The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 6

By Pigwidgeon37

The next morning, Severus and Yelena were the first members of the currently-enlarged Malfoy household to arrive at the breakfast table. Yelena was carrying Selene when they met at the door, and Severus held it open for the two ladies after briefly stroking the little girl’s golden locks.

“Yelena,” he said after the first sips of coffee, “you seem to have made yourself almost invisible these days. We have hardly talked at all.”

She smiled at him. “Someone has to take care of Selene, while you are all occupied.”

“True.” He examined the fruit basket and chose some very appetizing-looking plums. “Does she give you much trouble?”

“Selene? No. Not in the least. On the contrary, she makes me feel young again. It would have been nice…” Her voice faded away, and she returned her attention to her granddaughter, patiently trying to teach her to handle a knife and fork at the same time.

“Narcissa made a very courageous decision,” he observed.

“She had more courage than I had at the time.”

“That was not what I meant, she—”

“I was saying this without bitterness, Severus,” she interrupted him, “merely stating a fact. Narcissa gambled, and she won. And although Lucius was furious in the beginning, I think we all won, in the end.”

Severus smirked at her. “Well, the Malfoy men are not known for their mild temper, if their orders are deliberately ignored.”

“Of course not. However—” she kissed the blonde head, and Selene turned round, smiling at her “—he has accepted the inevitable. And more than that—he’s totally besotted with his daughter.” She replenished her coffee cup, which was still half-full; evidently the action owed more to embarrassment than to necessity. “You…” She hesitated. “You seem to have become quite good at accepting the inevitable, too.”

“Black?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “What else could I do? He—”

“No, Severus.” Her tone was serious, so much so that he looked at her in surprise. “I wasn’t talking about Black, nuisance as he doubtlessly is. I…” Her mismatched eyes darted from the child to the window, to the portrait of Domitian Malfoy and, finally, back to Severus. “This is about you,” she said, her voice so low that the words were barely discernible, “About you and Nimue.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I wasn’t spying or anything, you know? But I couldn't help but notice that she wasn’t in her chambers—”

“Oh, that!” What a misunderstanding, he thought, and a very strange one at that. Did she not know him sufficiently to be sure he would never, ever, have anything going with a student? “No, no. You’re completely mistaken, Yelena. We were simply talking and—What?” he asked, a little impatiently, when he saw the expression on her face.

“You really don't remember, do you?” She sounded sad, and for the life of him Severus could not fathom why.

“Remember what?”

“Uncle Severus getting old,” Selene declared, thus reminding the two adults of her presence.

He wagged his right forefinger at her. “Young lady, don't forget that I'll be your teacher, and probably also your Head of House, in less than nine years!”

She giggled and started wriggling on her grandmother’s lap. “Lene go see dogman!”

Severus snorted. “Black’s devastating charm has found another victim. Your father is not going to like that, Selene.”

“Maybe you should better go and wake up Nimue,” Yelena suggested. “Mr. Black needs his sleep, you know?”

“Beauty sleep,” Severus muttered under his breath. “So, what were you talking about before?” he asked when Selene had left the room.

Yelena sighed. “I really don't know whether it is wise to bring this up. And believe me, I would never have done so, had things not taken this turn for the worse. But now Voldemort is back, and Nimue is staying with us…” She gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re not going to like this, Severus, but I’m the only one who knows, so I suppose I can’t avoid this.”

He had never seen her act other than completely self-assured around himself, and so this insecurity bothered him more than he cared to admit. “You’re speaking in riddles, Yelena. And you’re giving me the suspicion I have some terminal illness, or something along those lines.”

“Knowing you,” she said wryly, “you’ll probably think of it in these terms. Anyway—” she sighed “—it is time to… how do they say? Spill the beans?” He nodded, dreading what she was going to say. “Do you remember Nimue's namesgiving?”

He shifted uneasily in his chair. “N-no. You know I had that accident immediately afterwards, don’t you? And I believe I told you, if some time later, that the cranial trauma resulted in a partial loss of memory. I don't remember anything beyond my arrival at Monrepos.”

Yelena’s eyes were lowered to her plate, where she was absentmindedly pushing around a piece of cheese. “Yes. Of course I know. I just wanted to make sure there had been no change.” She sighed again. “But you know, don't you, that you met the… well, woman Sybil had predicted would be your soul mate. Met her at the namesgiving, I mean.”

“To say that I know would be inaccurate. It isn’t on a conscious level—How would you know about that?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. “I never told you.”

“Oh, you did, you did. You told me at the namesgiving.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “Evidently I did, only I have no idea why.”

“Because you were devastated, Severus. You were shattered and confused and didn’t know whether to thank or curse the deities.”

Slowly, it began to dawn on him. “Are you saying… are you saying that the girl… Nimue…” He had to put down his coffee cup, because his hands started trembling violently. “But… but… oh, Merlin,” he gasped, when the implications of what she had just told him began to sink in. His head buried in his hands, he muttered, “Please tell me this is a bad joke.”

“You know it isn’t. I wish it were. But you must understand that I couldn't wait anymore. Until now, it didn't matter so much, except that I had to stand by and watch as you were gradually turning into a bitter, sarcastic man. But it could have waited, at least until she had finished school. Now, however… Since I heard the news of Voldemort's return, I have been arguing with myself day and night. I felt I had to tell you, because it’s important that you know. On the other hand, I was sure of your negative reaction… this isn't easy for you…”

“Not easy?” He felt the urge to tear at his hair, or cut deeply into his forearm with a knife—anything that might cause physical pain. To see his blood gushing out and staining the impeccably white tablecloth would provide comfort; pain would maybe, maybe, distract him from the agony slicing through his soul like razor-sharp claws. “Not easy…” He felt tears burn in his throat, hot and acrid; he wanted to scream and destroy. But he remained seated where he was, immobile and statue-like, incandescent, helpless panic raging underneath a perfectly calm façade. Finally, he raised his head and looked at her, out of dry, burning eyes. “Why?” he whispered hoarsely, “Why did you tell me?”

“Because…” She shrugged, a gesture of impotency and despair. “Because I thought that you would prefer knowledge to ignorance. Or to being told too late. What if—” she briefly passed her right hand over her eyes “—what if anything happened to her, and the memory came back to you… afterwards? Would you be able to forgive me?”

“I don't know.” Suddenly he felt immensely tired, weary beyond exhaustion. “I truly don’t know. What I do know, however…” Another painful contraction of his heart. “I can’t love her, Yelena. Not now. Not ever.”

“But you’ve been waiting for her, for so many years! How can you say that you’re unable—”

The effort of opening his mouth and forming words was almost too much for him. “Because I can’t love. Is that so difficult to understand? You know me, Yelena, have known me for many years. You must be perfectly aware what kind of person I am, even though you don’t know all the reasons. I may be capable of feeling a certain affection, and certainly lust… But all those are merely components of love, or so I’ve been told.”

Yelena moved her chair, so as to sit closer to him, and gently put her right hand over his left. “You are a human being, Severus. And as such, you are capable of love. That sounds like a simplistic truth, but it's a truth nonetheless. It might be difficult to unearth this ability, because I’m sure it’s buried deep down. But it is there, I’m sure.”

Resisting the urge to pull away his hand, he shook his head. “No, Yelena. Thank you for your kind assessment, but it’s wrong. And even if it weren’t, how am I expected to rediscover this ability, when its object is supposed to be that… that girl?” The last word was spoken with venom, almost disgust.

“Is she really that bad?” Yelena asked calmly.

“Bad… it’s wrong! Totally and utterly wrong! I can’t—Oh, no!” he interrupted himself, as he heard footsteps coming near. “If that is Black, or even Lucius… I can’t… I have to go!”

He got up and fled the room through the open French doors, almost blinded by the sunlight and the first tears he had shed in more than thirty years.

~~~~*~~~~

Somehow, he had ended up near the pond and simply fallen down into the grass. He could not have told how much time had passed, since he had spent it in a curious state of mind, which half resembled an enhanced, dreamless sleep. No articulate thought crossed his mind, and if there were images, they raced by quickly, too swift to be identified and immediately giving way to other, equally unrecognisable ones. The prevalent sensation was a heavy ache deep inside, and the feeling of an enormous loss—the only way to express it would have been an inarticulate, elemental howl. He would have uttered that howl, had he not been too tired to move. So he stayed motionless on the dew-covered grass, inhaling the moist smell of wet earth, unable to do anything but stare at the green blades, which seemed curiously detailed and hazy at the same time, and try not to go mad. The tears that had been welling up when he left the house had petered out as quickly as they had surged, leaving his eyes barren and burning.

The gentle touch of a hand on his cheek made him turn his head, just by an inch or so, to look up into a pair of light blue eyes. Their expression was definitely worried. “Narcissa,” he croaked.

“The one and only.” He heard the soft rustle of her robes on the grass as she knelt down, put her arms around his neck and hoisted him up into a sitting position. “Severus,” she said, brushing a few leaves out of his hair, “What on earth happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, Narcissa. It’s nothing, really. I… I just needed to be alone for a while.”

“Ah.” She sat down next to him and regarded him with raised eyebrows. “Severus, I am ready to accept and cope with almost every of your various defence mechanisms. Sometimes, I even find them endearing. But not now. Not when you are more distressed than I have ever seen you.” The scrutiny of those eyes was too much; he averted his head. But she caught his chin in a firm grip and forced him to look back at her. “Did you hear what I said?” He merely swallowed and said nothing. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing her legs. “Yelena told the others that you had to leave for an errand and might not return until afternoon. Fortunately Lucius was so engrossed in the Daily Prophet that he didn’t bother to look at her. But I did. And believe me, I know when she is lying, so I did a location spell.”

Severus sighed and scooted slightly backwards, so as to escape the contact with her hand. “I really appreciate that, Narcissa. Really. But this is personal—”

“When I turned to you for help before I had Selene—don’t you think that was personal, too?”

“Yes, but—”

“Why, Severus? Why can’t you accept help when it’s being offered to you? Or do you think I might tell Lucius?”

“No, no. I know you can keep a secret.” He looked at her and saw the worry and anger on her face. “I’m sorry, Narcissa. I suppose this is coming out all wrong. What I meant was, it is not only personal but also beyond help. Anybody’s help. So what would be the use of telling you?”

Narcissa picked a blade of grass and carefully separated it into two halves. The very tips of her fingernails were now tinged green. “I don’t know, Severus. But look at it the other way round: what harm could it possibly do? If you trust me to keep your secret, why not simply tell me?”

“Because…” He gave an exasperated sigh. Although he hated this kind of argument, he had to admit that at least it was something to cling to. “Because I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“I wasn’t aware of being so predictable.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She merely picked another blade of grass and smiled at him. “What I meant to express was that there isn’t much you could say—just the usual common-sense advice, which I certainly can do without.”

She uttered another dry “Ah.” Then she looked out over the pond with its surface rippling under the light breeze. “And what exactly are your arguments against common sense?”

“There are problems which can’t be solved by using it.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, her voice full of mock-astonishment. The breeze was playing with her hair, and she held it together, pinned to her right shoulder, with her left hand. “What kind of problem exactly do you have in mind?”

Bickering with her had relaxed him so much that now he felt able to recline, shading his eyes with his hand and squinting up at her. “You know exactly which kind of problem. Whatever has to do with emotions can’t be reduced to a logical puzzle.”

“Codswallop.” A tiny cleft appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned down at him. “Give me an honest answer to this question: when you decided to betray Voldemort, was that an emotional problem?” He gave an angry growl—this was a low blow, but she was, of course, right. “You see? And you took your decision based on common sense. Unless—” she twisted the blond mass of hair into a bun and fixed it at the nape of her neck “—I completely misread you, it was the worst emotional conflict you’ve ever faced in your whole life. Correct?”

“Correct,” he bit out.

“All right. Then go on, tell me.”

His hand that had been protecting his eyes from the sunlight now went down to cover them. “I don't want your pity,” was his harsh reply.

Instead of the anger he had expected, it was greeted by a peal of silvery laughter. “I’m not pitying you, Severus. You’re a grown-up man and certainly more than able to cope with whatever comes your way. Which doesn’t mean that you don’t need a bit of help every now and then. We all do, you know? We’re social animals, even though you’re doing your best to belie that truth.”

Severus felt his inner walls crumbling; it was an almost physical sensation, like being stripped naked by greedy hands, their back covered in wiry black hair up to the first joint of the fingers… He tried to chase away the memory. Had he not harboured real affection for Narcissa—her being a woman would not have hindered him in the least—he would have lashed out at her. Physically, as he had done with the girl. As things were, he simply did not have the strength to defend himself anymore. Wearily, he propped himself up on one elbow and unbuttoned his collar, to fish for the medallion. Under Narcissa's curious gaze, he took out the parchment, un-shrunk it and handed it to her. “Interesting,” was all she said, giving it back to him after having perused it attentively.

“As understatements go,” he said, almost laughing, “this one was pretty original.”

“But accurate as well. Who is it? Yelena?”

Severus snorted. “No, of course not. What makes you think she might be?”

“Well, she’s the first and only person you met this morning, and last night you were still perfectly yourself. Oh, and—” Her eyes went wide, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth “Not Selene?” she breathed.

Her deduction and the reaction to it were completely unexpected and hence hurt all the more. Severus had to inhale deeply before he was able to speak. “Thank you for the effective demonstration of the deep affection you bear me, Narcissa. But rest assured, your daughter is safe.”

With these words, he scrambled to his feet and stalked away, towards the house, fighting the urge to run. He deliberately ignored her voice that was calling for him to come back.

~~~~*~~~~

Surprisingly, the anger helped. Anger was an emotion he knew; he could deal with it—at least better than with the torrent of agony that had swept him to hitherto unknown depths. Anger was good, for it had a reason, an object, and could be handled in ways he was used to. Violence—whether physical or verbal—was the groove the red-hot fluid had to be channelled into, to be infused into the icy water of emotional detachment. A searing hiss, and it was cold and solid, ready to be thrown against the first possible object, be it deserving or undeserving of becoming its aim.

When he reached the house, Severus was once again perfectly composed. Stony-faced, he stepped into the cool shade of the entrance hall, content to hear the heels of his shoes resound on the marble with quick, sharp clicking noises. Passing the library, he caught the murmur of voices drifting through the half-open door. For a brief moment, they ceased, and he stopped to listen to the silence. It was broken by the girl’s bossy tones, and he sensed the anger again, roaring up deep inside and rattling the bars of his self-control. How could she dare speak, how could she have the nerve to even exist, to wreck his hopes… Severus felt his fingernails dig into his palms and ordered his hands to unclench. The voice of reason, which he had hitherto simply ignored, spoke up in his mind; although it was barely more than a shy whisper, he was well able to make out the words. He shut his eyes against the sound—what a futile, infantile reaction, he berated himself. But he did not want to listen to reason. He wanted his anger, and he wanted to find a culprit. Confront him or her and strike a vicious blow, so hard that his knuckles would split. See blood, smell blood, wait for the first sound of pain to be uttered, and strike again.

“Sev, are you all right?”

Lucius. One of those who could definitely not be blamed for this mess. Besides, he possessed more physical strength, so that Severus would likely be the one who ended up with a bleeding nose. He tried to gain some control over his ragged, irregular breathing and opened his eyes. “Yes. Perfectly all right. I suppose it’s just the heat…”

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed? That would be a first. Anyway, maybe you should lie down for a moment—lunch is in half an hour, and eating will certainly help. Was your… er, errand successful?”

“My… yes. Yes, very successful. I think I might follow your advice and retire for a few minutes.” He staggered back through the corridor and up the stairs, towards the sanctuary of his rooms.

Despite the early hour, Severus went directly to pour himself a whiskey, downed it in one gulp and refilled his glass before flinging himself on the sofa. Breakfast had been prematurely interrupted, thus his stomach was empty, and the alcohol went straight to his brain. Not that that was a bad thing, he thought hazily, because it fogged his mind and drove warmth into his fingers and toes, which had been ice-cold. He found his way to his bedroom and let himself fall heavily onto the richly embroidered bedspread. “Ah, Elias,” he slurred when the beat of raven wings fanned some cool air into his face. “At least you are a social animal.” He chuckled, and then yelped, as the bird landed on his chest and the sharp claws went through the fabric of his clothes and dug into his skin.

Elias had been the attentive, if mostly mute, audience to many a monologue in years past. Severus had become used to talking to him, for somehow it always soothed him. The beady black eyes, the slightly tilted head and occasional fluttering or preening provided just the right amount of response to the flow of words, without interrupting it.

Today, he was almost too tired—and, above all, drunk—to talk, but what was still boiling lava-like under the surface simply wanted out. So he made the effort. “It’s her, you know?” he said, stroking Elias’s breast feathers with his forefinger. “The bushy-haired nightmare whose cat you occasionally play with. You’re getting on quite well, aren’t you?” The raven did not respond, as was to be expected, and merely shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Well, I suppose you do. But that’s about as good as it gets. Because human relationships are a little more complex, you know? Not that I know a lot about relationships…”

He closed his eyes and almost nodded off, but was pulled from the beginnings of slumber by a sharp croak. “Oh, sorry. I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather today. You’d probably understand if you understood…” He chuckled. “How often have I told you about her? Not this one, I mean. The idea I had…” His voice faded away, and his throat felt tight again. “I didn’t really imagine her, you know. I didn’t have any exaggerated expectations—whether of beauty, or character. She used to be faceless, just an idea. Not a concrete person. I never speculated about the colour of her hair or the length of her legs. After all,” he sighed, “it would be a bit strange if I of all people were to demand attributes of physical beauty, wouldn’t it? Well, that's a little beyond you, I guess.” He shifted, so he could rest his head on the pile of pillows, clearly seeing in his mind—although he had never actually seen it—the stern contrast between starched white linen and lanky black strands of hair. “But I’ll tell you,” he continued, “what had me so completely shattered this morning. Partly it was also my own fault, I’ll admit as much, if only to you. Despite that loneliness that was eating me up from inside, despite the hopelessness and the longing for somebody who’d belong to me… No.” He closed his eyes again, now merely feeling the soft pressure of the bird's weight against his cheek. “No. I wanted to belong. That was the ultimate craving. I wanted somebody who’d accept me, fully and unconditionally. I wanted somebody to lean into—I never had that, you know? And, to say the truth—” he propped himself up on his elbows, eyes open once again and scanning the room for nothing in particular “—I’m not sure whether any woman wandering this earth would have provoked a different reaction, once I learned her identity. Because—” he raised his right hand, forefinger pointing at Elias “—as I was saying, despite the loneliness, I had grown quite accustomed to that vague idea of somebody. It had become comfortable and well-known. Whoever replaced it would never have been able to live up to that. That’s the truth, Elias.”

He let himself fall back into the pillows. “Although I have to say that this incarnation of my hopes is beyond any worst case I could have imagined. She’s a child, Elias. Merely a child. True, I could take her to bed if I wanted, for she’s fifteen already. Thanks to that bloody time turner,” he added gruffly. “Then again, what good would it do me to take her into my bed? With Lestrange things were different, he had been lusting after Tabitha since the day she was sorted. I’ve never had any improper thoughts about any of my students, least of all that bossy encyclopaedia on two legs.” Elias fluttered up briefly and then settled down on the pillow, next to his face. “Don't you dare defend her. Do you understand? I will have to…” He passed a weary hand over his eyes. “That’s exactly the question: what can or will I do? If she’s the one, she’s the one. Too many of Sybil’s predictions have come true—I don’t doubt this one’s as genuine as the others. So what can I do, Elias?”

He sat up, crossed his legs and looked down at his hands, which were resting on his knees. “To say it bluntly, I have two alternatives: accept her or reject her. And honestly, I have no idea which of them is worse. Absolutely no idea. But I know that she’s to be my soul mate. Come to think of it, that sounds ridiculous.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, swaying slightly. “Damn it, Elias, I shouldn’t have had that second whisky. Maybe not even the first. But fortunately—” he passed a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tidy it, but at least he managed to brush off some stray bits of grass “—fortunately I’m a Potions Master and thus well-equipped for such an occasion.”

Severus stepped into the bathroom and took a vial out of a small nécessaire filled with similar vessels. “One good sip of wakefulness potion should do the job. Speaking of potions,” he continued after having downed the liquid and re-closed the vial, “I have to find a way to administer the Falsitaserum to her. If Yelena hadn’t told me what she told me, a late-night cup of hot chocolate might have solved the problem. As things are, though…” He looked at his reflection in the mirror and scowled at himself, remembering how he had taken stock of his physical appearance so many years ago, after he had first set eyes on Yelena. Back then, things had seemed relatively simple—with his whole life still ahead of him, he had felt like a sculptor with an untouched block of marble. There had been such things as hope, maybe even dreams. Now, the sculpture that was his life was more or less finished, finely chiselled and carved. A few details could be added, but nothing essential could be altered anymore without destroying the whole thing. And the girl… Nimue, he mentally corrected himself, Nimue had been an important, albeit unwitting, part of that life, forming it with invisible but ever-present hands, whether he liked it or not. He would have to put up with her, and try to make the best of it. His one consolation being that her life, and also her personality, had not yet come to full maturity. Maybe there was a possibility…

He shook his head at his own reflected image in exasperation and left the bathroom. It was time to go down for lunch.

~~~~*~~~~

Sybil and Owen had flat-out refused to come to Malfoy Manor every day—Sybil had even muttered something about ‘babysitting’—and claimed that they were entitled to some pleasure and privacy during the holidays. Thus, Draco and Nimue had been working in the library by themselves, monitored only by the occasional glance Lucius or Yelena had cast at them once every hour or so.

“She may be an unbearable pain in the neck,” Lucius remarked, swirling the wine round in his glass before tasting it, “but she has certainly got a lot of discipline.”

For the first time, Severus felt the weight of the knowledge Yelena had imparted to him bear down on him full force. Somehow, he felt compelled to see her as a young woman rather than a child, but his whole being rebelled against this drastic change of point of view. “Well, yes,” he answered, hesitantly, “She has always been quite the stickler for every rule she could get hold of. Let’s hope that something substantial will come from their work, anyway. Where’s Black?”

“I had no idea you missed him so much,” Lucius replied with a sneer. “But since you’re asking…” He took a sip of wine, tasted it and nodded. “Excellent—we spent an extremely unpleasant morning in each other’s company, and I think he’s so fed up that he’ll prefer having lunch in his room. I sincerely hope that this afternoon, I won’t have to do all the work on my own.”

“Certainly not. But I was a little… out of sorts this morning.”

“It seems that everybody is, today. Mother was absentminded, to use a polite expression, and Narcissa has buried herself in her rooms.” He looked out of the window and shook his head. “Seeing as how the weather doesn’t seem to change, I cannot quite believe that it’s a migraine, but that was what she told me.”

Torn between feeling guilty—though not overly so, as Narcissa’s reaction had truly hurt him—and amused at Lucius’s obvious displeasure at not being the sun around which the female members of the household usually revolved, Severus gave a noncommittal nod. “Anything interesting?” he asked, when Lucius pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his pocket and handed it to him.

“You may certainly say so.”

Severus unfolded the paper. The headline read ‘RITA SKEETER DISAPPEARED WITHOUT A TRACE—LAW ENFORCEMENT CLUELESS’ “I’m sure they’d have added ‘AS USUAL’, if there had been enough space,” he remarked while perusing the article.

“And they would, of course, have been right. Pierson doesn’t seem to be in deep mourning, though.”

Nathalie Pierson, chief editor of the newspaper, whose photo was on the front page under a picture of Rita Skeeter, did indeed appear quite composed. Severus snorted. “Can’t say I blame her. She’d probably thank us on her knees, if—” He stopped in mid-sentence, for the door was opened by Draco, who stepped into the room, holding Selene’s hand, followed by Nimue.

“Mother said she wasn’t coming down for lunch,” he informed the two men, “and grandmother said she’d keep her company.”

The children took their seats, and Selene was levitated onto her high stool next to Lucius. “Lene want dogman!” she complained. “Where is dogman?”

Draco coughed into his napkin, thus hiding his amusement at his father’s all-too-obvious exasperation, and Nimue giggled.

“Mr. Black,” Lucius said curtly, “will not be eating with us. You shall have to be content with our company.”

The salad was served, and everybody started eating. Severus stealthily watched the two youngsters sitting at the opposite side of the table from under half-closed eyelids. The girl’s cheeks were flushed, and she seemed to be bursting with something important. Draco, too, appeared rather more animated than usually, but there was an unmistakeable twinkle of glee in his eyes. What were those two up to?

When Nimue finally opened her mouth to speak, Draco bested her by mere fractions of a second. “Did you see that article about Skeeter, father?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the girl’s furious stare. Or rather, Severus thought, enjoying it.

“Difficult to avoid noticing an inch-high headline, don’t you think so?” was Lucius’s sarcastic reply. “Of course I read it. Nasty business,” he added nonchalantly, spearing a cherry tomato.

The girl choked on the bite she had been chewing. “What do—” she began but was interrupted by Lucius.

“Kindly swallow before speaking,” he cut her off. “Miss Skeeter is not going to disturb us any further. The discussion is closed.”

She blushed, looked down on her plate and continued eating. When the main course arrived, however, she had apparently regained possession of her wits and was ready to blurt out whatever she deemed so important. But Draco was again faster and asked, “Father, do you think I might do a little Quidditch practice in the afternoon? The weather is splendid—it would be a shame to remain inside.” This time, Nimue kicked his ankle under the table—Severus saw it with amusement. Now, he had, of course, understood what the boy was up to. Not that he was less impatient to tell his father whatever they had found out or thought of. But he also wanted to taunt Nimue by taking advantage of the cast-iron rule decreeing that nobody was to interrupt the Lord of the Manor. Quite ingenious, really. Severus winked at the boy, who answered with a conspiratorial smirk.

What he had not taken into account, though, was Nimue’s stubbornness.

“That,” Lucius said, “depends entirely on the progress you have made—”

“But that’s what I’ve wanted to tell you since we entered this room!” the girl interrupted him. “I think I had an idea and…” Her voice faded—no wonder, for the crease between Lucius’s brows was deepening ominously. “I… I beg your pardon,” she stuttered, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you… sorry…” But she did not flinch under the steely-grey gaze.

“I suggest that, if you do not mean to interrupt me, you act according to your laudable intentions, my dear,” he retorted. “But considering that you are probably going to burst within the next few seconds unless you impart your oh-so-important news to us, feel free to talk.” That said, he returned his attention to his daughter’s attempts at de-boning a piece of fish.

Nimue tossed back her mane of frizzy curls, cleared her throat and began, “Before telling you, I want you to promise that you won’t discard the idea merely because it’s Muggle-inspired.”

As Lucius was completely ignoring her, Severus said, “Maybe you should simply come to the point, Nimue.”

“All right then. You told me what the Bloody Baron said to you, about Dementors basically being agglomerates of negative energy. Considering that it’s negative magical energy, Muggles can’t see them. They only feel their effect. To us wizards, they appear in human form. One of the books mentioned that goblins perceive them as orcs, which are—”

“We all know what orcs are. Please spare us the lengthy explanation.”

She blushed. “Sorry, I got carried away. Usually I have to explain everything…”

“We aren’t Potty and the Weasel,” Draco mumbled but fell silent under his father’s stern glare.

“And the books also mention,” she continued, unperturbed, “that the Patronus spell merely creates an amount of positive magical energy strong enough to drive them away. But not to disintegrate them. You could compare it to an electric fence—”

“A what?” Lucius said, evidently puzzled but interested in spite of himself.

In order to save time, Severus decided that this was the moment to intervene. “Electricity,” he explained, “is a form of energy Muggles use.”

“I certainly know that!” Lucius snarled, waving an impatient hand.

“Ah, I wasn’t aware of that. Right, so an electric fence is basically a length of non-insulated wire, charged with low-voltage electricity. If you touch it, you feel a slight shock—Muggles use it to prevent larger beasts like cows or horses from escaping their paddocks. It’s slightly unpleasant, but by no means detrimental or damaging.”

Nimue gave him an appreciative smile and continued her tirade. “Exactly. Low voltage is unpleasant, enough to make you avoid a repetition of the contact. High voltage kills. So I thought that it might be the same for Dementors. One Patronus holds them at bay. A massive amount of positive magical energy might destroy them.” She took a deep breath and beamed at everybody. Severus found it difficult not to give ten points to Gryffindor.

“Nimue clever!” Selene crowed, brandishing her fork.

“Oh shut up there,” Draco said good-naturedly, “You didn’t understand a single bit of what she said.”

“Dogman nice! Nimue clever!” she repeated.

Her father rolled his eyes. “Stop that, Selene. We are talking about important matters here. That’s all very well and fine,” he addressed Nimue, “But, as far as I see, it is merely a theory.”

“Not. At. All.” She tossed back her hair again, and shot him a triumphant look. “And that’s where the Muggles come in.”

“Oh,” Lucius said, the venom quite detectable in his voice, “I thought they were responsible for the electric fence metaphor.”

His irony ricocheted off her zealous enthusiasm like a rubber ball from a concrete wall. She was totally unfazed. “That, too. But the really interesting analogy is Muggle physics. I did a bit of reading—”

“Oh, really?” Draco batted his eyelids. “And there I was, thinking you played Quidditch all the time…”

“Oh, shut up! That’s so cheap, you know, all that taunting because I prefer reading and studying to other pastimes! Just leave me be!”

“Draco, please,” Lucius said. “I think we have already agreed that this is no laughing matter. Kindly let Nimue continue.”

“Yes, father.” When Draco was sulking, he always crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at his feet. This was exactly what he did now, only his feet were hidden by the tablecloth and so he had to glare morosely at his empty plate.

“All right,” she said, “I’ll try to make this as short and understandable as possible. Since the beginning of this century, there has been a theory—now it’s not a theory anymore but has been proved by a series of experiments—that the universe consists not only of matter. Scientists hypothesized and finally proved that there is also such a thing as antimatter. If—” she bore now a surprising, not to mention slightly comical, resemblance to McGonagall when in full teaching mode “—matter encounters antimatter, they cancel each other out. But—” she gave each of them a look of unadulterated superiority “—of course they don’t just dissolve into nothing. That encounter creates a considerable amount of energy. Never mind, though. What’s important is that both matter and antimatter disappear.”

“Are you implying,” Severus asked, suddenly fascinated, “that what applies to matter and antimatter might also apply to positive versus negative energy? Magical energy, I mean?”

“Basically yes. Because you must consider that, although Dementors are just an agglomerate of negative energy, they are also pretty tangible. So there is matter involved. So, if we could manage to find the right sort of… well, let’s call it Dementor-antimatter, we might be able to just cancel them out.”

“Hmm…” Lucius leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, fingertips pressed together. Only the whiteness of his nails, where the blood had ceded to the pressure, betrayed his excitement. “So the crucial problem seems to be that we have to find the right kind of antimatter.”

“Y-yes. That’s exactly the problem. But I think there might be a solution. It’s still a bit hazy, but I’ll try to explain what I mean. I’ve never conjured a Patronus myself, but Harry told me that you have to summon a very strong, happy memory. Is that correct?”

“Correct,” Severus agreed. “You have to summon it in the sense that you must manage to relive that feeling, as well as to see the related image with your mind’s eye. Once you are completely immersed in that state, you pronounce the incantation.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied. “And the Patronus itself? Is it… solid? Tangible?”

“No. The Patronus is a projection.”

“Then my idea might work,” she said, twisting a strand of hair round her finger. “Because you see, what makes the Patronus work is the happy memory. The Patronus itself is, as you said, merely its projection. Therefore, what we need is that memory in tangible form, so we can literally throw it at the Dementor. That should do the job.”

“Memories in solid—of course!” Lucius sat up straight. “Of course! What we need is a Pensieve, filled with memories—brilliant, Nimue, truly brilliant!”

“Well,” she said, “I have to give credit where it’s due: Draco told me about the possibility of extracting memories. I knew that there’s such a thing as a Pensieve, but I had no idea how it worked.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Severus interrupted the general enthusiasm, “I really don’t mean to rain on your parade, but what about the energy that might be set free? And did you give any thought to the difficulty of calculating the quantity of extracted memory we would need per caput, so to speak?”

“No,” she replied cheerfully, “I thought we might try to find out together.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘find out’?” Lucius said, rather perplexed. “I know you used to have all kinds of ideas about the horrors you would find at Malfoy Manor, but not even you could have seriously believed that I had a pet Dementor?”

At that, she laughed. Severus noticed that she seemed to be a lot more at ease with the Malfoy males now. Probably because she finally felt she had some control over the situation. And they had both acknowledged her intelligence—obviously that was most important to her. “No, not really. But I thought that Sirius might be able to help.”

“Black? How could he—if you mean to use him as a bait to attract the Dementors to my house—”

“Not here, of course not. But couldn’t you pretend to You-Know—I mean, to Voldemort that you have to gather intelligence before Azkaban is actually attacked? So we could go there and—”

“If anybody actually carries out that crazy scheme,” Severus interrupted her, “it’s going to be Lucius, Owen and myself. You will stay put at home.”

She shot him a belligerent look. “I’m fifteen and—”

Surprisingly, she found an ally in Draco. “So am I. If she goes, I want to come, too!”

“Lene see mentors! Lene see mentors!”

“Silence!” Lucius bellowed. “I’ve had enough of this childish behaviour! You—” he pointed at Draco who was visibly shrinking “—go out and practise Quidditch! And you—” the girl’s eyes went wide “—take your niece and accompany him! I don’t want to see any of you before dinner. And if one of you has so much as a bruise or scratch, beware of the consequences!”

The three left the room quite hurriedly, and Lucius sank back into his chair. “Merlin help me,” he sighed, “but two teenagers and one toddler is simply more than I can take. I wonder how you have managed to survive teaching so far.”

“By intimidating them, of course. Which is something I suppose you’d better avoid where your own offspring are concerned. What do you think of Nimue’s… plan, for lack of a better word?”

Lucius snapped at the House Elf on duty to bring them some coffee and then considered Severus's question. “Well,” he finally said, “it sounds quite enticing. Sounds, mind you. But even if we succeed in eliminating all the problems Nimue seems to deem minor, I have some doubts concerning its feasibility.”

Watching in disgust as Lucius put two cubes of sugar into his coffee, Severus sipped from his own cup—black, and bitter, of course. “Meaning the expedition to Azkaban?”

“That, too. But what worries me more is the question of how on earth every magical household in Great Britain might be provided with a Pensieve within the next few weeks. Plus, somebody would have to teach people how to extract memories.”

“Well…” Severus smirked. “There’s always Venerable Dumbledore and his intrepid resistance group…”

“True, but this would be a task beyond even their possibilities. Besides, we don't know how many people he has.”

“Hmm…”  Severus rubbed his forehead. Whether the weather was changing or not, he felt a migraine coming on. Peggy would have to take care of it before they continued their work with Black, or he could not be held accountable for his actions. “What if we try to persuade Voldemort to use them as a kind of ultimate weapon? In case everything else fails. Because—” he drained the last drop of coffee from his cup “—if he employs them en masse, for a concerted assault, say, on Hogwarts or the Ministry, they could be eliminated altogether, all at the same time.”

“And what do you suggest that he do with them in the meantime? Keep them in a box?”

“We might propose that he create his own prison, where he could incarcerate captives. That would appeal to him, don't you think so? And in the meantime, Dumbledore and his merry troupe roam England to collect bottled memories.”

“The idea certainly has merit. Maybe we should leave it at that now and tell Owen the next time we see him. And now—” he rose from his seat “—let’s tackle Black.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see his face when he hears what task we have chosen him for.”

“Wait until we tell him whose idea it was,” Severus said.

The idea cheered him up considerably, and he left the dining room in Lucius’s wake in a much better mood than he had entered it.