Pretty Good Year

9.

The violent shove which sends him flying against the nearest wall comes as no surprise. Neither does the wand tip pressing against the large vein of his throat, or the stench of goat in his nostrils.

"Hello, Moody," he says, recognizing him even in the shadows. He smiles with genuine pleasure, knowing Moody will see it and be irritated.

"What are you doing here, Snape?" Moody's luminous blue eye is just visible in the half light. He does not slacken his grip.

"A pleasure to see you as well, Moody. I trust your holiday with Potter has done you good?"

Moody snorts, and then he does takes a step back, lowering his wand. "Right. Holiday. Very clever." He sheathes his wand. "What's your business, then?"

"I need to see Dumbledore."

"Why?"

"Hogwarts is taken. An untold number of the Order are dead or captured." It is a mark of his exhaustion that he nearly spits the words into Moody's face.

He cannot read the other man's expression, but there is a long pause before he replies, as though the news is not unexpected.

"Dumbledore can't see you."

"And why is that?"

"He's dying."

There is no reason Snape should feel shocked. But all the air leaves his lungs, and the only bodily sensation he is aware of is a faint prickling up and down his arms.

Moody continues. "He collapsed an hour ago. Hasn't moved since. Knew you were coming, though. Keeps asking for you."

"Why then...." Snape clears his throat in an effort to keep his voice from shaking. "Why can I not see him?"

"Poppy's shut herself away with him. Trying every trick in the book and writing a few of her own."

"But you have no hope?"

Moody looks away. "All you have to do is look at him."

Snape continues to stand with his back against the wall. Moody takes a few steps toward the door, then stops, leaning against the lintel. He speaks without turning around. "Come with me. I'll take care of Poppy."

Snape sheathes his own wand with a hand whose shaking he no longer tries to hide. He follows Moody outside, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the light.

The shack, the whole compound, sits on top of a mountain. When he steps out the door his feet strike rock and dirt and grass. Despite himself--despite everything--he is forced to be still and notice the world around him. From where they stand, there is nothing to see save an oasis of blue trees canopied by violet mist. The air smells of fresh rain and heavy magics.

From the perspective of scenery, he can't imagine a better place to die.

Moody begins to walk down a steep path carved into the mountain. Despite his wooden leg he outdistances Snape easily, leaping from rock to rock while Snape slips and missteps, falling twice. When the crude wooden steps run out, Snape foregoes all pretense of dignity and slides the remaining distance on the side of his foot. Once at the bottom of the hill Moody offers a hand up that Snape does not refuse.

Moody leads him from the path to the door of another shack, identical to the last save for the garden--there are neat lines of every healing herb Snape knows of, as well as several he doesn't recognize.

When Moody knocks, the voice that answers is so strained that it is barely recognizable as Poppy Pomfrey's. "There's been no change. I will call you if you are needed."

Moody opens the door just wide enough to fit his head through. "Snape's just come, Poppy. I think Dumbledore'll want to see him."

He takes a hasty step back as the door is flung open and Madam Pomfrey stares down on them both. Her neat cap and apron are gone; she wears a set of patched grey robes, wild tendrils of white hair haloing her face.

"What he wants is immaterial. He is my patient, and he's weak enough as it is--I won't have you upsetting him with Merlin knows what kind of horrible news--"

"I am well enough to see my friends, Poppy." The quiet voice from within the little house should have been barely audible, but it silences them all in an instant.

Pomfrey closes her eyes, and the slump of her shoulders speaks of capitulation. Wordlessly, she stands aside. Moody takes her by the arm and begins leading her toward a small oak grove, where seven trees form a semi-circle around a group of smooth white sitting stones.

Snape enters the cottage, fighting the urge to close his eyes. He does not want to see Dumbledore frail, dying. Like a child, he retains the irrational surety that the worst cannot be true, so long as he does not have to face the proof of it.

He looks toward the bed in the corner of the room, and in the same instant bites his tongue, afraid what he will say if he lets himself speak. It takes all the strength in his body to approach the bed and the still form beneath the blankets.

"Severus." A faint stirring follows the sound of the voice, and on the table in the middle of the room a candle begins to glow.

Dumbledore face, sunken and weary, is softened by the light. His eyes are closed, and when he speaks, his mouth barely moves. "I am glad to see you."

"You should have told us you took the Guardian Potion." He knows they are useless, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"To what end?" Thin lips form a smile. "You could not have been any more vigilant than you were."

"There were preparations we could have made. You are secret keeper for half the Order's safehouses, we--" The knot in his throat forces him to stop. "You should have told us."

"How many were taken with the castle?"

Snape delays his answering by looking to the left and right of him for a chair. None are to be found, so he conjures one for himself and draws it up to the bed, sitting. "There is no way of knowing."

"What do you know?"

"Lupin, Granger, the Lovegood girl--we were the only ones to have made it to Grimmauld Place by the time I came here. The others may have gone to the Burrow, I cannot be sure. Lupin is there now to alert them."

Dumbledore's eyes flicker open. The are bright and clear, even in the half light. "Miss Granger--Miss Lovegood?"

"Both injured. They remained in London."

Dumbledore's chin dips a fraction of an inch, the tiniest of nods. They sit in silence for the next minute.

"Neville Longbottom...." Dumbledore seems to lose all air in the effort of pronouncing the name. "He arrived here, with his caretakers, a few minutes before you. He is very weak."

"You know that I have never been so convinced of his importance as the rest of you."

"You have never had faith....in the sometime divinity of madness." Dumbledore smiles, and Snape has to look away.

"Listen to me, Severus. I have little time remaining. The more fully Voldemort's supporters take possession of the castle, the further I will slip from you. I must have a promise from you before you go. Will you give it to me?"

There is nothing he can say, no resistance he can offer to the weight of a dying request. "In twenty years," he says, "I have refused you nothing."

"Yes, that is true. There is....such faithfulness in you." Dumbledore closes his eyes again and draws a long, rattling breath. "I want you to promise me that you will believe Neville. Whatever he may tell you. Whatever he may say. However....incredible, or offensive it may seem."

"Headmaster." Snape can feel heat rising in his face.

"I will have your promise, Severus. You must trust that I would not ask this lightly."

"He would no sooner confide in me than I would invite a confidence from him. You should ask this of anyone but me." You should ask of me anything but this, he does not say.

"It cannot be anyone but you, for reasons that will become clear. Now...will you give me your word?"

Snape's fist tightens in his lap. He knows the walls are closing in, but he tries one more time. "I will have no opportunity to care for a child, much less an invalid, in the coming days. That, you must grant me."

"I do not ask you to assume guardianship of Neville. He will remain here, for the time being. I want no more, no less than I have asked of you." Dumbledore smiles again. "I only want you....to have faith in him."

Snape jumps as the door swings open, hinges complaining. Pomfrey stands there, grasping a bunch of athelas in her left hand, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Severus?" Dumbledore's voice holds him.

Snape rises, lifting his head and closing his eyes. "In this, as in all things, I am your servant."

Dumbledore does not move, but contentment plays at the corners of his lips. "No, dear boy. Never that."

It is as much of a dying benediction as Snape can endure. He brushes past Pomfrey on his way through the door and stands in the sunlight a moment, searching for breath.

*

He does not have the energy to insult Moody by moving away as he approaches. He keeps his seat on the white boulder and looks carefully at nothing.

"There's some things we need to go over before you head off again." Moody arranges himself on one of the stones nearby, and rests his staff across his lap. "First off, we found Leopold Lovegood's body a few hours ago. Been dead awhile so far as we can tell, but they had their fun with him first. Though I don't see as we need to tell the lass that."

"I agree. What else?"

"Priscilla Proctor's MLES division responded to a call near the Lovegood place early this morning. Your old crowd. Caught the merrymakers in the act and ambushed 'em, neat as you please. Five dead, two captured." Moody pauses. "Mulciber's one of the two."

Now Snape does look at Moody. The implication of his words is not slow to sink in, but Snape is determined not to understand him. "You want me to go back."

"Don't want you to do anything. Just thought you should have all the facts."

"Mulciber's capture means nothing." Snape's fingers dig into the rock, white knuckled. "Crabbe was there as well."

"Thought you said Luna hexed him."

"He has already come to doubt me. I fled when the school was taken. If I present myself to him now, it will be the end. He will turn my mind like the pages of a book."

"You telling me you never lied your way out of a sticky spot before?"

"This," Snape breathes, "hardly qualifies as 'sticky'."

Moody shrugs, and, taking his staff in hand, gets to his feet again. "Like I said. Just thought you should be in possession of the facts." He tips the bowler hat over one eye. "Heading back directly?"

Snape gets to his feet as well, and though it is on the tip of his tongue to say yes, he does not. "I've one more errand to complete before I go." He smiles, and the feeling is unpleasant. "I need to see Neville Longbottom."

*

He follows Moody back up the steep path to the large building that houses the majority of the compound. Both of them are out of breath by the time they reach the top, and Snape's fingernails are black with dirt, his palms smeared green with grass and dented with the impression of sharp, tiny pebbles.

"Forgot to mention, going down's the easy part," Moody grins.

"I'm sure." Snape dusts his hands against his robes and pushes his hair back from his face. Only then does it occur to him that he could have simply Apparated.

He watches as Moody walks to the door and removes his wand. He wields it like a pen, tracing the figures of runes and numbers in blue light across the doorframe. They glow brilliantly for a moment, then fade, though it seems to Snape that he can still see a faint impression of them upon the air.

Moody turns the latch and pushes the door open, then steps back. "I should stay near Dumbledore in case Poppy needs me for something. Neville's last door at the end of the hall."

Snape arches an eyebrow. "The room is not warded?"

"All you'll need is your wand. Nothing fancy. Chief reason for locking him up at school was to keep other people from wandering in on him, much good as that did. We've still got his wand."

"I see. Thank you." Snape starts for the door, and Moody takes a few steps away before stopping, and half turning back in Snape's direction.

Snape pauses, and waits. His mind races ahead, trying to anticipate what Moody will say to him. It is the way he handles hostile conversations, the few seconds' advantage enabling him to choose his reply with care.

"Don't go out of your way to upset the boy."

The corner of Snape's mouth spasms involuntarily. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Dragondung. He gets on your nerves. Gets on mine too, truth to tell. Still." Moody turns back, and his next words are nearly lost in the wind. "All of here's got sorrows enough."

Snape turns his back and walks into the house, his footsteps echoing hollow against the bare wooden floor.

He bypasses the staircase and walks down the corridor, into the flood of light from the wide window open at the end of the hall. There are doors to the left and right, most closed, some open, revealing neat, spartan bedchambers and cold fireplaces. All are silent as the dead, except for the last door on the right; he can hear rhythmic pacing, objects beings picked up and set down again.

He lifts his wand, preparing to open the door without warning. But he remembers Moody's words, and, repressing a sigh, knocks.

"What?" There is the sound of breaking glass, and Snape, unable to control himself, rolls his eyes. "Who--what--who's there, what do you want?"

You promised the Headmaster you would believe him, Snape thinks to himself. And I do. I believe him mad.

He taps the door once with his wand, there comes the sound of a latch releasing. The door opens slowly of its own volition, hinges whinnying in high pitched complaint.

"You."

Though Neville is staring, an expression of loathing and fear twisting his features, Snape must recover from his own surprise before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He has not seen the boy since the battle six months ago, and the change is....dramatic.

"I never wanted to see you again." Neville is hoarse. He is backed against a bureau, his skeletal fingers buckling as they attempt to dig into the wood.

"I am hardly here for my own amusement, Longbottom." The sneer is twisting his lips before he can reconsider it.

The sound of Neville's scream, high and anguished, has him taking a step back even before he realizes that the boy is running towards him, claw-like fingers reaching for his throat. A year ago the impact would have been more substantial; as it is, Snape barely staggers as the wasted body hurls into him. Nonetheless, the strength of his hands is something more than Snape would have predicted. He can feel bruises forming as Neville's fingers close around his neck, thumbs digging into his windpipe.

Snape drops his wand before he can give in to temptation. He grabs the boy's wrists and pries them away, then shoves him backwards. Neville stumbles, then throws himself forward again, sobbing and snarling. Snape meets him in mid-stride, seizing his shoulder and using the leverage to spin him so that he is facing away. He then hooks one arm around his neck and the other around the waist. Neville's fingernails carved bloody crescents into his flesh before he manages to throw the boy onto his bed.

Panting, he finds his wand and immobilizes the writhing creature before he can recover and attack yet again.

Snape drops into an armchair beside the bed, and looks at Neville, who stares up with wide eyes. He drags the cuff of a sleeve over his brow, and sheathes his wand.

"That," he says, "is why wizards do not generally indulge themselves in fisticuffs. However cathartic they may be, wands are simply more effective."

"If you hurt me," says Neville, teeth chattering, "the others will find out."

"Really? I hear no one coming, despite your vigorous attempts to injure me."

"I knew it." Neville's eyes are hot, his gaze unsteady. "I always knew you were trying to destroy me."

"If I wanted to 'destroy' you, I could have done so a hundred times already, and at far greater convenience to myself. I am here now at the Headmaster's behest, and for no other reason." Snape permits himself a smile. "Though I am not sorry I came--I wouldn't have missed that display for the world."

Trembling, Neville stops trying to break the invisible bonds tying him to the bed. He slumps back, tears rolling over the swell of his too-prominent cheekbones.

"Tell me, Longbottom. Why are you here?" Snape leans back in his seat, his hands folded in his lap. He does not trust himself to move from the chair, not while his blood is still hot with the remembered pleasures of breaking a pathetic creature while it struggles. "What makes you so extraordinary that all the maneuverings of this resistance have come to be based on the pictures in your brain?"

"Go away." Neville rolls his head to the side, facing away from Snape. "I hate you. You took her away."

Snape feels his body still itself, as though, subconsciously, he has scented some near danger. "What are you talking about?"

"She was so beautiful. I hadn't seen her for so long, and then she came to me, and you took her away. You made her forget me." His voice is muffled as he buries his face in the bedclothes.

"You're blithering," Snape says, though there is a familiar twisting in his gut.

"I see her every night. In the sky. She burns white, she carries the dead. Like the moon." His voice grows weaker. "It's in that room. Behind the locked door."

The restraining charm, cast weakly, is wearing off. Neville pushes himself upright with obvious effort, moving with slow, exaggerated gestures, as though under water. "They've stolen the moon. They've got it locked up."

None of the responses that come to him in the first minute make it past his lips. At last he sets aside the need to cull logic from the boy's soliloquy, and says the only thing that seems fitting. "Where?"

Neville blinks twice, and looks at Snape the way Snape so often looked at him, as though he had just added twice the amount of leech juice needed for a Shrinking Solution. "You know where. In the Department of Mysteries."

I want you to promise me that you will believe Neville. Whatever he may tell you. However....incredible it may seem.

Snape rises, and stares down at Neville, who stares back, his eyes red, shadows beneath them that were not present when Snape first entered the room. "You don't believe me."

Snape pulls his wand from the sheathe in his boot, and frees Neville from the remnants of his restraining charm. He does not do it for Neville's benefit.

He turns on his heel and sweeps from the room, throwing the door shut behind him. The glass in the window panes rattle with the force of the slam, and the walls seem to vibrate with weight of his steps.

He leaves by the first door he comes to, which is not the door he entered by. The view is entirely different from here, and he leans against the wall a minute, listening as a hawk flies, screaming, overhead.

There is a lake in the distance, and three figures walking along the shore, pushing a boat into the water. One of them falls into the water, and the tallest doubles over at the waist. He can just make out the sound of laughter, carried on the wind.

He pushes Potter from his mind, because there is no room for disdain amidst everything else. He follows a plain dirt path leading to the front of the house, until the sound of laughter is lost in the sound of the wind in the trees.

He Apparates to the foot of the downhill path, and finds Moody seated by the oak grove. Poppy Pomfrey sits beside him, sobbing into her hands.

Moody looks up, and for the first time since Snape has known him there is uncertainty in his face. "Get out of here, Snape," he growls, getting to his feet. "Go and warn them."

Snape closes his eyes. Heat is spreading all throughout his body, searing his throat and eyes, restricting his breath. The hand at his side curls into a fist. There is strength there still. It is good to be reminded.

"Go!"

He pulls his wand from his sleeve, and Disapparates.