said, and laughed. “Lucius, you are perfect for the part of the Jealous Husband, but I suggest you better not use this talent where I am concerned. Severus is… unwell, and he needed somebody to talk to. Don't worry, marrying me is probably the last thing he'd want to consider right now.” She rose from the bench and said to Severus, “Should we leave you here, so you can enjoy a bit of peace? I’ll make your excuses, in case the Lestranges ask where you have gone, and tell them you didn't feel to well.”

He merely nodded, and listened to the sound of their footsteps, which grew fainter and fainter until it lost itself in the heavy quiet of the night.

~~~~*~~~~

How he had managed to Apparate back to the gates of Hogwarts and regain the safety of his own quarters was inexplicable to Severus. He had not remained on the solitary bench for too long, fearing that some of the guests might venture away from the main throng and disturb him. So he had arrived at his rooms shortly after ten o’clock, poured himself a drink and sat down by the fireplace, trying to get a modicum of control over himself. Maybe, he thought, coming back had been a mistake, for he had not been staring into the flames for longer than twenty minutes when the Bloody Baron floated through the wall.

“I am afraid I have to disturb you, Professor,” he rasped, “But two fifth-years have gotten into a fight, and it seems that the prefects are not quite up to handling the situation.”

With a sigh, Severus got up, threw on his teaching robes and went to touch the snake, carved into the stone next to his door, with the tip of his wand, so that, five seconds later, he was entering the Slytherin Common Room. The Baron had not been exaggerating—one of the prefects was nursing a profusely bleeding nose, the other, apparently stunned, was sprawled on a sofa. In the middle of the room, two students were firing hexes at each other, loudly encouraged by their fellow students who formed a circle around them.

“Silence!” he thundered, and the room quietened immediately. Except for the two adversaries, who were so immersed in their fighting that they had not heard their Head of House. The curses continued flying, and Severus signalled to the students to back away. Raising his wand, he approached the two undeterred fighters by a few steps, with the intention of stunning both of them in quick succession. He knew well enough that a dueller must never be approached from behind but always from the side—too big was the risk of a curse being sidestepped, so that it would hit the third party. What he had not reckoned with, though, was that one of the opponents might lose his balance and stumble exactly in the moment he cast Expelliarimus. Thus, he was not prepared to deflect the hex, and it hit him, rather forcefully. As in slow motion, he felt himself being propelled backwards, while his wand flew from his hand, spinning around itself towards the ceiling. He keeled over, tried to regain his equilibrium and got his left foot caught under the edge of the carpet. As he fell, still under the impression that time had come to an almost-standstill, he saw the eyes of the students around him widen in shock, saw the astonished look on the face of the dueller who had landed on his backside, saw the other one, who had remained on his feet, whirl round in an attempt to prevent him from falling, saw the ceiling crawl slowly into his field of vision, and then… blackness.

~~~~*~~~~

“Sweet Merlin,” he muttered, reluctantly opening his eyes but re-closing them immediately, “That’s the worst migraine I’ve ever had.” Blindly, he fumbled for the silver bell on his nightstand, without success. While he carefully lowered his aching head back into the cushions, vague images resurfaced in his mind. He had been at the namesgiving… he had waited for Lucius and Narcissa together with Yelena… Lucius had made some stupid comment upon his arrival… and then? What had happened afterwards? Had he gotten himself so drunk that he had to remain at Monrepos? That would at least account for the lack of the bell. He decided not to give the matter any further thought, because even the tiniest mental effort seemed to overtax his aching brain. Maybe he could get some more sleep…

“Severus?”

No, he could definitely not get any more sleep. Whose voice had that been, anyway? It sounded familiar, but it did not belong to Monrepos. So perhaps he had returned to Hogwarts? Finally his eyelids reacted to the stern order to rise immediately, if only a little. “Yes,” he groaned. His voice was hoarse. So this was probably a hangover rather than a migraine.

“Do you think you’re up to swallowing some painkilling potion?”

Well, he thought, this was definitely a good idea. Brilliant, even. Although… “I never take a potion I haven’t made myself,” he slurred.

“No need to worry. You made this one. As you prepare every potion I use on my patients.”

Opening his eyes another fraction, he cautiously peered at the form hovering above him. “Madam Pomfrey?”

A sigh of profound relief. “Exactly. Now kindly drink this, and try to sleep again.”

“I’ll be glad to oblige,” he replied, downed the concoction and lost consciousness almost immediately.

~~~~*~~~~

The next time he woke up, the light was much more benign, and so he felt adventurous enough to fully open his eyes. Madam Pomfrey was sitting on a wingback chair next to his bed, reading. When she heard him stir, she looked up, closed the book and put it on the nightstand. “Ah,” she said with a smile, “you’re looking much better now. Don't move, I’m just going to fetch you another dose of potion and inform the Headmaster.”

No, he was certainly not going to move. The slightest change of position made him feel nauseous—reason enough to follow her advice. “I hope that you’re not about to administer a sleeping draught again,” he remarked acidly when the matron returned with a vial.

“No, this is just against the pain. The Headmaster will be here in a few minutes, so I won’t send you to sleep again.” The implied ‘yet’ remained unspoken.

Too dizzy to ask questions, Severus tried to carefully shift his head on the pillow, so as to find a more comfortable position. His back was aching—probably the hellish mix she had made him drink before had contained some powerful relaxant, so that his vertebral column now resembled the outline of distant mountains on the horizon. It certainly felt that way.

“Welcome back, Severus,” the Headmaster greeted him. “No, wait, don’t move, I'm coming to the other side of the bed.” Dumbledore took the seat Madam Pomfrey had previously occupied. “How are you feeling?”

“I already felt better,” he responded dryly. “Why am I at the infirmary?”

Was that a look of concern in the old man's eyes? “You are here because you had an accident the other night. I take it you don’t remember anything?”

“I recall arriving at Monrepos. And a few details of the ceremony. The rest is totally blank. Would you care to fill me in?”

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh. “I can merely tell you what happened after you returned to Hogwarts.” With increasing surprise that slowly became worry, Severus heard about the duel and the stray hex that had hit him. “Your head hit the armrest of a chair behind you,” Dumbledore concluded. “You had a cranial trauma, and we were fearing the worst.”

“Well, apparently you might have limited your fears to the second worst. What day is today?”

“Sunday, 28 September. You were unconscious for more than twelve hours, and then spent the rest sleeping. I think I’d better leave you now and return later. You need your rest.”

While dozing off again, Severus felt a strange contentment wash over him. Almost peace. Something had happened, he knew. Something crucial, life-changing. But for the life of him, he could not remember what it was.