The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 25

By Pigwidgeon37

"Fun?” Nimue shrieked, “Did you just say fun?”

Hell hath no fury… Severus reclined in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. Not that he approved of Lucius’s bouts of anarchic humour, not in a situation like this, but he had known the man for so many years and was used to his way of seeing the comic side of every situation; the worse it was, the readier Lucius was to ridicule it. Probably one of his methods of keeping his sanity amidst all this madness. Nimue, on the other hand, had never yet gotten a taste of her guardian’s irreverent, twisted sense of humour that respected nothing and nobody. Of course she was bristling with rage and hurt indignation.

But, Severus mused, watching the pair calmly, she had had too much on her plate lately; that inextricable tangle of budding love and crushing fear, not to forget the drastic changes in her life, whether they were welcome or unpleasant, had to put her under immense pressure. So far, she had coped admirably, maybe even too well. Sooner or later, all those pent-up feelings had to be released, and if she chose Lucius as her target, who was he to complain? If things got nasty, he could always intervene.

Lucius, too, had relaxed back into his chair and was eyeing the furious girl with some dismay. This, however, only seemed to fuel her anger.

“Are you even aware what you’re talking about?” she raged. Her hands were gripping the edge of the desk, and her face had gone scarlet. “First, you act all kind and solicitous, you tell me how much you regret that you can’t do anything to keep me safe, and then…” She inhaled deeply and glared at her guardian. “Then, when I come up with a possibility to save your sorry arse, and that of your family, and Severus, you’re laughing in my face?”

Wham! Her fist came down on the table.

“This is about me, you… you cold-hearted, cunning bastard! About me, do you understand? About my feelings! I’ve only just discovered that I’m… I’m…” She paused for a moment, to cast Severus a helpless look. He merely smiled and nodded slightly, as if to say ‘Go on, tell him.’

“All right, so I’ve just discovered that I’m falling in love with a professor I used to hate, and it seems that he, too, feels the same—”

“That,” Lucius said, picking up his glass, “Is what I call good news.” He raised the tumbler in a silent salute to Severus, who rolled his eyes.

“Good news? Of course it’s good news, but… Oh, don’t you understand?” She jumped up and bent across the table. “I’m fifteen. I’m in love. I’m a goddamned virgin! And when I discover that I have to sleep with him, not when I want to, and not when he wants to, but between half past one and four on August the twenty-sixth, so I can’t be used for some fucking ritual of a fucking Dark wizard, but he’s likely to kill me anyway, because he’ll be frustrated…” Now the tears were running freely, and Nimue fell back into her chair. “And then you, who are supposed to… to care for me, you just laugh at me and call it funny?”

She buried her face in her hands and broke into hysterical sobs. Severus had become increasingly anxious as she kept insulting Lucius. Now, he rose to comfort her but was stopped by a gesture from Lucius, who drained his glass and put it back on the table with rather more force than was necessary. The noise made Nimue look up.

“Are you quite finished insulting me?” Lucius asked, his tone one of polite conversation.

“I… I…” Her hands clenched into fists but then relaxed. “Yes, I—”

“Good. Are you sure there’s nothing more you’d like to throw into my face?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, avoiding his eyes.

“Excellent. Am I correct in assuming that, now that your foul-mouthed little tirade is over, we might actually talk like civilized people?”

“Uh-huh.” She half-rose and moved her chair over towards Severus’s, until the armrests were touching. Eyebrows raised and an indulgent smile playing around his lips, Lucius watched as Severus slipped his right arm around her shoulders and took both her hands into his left. He felt a little uneasy with displaying his affection in the presence of somebody else, but right now Nimue needed comfort, and only he could give that to her. He cast Lucius a defiant look, daring him to make fun of him or even raise so much as an eyebrow, but the smile did not turn into a smirk. From time to time, Nimue’s shoulders shook with a small hiccough, but she seemed to have regained her bearings.

“Unlike Severus,” Lucius began, “I joined Voldemort firstly because my father wanted me to, and secondly because I was aware that being one of his followers might increase my and my family’s power and influence. You called me a cold-hearted bastard, and my dear friend Severus has called me a power-hungry bastard more than once. I readily admit that I don’t care much for anybody but my closest friends and family, and that the craving for power is one of my more… er, salient character traits, which has been enhanced by the way I was brought up.

“I had no difficulties whatsoever embracing Voldemort’s ideology of hate, as far as wizards of less than pure blood or Muggles are concerned. It might shock you, my dear, but only very few wizards have friendly feelings when it comes to Muggles. Even Dumbledore—kindly let me finish,” he forestalled her angry comeback, raising his hand. “Yes, even Dumbledore. Or why do you think he didn’t disable the Muggle-repellent wards around the school? He could have done so, easily.”

“There’s a law,” Nimue objected stubbornly, “There’s a law that forbids—”

“A law? Since when did Dumbledore give a rotten Kneazle’s kidney about laws? Anyway, back to the topic. All wizards are extremely wary of Muggles, and consequently also of Muggle-born and halfblooded wizards. Read our history books, and you’ll understand why. Some are more hostile, some less, I’ll grant you that. Personally, I’m rather indifferent. And I’m not a partisan of continuous inbreeding, so I certainly admit the necessity of marriages between purebloods and wizards of mixed heritage. Not that I’d have admitted that to Voldemort,” he smirked. “But I certainly had no difficulties playing the hardliner, considering that it was a small price to pay for what he had promised to us all.

“When, however, it became clear that, instead of giving us power, he was trying to make us his slaves, and that he didn’t respect the ancient rule that one’s family was one’s own kingdom, I began to understand that joining him had been a huge mistake. I had to be constantly on my guard, so as to keep my family safe from him, I had to risk my life on an almost daily basis, and although I don’t mind occasionally eliminating those who prove to be obstacles on my way, I have to say that constant killing and torturing isn’t exactly my cup of tea. And when finally Voldemort was so obviously losing his sanity, we—that is Severus, Owen and myself—decided that we had to put an end to this madness. The rest is history,” he added, rose and went to pour himself another drink.

“Now why did I tell you the abridged story of my life?” He sat down and crossed his legs. “Merely to make you understand my situation, just as you tried to make me understand yours, if in slightly blunter terms.

“The one thing I cannot afford is sentimentality. What I can afford, though—” he took a swig of his whiskey “—is the occasional feeling of triumph when we manage to one-up Voldemort. The mere thought of taking you to him, only to see his fury when he realizes that he can’t use you, is causing me a by no means inconsiderable amount of satisfaction, in spite of the fact that we’re all going to look worse for wear after that encounter.”

He took another sip and looked at Nimue, his expression softening a little. “The danger and possible risks notwithstanding, I am, however, glad that things are progressing so satisfactorily between you and Severus. Believe me, I know what it means to have somebody you can trust unconditionally, especially in a predicament like ours, and I’ve always wished for Severus to have such a someone in his life. We may be powerful wizards—” he drained his glass and smirked “—we may be headmasters, Potions Masters or whatever, but in the end we are human beings… male human beings, which is even worse, and we need to belong to someone. I think,” he said, slightly tilting his head, “I’ve had one too much. Otherwise I wouldn’t wax lyrical… Never mind. So, to make a long story short, I’m sorry that your first time has to be scheduled according to Voldemort’s crazy schemes, but at least it will be with Severus and not bound naked to a stone altar, with Voldemort, and while a lot of Death Eaters are leering at you.”

Severus cleared his throat. “That was quite impressive, Headmaster. Are you too drunk, or do you think you might tell me what exactly are Voldemort’s wishes concerning Hogwarts?”

“Honestly, I think I’m too drunk—that is not funny, young lady,” he snapped, already slurring the consonants a bit, at a snorting Nimue. “I’ll go to bed. We can discuss the rest tomorrow. Oh, by the way—” he picked up a piece of parchment from his desk “—Minerva left me a note. The Weasley brats have arrived shortly before midnight.”

“Oh, no!” Nimue started chewing furiously at her thumb. “I’m sure Ginny went to my dormitory! Oh, this is so awkward…”

“Out after curfew, were you?” Lucius inquired silkily. “How very inappropriate.”

“Well, not exactly out, but—”

“Spare me the details, my dear. But—” he rose from his chair and grabbed the desk to steady himself “—I suppose that your new status as aspiring Death Eater and ward of Lucius-the-Monster Malfoy might have kept Miss Guinevere Weasley from intruding upon your privacy.”

“You really know how to comfort people,” she said gruffly.

~~~~*~~~~

“I wish I’d thought of abandoning this blasted table,” Lucius muttered during breakfast on the next morning, tilting his chin towards the entrance door. “Having to share a table with the Avenging Weasels is not my idea of a promising morning.”

Severus looked up from his plate and barely managed to suppress a grin at the sight of Ron and Ginny Weasley, followed by the terrible twins, who tried to disguise their lack of ease with their company by assuming particularly sullen but defiant expressions. Nimue had not yet come down, which was probably a good thing, he thought, because thus Lucius would be able to put them in their place before they met her. He cast a quick look across the table at McGonagall, who had put down her cutlery and sat ramrod straight and tense, obviously ready to sort out any trouble that might arise.

The four redheads slouched nearer and came to a standstill at a few feet’s distance from the table. All were studiously avoiding eye contact with the five people seated at the table—so far, only Lucius, Severus, McGonagall, Sybil and Draco had found their way to the Great Hall.

Between two sips of coffee, Severus studied them from under half-closed eyelids. The younger boy had shot up by at least two inches, or so it seemed, and, as Severus ascertained by another quick glimpse, he was likely to grow even more; his feet and hands were of truly enormous proportions. For once, the twins did not wear their eternal insipid grins, which, in Severus’s opinion, was a blessing. But they seemed less sullen than preoccupied. Then again, he mused, Fred and George Weasley had never been overly bothered by house affiliations and the traditional enmities they entailed. If a fellow student was ready to participate in one of their innumerable pranks, he could be a Slytherin for all they cared. No, they probably had different reasons for feeling ill at ease, and Severus suspected that, given their age, their father might have let them in on some of the less classified secrets. They were of age now—for some occult reason known only to the ministerial morons, a wizard now became a legal adult at age seventeen, due to a law passed some ten years ago—and therefore ought to shoulder their part of the responsibilities. Maybe they might even prove valuable assets for keeping the other Gryffindors at bay, as they were well-liked, and if they had understood the gravity of the situation…

The girl, he had to admit, was something of a mystery to him. During her first year, he had written her off as less talented than Ronald and less socially apt than Percy, a truly dreadful combination. He had had to reconsider this verdict, though, after the end of that year. To be possessed by none other than Tom Riddle himself would have proved disastrous even for somebody older and stronger than her. During her second year, her true personality had gradually begun to emerge, and Severus had to admit that, of all the Weasleys he had had the misfortune of teaching, she was by far the least obnoxious. As assiduous as Percy and certainly as talented as Bill, she was less boisterous than her siblings. Instead of resigning herself to an existence in the shadow of older and more flamboyant brothers—which was what Ronald had done, who was the kind of person unable to be anything but somebody’s spineless, profile-less alter ego—she had taken advantage of her position far from the limelight, to develop a personality of her own. Even now, when her brothers displayed various degrees of stubborn unwillingness, her light-brown eyes surreptitiously examined the group at the table.

Lucius put down his coffee cup, leaned back and crossed his arms, shooting the Weasley quartet a level look. He had chosen a very appropriate moment, as the sun shining from the enchanted ceiling was contemporaneously obscured by a fat, grey cloud.

The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head, Severus thought, unaccountably amused. And on top of all, the gangly oaf had tried to hex Lucius and called him a filthy Death Eater, when he had come to their house to retrieve Nimue. The conversation at the table had already died down when the door opened and everybody turned to look at the newcomers.

But now there was silence, a heavy sort of silence, because the four at the table were looking either at the frowning Headmaster or at the Recalcitrant Four. The seconds passed, indolent and syrupy, and still the Weasleys did not budge. At long last, the fact that something had to be amiss penetrated Ronald’s thick skull, and he hesitantly turned his gaze towards Lucius’s face.

What he saw there appeared to shake him considerably, for his ears turned scarlet, and a deep crimson flush began to spread from his cheeks over his whole face and throat. He opened and closed his mouth once, doing a rather convincing impression of a mentally impaired carp, and then said, “Uh…”

“I. Beg. Your. Pardon.” Lucius’s voice was cold and completely devoid of expression.

Weasley raked a large hand through his mop of red hair and stammered, “I, uh… we…”

“Mr. Weasley.” If possible, the temperature of the Headmaster’s tone had dropped by another few notches. “Are you familiar with the basic rules of politeness?” In the twins’ eyes, Severus could already discern a faint twinkle of mirth. The girl had schooled her face into a mask of impassive innocence. Only obnoxious Ron was bristling.

“What’s that supposed—”

“Mr. Weasley. When you enter a room, you are expected to greet those who are already there. Especially if they are your elders. Or your teachers, as it happens. The appropriate formula for this time of day would be ‘Good Morning’. Certainly not ‘uh’ or any other unintelligible monosyllables. The same goes for your siblings. Now, you will leave this room, all of you, and when you return, you will do so according to what your parents have doubtlessly taught you. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?”

The four nodded, quite subdued, and were already turning towards the door, when Lucius’s voice lashed out and caught them. “I believe I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” Ron spat, “I… we understood you perfectly.”

“You are to address me as ‘Sir’, Mr. Weasley. I repeat: have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Weasley ground out through clenched teeth. He stared defiantly at Lucius, but when nothing happened, he seemed to lose some of his spunk and wordlessly turned on his heels, followed by his brothers and sister. The door fell shut with a dull thud. The leaden silence had been broken; an avalanche of different noises, perceived as sharper and louder after the empty quiet, broke loose. Spoons clattered against cups, robes brushed against wood, words hurried to fill the void—it seemed that everybody was keen to contribute to a display of convivial normalcy.

“Lovely, Lucius, really lovely,” Sybil said and, when Lucius merely raised his eyebrows at her, snorted into her coffee cup.

McGonagall’s eyes were travelling back and forth between Lucius and the still-closed door. “I’ll talk to them later. Whatever resentments they might have, they simply must… This is not going to be an easy year,” she sighed.

“Of course not, although the Weasleys are the least of my worries.”

Draco, who had been enjoying the scene with an almost serene expression on his face, knew better than to say anything. Severus winked at him, and he smirked back. Luckily, McGonagall had not seen it, as she was too busy talking to Sybil.

“Are Narcissa and the others going to come down and have breakfast here with us?” Severus asked, leaning towards Lucius.

“Not today. I thought it would be wiser if the obnoxious redheads didn't see Selene smearing my robes with jam.”

Then the door opened again, admitting the four Weasleys and, behind them, Nimue, who was not looking too happy.

Sybil and McGonagall immediately ended their conversation, and Sybil, who had been grinning broadly at something her colleague had said, took on her customary expression of absentminded contempt.

But Severus saw her bite her lower lip, when the Weasleys all but yelled “Good morning!” in perfect unison.

“Good morning,” McGonagall answered primly, but she was glaring at each of them; they withered visibly and took their seats at the other side of the table. Nimue was still standing, evidently hesitant whether she should sit down with her housemates.

“Miss Lestrange!” Her head jerked up at Severus's stern tone of voice. “Unless there is a plausible motive for standing while we are eating breakfast, do you think you might deign to sit down?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” she answered meekly and chose a seat halfway between Draco and the Weasleys. A pained look on his face, Lucius waited until the four had drunk some tea and eaten a few bites; watching Ronald, Severus was forcibly reminded of Cedric Nott, who, more often than not, had foregone the use of a knife and fork for the more immediate pleasure of attacking his food with his fingers. It was not that bad with Ronald Weasley, but Severus now certainly understood why Nimue felt she could never kiss the boy, let alone go any farther.

He glanced past Draco at her profile; her head, the hair still tamed into its customary night-time-plait, was slightly bent, and she was demurely eating a piece of toast. He smiled behind his hands that were holding the coffee cup in front of his face. She had been almost indignant the other night when, on their way to Gryffindor Tower, he had impressed upon her the necessity of giving away nothing, as far as their relationship was concerned.

With the Malfoy family, things were of course different. If she chose to act more distant towards them, it was merely to keep the already strained bonds of friendship with Weasley from breaking altogether. He wondered how she was going to manage. Maybe Ginny—

“I trust you know why you have been sent back to Hogwarts three weeks early?” Lucius’s voice broke through his reverie.

“Yes, Sir,” Ginny Weasley answered, “Or rather, dad merely told us that we were in immediate danger of some attack by, uh, You-Know-Who and would be safe at Hogwarts.”

Ron looked up from his plate. “Where is Harry? Sir,” he added hastily.

“I have no idea, Mr. Weasley. To return to our topic, which at the moment is far more important than Mr. Potter, you are indeed in danger. Therefore—”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Sir, but why only the four of us?” one of the twins asked, “I mean, if it’s about an attack, the whole family would be in danger, wouldn’t they?”

A smile playing around her pinched lips, McGonagall nodded. “Your reasoning is correct. All you are allowed to know, however, is that we are not fearing your family might be attacked by Death Eaters in the immediate future. This is a danger of a different kind.”

“Whafs da—” Lucius raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

Ronald swallowed. “Sorry. What’s that supposed to mean, Professor? Can't you at least tell us what we can do?”

“No, Mr. Weasley,” Lucius replied, when McGonagall cast him a questioning look, “I am afraid you will have to accept the situation without further questions. You have heard Mr. Potter’s story, you know that Voldemort is back, therefore you will be able to understand that the stakes are simply too high.” He poured himself another cup of coffee and, while adding sugar, continued, “For your own safety, you will have to stay inside the castle. If you want to venture out on the grounds, you may do so only in company of a teacher.”

“Oh, no!” one of the twins groaned, “We thought we could at least play Quidditch…”

“You heard the Headmaster,” McGonagall snapped, “You’re to stay inside, and that’s the end of this discussion.”

All four were looking mutinous, but a furtive glance of understanding passed between Ronald and his sister.

“Mr. Weasley,” Severus said, locking eyes with the boy, who seemed none too pleased with the sharp gaze boring into his skull, “where is Mr. Potter’s Invisibility Cloak?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McGonagall’s eyes widen and her shoulders go rigid.

The boy blushed beet-red and stammered, “I d-don’t know w-what you’re talking ab-bout, Sir…”

“I suggest,” Severus said, still maintaining the eye contact, “that you tell me the truth. It is the more honourable solution, which should appeal to you. Otherwise Professor McGonagall will have to search your rooms and luggage, and believe me, she will find it if it’s here. Did Potter give it to you?”

“N-no, he didn’t give it to me.”

Stupid brat, Severus thought. The little moron could not come up with a lie to save his life. And he even was unable to tell a half-truth without bungling it. “If he did not give the cloak to you, Mr. Weasley,” he purred, in a tone that made the boy flinch, “then maybe he sent it? I know that you exchanged a few letters, so maybe he sent an… attachment?”

He had hit upon the truth—not that he had had any doubts as to that. Weasley's mouth became an angry, narrow line, and the freckles stood out vividly on his now-pale skin. Instead of directing his indignant outburst at Severus, though, which he would never have dared even to think of, not after four years of Potions classes, he vented his anger on Nimue.

“You had to tell them, didn't you? To score points with your new family, I suppose? Why don’t you ask to be put into Slytherin, you… you traitor?”

His sister attempted to make him stop, but to no avail. He merely shook her hand off his forearm.

“I didn’t tell anybody—” Nimue began, her voice already shaky, but Ron interrupted her.

“I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering who your parents—”

“That will be enough, Mr. Weasley,” Lucius cut him off. “Nimue, please stay where you are.” Nimue, who had already risen—she was on the verge of crying but still managed to hold herself together—sat down again and shot him a pleading look. “Now listen, Mr. Weasley, and listen well, because I am going to say this only once. You are a Gryffindor Prefect, and so is Miss Lestrange. If you give me reason to suspect that you are in any way insulting, slandering or mistreating Miss Lestrange, you will lose your badge, and your parents will be informed in detail why exactly we saw fit to take it from you. I expect both you and Mr. Fred Weasley, who is, after all, Head Boy, to not only refrain from any hostilities towards Miss Lestrange, but to prevent your fellow students from treating her in such an irrational, insulting fashion. As to the Invisibility Cloak in question, its existence has been known to both myself and Professor Snape since we were your age. Although I have to say that Messieurs Potter Senior and Black used it more deftly. Or did Mr. Potter not tell you about the incident at Hogsmeade during your third year?”

“Yeah, he did,” Ronald said gruffly. “Bad luck, really, because his hood got blown off by the wind. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise, Mr. Weasley,” Severus interjected, just in time to cover Draco’s snort, “it would still be a highly dangerous object a student must neither possess nor use. You will take it to the Headmaster’s office after breakfast.”

The boy nodded, displeasure written all over his face; but what really unsettled him was his Head of House’s stern reprimand.

“You are disappointing me, Mr. Weasley. I had thought that Harry’s terrible experience at the end of last school year and the death of Mr. Diggory might have instilled some measure of common sense in you. Not to mention an awareness of how dangerous a situation we are facing. This is not the time for childish pranks. Rest assured that I will not hesitate to take points from my own house, should you continue to disregard the rules that have been established for your safety.”

Sufficiently cowed, the boy muttered, “Yes, Professor,” and his siblings nodded.

“Uh, Headmaster?” Ginny brushed back her wild mane of red hair and scrutinized Lucius over the rim of her teacup she was holding in her other hand. “If we’re to stay in the castle, what are we supposed to do all day long? We’ve still got three weeks, you know, and, I mean, that’s going to be terribly boring.”

“You will certainly not be allowed to idle away your time, Miss Weasley,” Lucius answered, “Or to employ it in any other way that might disrupt order and discipline.” These last words were accompanied by a sharp glance at the twins, who tried to look innocent. “First of all,” he continued, “you won't be the only students here for much longer. During the next days, some of your peers, most of them from your own House, are going to arrive. I have had a look at the records of those who will be returning early, and noticed that the results of their finals, or of their O.W.L.s, are far from satisfactory. With a few notable exceptions,” he added, casting a sideways look at Draco and Nimue, who, despite her distress, blushed with pleasure. “A few staff members, among them—ah, speak of the devil,” he interrupted himself, when the door opened to admit Owen and Flitwick. The two strode up to the table, bade everybody good morning—Flitwick in tones of utmost delight, as he was one of the twins’ most fervent supporters because of their undeniable knack for Charms, and Owen in a rather leisurely fashion—and sat down, Flitwick next to Fred and George, and Owen at Nimue's left, between her and the Weasleys.

For once, she seemed rather grateful for his presence, seeing as Owen blocked the youngest Weasley boy from her view; he had been pelting her with hostile stares since Lucius had finished his reprimand.

“I was just telling our newly-arrived students here,” Lucius addressed the two professors, “that they should not become too bored until school starts.” He returned his attention to the Weasleys and continued, “As I was saying, the results of your finals were far from satisfactory. Therefore, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and McNair, and to some extent also Professor Trelawney and myself, shall be surveying the studies you are to take up immediately. Yes, Mr. Weasley,” he added silkily, “especially those who will be sitting their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year should be in dire need of additional studying, more so as you and your brother Fred will be burdened by other duties. During the next week, you will obviously be studying mostly Transfiguration, Potions and Charms, but with the arrival of other faculty members, the number of subjects will, of course, increase. I understand that your weakest subjects are Transfiguration and Potions, so there will be tutorials with only one or two students per teacher.”

“But, Sir,” Ron Weasley piped up, clearly less than pleased by the dire prospect of having to spend the rest of his holidays studying, “Professor McGonagall can’t hold so many individual lessons, after all, she’s on holiday too—”

“Your concern for my well-being is very much appreciated,” McGonagall interrupted him, “But you need not worry. The Headmaster has a university degree in transfiguration, and Mrs. Malfoy, too, could take up teaching this subject any day. So there will be three of us sharing the duties.”

While Weasley’s jaw was still at breastbone-level, Lucius continued, “Professor McNair and myself will also test your skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Given the general situation, it is most important for you to hone your ability to withstand the Imperius Curse. Professor Snape, too, might assist us with that task.”

He winked at Severus, as if to ask, ‘Satisfied? Now you’ve got more than enough pretexts for spending time with Nimue.’

Severus gave a minuscule nod and returned the wink.

~~~~*~~~~

Over the next days, a constant trickle of early-returning students gradually filled the castle with its customary noises. Teachers and students were again seated at separate tables for their meals, much to Draco’s displeasure, as he had to endure the company of a lot of Gryffindors, interspersed with only a few students from other houses. It seemed, though, as if the two Weasley boys were taking Lucius’s admonitions seriously; not once had Severus seen Nimue downcast or with red eyes.

The day of the Weasleys’ arrival and the one following it had to be dedicated to lengthy discussions about Hogwarts’s fate. Those talks were, of course, strictly limited to the small group comprising Lucius, Severus, Owen, Sybil and McGonagall, and when they had worked out ways of satisfying Voldemort’s demands without overstepping Ministry guidelines or upsetting the Governors, they finally felt ready to face the staff, once everybody had arrived back at the school. Basically, Voldemort’s requests were as simple and straightforward as they were difficult to carry out, at least for a Headmaster who was not as loyal as the Dark Lord believed.

First of all, he needed more Death Eaters. The initiation of sixteen new followers from Durmstrang might be a first step in the right direction, but he wanted more. As Lucius had told them, this time he did not seem to intend to stop at sixty. The more the better. And he certainly counted on Hogwarts as a primary source of new additions to his ranks. This was probably the biggest problem they had to face, and there was not much they could do lest they betray their true loyalties.

In order to keep students from rushing to get initiated immediately after their seventeenth birthday, before they had even finished school, McGonagall proposed to cancel all Hogsmeade weekends and the permits some of the seventh-years had to venture out of school territory. The others objected—and in the end McGonagall had to accept that they were right—that such a measure was bound to attract attention of a kind they ought to avoid.

A grim look on her face, the Deputy Headmistress fingered her bun. “I would never have thought I might say this one day, but I almost wish for Voldemort’s potion to work—not on our students, of course,” she added hastily. “But maybe on Fudge… or a few others… so the Ministry would have to admit he’s back, and then we could…” She sighed.

Sybil opened her mouth to say something but seemed to decide otherwise.

Severus had seen it, though, and shot her a questioning glance. She merely shook her head and looked out of the window in silence.

“It might be ready anytime now,” Lucius observed. “Seeing as how he hasn’t yet found Pettigrew, he might be in the right mood for playing games.”

Owen, who had been called the other day—his hands were still a little shaky—merely grunted. As was to be expected, Voldemort had interrogated him, in the hopes of extricating information neither Severus nor Lucius had disclosed, and his disappointment had made the meeting a rather painful one. “I’m all for killing that sad excuse for a wizard and leaving his body for the Aurors to find,” he muttered. “Then at least Voldemort wouldn’t continue those interrogations.”

“But Albus—” McGonagall began, only to be cut off by Lucius.

“I know that Dumbledore’s intentions concerning Pettigrew were… uh, nobler than that. But I’m rather wary of anything a Gryffindor calls ‘noble’. Usually,” he continued, pointedly ignoring McGonagall’s rising hackles, “there’s a good deal of foolhardiness involved, and that’s something we really cannot afford right now. I think—” he let the quill he was holding glide through his fingers “—I think we should consider the option. It’s bound to appear in the papers—”

“Not really,” Sybil interjected, “If they handle it the same way as Azkaban…”

“In that case, we merely have to make sure the body’s found by the right person,” Severus said.

“Is this just some figment of my imagination, or wasn’t Nathalie Pierson one of the key figures in the Black affair? If I remember correctly, she declared loudly that Black was a Death Eater, didn’t she?”

Lucius raised his brows and grinned. After all, he had been the one who fed Pierson that bit of bogus information. Back then, it had served their aims; they would have to convince her of the contrary now. “Well,” he said slowly, “Pierson may be a bit shady, but…” He paused and locked eyes with Severus. “She’d love to get her own back at the Ministry, considering how they repaid her for that favour. So… Do you think you might pay her a visit, Sev? Unless I’m very much mistaken, you used to be on quite, er, intimate terms with her.”

“You seem to forget that we didn’t part on the best of terms,” Severus shot back, barely able to keep the annoyance at having his private life discussed in McGonagall’s presence out of his voice.

“That was twenty years ago! I hardly think she still bears you a grudge…”

Sybil snorted. “Knowing Severus, ‘not on the best of terms’ probably means she’ll hex him six ways to Christmas the moment she sets eyes on him.”

“Very funny, Sybil. Very funny indeed. But I’ll see what I can do. And now, if you don’t mind—” he glared first at Sybil, then at McGonagall, whose eyes were glittering with unholy glee “—could we please return to the topic?”

Owen chuckled and nodded, and so did Lucius.

“My sincerest thanks. So, we have established that cancelling Hogsmeade weekends is not a viable option, at least not until Voldemort starts wreaking havoc with the Imperius Potion. Seeing as how the situation has changed in comparison to fifteen years ago, I don’t think it would be wise for us to give Dumbledore the names of potential new Death Eaters, so he and the others may try to prevent the worst by speaking to their families. It would simply be too obvious.”

“You have a point there,” Owen agreed. “He may be arrogant and all, and increasingly insane, but that doesn’t make him stupid.”

“Not at all.” Lucius was systematically shredding his quill to pieces, a grim line between his brows. “This is a fu—sorry, Minerva. We’ve hit a dead end, or so it seems.”

The stem of his quill broke with a sharp snap. Brooding silence enveloped them all; everybody was wracking their brains for a solution to a seemingly unsolvable problem.

“And if,” Sybil began slowly, as if unsure whether to actually give words to a crazy idea. Four heads turned in her direction, almost simultaneously.

“What?” Lucius asked impatiently.

“I was just thinking… What if, instead of trying to prevent them, we encouraged them?”

“Now really, Sybil—” McGonagall snapped but fell silent at an abrupt gesture from Lucius.

“I know it sounds absurd,” Sybil continued, slowly raising her head and looking at each of them in turn, “But if they were initiated while still at school, couldn’t we order the House Elves to tamper with their wands? To make them backfire if they use certain categories of spells? I’m not sure whether House Elves can actually do that, but…”

“I don’t know much about elf magic,” Lucius said.

“Now that comes as a surprise,” McGonagall said sweetly.

“As a matter of fact, nobody knows a lot about elf magic. I even doubt whether there are any books…”

“I can ask Peggy,” Severus offered, “She’d certainly tell me… Oh, and maybe the ghosts… The Bloody Baron is the oldest of them, I think, and he died before the Elf Wars—he should know a great deal.”

In the end, they decided to adjourn this part of the discussion until they had more information. It was not as if they lacked topics, anyway, as Voldemort had rather precise ideas about gradual changes of the syllabus and the handling of Muggle-born students. Fortunately, those were not alterations to be implemented immediately; thus they had time on their side and, at least as far as Muggle-borns were concerned, could leave most of the work to Dumbledore and his group.

Severus was not the only one who felt grateful when this marathon meeting had finally come to an end, and he recognized that, much as he generally loathed teaching, the prospect of two weeks’ worth of Potions lessons for small groups of students was pleasant in comparison to nerve-wracking, patience-grinding discussion. What really made him look forward to this evening, though, was the fact that he would be spending it in Nimue’s company. He had not seen her, except at mealtimes, for two entire days, and admitted to himself—although it was not much of a confession, rather a pleasant awareness—that he had missed her.

She was not the sole occupant of her dormitory anymore, as Misses Brown and Patil had already arrived, and therefore he had dispatched Peggy the other day to leave a message under her pillow, in order to avoid the more conspicuous method of sending her an owl. She had found the missive, obviously, as she had given him a minuscule smile and almost-imperceptible nod at breakfast. To say the truth, he was glad she had reacted that way. Considering what had transpired two days ago in Lucius’s office, Severus had not been entirely sure of her willingness to spend time with him, alone and in his quarters. He thought of himself as a very private person, who abhorred having dragged out in the open things he was convinced belonged to him and him only. The verbal dissection of something so intimate as his sex life had caused him considerable embarrassment.

But, he thought, it must have been ten times worse for her; not only was she by no means on as familiar terms with Lucius as he was, but she was also young and, above all, as innocent a human being as he had ever met. From his own experience as a relatively young Head of House, he knew that, even though his female students mostly thought of him as a genderless being, they were usually quite abashed the first time or times they came to him with so-called girl problems. He understood and respected that, and always treated them in a distanced, businesslike manner. And even so, they blushed and stammered. But losing one’s virginity was something of greater consequence than suffering menstrual cramps or needing a contraceptive potion. He wished he could have spared her both the embarrassing talk with Lucius and himself, and the necessity of having to lose it when it suited their plans. It was almost dinner time when Severus finally arrived in his chambers; due to the overwhelming amount of communication he had had to face during the last two days, however, he had decided to just have a solitary meal in his quarters. Nothing and nobody—except, of course, the promise of seeing Nimue, but she was to come straight to him after dinner anyway—would have been able to draw him out of his shell of silence and peace after hours and hours of non-stop talking and listening.

Peggy, who always knew instinctively when to chat and when to remain silent, merely placed some dishes, covered with silver lids, on the already-laid table and disappeared. Smiling to himself, for he had the distinct impression that she had somehow managed to tune down her usual ‘crack’ to a mere ‘plop’ reminding of human Apparition, he sat down and poured himself a large glass of water. He felt much better after gulping it down; his mood lightened further when he picked up the decanter and sniffed the Shiraz that had been breathing for some hours already.

When he was inhaling the rich scent of Coq au Vin* mingled with the aroma of freshly-baked white bread, thoughts of the tedious hours spent in Lucius’s office were no more than blurry, distant forms somewhere on the outskirts of his mind. His peace was interrupted, however, by a raspy voice wishing him a good evening.

“My sincerest apologies,” the Bloody Baron said, bowing more deeply than usual, “for intruding upon your well-deserved privacy. But I was… under the impression that you needed to talk to me.”

Severus swallowed, nodded and raised his goblet. “Your health, Baron. Thank you for visiting me so promptly—it has been quite some time since we last met.”

“Well…” The ghost cleared his throat. “I assumed that, given the nature of our last encounter…” He fell silent and merely raised an eloquent, pearly eyebrow.

“Your discretion is, as always, unrivalled, Baron. Although, if you don’t mind my saying so, your, well, omniscience borders on the uncanny. How come you knew that I needed to talk to you?”

The Baron, who had in the meantime floated into the chair opposite Severus’s, gave a raucous chuckle. “My dear Professor Snape, you have been a teacher here for almost twenty years, not to mention the seven years you spent as a student, and you still believe that there is such a thing as omniscience?”

“Not when it comes to Dumbledore. But I daresay that humans and ghosts are sufficiently different…”

“True. But believe me, neither Dumbledore nor myself are omniscient. We merely rely on the sometimes tedious but mostly highly helpful propensity of paintings towards chattering and gossiping. You would scarcely believe the inordinate number and variety of news that reach the Headmaster’s ears via the portraits in his office.”

The piece of bread Severus had been holding between thumb and forefinger fell into the gravy. A few greasy, brown stains soaked into the white tablecloth. “The paintings? That’s the whole secret of—I can’t believe it!”

“Of course,” the Baron replied with a smug smile. “And their occupants do have a certain affinity to us ghosts—more than to living, breathing humans, in any case—which explains why we are always the first to know.”

“I…” Severus was busy digesting this piece of information. “I see. Who would have thought…” He looked at the Baron, whose face still bore a rather sly expression. “Not that the explanation makes the matter in itself less fascinating. Just from a very different point of view.”

He cut a piece of chicken leg and masticated, contemplating his recently acquired knowledge.

“Professor?” the ghost's voice abruptly ended his train of thought, “I certainly do not mean to hurry you, but…”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, Baron. As a matter of fact, we were discussing elf magic today, and, much to everybody’s discomfiture, discovered that we don’t know much about it. I’ll ask Peggy, too, but she's a fairly young House Elf, and I’m not sure how much they know… are allowed to know,” he added. “It would have to be oral tradition in any case, and that might not be too reliable. You, on the other hand, have been born before the great Elf Wars and might be able to give me some precious information.”

“Elf magic?” the Baron repeated, smiling thinly. “How interesting. No, no,” he raised his hand, “I shall not inquire any further. Some things are best left unsaid. So…” The semi-translucent eyes gazed up at the ceiling. “There was something... I have never seen it personally, but I remember… there was a book, written by the Venerable Bede**, I think.”

“Bede? I had no idea he was a wizard.”

“You never paid much attention in Professor Binns’s classes,” the ghost replied mildly. “If I remember correctly, you preferred driving him half-insane together with Mr. Malfoy—the Headmaster, I should say. But I think my memory is correct. It was certainly something written by Bede.”

“Oh, dear.” Severus rolled a breadcrumb between his fingers until it became a tiny, hard ball of a rather disgusting shade of grey. He fed it to Elias, who was perching on the edge of the table, waiting for tastier morsels than the one he had just been offered. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”

“As to that,” the Baron said, “I sincerely regret my lack of information. It might be… well, almost anywhere, although I strongly doubt that Muggles ever had it in their possession. But whether it is currently in a magical library or in some private collection, I really could not tell.”

“Never mind, Baron, you have already given me a very valuable hint.” Severus hoped it sounded convincing. To his ears, it did not. But the ghost smiled and bowed his head. “And… during the Elf Wars, did you ever happen to hear any accounts or descriptions of their magical abilities?”

“I am afraid I did not, Professor. Unlike some of my fellow ghosts, I am bound to Hogwarts and cannot leave its sphere. And even during the Elf Wars, the school was safe. We did not see wizard warriors here…”

A short but polite exchange ensued, and finally the Baron wished Severus a good evening—was there a spark of mischief in the ghost’s eyes?—and had almost reached the wall, when Severus called him back. “Baron? May I ask you another question?” At the ghost’s nod, he continued, “I was wondering… in fact, this has been bothering me for quite some time… How did you know it was Miss Lestrange?”

The Bloody Baron never grinned, but the smirk appearing on his face was the closest thing to a grin Severus had ever seen in him. “Know? I did not know, Professor. You might call it a logical deduction and… a little guessing. Putting two and two together, as they say. The prophecy, your state of mind when you returned from the namesgiving, combined with the fact that Miss Lestrange was staying at Malfoy Manor and your much-improved mood when you visited Dumbledore… Again, no omniscience. And,” he added, his feet and legs already melting through the wall, “you did not protest against my insinuation…”

Deep in thought, Severus watched Elias devouring the remainders of his chicken, and then went to have a shower, as he felt awfully sticky, his skin irritated even by the fine fabric of his shirt, after two whole days of just sitting around. He was used to moving, whether in his laboratory or through the hallways; having to stay glued to a chair, in near-immobility, almost made him want to jump out of his skin.

He finished dressing just in time; a few seconds after he had emerged from his bedroom, Nimue knocked at his door and entered.

“Am I too early?” She was wearing one of the new school robes she had bought at Malkin’s, and Severus thought that there was something to be said in favour of cutting-edge designer robes.

“No,” he replied and held out his hand, which she took. But she did not completely close the distance between them. So, Severus supposed, she probably was feeling awkward.

Therefore he merely kept her hand in his while he gazed down at her. “What would you like to do tonight?”

Immediately, her face went scarlet. “I need to tell you something first.”

“Do you have to remain standing, or would it be possible for us to sit down?” he teased.

“W-what? No, I mean yes, of course we can sit down.” They went over to the couch. Severus briefly wondered whether he should sit next to her at all, but then decided that too much distance was as bad as too little, and lowered himself at arm’s length from her. The violent blush had subsided, and she shot him a small smile. “It’s nothing dramatic, you know, just… just that, well, as I said, I’m not feeling quite so mature and fearless anymore. That talk with Lucius…” She sighed and looked away. “It has somehow added a new dimension to… to all this. It’s so strange to know that in two weeks’ time…” She moved a little closer to him. “I know it sounds paradoxical, but I almost wish we could… do… it earlier. Of course I understand that we can’t, I’ve done a bit of reading…”

“Of course,” he observed dryly, earning himself a punch in the upper arm.

“I know I’m a bookworm, but it does have its merits, you know?”

“There is certainly no need to convince me.”

“I know. Well, as I said, I browsed through a few books, and I certainly don't want my powers to diminish.”

“That’s putting it a bit bluntly, you know? It’s not as if your powers diminished drastically. I suppose you wouldn’t even notice anything, so long as you do simple everyday magic. But when it comes to more elemental spells, yes, you might regret your decision.”

“The books didn’t give very detailed information. Anyway, I don't want to tamper with my powers, and so of course I know we have to wait. But waiting makes the whole thing so… so awkward. And that makes me feel a bit embarrassed around you. Nothing that won’t go away,” she hurriedly added, “it's just right now… we haven’t seen each other in two days…”

Severus took her hand and gently stroked its back with his thumb. “Don’t apologize, Nimue. Believe me, I understand. Besides—” he lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss on the tips “—it’s awkward for me, too. So let’s just talk tonight, I suppose that will make us both feel better.”

Nimue heaved a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad—” she suddenly flung herself into his arms, despite the rather uncomfortable position “I’m so glad you understand me.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder, but not to the point of becoming unintelligible. Severus held her tightly, stroking her back. After a while, she raised her head. “I just wonder what you’ve been doing with all that niceness before.”

“I saved it all for you,” he replied lightly and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Obviously. I’m certainly not complaining.” She leaned against the back of the couch, but his arm remained around her shoulders. “Do you think… I suppose most of what you’ve been discussing yesterday and today is top secret, but is there anything you might tell me?”

“Not really,” he sighed, “it’s really too dangerous. But just in case you happen to know where we might find a book written by the Venerable Bede, don’t hesitate to tell me.” He had, of course, meant it as a joke and was therefore surprised when her brow crinkled with concentration.

“Bede? The one who wrote the Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum?”

“The very one.”

“Hmm… he was one of Rowena Ravenclaw’s ancestors, so maybe—what?” she asked, frowning down at Severus’s hand which had gripped her arm.

“Ravenclaw?” Severus got to his feet, pulling her up together with him. “Come,” he said, dragging her towards the fireplace, “We have to call Lucius this instant!”

* Coq au Vin is an extremely delicious French dish, consisting of chicken legs, mushrooms, garlic, onions, bacon and red wine (those are, at least, the main components), which have to simmer on a low flame for some hours. You can eat it with rice, if you like, but it tastes best just with white bread.

** Bede, or Baeda, 673?–735, English historian, a Benedictine monk, called the Venerable Bede. He spent his whole life at the monasteries of Wearmouth (at Sunderland) and Jarrow and became probably the most learned man in Western Europe in his day. His writings, virtually a summary of the learning of his time, consist of theological, historical, and scientific treatises. Like a modern scholar, he consulted many documents, discussed their relative reliability, and duly cited them as sources—practices then most unusual. His theological works are commentaries on the Scriptures in the light of the interpretations of the Church Fathers. He wrote biographical works such as the life of St. Cuthbert (in prose and verse) and the History of the Abbots (of Wearmouth and Jarrow). His Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, written in Latin prose, remains an indispensable primary source for English history from 597 to 731. It gives the most thorough and reliable contemporary account of the triumph of Christianity and of the growth of Anglo-Saxon culture in England. He also relates the political events that had bearing on these developments. (Source: Columbia Encyclopaedia)