The Sybil's Oracle: Book ThreeChapter 23By Pigwidgeon37“First of all,” said Dumbledore, “I have to thank you, Severus. I know how… difficult it must have been for you to put aside the conflict with Sirius. But you saved his life—” “He’d saved mine some minutes earlier,” Severus replied, a little gruffly. “What else could I do? Besides, there’s the resistance movement, and—” “True. Very true. Let me thank you nonetheless. And…” He paused to search his pockets for a chocolate frog, which he unwrapped meticulously. “Lucius told me you also gave him a potion that will considerably mitigate the effects of the Cruciatus Curse…” Severus glared at Lucius, who grinned and shrugged. “Yes, I did. But—” at Dumbledore’s highly annoying wink, he gave an exasperated sigh “—don’t… don’t try to turn me into a saint, for heaven’s sake. I dislike Black, and will always dislike him. So please—What?” he asked, when Lucius chuckled. “Oh, nothing.” Lucius crossed his legs and examined his fingernails. “It’s just that… well, I suppose all of us feel it, in one way or another. It’s the effect of that damnable spring water we all drank. It certainly hasn’t turned me into a saint—” “That,” Dumbledore interjected around a bite of chocolate frog, “would be beyond the powers of even the most powerful of springs.” Lucius inclined his head. “Thank you for reassuring me. Anyway, you can’t deny,” he said, addressing Severus, “that it has caused a certain, er, shift in your personality.” Crossing his arms, Severus gave him a sardonic smile. “Next time I check, you’ll have grown a beard, dear Lucius, and roam the castle spouting words of wisdom.” “Hardly,” Lucius drawled, and Dumbledore snorted. “Lucius and I have to go down into the cave, to perform the handing-over of the insignia,” he said then, “So we won’t intrude upon your privacy for too long. Besides, I think you need more sleep, so as to recover as soon as possible.” “Fawkes has accelerated my recovery a good deal. But another few hours of sleep would certainly help.” “Exactly. So let us make this as short as possible.” Dumbledore rummaged through his pockets and, contrary to Severus’s expectations—he had been prepared to see another gaudily-wrapped chocolate frog emerge from the depths of his robes—produced two folded sheets of parchment, one of which turned out to be a page torn from the Daily Prophet. “Lucius has already seen it,” he explained, offering Severus the piece of newspaper. “What with the kerfuffle yesterday, none of us had time for a proper perusal of the Prophet.” Severus nodded absentmindedly. His eyes were still sore from the after-effect of the curse, and the headache the last blow he had received the other night had given him was still quite insistent, so he had to make a conscious effort to focus his look. The headline, though, was hard to overlook. “MINISTRY ENQUIRY PROVES YOU-KNOW-WHO’S LETTER WAS HOAX” it read in almost inch-high letters. The short article, adorned by a picture of a contentedly-smiling Cornelius Fudge, informed the reader that a ministerial commission had investigated the ‘Azkaban case’ and found out that the prison was ‘as safe as ever. The convicts are mostly in excellent condition. And the Dementors do not seem inclined to obey anybody’s command but the Ministry of Magic’s, where, after the tragic death of Governor McFarlane and until the appointment of a new governor, Severin Bulstrode, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, will act as temporary governor.’ “So they have decided to play it down,” Severus said, putting down the newspaper. “It seems that they have indeed,” Dumbledore confirmed gravely. “And now—” he unfolded the second parchment “—read this.”
“Percy Weasley, I suppose. Oh, yes,” Dumbledore confirmed when Severus stared at him, hardly believing his own ears, “Percy has been promoted. He is now something like second deputy undersecretary to Fudge, and the style of this letter reminds me very much of his more boring essays.” “Promoted?” Severus repeated incredulously, “But… but the boy is nineteen! Why would—of course,” he interrupted himself. “Of course, so he can report directly to the Minister in case his father doesn’t toe the line.” “The little shit,” Lucius said, raising an eyebrow and half-closing his eyes in disdain. “Birds of a feather, he and Barty. On the other hand, there's the advantage that I’ll be able to get information about him, directly from the Minister. Just in case he gets strange ideas.” Severus nodded and returned to his reading.
Upon mutual agreement, we have decided that it is now time to convey the reins to the hands of a successor whom we both deem worthy of the title of Headmaster of Hogwarts. To ensure continuity, which is as important as the changes he will doubtlessly see fit to introduce, may I ask you to inform him, as thoroughly as possible, about the current state of the school. “Well?” Lucius said when Severus hand holding the letter dropped back onto the duvet, “What do you say to this?” Severus shook his head. “I’m… well, speechless.” “Praise indeed,” muttered Dumbledore, and chuckled. “What a preposterous piece of badly veiled impudence!” “Almost exactly my words,” Lucius agreed, a grim smile on his lips. “Would you like to see the letter he wrote to me?” Without waiting for Severus’s yes, he pulled another parchment from his robes and handed it over. “The difference of style is remarkable,” he observed.
“What the hell is Fudge playing at?” Severus asked, looking from Lucius to Dumbledore. “He must be completely crazy if he believes—” “He’s being a pompous arsehole, just as usual,” Lucius interrupted him, “And now that he thinks he’s bested Dumbledore, he thinks he’s also a skilled politician.” “But…” Severus picked up the two letters. “But can he really be that stupid? He tries to play you against the Headmaster—I understand that to a certain degree, after all he’s convinced that you hate each other. But his allusions to the Ministry and the Governors are so… blunt, I can scarcely believe it. Does he honestly think you’re afraid of Maribel Bulstrode?” “I think,” Dumbledore said slowly, “that Lucius is right. Cornelius is not the cleverest of wizards, but nonetheless convinced that he’s able to outwit us all. Partly—” he winked at the two younger wizards “—this is of course our fault. We took great pains to make him believe that he had chosen Lucius against my wishes. And Lucius, who has him at his beck and call, has always pulled the strings very carefully—Cornelius would never suspect that he’s nothing more than a puppet. And so…” Severus nodded pensively. “And so he believes he’s almighty. Of course. Only from that to playing this kind of double game… Well, obviously he has persuaded himself that he can pull it off. If a little too late. Potter, I imagine, cannot be found?” “Impossible,” was all Dumbledore said. “And,” Severus addressed Lucius, “what are you going to do about Weasley and Miss Lestrange?” “Nimue is my ward. She won’t leave Hogwarts without my consent. And—” Lucius smirked “—as Fudge so wisely observed, I enjoy full immunity. If I refuse to let her go, he can’t do anything. As to Weasley, I couldn't care less. But we’ll have to inform our contacts at the Ministry. Murdoch or Hopkirk should be able to find a trustworthy Obliviator, who will conveniently botch the spell. In the meantime, Dumbledore will impress upon that hoard of redheads the necessity of being discreet. Nimue…” He winked at Severus. “She’s a bright girl, and will understand that she must not talk, won’t she?” “I am sure she will,” Severus replied, somewhat stiffly. “And—” his forefinger traced the edge of the parchment “—so long as Hogwarts remains rumour-free, the Governors won’t have any reason to take matters in their own hands. We’ll have to be very careful around Bulstrode, though, both mother and daughter. Especially Draco.” Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The situation is becoming even more complex than I initially thought. To say the truth—” he smiled apologetically at Lucius “—I would not have expected him to take the initiative, not to this degree in any case. His stupidity and vanity make him unpredictable—not what we need right now.” “Certainly not,” Severus agreed. “But don’t forget the Imperius Potion. Once Voldemort starts using it—and he will use it, believe me, because the Prophet article is bound to make him angry—” “Why do you think so?” Dumbledore asked. “Because I know him, and so does Lucius. This time, he didn’t want to play stealthy. He wanted a big comeback—or do you think that portkey was made for Potter’s return journey? He wanted first Hogwarts, and then Azkaban. Otherwise he wouldn’t have written that letter. He wants the wizarding world to know that he is back, and now he’ll become aware that not only was his first plan thwarted, but nobody believes Potter, and his letter is called a hoax. Mind my words—in a few days’ time, we’ll have the first inexplicable accidents.” “How long does it take to brew the Imperius Potion?” Lucius asked. “Four days, maybe some more if he hasn’t yet gathered all the ingredients. And, as I said, once he starts using it, Fudge’s credibility is bound to dissolve like snow under the sun.” “I wish,” Dumbledore said ruefully, “we didn’t have to rely on that. As things are, there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. Unless Sirius—” “Black can’t take any more risks. He will have suffered severe punishment for having kept his Animagus skills a secret. He might be foolhardy, but not even he is reckless enough to break into Pettigrew’s rooms and destroy the ingredients.” “Hear, hear,” Lucius muttered. “Well,” Dumbledore said, straightening his shoulders, “all things considered, I think this is how we should proceed: first, we shall wait until Flitwick arrives—maybe he is already at Hogwarts. Then, we strengthen the wards. That done, I’ll hand over the insignia to Lucius. And after that, Remus, Bill, Charlie and I must set out immediately, to get those students back to Hogwarts whose hair or whatever Pettigrew has taken. If everything goes well, we should have them safely back at school before the end of next week. If they are Muggle-born, their parents will be in no immediate danger, and the wizarding families will eventually have to leave the country or go into hiding.” “The problem is,” Lucius interjected, “how are we to explain this to Voldemort?” “The students are mostly Gryffindors. Hence, Voldemort will believe you if you tell him they’ve joined the resistance movement.” Severus passed a weary hand over his eyes. “Voldemort will have to swallow a hell of a lot of stories,” he muttered. “He may be stark mad, but…” “I am afraid we have no choice,” Dumbledore said gravely. “It is bad enough if he plays his little games with grown-ups, but no price is too high to keep the children safe. Concerning the soon-to-be-initiated Death Eaters from Durmstrang,” he continued on a lighter tone, turning to Lucius, “your mother has already informed her people. At least the men among them will be… otherwise occupied for some time.” Lucius snorted. “They’re going to die with a happy smile on their faces.” “Doubtlessly.” Dumbledore rose. “I think we should leave Severus to his well-deserved sleep. No, no, stay where you are,” he said, forcing Severus back into the cushions when he attempted to rise. “My dear boy, thank you for everything you have already done and will do.” He took Severus’s right in a firm grip. “Together, we will overcome the rising Darkness. And this time, the world will learn the truth about your courage and the sacrifices you have made. Good bye, my friend, and fare thee well.” He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on Severus’s forehead. Years ago, he would have laughed in the old wizard’s face and called him a fool. Things had changed, though; not even Lucius was smirking. “Thank you, Headmaster,” Severus muttered, swallowing against the tightening of his throat. “Albus,” Dumbledore corrected, “I think it is time.” “Thank you, Albus,” he repeated and sank back into the pillows. He was asleep before the door clicked shut. ~~~~*~~~~ Dawn was morphing into darkness when he woke. Fawkes's tears had truly worked a miracle, he thought, opening his eyes and glancing around the room. He loved this time of day, although, due to his teaching duties, he could enjoy it but rarely. There was a reason for calling it ‘l’heure bleue’—the blue hour. No trace of direct sunlight anymore, the sky took on the colour of gentian, a deep blue that soothed both the eyes and mind. And everything, whether tree, grass or stone, was tinged a different shade of blue, mysterious and adding depth to the scenery, slightly blurring the outlines. Only the sandstone of the castle walls withstood its influence; it stood out starkly against the underwater-like background, the tops of the turrets and towers catching the last purple rays of the sunset. It was truly beautiful. Severus smiled to himself and decided that he did not want to get up just yet. Too alluring was the magic of this hour. The evening air was slightly chilly and carried a faint perfume of roses; he pulled the duvet further up to his chin and was on the verge of dozing off, when he heard a faint scratching at the bedroom door. “Severus?” It was not more than a whisper, but unmistakeably Nimue's voice. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that she would see him—again!—in a state of weakness and near-un-presentability, and called, “Come in!” He recognized the shirt she was wearing—it was the same white linen blouse he had cleaned of grass- and tear stains under the willow at Malfoy Manor. Today, though, she had buttoned it up completely, the sleeves were not rolled up and the cuffs buttoned, too, and the garment was so starched that it almost crackled with every move. It was a telltale sign—and Severus was very much aware of that—of how fast their relationship had developed, that he did not feel angry or rejected; he merely found it very endearing and just the slightest bit amusing. Her hair in a severe plait, and that forbidding attire… so he had gone too far the other day. Did she realize that, dressed with so much would-be sternness, she looked even more desirable? “I didn’t wake you, did I?” The brown eyes looked anxious, more so as, due to the near-total absence of light, her pupils were dilated. “No, you didn’t.” He motioned for her to come closer and, when she stepped towards the bed a little hesitantly, grabbed his wand from the nightstand and lit a few candles. “How are you?” She sat down on the edge of the chair previously occupied by Dumbledore, knees pressed together, and clasping a small jar. “I am fine. Really,” he added when her eyebrows rose. “Dumbledore visited me this morning, and Fawkes was so kind as to present me with one of his tears.” “Oh…” She smiled and looked down at the jar. “Then you… you won't be needing this…” “Maybe you should tell me what exactly ‘this’ is?” “It’s…” She blushed and looked away. “It’s an ointment. Yelena gave it to me and told me…” Her voice faded. Severus snorted. “Yelena? Good heavens, Nimue, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Peggy to apply it later.” He moved a little towards the side of the bed where she was sitting and stretched out his arm to relieve her of the container. “N-no, I can do it.” “Nimue,” he said, grabbing the jar, “Nimue, look at me!” Slowly, she turned her head and met his eyes. Hers were a little too bright. “What is the matter, Nimue?” he asked, as gently as he could, and put the jar on the nightstand, next to his wand. “Nothing,” she said, staunchly attempting to keep her lower lip from trembling. “Why don't you tell me?” Now her voice was becoming definitely hoarse. “I told you, it’s nothing. I just… I just…” “I went too far yesterday, didn't I?” She sniffed and shot him a guilty look. “No, you didn’t. It’s just me, I don’t know… I thought…” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m just being stupid.” Severus sat up a little, adjusted his pillows, and tried to determine whether he was guessing her thoughts correctly. “Am I right in assuming that you think of yourself as… well, overly prudish?” Nimue hung her head and sniffed again. “Tell me the truth, Nimue: did I frighten you last night?” She gave a deep, wobbly sigh and appeared to be thinking hard. “No… not really. It’s more complicated than that.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Too complicated for me to understand?” “I don't think so. I just don't want to hurt you.” “That is very… considerate. I appreciate it, believe me, but don't you think it would be better if we cleared up any possible misunderstandings before they develop into something more serious?” She merely shrugged. Gingerly, Severus pulled up his legs a bit and leaned forward, his interlaced fingers resting on his knees. His injured spine protested, but he had to change position; he was simply not accustomed to lying on his back for hours on end. “Do you want me to keep my hands off you?” He hoped not… Nimue's head shot up. “No! No, absolutely not! I like it when you touch me.” He gave an inward sigh of relief. “But not like I touched you yesterday?” “No!” She was beginning to sound indignant. That was much better, he thought—a subdued Nimue was quite difficult for him to cope with. “I told you it was more complicated than that!” The bossy know-it-all was definitely back, full force. She sighed. “I’ll try to explain. We’ve been here for… how long?” “A little less than two weeks.” “Exactly.” Severus bent his head to hide a smile; she sounded very much like McGonagall. “First, we kissed. Then, we… we…” “Snogged?” he supplied. “Uh, yes. It doesn’t seem very appropriate, does it?” “A teacher snogging a student? Certainly not,” he replied, as seriously as possible. “No, silly. You and snogging in the same sentence. Anyway,” she continued, “we’ve been making a lot of… progress in less than two weeks. And if things continue this way…” “You’re afraid you might find yourself in this bed before the start of term.” “Y-yes. Not afraid. But… I don’t want it all to go too fast… On the other hand, you’re a grown man, you won't want to wait forever….” She threw up her hands. “Why does this have to be so difficult to explain? It’s absolutely clear as long as it’s in my head!” “I think I understand you perfectly.” He caught her hand on its way upwards, before she could get hold of her plait. If she had to cling to something for safety, he preferred it to be himself. “You want this relationship to progress at your own pace, that’s the gist of it, right?” “Yes, but it seems so… so selfish, and girlish!” The last word came out with considerable venom. “I’m not Lavender, or that silly Cho Chang! I don't mean to play the coquette!” “You are indeed,” Severus said lightly, pulling her up and towards him, so that she came to sit on the edge of the bed, “neither Miss Brown, nor Miss Chang, as you correctly observed. But you are barely fifteen, and that’s a fact I neither can nor want to change. And the fact that I’m a grown man merely increases my part of the responsibility, it doesn't give me leave to blindly follow my, er, baser instincts. I promise I’ll try not to get carried away, hm? There's nothing girlish or coquettish about your desire to slow things down a bit.” Nimue eyed him doubtfully and gave a watery sigh. “Are you sure?” “Absolutely sure.” “You won't get bored with me?” “Definitely not. Just tell me to stop whenever you want me to stop.” “Hmm…” She chewed her lower lip. “All right. I think—” she grabbed the jar from the nightstand “—I’d like to apply that ointment now. Above the waistline, that would be nice.” Putting the jar into her left hand, she inserted her right forefinger between her collar and throat and craned her neck. Severus, who was unbuttoning his pyjama top, smirked at her. “Don't you think you’d be more comfortable if you undid a few buttons?” Suddenly very conscious that she was to see him naked to the waist, he was grateful that she half-turned away while opening her collar and cuffs. He and his body—if the dichotomy was acceptable at all—had a very particular history. Not a pleasant one. At certain times in his life, he had hated his body with rueful disgust, because it had become an instrument which others used but he had to live in. His uncle had exploited that body for his own pleasure. Voldemort had branded it and made it his own, for him to torture or caress just as he fancied. To have his body serve a purpose of his and his alone was a concept so new that Severus remained staggered by the mere thought. Of course there were those rare moments when he enjoyed how it obeyed his command—his hands, above all; their precise movements that enabled him to brew the most complex of potions were invaluable instruments. But there it was again, that word. Instruments. His body had never meant more to him than a tool, sometimes his own, often that of others. And now, suddenly, he found himself with the realization that there was another possibility, sometimes dreamt-of, never really hoped-for. His body might become a source of pleasure, of an enjoyment that was echoed by his mind and whole being. Small wonder, he mused, as he stretched out again, lying flat on his belly, that he had difficulties controlling the somewhat exuberant reactions of his physical part. For so many years, he had thoroughly disconnected it from his mind, carefully dissociated himself from that flesh-and-blood vessel containing what he had deemed the worthier—because more independent—part of himself, that it would likely take him some time to merge the two together again. This was not what he wanted to offer Nimue, a half-and-half being, less than the sum of its parts. There was much to be mended, to be cautiously reunited, so that he might eventually become a whole being. He closed his eyes and felt the mattress sag slightly under her weight. For the first time in years—there had been no sexual relation of any kind since his rather violent encounter with Amanda Hooch, almost fifteen years ago—the hands of a woman would glide over his skin; not just for medical purposes, although they provided a handy pretext. Severus prepared himself to savour every second of it. He wanted this moment to remain engraved into his mind. A turning point, nothing less. He had an impressive collection of those, most of them he would rather have forgotten. This one, though, would become a gem among the others, to be cherished and weighed in his hand, again and again. The crisp linen of her blouse brushed Severus’s lower back, and then her hands, warm and slippery with the healing salve, came to rest on his shoulders. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, her voice husky with concentration, while she started rubbing small circles over his taut muscles. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of his blissful stupor. “I’m afraid I can’t. Just that Voldemort fancied playing his little games with me, but that much was obvious in any case.” He heard her sigh, and her hands moved a little further down, so that her palms covered his shoulder blades, infusing them with warmth. “A little too obvious, yes.” The pads of her fingertips began a slow, soothing motion, spreading the ointment. He could already feel its beneficial effect that wiped off the residual aches. “Does he do that often?” “That depends. He is not exactly being predictable these days. And last night, he had reason to be angry.” “Hmm…” The movement of her hands paused briefly, when she scooped up another dollop of the salve. A faint squelching noise told him that she was spreading it on her palms first, to bring it to body temperature before touching his skin. The measured movement resumed, part caress, part massage; they kept their silence for a while, both savouring this intimacy which, although it bore erotic potential, they had both chosen to remain just a mapping-out, a becoming-acquainted of their bodies who had to catch up with their minds. “Severus?” He had been on the verge of dozing off and woke with a small snort that made her giggle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. But…” She dipped her fingertips into the pot once again and laid them, as gently as she could, on the sore spot at the back of his skull, right at the curve where head merged into neck. The movements were minuscule now, just the tiniest of circles described by the pads of her fingers. “I have to ask you two questions.” She exhaled sharply and then took a deep breath. “They have been on my mind for some time now, and even if you don’t answer them, I… well, I just have to ask. To get them out of my head, you know.” Wariness encroached on his state of beatific somnolence, though not enough to make his muscles tighten again. Things had already gone too far between them—by now, there were only two categories of questions left: those he could not answer for her own safety, and those which had to be answered, for both their sakes. His barriers were nonexistent when it came to her—partly he had abandoned them as useless, the rest had been torn down by her—and he had no wish to keep anything from her anymore. Maybe he did not mean to tell her everything right now, but essentially he knew that it was merely a question of time. Sooner or later. ‘Never’ had ceased to be an option. She had obviously taken his silence for assent. “The first is about Veritaserum. I’ve read a lot about it—Lucius’s library, you know…” When no reprimand was uttered, she continued, “I read about its properties and effects, and I studied the recipe. And, although I’m no Potions Master, I think…” She swallowed and stilled the movements of her hands. “There is no way you can resist it. Absolutely no way.” “No,” he agreed calmly, “there is indeed no way.” “But—” Her fingers tightened, and he winced at the sudden stab of pain. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to… But you told me I’d be able to fight the effect…” “True,” he said, smiling into the pillow. “And now, my brilliant, curious witch, try to draw the conclusion. The premises are there.” She harrumphed, and continued to stroke his neck and shoulders, but her movements conveyed a certain absentmindedness. “All right,” she finally said, “It’s safe to assume you wouldn’t lie to me on such an important matter. So I will be able to withstand it. On the other hand, it’s impossible to do so by mere force of will, or whatever, like with the Imperius Curse. That means there must be an antidote.” “There is in fact an antidote,” he confirmed, “Congratulations on your impeccable logical thinking. But—” he rolled onto his back and looked up at her worried face, catching her still-slippery hands in his “—this is something only the Malfoys, Owen and I know. The Malfoys with the exception of Draco and Selene, of course. I created the antidote, many years ago, and later on I developed an advanced formula that acts very similar to a vaccine. You take it once, and are immune to truth serum for as long as you live. But nobody must ever know of its existence, do you understand?” “Brilliant,” she breathed, “Oh, that’s… that’s, well, simply brilliant. Of course I won’t tell anybody. So I really don’t have to be afraid in case Voldemort wants to meet me?” “No.” His thumbs circled her palms. “No, sweet, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of Veritaserum, that is. She gently extracted her hands from between his fingers and scrutinized his chest and stomach. “Oh,” she whispered, gently touching the bruise just above his solar plexus, “Oh, that must have hurt.” “A lot,” he confirmed grimly. Nimue picked up the jar and delved the dip of her right forefinger into the ointment with exaggerated care, her eyes riveted on her hands. “I…” She cleared her throat. “I know it probably sounds stupid, but…” For a fleeting moment, she locked eyes with him, then looked quickly away. “I like your body,” she blurted out. “I assure you that I’ve never heard anything less stupid-sounding. I am…” He searched for the right word. “Flattered?” “No, not flattered. Reassured, I’d say.” “Did you think I wasn’t going to like what I saw?” “You have to admit that it wasn’t entirely improbable. Doubts about one’s physical appeal are not a female privilege, you know?” She grinned down at him. “Probably not. But it’s difficult to think of you as less than totally self-assured. I still have to get used to that aspect of your personality.” “Hmm…” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Not too much, though. The effect it might have on your classroom attitude would be disastrous, Miss Gryffindor Prefect.” Her hackles visible raising, she shot back, “I’m able to separate business from private life, you know? I—” “I know, sweet, I know. As righteous as your indignation doubtlessly is, didn’t you mean to ask me two questions? So far, I’ve heard only one.” “Yes.” Her eyes flitted away from his face and down to his stomach, her fingers following in their wake. They briefly fluttered above his skin. “Tell me when I should be more gentle.” “You are gentleness incarnate, Nimue.” She smiled and, with a quick tilt of her head, tossed back the plait that had slid over her shoulder. “Thank you. The second question concerns…” A brief hesitation, then, “Rita Skeeter. I’ve been reading the Daily Prophet every day, and…” The fingertips continued their carefully calculated movement. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Now he was the one to avert his eyes, for he felt unable to stand her steady gaze. “Yes, she is dead. We couldn’t…” He covered her hands with his. “I know it’s hard to understand, but the risk was simply too great. She had seen everything… my Dark Mark, Black changing from his dog shape into human form… she had heard Molly Weasley consent to join the resistance movement—Dumbledore told me that they had talked about it in the Hospital Wing… We could not let her go.” Tears were running down Nimue’s cheeks. “It’s my fault,” she whispered, “All my fault. If I had simply kept her in that jar and told nobody…” “Jars can break, Nimue. They can be opened—what if one of your roommates had gone through your belongings? The risk was too great, I can only repeat that. Your life, my life, Black’s… there is so much at stake…” There were dark stains on her blouse where the tears had soaked into the fabric. “I know… I just… I just don’t want people to die, not even—” she sniffed “—not even a filthy bitch like her. She deserved to be punished, of course, for all those horrible things—” “Her death was not a punishment,” he interrupted her. “It was a necessary measure to prevent her from spilling out our secrets. Please don’t think… Lucius and I didn’t do this for sport. We pondered our possibilities, and when we saw that there was no other way to keep her quiet, we killed her. She didn’t feel a thing, if that… makes you feel better.” “No!” she said savagely, “No, it doesn’t make me feel better. Because I… I hate myself, for feeling so smug when I showed Lucius that jar! I wanted to impress you all, I wanted to show you how clever I was, because I had worked it all out on my own… But it was my responsibility, can’t you see that? Instead of doing something—” “But, Nimue, what could you possibly have done?” “I could at least have argued with you! I could have tried to protect her! Not that it would have done any good, I know that, but I would at least have faced my responsibility!” Sighing, Severus propped himself up on his elbows. “You were in no condition to argue. Think, Nimue, think of that first evening at the Manor and how you felt! You are a courageous witch, but to oppose resistance to Lucius and myself, when you still half-believed us to be ogres, would have been beyond anybody’s courage. Don’t blame yourself, please!” He turned onto his right side and put his left hand over her clenched fists. “If you have to blame somebody, blame Lucius or myself. But don’t try to shoulder a burden that isn’t yours to carry, and way too heavy for you.” She looked at him wordlessly, for a long time. Then, two dull thuds resounded through the quiet—she had kicked off her shoes. Unheeding of his injuries, she heaved up her legs and flung herself against him, burying her face in his neck, sobbing violently. “Shush, my love,” he whispered into her hair, holding her and trying to give her what consolation he could, “Shush, my love. Don’t cry.” And while he held her and whispered words of love and comfort, and listened to her sobs becoming less harsh, he realized what he had just said. And that he had meant it. He closed his eyes and bent his head, so that his cheek rested on her curls. Phoenix tears, he thought, were not the only ones that healed. ~~~~*~~~~ If they had not had so much on their minds, though each of them was facing their very own questions, problems or troubles, the first breakfast without Dumbledore might have been a tad subdued. As things were, there was so much to do, to plan and to consider, that the atmosphere was hectic rather than downcast. Lucius, back to human after his second cup of coffee, announced that Dumbledore had already contacted him. “In the shower, of all things,” he added with a smirk. “What a shock—I almost drowned myself.” “I could think of worse situations,” Draco said sweetly, promptly earning himself a withering glare. “What did he want?” Sybil asked. She and Owen had returned the other night, and planned to remain at Hogwarts for the rest of the holidays. Owen had lessons to plan, after all—a pastime he thoroughly abhorred and consequently had put off until the last minute. “He merely informed me that the Weasleys are to arrive tomorrow. Ronald and, er…” “Ginny,” Nimue supplied. Draco rolled his eyes. “Why can’t people use each other’s full names, for heaven’s sake? What's Ginny supposed to mean? Virginia? Regina?” “Guinevere, I think,” Nimue said, “just as Percy stands for Percival. But you’re right, they are such beautiful names, why abbreviate them?” “Belittle the name, and you belittle the person,” Sybil said. “Usually, it's the mothers who come up with the most distorted abbreviations—they want their children to remain babies forever. Molly Weasley being a case in point.” Nimue shot her a doubtful look; apparently torn between the urge to acknowledge the truth of Sybil’s remark and the need to defend her friend’s mother. She was spared the answer by Lucius, though, who continued, “The children are confined to the… er, house, and their father is going to purchase everything they’ll need for school.” “Poor Ginny,” Nimue interjected, “I wouldn't want my father to choose my dress robes. Or underwear,” she added as an afterthought, making Draco snort into his napkin. “In order to prevent such a deplorable necessity from even arising,” Lucius replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “I thought that you and Draco should go to Diagon Alley today, while we can still safely assume that the Imperius Potion isn’t yet ready. How are the Imperius lessons progressing?” he inquired, turning to Severus. “Very satisfyingly.” He suppressed a smile at Nimue’s suddenly heightened colour. “We had another training session last night, although it was quite short, and Nimue has proved again that she is able to fight it.” “She should try and fight father’s” Draco remarked gruffly. “That’s the shittiest—” “Draco!” Lucius interrupted him sharply. “But,” he continued on a somewhat gentler note, “Draco is right. The… er, difference in our personalities—” he smirked at Severus “—entails a certain difference in the power of certain curses. My Imperius is definitely harder to withstand. So I’d suggest that your next training session be with me.” Seeing Nimue’s worried expression, Narcissa patted her hand. “Don’t fret, my dear. It’s not as bad as you might think.” “She's not worrying about father,” Draco drawled, displaying surprising insight into Nimue’s character. “She’s afraid that, for once, she might not get it right at the first attempt, huh, Nimue?” While the two youngsters tried to stare each other down, Selene touched her father’s sleeve with a chubby, apricot-jam-covered hand. “Papa curse Lene, please?” Sighing, Lucius poured some water on his napkin and wiped the sticky mass off her hand. “I don’t think so, my darling. At least in theory, you should obey me, even without Imperius Curse. Severus,” he said, after casting a cleaning charm on his robes, “Do you think you might accompany my mother, Narcissa and the children? If it's not too much trouble, of course.” “Not at all. I have already made a list of ingredients I’ll have to restock, and I need some new books. Besides, you’re right. We’d better go as soon as possible.” “Excellent.” Lucius rose and bowed slightly to the assembled tablemates. “Excuse me, but I have to go back to my office. Minerva and I are sorting through the—” he grimaced “—administrative stuff. She’s currently busy throwing away lots of old parchments and whatnots, and I’m afraid she won’t allow me to come down at noon. Claiming that, if she forewent breakfast, I can do without lunch.” He raised his hands in a gesture of long-suffering resignation. “Severus, would you be so kind as to drop by before you leave? I have to give you the key to Nimue's vault.” “My vault?” Nimue, suddenly bolt upright and fully alert, looked mesmerized. “Can I—” “Of course you can,” Lucius cut her off, rolling his eyes. “And you are, of course, allowed to take some books back to Hogwarts. Those Severus allows you to take, mind you!” he added. This, however, did not seem to diminish her enthusiasm in the least. |