At Any Moment

Severus IV

About 10 o'clock in the evening

How do you deal with a child brutalised with the truth about death?

It is never a pretty picture. There is no explanation to describe the diseased mind that would contemplate the spectre of death as a show of bravado.

I would have liked to talk to my students, appease their confusion about the catastrophe surrounding them and somehow assuage my guilt at having witnessed the carnage.

I wish I could have made them feel safe.

I'm not making sense...none of this is making sense.

The senses have abandoned every detail, from young Mr Malfoy's glorified gloating at the demise of his classmates, to Voldemort's irrational summoning of me from the Granger's.

The attendance was planned, of that I have no doubt. His ability to unnerve one with a simple change of schedule, would trip up a less accomplished liar and see them confess their sins like an unworthy penitent.

Riddle will have to be more original if he would wish to see me fall into that abyss.

Voldemort is worried about Draco. Worried is the wrong word...he admires Draco's cold-blooded brutality and lack of remorse and he is uneasy about Draco's motivations. Riddle feels that given the opportunity he will be shunted aside by a creature he helped to create.

He should have thought of that before he allowed Lucius to breed. Mind you, Lucius should be worried about Draco as well. He cannot however get over the proud parent stage; the dread congratulations at the dismemberment of a child by another child. If blood were a libation, Draco would be thrice blessed by the fates and forever damned by the spirits.

My task now is to subtly undermine Draco's influence amongst his classmates; to see him derided and 'brought to heel'. Those were Riddle's exact instructions. It would seem that my efforts to build him up as an heir apparent were too successful.

The wire that I balance upon grows ever more slippery.

I have cause to believe Minerva faces her stresses on a similar piece of suspended infinity.

Minerva came to me this afternoon in an uncharacteristic panic; Miss Granger was missing and could not be found in her dormitory or anywhere in the upper part of the castle.

Of all the sentiments to describe Minerva, cool, calm, collected and controlled would sit at the forefront of any list I chose to make.

She displayed none of those traits when she knocked on my door this afternoon.

I have never seen Minerva drop her bundle quite so blatantly. She was almost hysterical and although I know little of her past, her rocking body, wringing hands and wild-eyed gaze were sufficient to give me pause to think Miss Granger had succumbed to her grief.

It was not comforting, nor something I wished to see happen for a multitude of reasons...all of them selfish.

I made Minerva sit near the fire, then collected the jars of calmative herbs I keep close to hand.

I made sure my movements were calming and methodical as I made the infusion of White Chestnut, Chamomile and Clover. I needed Minerva grounded or I would descend into her panic, and one irrational teacher was enough in this instance.

I could not go haring around the school in a panic. Malfoy and his cronies would have the information to Riddle faster than I could find Miss Granger and assure her safety, and I refuse to give cause for them to seek another victim with my assistance.

As the tea calmed and clarified Minerva's thoughts, she offered a frightening monologue of past times under Grindelwald. This coupled with her daily fears, constant worries and prior dealings with the House of Malfoy, gave me a glimpse of the disintegrating character in front of me.

When she seemed more coherent, I called Albus through the internal Floo network. He came immediately and I left the pair of them talking quietly in front of my fire.

Truth be told, I was grateful to be away from the evidence of Minerva's memories. Her iron-laced spine is a fictitious mechanism to help her cope with the cards that life and evil have dealt her.

It is unsettling to think she has had a life of such sorrow, yet she has not succumbed to the melancholy I suffer.

I envy her...her struggles are her strength.

I assured both Minerva and Albus that I'd sift through every crevice to find their precious Gryffindor and report whatever I could as soon as I had any information.

So I began a methodical search of the dungeons. It seemed a logical place to start.

I still cannot remove the shattered aura of Minerva's grief. It was as though she thought Miss Granger would suffer a similar treachery if not found quickly.

Any students that I found lurking as I searched, were sent scuttling back to their Houses. A fictitious curfew due to the grief shrouding the castle was sufficient warning to most.

I came upon Miss Granger within twenty minutes...a picture of serenity amongst the tumult of emotions ringing through my consciousness.

I don't believe I have ever seen anyone look quite so meditative and peaceful, amidst the grief that surely must have been swimming through her mind.

I felt like an interloper and had she not sensed my presence, I would have secreted myself in the shadows and watched her...guarded her from the security of anonymity.

She knew I was there and I saw her shoulders stiffen.

Did she think I was going to abuse her for her solitude, or perhaps the means by which she cocooned herself against the stones?

Why ask a question when I already know the answer?

So I watched her momentarily, then drew my wand from my left sleeve and conjured my 'thinkers' chair.

Albus gifted it to me when I first came to Hogwarts. For all I know it could be some sick joke. He would see the sublime joke in gifting a Gryffindor chair to a Slytherin mind.

Hand hewn oak, darkened with age and the gloss of countless bodies that have set themselves upon its seat. I can in those odd reflective moments sense the creative energy that formed its shape, planed its edges and gave it an almost sentient presence.

It is a cherished gift from a man who sees only the good of me, never the bad. It is a gift I can never repay.

I do not know for how long Miss Granger continued her supplication and I was content to just watch her. The subtle movement of her right hand as it twitched upon the stone, almost seeking to draw out some sense of solidity to aid her faltering strength.

I could have no more invaded her privacy if I had sought to crawl inside her thoughts and force her to divulge her mind's torment.

It was as though our thoughts and grief were intimately fused in that one moment and it scared me.

It prompted me to act to end the unwitting invasion and so I stood, then walked slowly to her left side, lest I startle her again and very gently placed my right hand near her left ear.

Sensing me, she leant back then, wiped the grit on her robe and then stunned me by clasping my hand firmly.

Though still slightly chilled from the stone, her hand was soft and dry. It fitted neatly into my grasp.

I helped her to stand and she smiled faintly at me, looked at our joined hands, then as if suddenly realising just who was helping her, dropped her grip and her gaze.

Without a single word spoken, I knew I had to follow her, to ensure her safety...or so I told myself.

It is as though in that one moment of innocent connection, she has woven her soul with mine and I don't know how she did it.