Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Eighteen

These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they

were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing ... They

would have been even more impressive, those heads on the

stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house.

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"It's so nice to finally speak with you, Severus," Dr. Cuthrell said silkily. "I was so disappointed when you missed our last appointment."

He did not speak. It was not necessary.

"I did get a chance to speak with Professor Dumbledore again, though," he continued. "I expressed my concern at your lack of progress."

His eyes flashed.

"He seems to think that you have made a few forward steps since we last spoke." Cuthrell's voice expressed his disbelief at such an idea. "Which brings me to what I hoped we could discuss in our session today ..."

With a lazy wave of his wand, Cuthrell released the Petrificus Totalus charm the orderlies had placed on Severus to bring him up to the office. Severus stayed on the floor -- the door, of course, was locked.

Cuthrell leaned over his desk, steepling his fingers under his chin. "The inestimable Hermione Granger. She's come to visit you no less than six times in the past two months. By all accounts, you two have spoken freely."

Severus blinked once, slowly. And your point is ...?

"I do not care what it is that you speak about, Severus."

Liar. He smirked. A small quirk of the lips that communicated volumes.

"But I am curious about how you feel. Tell me, Severus -- what does Hermione Granger make you feel?" His bright, earnest tone was belied by the warning of an attack in his gaze. Large and round and mesmerizing, Cuthrell's eyes reminded Severus rather of a cat his father kept in the shop to kill mice -- the cat would patiently wait, stalking its prey, begging it with its eyes to approach before leaping in for the kill.

He smiled inwardly, deciding it might be entertaining to play Cuthrell's game for a bit. "Like basking in the sunshine of her love," he said dryly.

Of course, the irony of such a ludicrous statement eluded the therapist completely, and he began scribbling excitedly on the parchment beneath his quill. "You're in love with her?" he asked swiftly.

The mental grin widened, approaching a Cheshire cat's in extent. Severus finally stood and seated himself in one of Cuthrell's chairs. "Oh, yes," he said, flat and deadpan. "Ever since I first laid eyes on her all those years ago." If he'd been able to bring himself to it, he would have fluttered his eyelashes, just to see what sort of response he could provoke.

The quill slowed and Cuthrell's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "She couldn't have been more than eleven when you first saw her," he said.

"All the same ..." he trailed off, stifling a laugh as the psychologist's eyes widened to epic proportions.

Cuthrell cleared his throat self-importantly, laying his quill on the blotter. "Now, Severus ..." he began in what Severus was certain was meant to be a placating tone. "Severus, I can't help you if you won't let me."

Thank bloody Jesus and Merlin and Buddha you'll never help me, he thought to himself as the young man's face split into a horrifyingly charming smile.

"I spoke to a few people about Hermione Granger," Cuthrell continued into the silence, apparently deciding that a change in tactics was necessary. "She's proven rather difficult to gather information on. But I have managed to discern that she was, indeed, one of your students."

Severus' eyebrow lifted. How particularly difficult for you ...

"More importantly, it seems, according to several of my sources, that she was a Gryffindor at the same time as the famous Harry Potter." He paused here, ostensibly to gauge Severus' reaction.

Severus tried not to move, but Cuthrell settled back in his chair, seemingly pleased at what he'd been able to gather.

"I also have it on good authority that you and Harry Potter notoriously did not get along."

Exhaling sharply, he glared at Cuthrell as if to say, Is that all, then?

"Did you know that Harry Potter is dead?" Cuthrell pounced, something like delight in his voice.

"I was made aware of that fact," he replied carefully, deciding then and there that he would not say another word to this man today.

With a frown, he shuffled a few papers around on his desk. Severus rather suspected he'd wanted to shock him with that news. Possibly make what he called a breakthrough with it. "There's a connection there, Severus. You, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and his death. I want to know what it is."

He was quiet. He would not speak.

Seconds ticked into long minutes as they stared at each other. It seemed as if Cuthrell was not going to break the silence either.

A cuckoo sounded the hour. Ten in the morning. Severus wondered why Cuthrell would put something as incongruous as a cuckoo clock in his otherwise modern, clinical office. He blinked at the sound.

Cuthrell heaved a long-suffering sigh and Severus wrinkled his nose at him. "It seems as if our hour is up, Severus. I hope you have a nice day." He flapped his wrist at the door and the lock clicked. "By the by, Severus ..."

He jerked his attention away from the doorknob long enough to regard him questioningly.

"The clock was a graduation gift from my grandmother. I know you were wondering ..." He laughed merrily as Severus' scowl deepened.

-- -- -- -- --

It was raining again. Some time in between being Petrified leaving breakfast and being interrogated -- offered therapy, that is -- by Cuthrell, the rain had started.

Severus laid his hand on the window, feeling the cold seep through to his fingertips. Summer was passing. If he squinted, he could imagine that the leaves hanging limply off the nearby trees might be changing color.

He did not have his common room to himself today -- Old Jack had flung himself into a chair across the room and was currently staring at a space on the floor as if it was about to open up and allow escape. But he did not, of course, speak, and so Severus did not pay him any attention, choosing instead to continue looking out his customary window.

A thought struck him.

Unless he missed his count, today was Thursday.

Granger would come today.

She usually came on Thursdays.

He wondered what he could possibly have to say to her. Or what she would have to say to him. Inwardly, Severus sighed.

"You over there," an ancient sounding voice croaked. "You -- boy!"

With a start, Severus whirled around to see Old Jack watching him. Perhaps his sigh hadn't been as inward as he'd thought. He was, in fact, so stunned that he found himself actually replying. "Beg pardon?"

Old Jack grinned, revealing a handful of missing teeth. Severus immediately wished he would stop. "You sound like your world's about to come to an end, there, lad."

"I thought you didn't talk." His voice was reproachful, but the curiosity behind the implicit question was genuine.

"I thought you didn't either," Old Jack said with a small snort, finally (thankfully) putting his cracked old teeth away behind his lips. "I should be honored you're gracing me with your words."

"Likewise," Severus said, cocking his head in a sarcastic nod.

Old Jack laughed. "Oh, I speak well enough, my boy. Just not to many. I find that silence adds to my mystique."

"Mystique?" he echoed carefully.

There went that positively awful smile again. Severus made a mental vow to floss as often as they'd let him. "I'm particularly fond of the rumor circulating that I'm an old Death Eater," he said with a conspiratorial wink. "One so crazy that You-Know-Who himself had me committed."

Severus let out a bark of laughter. "You're no Death Eater."

"What makes you say that?" Old Jack asked, contriving to look hurt.

Here, he gave him a shark's grin of his own. "Because I was," he said confidently. "And I'd remember you."

To his credit, Old Jack only blinked about twice. "You were a Death Eater?"

"I was."

Jack tucked his hands behind his head and jerked his head in a cocky nod. "I'll have to watch out for you, then."

"See that you do." But there was no bite to his words.

Watching him carefully for a good while, Old Jack suddenly leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. "Well ... aren't you going to ask me why I'm really here?"

"Did you want me to?" Severus asked politely.

"Our conversation had gotten off to a rather promising start."

"Well, then." He waved his hand in what he hoped was a prompting manner. "Go on, then. I imagine you're going to tell me that you're some harmless old crank whose son had him slapped in the loony bin without cause to get at his fortune. Please tell me you double-crossed him and left it all to your half-blind, lame cat."

"Oh, no," Old Jack said. "Not that. Have you ever read that old Muggle book where they talk about how you know whether or not you're crazy?** I can't remember the title off the top of my head."

"I'm certain you're about to tell me what I need to know about it."

Jack laughed again and slapped one of his knees. "Why didn't I talk to you before, boy?"

"The book?" Severus asked, trying to mask his impatience with an air of boredom.

"Oh yes." He cleared his throat and crossed a leg neatly over his knee. "Well, the book said that if you think you're crazy, there's no way that you actually can be, because only a truly sane person would ever wonder whether or not he wasn't. So you can never actually truthfully claim to be insane."

He rolled his eyes. "Are you reaching a pertinent point?"

"I only wonder if I'm not sane sometimes," Jack admitted. "And when they've got me locked up in my little room, or when my damned therapist is patiently explaining something to me with as many big words as he can think of, I'm certain I'm the most rational person in this god-forsaken building. But then ... then things get fuzzy."

"Fuzzy?"

"You know ..." he said with a sideways glance. "The lights get all bendy and I can hear the birds. And that's when I know they're coming."

"They?" Severus echoed, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Who?"

"Them. They whisper in my mind and they tell me they can make the birds go away, but I can't believe them. Dr. Penderghast says I mustn't, or he'll put needles in my arms again. So when it gets fuzzy, I try very hard not to move. But sometimes I do. And I don't mean to, you see."

Severus resisted the urge to move away from Old Jack as well as he could, only shifting slightly in his chair.

The glint in his eyes slowly faded. "So ... tell me. Am I crazy?"

Most assuredly, Severus thought to himself. "We probably all are," he grumbled.

"That's the spirit!" Old Jack cried. "Tell me, do you play chess?"

-- -- -- -- --

The chess sets were warded so that the pieces did not speak and were permanently attached to the boards, which were in turn attached to the floor. You had to actually touch each piece and then tap the space you wanted it to move to. To be honest, Severus actually preferred this version of the game -- the chess set he'd had as a child chattered something awful and he usually played with a Silencing Charm enabled anyway.

This meant, though, that he and Old Jack played in relative silence, heads bent over the board in concentration.

One of Jack's knights was currently wriggling its way through Severus' pieces, and his mind was racing as he stared at the board, his former strategy now unraveled as he bent his thought on destroying the annoying knight.

Both their heads snapped to attention as the door to the common room swung open. One of the orderlies stepped into the room and smiled at them. "Getting along, are we?"

Neither of them spoke.

She frowned. "Well ... Severus, you have a visitor waiting for you. Just thought you'd like to know."

Old Jack waggled his eyebrows at him in a rather disturbing gesture. In reply, Severus scowled, tipping his king over and admitting defeat. Perhaps some other day, then.

Granger must be here.

He walked down the hallway briskly, bare feet slapping against the tiles as he moved. The doorknob was absolutely frigid under his fingers -- he twisted it to open the door.

Albus smiled up at him from his position at the table. "Ah ..." he said warmly. "Good morning, Severus."

He almost turned around and walked back out. The only thing that kept him from doing so was Cuthrell -- he didn't want to be confined to his room again. As it was, then, he slouched into the room and slumped into the other chair, waiting for Albus to begin his usual prattle.

It did not take long. "I'm glad to see you are well, Severus," he said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here yesterday, but I had a meeting I couldn't get out of. And Minerva sends her regards, as always."

Snorting, Severus gave him a stony stare. I bet she does.

Albus' eyes narrowed. "Of course she does. She cares about you, Severus."

His nostrils flared. Was he actually using Legilimency?

"I'm not poking in your mind, Severus," he said with a deep sigh. "It's written all over your face. But I would have thought that such an accomplished Occlumens as yourself would be able to tell immediately that I wasn't in your mind."

He did not speak and his lips thinned to a nearly imperceptible line. Albus knew as well as he did how that stung.

Albus recoiled instantly. "I'm sorry, my boy," he said. "I didn't mean to --" He caught himself and offered Severus an apologetic smile. "I spend more time apologizing to you than anyone else, you know that?"

A corner of his mouth twitched.

"As I was saying, then," he said in an attempt at joviality. "You'd be proud of me, Severus. At my last meeting with our esteemed Minister, I lost my temper, called him an 'old goat,' and stormed out. Minerva is of the opinion that I should apologize, but I cannot see why I ought to. He's still trying to bring the Order under his control -- he doesn't like a private entity with the sort of reach that we have existing without some sort of governmental regulations. If he wasn't so insistent that he be the official liaison, I might be more willing to listen. Kingsley Shacklebolt, for example, or even young Ronald Weasley would be excellent choices."

Severus quirked an eyebrow.

"You're correct, of course, Severus. It doesn't hurt matters that both Shacklebolt and Weasley are already informally affiliated with the Order," Albus admitted. "But you cannot fault an old man for wanting to make his bed as comfortably as possible."

I certainly can, he thought darkly.

He chuckled at Severus' belligerent expression. "I cannot deceive you, can I, boy? It appears as if your Miss Granger has caught on to me as well."

His eyes widened at the 'your.'

"Come, now, Severus. You can't treat Hermione as you do and then not expect me to remark on it. Why, even your doctor, that wonderful Jake Cuthrell, who's made so much progress with you, has commented."

He snorted.

"I daresay that Hermione's as baffled by you as the rest of us," Albus said with a small smile. "I spoke with her a few nights ago, incidentally. She's staying at young Weasley's flat for a while, I think. They always were such close friends ..."

Severus willed his expression not to change as Albus leaned forward, obviously trying to see how his words affected him.

"Anyway ... she seems to be the same sweet child I remember from her time at Hogwarts in so many ways."

Not enough of them, Severus thought, remembering her almost calculating gaze as she watched him.

"It's such a shame that she was gone for so long," he continued thoughtfully. "But she did make it back for the funeral. Harry's funeral. I know she told you about Harry, Severus."

He bowed his head, neither confirming nor denying Albus' words, knowing it was not necessary.

"I confess, I rather wondered about your reaction to the news," he admitted. "Harry's death came as such a shock to us all, but I am well aware of the ... emotions ... between the two of you."

Closing his eyes, Potter's face, soured with a glare, flashed in his mind.

"It was a senseless tragedy. And it preys on me, Severus. I think it preys on all of us. No one should have to die like that."

Split open and bled to death, he remembered Granger saying. Like an animal.

Probably not, though. Most animals did not die, as he suspected Potter did -- as he knew most people under such circumstances would have -- most animals did not die weeping.

Only man.

Potter's glare resonated through his brain again -- a glare through a bloodstained and tear-streaked face.

Albus gave him a shrewd look. "I wonder, Severus ... does it prey on you?"

Of course not! he wanted to cry. Shout it to the heavens. Why would he care what happened to Potter, a stupid, willful boy who hadn't known what to do with the life he'd been handed? Of course not.

Like an animal.

He could not meet Albus' eyes.

"I think, Severus, that I ought to take my leave," Albus said carefully, chair scraping as he stood. "Oh, and I almost forgot. I brought you something -- Jake Cuthrell said he had no objections." Seemingly carelessly, he tossed something on the table -- it hit with a loud thud.

Severus glanced down. The Daily Prophet. Albus had brought him a newspaper. He felt tears prickle shamefully in his eyes.

"Good day, Severus."

Watching him shuffle away, Severus let Albus get nearly out the door before he spoke.

"Thank you, Uncle Albus," he whispered.

Albus did not reply, but his shoulders straightened as he walked off.

-- -- -- -- --

Severus did not want to read the entire paper at once. His first newspaper in five years.

The experience needed to be savored.

And so he allowed himself to read the first page as he walked back to his room, bypassing the common room. Hiding it under his mattress, he promised himself a second page after luncheon.

His willpower flagged, however, and he actually read two pages right after lunch. Even the stupid society column caught his eye -- he scanned it eagerly, drinking in the details of Draco Malfoy's last dinner party as if they were written in elegant verse.

The world had indeed moved on, then. Children had been born, people had been married, and people had died. It was only within the sterile institution walls that time seemed to be stopped.

Severus could not resist and after forcing himself to sit in a common room for an hour, he all but ran back to his room, tore the paper out from under his mattress, and began reading it as if his life depended on it, tracing over each word lovingly with his eyes.

It was with great sadness, then, that he reached the back page. The obituaries. A section of the paper he remembered skipping in his other lifetime -- he dealt with death enough that he did not want to read about it.

But now he wanted to imprint every single word on his memory, so he devoured the obituary page as he had every other one in the newspaper.

Mrs. Agnes Rascoe, aged one hundred ninety-eight. Died at St. Mungo's. Survived by numerous children, grandchildren, all the way through great-great-grandchildren.

Mr. Flavius Hamilton, forty-eight. Freak manticore incident. Wife, two boys, and a girl.

Mr. Alistair Bones, thirty-nine. Died at home. A wife and a son.

Died at home.

Severus wondered what that meant.

He realized with a start that Hermione Granger had not come to see him today.

-- -- -- -- --