The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 8

By Pigwidgeon37

An afternoon nap was a rare pleasure, even at the best of times. But the weather was fine, the children had decided to have a swim in the pond—accompanied by Narcissa, of course—Lucius, who, when deprived of sleep, was close to insufferable, had disappeared into his chambers immediately after lunch and Yelena had left for a brief stay in Bulgaria to visit her relatives before the whole family moved to Hogwarts. The afternoon air was dry and hot, shimmering and quivering above the black outer walls of the building, and the house was so calm and quiet that Severus could not resist the temptation. His chambers faced East and thus did not have direct light at this time of the day. He moved the sofa close to one of the open windows and lay down with a luxurious sigh that already anticipated slumber, light and soothing as afternoon sleep is wont to be, under the immaterial blanket of a current of warm air.

As soon as his head touched the cushion, he tumbled into the abyss of sleep. For once, it was dreamless and refreshing. He would probably have stayed asleep until dinner, had he not been woken up, about two hours later, by a rather heavy object that landed on his chest with a dull thud. He opened one resentful eye, only to find himself eye to eye—quite literally—with a huge yellow iris framing the slit of a black pupil. Then something got into his nose, and he sneezed. The sound was answered by a “Mrow!” which he thought sounded quite smug.

With both eyes open, he realized that the intruder was Nimue’s cat… Longshanks? Crook-something? He really could not remember the name. Not that it was important, for the beast seemed to have no intention of leaving his chest, whether he called it by its name or not; on the contrary, the large, orange feline turned this way and that, then appeared to have found the ideal position, and finally curled himself into a ball that gave off more warmth than Severus would have cared for on a day as hot as this.

The remnants of sleep were still drifting through his brain like wet cobwebs, and so he simply closed his eyes again, ready to doze off. This intention, however, was thwarted by an urgent-sounding knock on his door. “Come in!” he called. Still face to face with the large fur ball currently resting on his chest, and dizzy with heat and interrupted slumber, he merely turned his head towards the entrance.

A few hours spent in sunlight and cool water had tinged the girl’s usually fair complexion with the merest hint of a tan, which on her shoulders and on the bridge of her nose was both softened and enhanced by a pink hue. Her hair was still wet and piled up on her head in a messy mass of curls. She had fixed it by sticking her wand through it, which gave the hairdo—if it could be called thus—a vaguely Japanese touch. As far as he could see, she was merely wearing a cotton sundress, washed many times so that what had probably once been light blue had faded to the shade of translucent bone china. And plain white underpants—the fabric of her dress was so transparent that he could make them out quite clearly. No bra, no bustier. No shoes. And she had obviously put on the dress immediately after stepping out of the water, as there were still wet patches, which made the already flimsy garment even more see-through. It clung to her skin in some places, but most noticeably to her breasts. The moment his eyes strayed to her nipples, taut and erect under the moist fabric, he turned his gaze back to the cat. To no avail, because she approached the couch and leaned over him, so as to be able to look straight into that obnoxious feline's eyes.

“Bad, bad cat!” she scolded. “You know you aren’t allowed to enter other people’s rooms!”

Severus stayed immobile, much like the current occupant of his chest, who seemed quite unimpressed by his witch’s sermon. He had averted his eyes, but he still had to breathe. And thus to inhale the scent of sun-warmed skin and water, underscored by a faint trace of sweat. The very essence of summer. He tried to fight the thought that it was anything but unpleasant, especially in his current state of relaxed laziness.

“I’m sorry, Professor. Usually, he is really well-behaved. But I suppose he was playing with Elias and Mina out on the balcony and… He woke you up, didn’t he?”

“He did, but I think I’ve slept enough. What time is it, anyway?”

“Half past five.” There were droplets of water gathering on the very ends of her curls, seemingly suspended on nothing. One of them grew too heavy, detached itself and landed near the corner of Severus's mouth. “Oh,” she said, alarmed, “Sorry, again, I didn’t mean to sprinkle water all over you. It’s just that Crooks wasn't there when I came back, and—”

Severus brought up a lazy hand to wipe off the drop, which was running down his chin and tickling him. He would have liked to turn his head towards the window, in order to avoid looking at the contours of her body visible through the cotton veil that floated in front of his eyes; but the movement did not come to him easily. It would have been quite rude, too. But this, although he tried to convince himself that the contrary was true, was not the reason for him to just leave his head as it was. “Never mind. I slept more than two hours, which I assure you is quite sufficient.”

There was an awkward pause. Nimue’s hands moved forward to pick Crookshanks off his ribcage, but then hesitated and stopped in mid-air, hovered for a second and then retreated back to her sides. If she wanted to scoop up the cat, there was no way she could avoid touching Severus. “I… uh, if you want him to get off you, just shove him,” she finally managed.

“Actually, he feels quite nice, if a bit warm.” Esmeralda had loved sleeping on his chest, first purring under the gentle movements of his hands, butting her head against his palm, then gradually relaxing until she became a boneless heap of purring ecstasy… At some point, the purring would stop. She was soundly asleep, a handful of life breathing against him, so full of trust that he would never hurt her…

“Professor?” More cool pinpricks of water on his face, throat and the small area of exposed skin where he had undone the first buttons of his shirt. “”Is everything—”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He finally managed to separate memory from reality, and to push the still-vivid pain from his heart and guts, to free himself of that horrible image of the sleek black body from which the head had been severed. “But I could use something to drink. Would you be so kind…” He gestured towards the silver bell.

She nodded, showering him and Crookshanks, who merely flicked an ear in disapproval. “Of course.” She rang for Peggy, who appeared instantly.

“Would you like something as well?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m very thirsty. And hungry,” she added, putting a hand over her growling stomach. “Sorry, but swimming always makes me ravenous.”

Peggy nodded, her whole posture expressing happiness. “I makes iced green tea with mint leaves and lemon!”

Severus smiled. “That sounds wonderful, Peggy. Just what I need.”

“I brings a jug then, and sandwiches, too!”

She disappeared before the girl could say anything. “I really didn’t… I know I’m apologizing all the time, but I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. Should I tell her to take it to my room?”

“No,” he heard himself say, “You may stay if you want to.”

“Oh…” It sounded surprised. “Yes, thank you, if you really don’t mind…”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have told you you could stay. You’ll have to conjure a straw for me, though, as I’m somewhat incapacitated.” He gestured at the cat.

She beamed, nodded, and pulled the wand out of her hair. The wet mass tumbled down over her neck and shoulders. Severus inhaled sharply as one thick strand fell forward and across her left breast, where the water rendered the gauzy material completely diaphanous. For an instant, their eyes met and tension sparked up between them. Nimue blushed, almost dropped her wand and finally managed to perform a drying spell on both her hair and dress.

While Peggy laid out their afternoon tea, he listened to his gradually slowing heartbeat. It had accelerated considerably, and he did not quite know what to make of it.

Nimue transfigured a quill into a straw and handed him his glass. “May I ask you a question?”

“Is it that embarrassing?” he countered.

“Embarrassing—I don't quite see—”

“Usually you just ask whatever it is you want to know, without preparing your victim. Considering that you just did, the question has to be devastatingly embarrassing.”

“It’s not!” She grabbed another sandwich. “I was just trying to be polite.”

A dry “Ah!” was all he could manage without bursting into laughter. He had—as Owen had so wisely observed—enough experience with girls her age to know that they oscillated between adult and childish behaviour in a most amazing way. He was used to it and, when exercising his duties as a teacher or Head of Slytherin, simply used his stern, black-robed self to dampen the most noisome outbursts of both childishness and precocious grown-up-ness. When dealing with Draco, he threw in an indulgent smile, most of the time. But—and he was genuinely surprised at the way his subconscious was evidently influencing him—with her, this strategy did not seem to work anymore. Not for himself, that was, since it also served to protect himself from any untoward thoughts about his female students. Or maybe he did not want it to work where she was concerned. The possibility was so unsettling that he discarded it immediately. “Well?” he said after a few seconds, thus effectively shattering her efforts at staring him down.

“I was just wondering… not that I want to seem ungrateful or anything… But I really miss Harry and Ron…” Her shoulders went up a little, and she slightly bowed her head, as if she were awaiting a blow and preparing to protect herself.

He had been expecting this for a while, and thus was not overly surprised. “Considering your closeness, I suspected you might.”

“You say ‘closeness’ as if it were a bad thing!”

“Does the word ‘projection’ ring a bell, Nimue?”

Her former shyness completely forgotten, she sat up straight. Her face took on a belligerent expression. “If you are implying that I’m not happy with being Ron and Harry’s friend—”

“Yes,” he interrupted her calmly, “that was exactly what I was implying. What do you get out of that friendship, Nimue? It is all too obvious that they have certain advantages. But you?”

“Friendship isn’t there for anybody to get something out of it!” she spat.

“Do you really think so? Friendships are meant to enrich your life, aren't they?”

“Of course they are!”

“I am glad we both see it this way. So tell me, in which way are you enriched by Potter and Weasley’s friendship?”

For a long while, she stared at him out of narrowed eyes. “My life has certainly been a lot more fun since we became friends,” she finally replied.

“Do you think you might define ‘fun’?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “I thought that you would need a definition of fun. I guess it’s something you merely know by hearsay!”

His mouth curled into a thin smile. “Well parried. All the same, I renew my challenge. What exactly is the fun they bring into your life?”

“Well, it means that I do other things besides reading and studying…” Now she was beginning to sound insecure.

“I always was under the impression that reading and studying was what you liked most. Your idea of fun, so to speak. However, I’ll let that pass.” He handed her his empty glass, and she refilled it and gave it back to him. “Other things, you said?” She nodded. “And what, precisely, would that be?”

Nimue shifted uneasily in her chair. “I’m not sure whether I should really tell you that…”

Crookshanks got up, yawned and transferred his considerable bulk onto his witch’s lap. Finally free to move, Severus propped a few cushions up against the wall and the windowsill, and sat up. His eyes were now level with hers, since the sofa was much lower than her chair. “In this particular case, I think I can promise to fall victim to an unexpected bout of amnesia.”

While her hands glided over the cat’s fur, she shot him a tentative smile. “All right, then… It’s all the exciting things Harry gets involved into… he and Ron always need my help—otherwise they’d probably be dead already…” Her eyes went back to her familiar. “Like in our first year, when we found out about the stone. Or this year, when I dug up all kinds of spells for the final task…”

Severus nodded. “I see. May I ask a rather personal question?”

Immediately, her look became guarded. “Y-yes, although I don't have to answer it, do I?”

“Not if you feel it’s too private, of course not. But the problem kind of intrigues me. Do you have any explanation for the fact that you have no female friends?”

She shrugged. “No, not really. But you know Lavender and Parvati…”

“Indeed. And both Miss Brown and Miss Patil seem to be perfectly ordinary girls. You have been sharing a dormitory for four years, so why isn’t there either friendship or intense hate?”

“Because… because they’re stupid!” she blurted out. “Stupid and superficial and simply boring!”

“Stupid?” Her head was bent, so he could not look into her eyes. But the intense blush creeping from her cheeks down over her throat and slowly expanding over her chest owed nothing to the summer sun, of that he was pretty sure. “Nimue, you know what kind of teacher I am.” She snorted, without raising her head. “Exactly. I am very, very demanding. And although neither Miss Brown nor Miss Patil have achieved full marks on their Potions finals, they both did a very decent job, certainly above average. Stupid students don't get eighty-two percent.”

That was sufficient for her to jerk up her head in surprise. “Eighty-two? I had no idea…”

“That much was obvious,” he remarked dryly. “What I am trying to say is that neither of your roommates is stupid. As to being superficial… wouldn't you say that this is a pretty common trait in most human beings? Particularly at age fourteen?”

“Well, I’m not!” she countered heatedly.

“This assertion has, of course, been belied by your rather harsh and completely erroneous judgment of their intelligence.”

Now she was definitely furious. But, he thought, ready for battle. This time, she was not going to storm out on him, and somehow this satisfied him immensely. “That was mean and devious!” she hissed. “You know exactly what I wanted to say! And all the same, you’re deliberately misunderstanding and offending me!”

“On the contrary, my dear. All I am attempting to do is show you that your logic is faulty. For example, would you describe Potter or Weasley as particularly profound thinkers?”

She bit her lower lip and shot him a reproachful look. “This has nothing to do with—”

“Of course it has! You are blaming Brown and Patil, who, I might mention, have obtained better grades than Potter or Weasley in almost every subject, of being stupid and superficial. But your two friends are less successful in their studies and not exactly what you might call philosophers. And you said the two girls are boring. What makes them thus, if I may enquire?”

“They…” She looked at him, insecurity and reproach written all over her face. “They don't talk about… about stuff…” The tears, already glittering brightly in her eyes, spilled over and ran down her cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake that shimmered in the indirect sunlight. “Why are you doing this to me?” she choked out between sobs, “Why? Do you hate me so much? What in bloody hell have I done to you?”

She was not the first adolescent girl he had to provide with a handkerchief, nor was this the first time she needed one. According to his experience, they never had any when they really needed them. So he fished the immaculate white rectangle from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it, albeit without looking at him, and blew her nose. He waited until she had calmed down a little and then said, as gently as possible, “Believe me, I did not intend to make you cry. On the contrary, I am quite surprised at your reaction. Would you care to explain?”

“I’m not—” another sob interrupted her, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not so sure whether you want to hear it.”

“My dear Nimue, if I didn't want to hear it, I wouldn’t have asked you. My time is too precious to be wasted with conversations I’m not interested in.”

“Okay.” She pocketed the handkerchief and poured herself some more iced tea. “I must look a mess,” she said, suddenly self-conscious.

“Well…” He eyed her, pretending he was giving her a critical look-over. “Nothing this—” he conjured another handkerchief, but this one was wet “—couldn’t mend in a few minutes.” Besides, putting it over her eyes had the additional benefit that she did not have to look at him while she spoke. He had a suspicion that what he was going to hear might be quite serious.

Crookshanks the cat contributed to soothing his witch by licking her right hand. She smiled. “You see,” she began, obviously searching for words, “basically, it all has to do with being… different.”

“Different in which sense?”

“I was going to explain. I’ve always been different, you know? Whether kindergarten, pre-school, elementary school… always. I made strange things happen, and I always knew more than the others.”

“As you were doubtlessly quick to inform them,” was his laconic comment.

“Well, yes. But—” she lifted the cold compress from her left eye and gave him an intense look “—it wasn’t only to show off. I think what I really hoped for was to find somebody who’d be the same. Or maybe not the same. Somebody who’d understand and accept me, as I was, in my entirety. Stupid, isn’t it?”

Severus felt his throat contract. This was definitely not what he had been expecting, and it greatly unsettled him. To find sentiments so similar to his in the little Gryffindor know-it-all, who also happened to be… He brutally cut off this train of thought. “I wouldn’t call that stupid. It's a very basic human desire, I’d say. To be seen instead of looked at. Listened to instead of heard. What I don't quite understand, honestly, is how Potter and Weasley fit into the picture. Do they see you?”

The smile she sent in his direction was a little forced. “Well… yes and no. It’s something else, or at least I think so. They are different, too, you know? Neither of them is entirely at his ease with what he is. Harry doesn't want to be a celebrity, and Ron doesn't want to be the youngest son of a family as poor as church mice. I guess… I guess that’s what makes the bond so strong. It's easier to carry a burden when you know that the person next to you is carrying a similar one. Like having leprosy and living together with other lepers.”

At that, he snorted. “That seems a trifle exaggerated. But I think I understand.” He paused, unsure whether to pursue this thread but then deciding against it. “So, I suppose you’d like to stay in contact with them over the holidays?”

“Yes, that's what I wanted to ask.”

Severus sighed. “I don't mean to disappoint you, but I don't think it will be possible. However, I promise I will discuss the matter with Lucius. And I’ll have to go to Hogwarts, probably tomorrow. Perhaps Dumbledore has some useful advice.”

“Well, he always has,” she said, taking the compress off her eyes.

Was that a minuscule trace of venom in her voice? Severus was not quite sure but chose not to investigate further. “Indeed. I will let you know in any case.” He had put just the right note of finality in his voice, and she had caught it immediately.

“I think I’d better leave you now.” She scooped Crookshanks up in her arms and rose. “Thank you, and… well, sorry for the outburst.”

“You are most welcome.”

There was a lot on his mind when he watched her leave the room.

~~~~*~~~~

After dinner, Nimue was engaged in a heated Transfiguration debate with Narcissa, intently watched by Draco, and thus Severus suggested that he and Lucius go for a short walk through the park and grounds. They had covered maybe fifty yards and none of them had yet uttered a word, when a large owl soared towards them and landed, somewhat ungracefully, on the ground. Lucius sat down on his haunches and untied the parchment it had been carrying from its leg. The bird gave a short hoot and took off into the night.

“From Sybil?” Lucius said, frowning at the letter. “These days, getting letters from seers makes me slightly uneasy.” But he opened it nonetheless and read out loud, “Dear Lucius, tonight during dinner I had a vision (I assure you that’s really embarrassing, especially if Lester McNair is sitting at the same table. Probably thought I was having an orgasm) Anyway, it was short but unsettling all the same. Because I saw Voldemort perform the Mortuus Redivivus ritual, with more details than I would have cared for. It’s strange, because I usually don't see anything that belongs to the past. But Owen told me that Severus is going to pay a visit to Dumbledore, and so I thought the information might be useful. Yours, Sybil.”

Both men stared at each other in silence. Severus was the first to break it. “That’s definitely strange. I wish she had written more.”

Pocketing the letter, Lucius started walking again. “More in which sense?”

“In the sense that she might have explained why exactly she sent the letter. If what she saw was merely a repetition of what already happened, writing to you was unnecessary. On the other hand, I really don’t see what else it might be.”

“Hmm…” Lucius looked up at the sky where small, feathery clouds were playing hide-and-seek with the moon. “But evidently she thought it was important enough to send that letter. I can’t remember her ever having a vision of the past. You?”

“No, not really. But it can’t be the future, either.”

They walked on, the gravel crunching under their shoes. The sound almost drowned out the soft rustle of their robes against the grass. “Whatever this means,” Lucius said after a while, “I’m quite worried on Sybil’s behalf.”

Severus half-turned his head and looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Since when do you give so much as a House Elf’s toenail about Sybil?”

“Well…” They had reached a copse of trees, and in the shadow cast by their huge branches both faces appeared like white blurs. No detail was visible, but Severus did not need to see Lucius to know that he was truly upset. “I don't care that much about her, but… in a way, she has become quite… close.”

“Yes, well, that’s about what I feel concerning her. But why should you be worried?”

Lucius sighed. “You know, maybe I’m just becoming paranoid. It’s those… those recurring patterns. It drives me crazy. I keep thinking, what if this or that happens again, in exactly the same way it already did?”

“That hardly qualifies as paranoia, I daresay.” They had left the shadow of the trees, and in the fleeting, often-interrupted moonlight Severus was able to clearly distinguish the lines of worry in Lucius’s face. He supposed that he himself was not looking much better. “After all, the resemblance of what would almost have happened to Narcissa, and what might happen to Nimue is quite obvious.” Lucius merely nodded, without looking at him. “Are you afraid you might share your father’s destiny?”

In the quiet of the night, the hitch in Lucius’s sigh was clearly audible. “That too, yes. Ever since Clarissa killed her father, my opinion concerning Sybil’s predictions has changed rather drastically. When Owen started working for the Ministry… slaying dangerous beasts…” He gave a short, raucous laugh. “You’ll understand that I’m not particularly fond of her prediction for my future coming true.”

Severus smiled into the darkness. “Yes, I can imagine. Especially as I understood, quite some time ago, that the prediction in itself may be accurate, but her… well, interpretation of what she sees could be faulty. Like with Clarissa…”

“Like with Clarissa. Exactly. It could be you, or Narcissa… Draco… even Selene, given the time.” His eyes were empty in the uncertain light, two flat, dead stars.

“Lucius… you don't really think that any of us—”

“Why not? It doesn’t have to be deliberate, an accident would be perfectly sufficient.” Lucius stopped abruptly and turned towards Severus. “What about you?” he asked hoarsely. “I remember she didn't tell you anything that day.”

“Well, she did, in a way. But I’d rather… I’d rather keep that to myself, at least for the time being. Rest assured that it’s merely private.”

“Love?” The question was half-incredulous, half-expectant.

“What a hopeless romantic you are, Lucius. But yes, it’s about love. Not my favourite topic of discussion, as you well know.”

Lucius chuckled. “Well, so long as you don't get engaged to Black…” They both snorted.

“In some twisted fashion, it's even weirder. But let us return to Sybil. Do you think Voldemort remembers?”

Raising his hands in exasperation, Lucius replied, “I have no idea. ‘Yes’ and ‘no’ are equally plausible answers. But if he does—”

“Sybil is in great danger,” Severus finished the sentence. “Lucius,” he continued after a brief hesitation, “I want this to remain strictly between the two of us, but do you think Owen might… well…”

“Sacrifice her to save his own hide?” Severus nodded. “Of course he would. Sometimes, I wonder why I included Owen into this at all. At the time, it seemed perfectly logical, though. We, I mean you and I, were less certain on each other’s behalf.”

“I’m honoured to hear that you’re certain now,” Severus remarked dryly.

“We’ve risked life and limb for each other more than once, so I think we both can be. And I’m pretty sure that Owen won’t betray one of us. We might be immune to Veritaserum, but that doesn’t mean we can’t spill out all our secrets if we want to. With Sybil, it’s a little different.”

“Don't forget that she knows as many secrets as we do.”

“I didn’t say that he’d bring her to Voldemort. Killing her would be more than enough.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s true.” A brief vision of Sybil, unblemished but devoid of life, flitted through Severus's mind. “Call me a sentimental idiot, but I’d hate for him to kill her.”

“So would I, Sev. So would I. Come to think of it, maybe she does have that kind of doubts, too, and that’s why she wrote so little.”

“Not wanting to attract attention, you mean?”

“Not more, anyway, than she already had.”

Their attention had been focused on their discussion and worries, so that what had been intended to be a mere after-dinner stroll was now becoming quite a long walk. In silent understanding, they turned and began to move back in the direction of the house. The moon was now higher up in the sky, and since they had left the gravel-strewn paths long ago, the soft swish of their feet and robes on the grass was gentle and faint, almost as silvery as the moonlight. It was difficult not to feel the peace of this summer night, but both men were lost in their own thoughts and paid little attention to the beauty of their surroundings.

A few minutes passed, then Severus said, “Do you think we’ll win this time? For good, I mean?”

“I wish I could say yes. But I don't have any more information than you, so I am as far from knowing as you are. My gut feeling says yes, though. If we can devise a way to really kill him.”

“If that’s even possible. How do you judge his physical condition?”

Lucius slowly shook his head. “That’s exactly the point. I have no idea. He’s changed so much that it will probably take some time until we can be sure about anything concerning him. And even if his body proves to be less strong than he planned, that says absolutely nothing about his spirit. I only hope—” he heaved a huge sigh “—I hope that Black doesn’t bungle it. That rash temper… what if he gets it into his head that Voldemort is weak enough to be killed by a simple Avada Kedavra? Then we’d be exactly where we were fourteen years ago. And I’m sure that Voldemort has learned from errors past. If he seeks another host, that one will be a lot better suited to his purposes than Quirrell.”

“Only too true. I’ll have a word about this with Dumbledore, when I go to Hogwarts tomorrow. At least we can be sure that Black heeds his advice.”

“Yes.” They had reached the gravel path again, and the noise of their soles grinding against the small pieces of stones was reassuring, somehow. It seemed to render things more concrete. “This is nothing like the first time, Sev,” Lucius said. “At least we knew what we were doing, back then.”

“Did we really? I’d say we knew whom to obey. At least in the beginning. Now…” He left the sentence unfinished.

“I don't believe I’m saying this, but a conscience would come in quite useful right now.”

They were still laughing when they entered the house.

~~~~*~~~~

For the first time since he had started teaching at Hogwarts, Severus actually felt his mood lighten at the sight of the towers and turrets growing out of the surrounding hills as he was approaching the castle. It might not be the safest place on earth, as Dumbledore tried to make everybody believe, but it was a place of certainties. Rules for students and rules for teachers, wards and stone walls so thick that no sound, however loud, would ever penetrate them. It was a stronghold; and if Severus did not entirely approve of the values it stood for, he was certainly thankful for the comfort its thousand-year-old bulk provided.

He had sent a note to Dumbledore last night before going to bed, pretending to answer the Headmaster’s summons and notifying him of his intention to arrive in the late morning, to discuss whatever his superior deemed important enough to interrupt Severus's holidays. If the old man was at the castle at all, he would certainly have understood that this was as urgent as it was secret.

When Severus had rounded a group of apple trees at about two hundred yards’ distance from the main doors, which had hitherto obstructed his view of the castle entrance, he saw Dumbledore sitting on the front stairs. The ancient wizard was wearing his usual magnificent robes—and although the mere thought of being clad in those layers of velvet made Severus sweat, he presumed that, at age 145, one might need a bit more warmth than in the spring of one’s life—and smoking a pipe. Dumbledore being Dumbledore, he was of course producing an opaque, floating magical menagerie, adding a new beast with every puff of smoke he exhaled. It made Severus smile against his will.

He had covered another hundred yards or so, when the Headmaster noticed him, waved, got up and set out to meet him.

“Severus,” he said, holding out his hand for the younger wizard to shake. “What a pleasure to see you. No bad news, I hope?”

The hand was bony, warm and dry. In the still-cool air, the scent of smoke—Dumbledore seemed to prefer a mild brand of tobacco, smelling vaguely of dried plums—mixed pleasantly with the Headmaster’s ever-present aura of candy and the lingering aroma of freshly cut grass. “No bad news, Headmaster. But some matters that need to be discussed urgently.”

The old wizard nodded. “That was only to be expected. Would you prefer to stay outside, or rather move indoors?”

“Why not stay outside? If you’re sure that we can’t be overheard.”

They left the path and strolled down the grassy slope in the direction of Hagrid's hut, but swerved left towards the greenhouses. Between number four and five, the latter of which Severus shared with Demeter Sprout to grow the more delicate and dangerous plants in, there was a secluded spot, shaded by acacias the lower branches of which were overgrown with ivy and thus formed a natural arbour. There was a small, round table with wrought-iron legs, and a couple of chairs with striped cushions. Severus knew this place to be one of Dumbledore's favourite outdoor haunts.

The Headmaster pulled a silver bell out of his robes—although his search first produced a small paper bag, which, to judge by the stains on it, contained chocolate frogs, and a Remembrall—called for his personal elf and ordered a second, somewhat lighter breakfast. Severus, too, took a cup of tea.

“How are things proceeding at Malfoy Manor?” Dumbledore asked.

“As well as can be expected. The girl seems to cope very well with the situation.”

“I’m glad to hear it. In spite of her being a very clever young witch, I admit I had some doubts whether she would be able to adjust.”

“Oh, I’d say she’s adjusting quite well. As for being clever, I think she might have had a brilliant inspiration that might help us fend off the Dementors. Maybe even destroy them.”

Dumbledore listened attentively while Severus explained Nimue’s Pensieve theory. “Yes, that might even work,” he finally said. “Although I can’t say that I’m not worried about the test you intend to perform.”

“Believe me—” Severus leaned forward to refill his cup “—I’m not overjoyed either. But it has to be tested. In case it doesn’t work, we will at least have time to think of something else. Do you think you and your group will be able to collect enough memories?”

Stroking his beard, the Headmaster seemed to do some rapid calculations. “Given enough time, yes, we will. But we can only take memories of people whom we trust absolutely. Secrecy is paramount, and we don’t want the weapon to be sabotaged by somebody’s nightmares.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed, “that might be fatal. So I’ll let you know about the outcome of our first experiment.” He took a sip of tea. “Next on my list of topics: what about the staff vacancies? Lucius is understandably preoccupied that, if he has to hire new teachers, there will be pressure from all sides.”

“Of course.” The Headmaster nodded. “But I have already taken care of the problem. As far as I can judge the situation—and hopefully it will remain as it is—there are only two positions to be filled: Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures. Voldemort will be highly pleased about Owen having been chosen for the latter. But it is, of course, the former that everybody will be interested in.” He opened the paper bag that was still sitting on the table, fished out a chocolate frog and bit off the head with relish. “Nothing like a chocolate frog for elevenses…” Severus nodded politely and waited patiently until Dumbledore had finished his treat. “My original intention was to ask Solange Delacour. She has quit teaching at Beauxbatons six years ago, and I was sure she’d accept my offer. But Maxime was quicker—not that I bear her any grudge, of course. Solange will fill the position of Headmistress for as long as Maxime is abroad with Hagrid. My next choice would have been Arabella Figg.”

“An Auror? With all due respect, Headmaster, but if you hire her, you’re signing Lucius’s death sentence, and probably also Owen’s and my own. Unless we follow Voldemort's orders and eliminate her, that is.”

“My thoughts exactly. Therefore—” Dumbledore gave him a shrewd smile “—I thought of something else. Quite a brilliant idea, if I say so myself.”

“I’m curious to hear about it.”

“Maribel Bulstrode, of course.” The Headmaster beamed.

“Maribel… You’re right, the idea is brilliant.” Severus chuckled. “The wife of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. And thus practically untouchable, unless Voldemort wants Lucius to be kicked out of his position. Which he won’t.”

“I suppose not,” Dumbledore agreed, and treated himself to another chocolate frog. “Because, whom else has he got? Pettigrew and Barty are out of the question, and your reputation is as tainted as Lucius or Owen’s, only you have less money and thus have not been able to completely cover the stains in gold. But Owen doesn’t have a degree, and therefore he probably wouldn't be accepted. I think—” he licked the remainders of chocolate off his fingers “—that this question has been solved quite satisfactorily.” He leaned back in his chair. “What else did you want to discuss, Severus?”

“Black.”

The Animagus’s name, pronounced in a less than friendly tone, was enough to make a concerned look appear in Dumbledore’s eyes. Although Severus had by now become used to the somewhat exaggerated affection the Headmaster bore his Gryffindor archenemy, it always made him want to utter a deep, angry growl. “Sirius? Did anything go wrong during his stay at Malfoy Manor?”

“Apart from the fact that, had he remained a few days longer, we would all have suffered from stomach ulcers, no. But I think—and so do Lucius and Owen—that it would be best if you talked to him before he takes the potion and goes to Voldemort.”

Dumbledore nodded but seemed slightly taken aback. “I would have done that in any case…”

“Of course. However, there is something you need to inculcate into that sluggish brain of his, and he certainly wouldn’t take the advice from any of us. Or rather, he’d take it the wrong way. He must not, under any circumstances, try anything foolish with Voldemort.”

“Foolish—you mean, try to kill him single-handedly?”

“Exactly. It is possible, although by no means more than an assumption for the time being, that Voldemort is physically weak. We have…” He paused and tried to choose his words carefully. “There are certain signs,” he finally continued. “But whether he is weak or not, killing his body would merely buy us some time. He would doubtlessly be able to come back once again, and things would be infinitely worse. So please try and convince him that his snotty Gryffindor heroics would prove detrimental not only for himself but for the entire wizarding world. Do you think he’ll listen to you?”

“I certainly hope so.” Dumbledore pensively stroked his beard. “I know Sirius’s weaknesses as well as you do. You certainly have a point there, and I will do whatever I can to ensure that he do nothing foolish. Considering that he has a certain sentimental streak, I suppose that playing the Harry card might be the best guarantee for success.”

Severus snorted. “What do you intend to tell him? ‘Leave Voldemort in peace, so that Potter can prove he’s the wizarding world’s superhero’? We both know how the Potter-myth was born, Headmaster.”

Although he did not raise his voice, the anger in Dumbledore’s tone was quite palpable when he replied, “As you well know, I won’t say anything of the sort. It will be sufficient to remind Sirius that he’s the only real family Harry has left, and that it would therefore be unwise to risk depriving the boy of his last support. And as to the myth—” he took off his glasses and shot Severus a look of powerful reproach “—I agree that the story the public has created—”

“We created it, Headmaster. There’s no use denying that.”

“We merely presented some facts, and people drew their own conclusions.”

“And we did nothing to enlighten them. Come now, Headmaster, since when do you dodge your responsibilities? Fudge, Crouch and the reporters lapped up that story, and you stayed silent and watched. Quis tacet consentire videtur, the Romans used to say.”

“Be that as it may. But Harry is by no means a wizard of average talent.”

“Oh, of course not!” Severus’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “He certainly flies better than most.”

“He is able to fight the Imperius Curse, Severus. Can you do that?”

“I would be careful enough not to get hit by one in the first place,” Severus spat.

“Discretion is always the better part of valour, and I am the first to agree about that. Nevertheless, the boy was able to resist the curse—neither Voldemort nor Barty Crouch are what I would call wizards of little power.”

“All right, I’ll grant you that. But of what use is that to us in our current situation?”

“A question unworthy of your intelligence and cunning, my dear boy. Voldemort believes the… let us call it a myth, doesn’t he? And not even he can persuade himself that his last encounter with Harry went particularly well.”

Severus felt his brows almost merge into his hairline. “So you mean to keep the boy as a fake trump card?”

“Of course. Not even that fake, come to think of it. If we ever succeed in devising a method of really killing Voldemort, body, soul and spirit, to have him confused and hesitant might very well decide the outcome of the confrontation.”

“Another reason to send the boy as far away as possible, I suppose.”

“Indeed. That, and we will have to carefully spread rumours, every now and then. So as to keep Voldemort on tiptoes.”

“And endanger those who are close to him.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed. “Severus. Commonplace as it may sound, you can’t have the cake and eat it. Either we want to destroy that monster, once and for all, then we will all have to sacrifice something. Or we want to keep everybody happy. But, frankly, you never seemed to be a great admirer of Fudge and his political convictions.”

“Don’t deliberately misunderstand me, Headmaster,” Severus shot back heatedly. “You know exactly what I mean. Many of us will have to make sacrifices—being one of them, I certainly know what I’m talking about. But there’s a difference between making a sacrifice and being sacrificed, don’t you think so? At least give people a choice!”

Giving a short, mirthless laugh, Dumbledore said, “Do you really think I should do that? You, with your less than charitable opinion on most of our fellow wizards? What do you think they would choose? To give them a choice means to give Voldemort the chance he has been waiting for. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Severus felt his stomach heave with sudden anxiety. If Dumbledore decided to become a ruthless leader—and now, since he was not the Headmaster of Hogwarts anymore, he could do so without endangering the future of his school—the stakes in their game would increase dramatically. He did not pursue the subject any further; but when he took his leave from Dumbledore, for a brief visit to his quarters before returning to Malfoy Manor, he suddenly felt the heat of the summer day crush him like a heavy weight. Dragging his leaden feet, he wandered towards the entrance of the castle, the bulk of which seemed now more menacing than comforting.