Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Twenty-Five

He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision -- he

cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath -- 'The

horror! The horror!' I blew out the candle and left the cabin.

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"I think this is a terrible idea," Severus said flatly. "Besides, you don't even know if it's related."

"But it's a good opportunity," Granger protested. "The crime scene is virtually untouched, according to Kingsley, other than the removal of the bodies. And it has to be related -- the M.O. is nearly identical. Single incision down the torso, death from blood loss. They even recovered a teacup from the scene that had crushed hemlock mixed in with the tealeaves in the bottom. It's got to be our fellow."

He frowned. "A second victim, Granger?"

"The wife," she confirmed, glancing down at the parchment in her hand -- it appeared to be an informal letter of sorts. "She was found in a different room than the husband."

"And how did she die?" he pressed.

Granger blew out a sigh, clearly frustrated. "All right," she conceded. "A fairly routine, although rather grisly, stabbing. Not exactly to the letter, I'll admit."

"And what was the other thing you told me about her?" Severus asked, wanting to push her past her limit.

But Granger wasn't having it. "She was a Muggle," she replied demurely.

Pouncing triumphantly, Severus pulled out all the stops. "A Muggle," he cried, waving his hand through the air to emphasize his point. "Killed in a completely different manner. What makes you think this is a related case? Your victims were on the verge of a divorce, even -- not quite the picturesque lifestyle of the previous ones."

With a vicious glare, she crumpled the parchment in between her fingers. "So it's not a perfect scenario, Snape," she said, eyes blazing. "But how many wizards do you know about that have been ritually hacked open that haven't been related to this case?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

"Right -- none."

"That wasn't what I was going to say," he retorted mildly.

Rolling her eyes, Granger sighed again. "I don't understand you, Snape. I'd think you would be interested in gathering evidence. We don't have all that much, you know."

"Exactly," he said. "We don't know much about the killer and that makes him less predictable."

"We know enough," she argued. "Almost definitely male, probably single, of larger than average build and quite strong. He's obviously got enough self-control to carry out these killings with a certain ... dispassion."

"What about this one, though?" Severus asked, feeling oddly desperate. "Two victims? One with her throat slit? That hardly sounds like control."

Granger shrugged. "Maybe the wife came home while he was in the middle of it and surprised him."

"Which means he might be running scared," he said. "And what's more, we know he's escalating." Granger had introduced this particular context of the word into his vocabulary several days ago, and Severus found it echoing round and round his skull -- escalating, escalating, the killer is escalating. "Three victims in little more than two weeks."

"I still don't see your point, Snape." Her tone was impatient and grated in his ears.

"My point, Granger," he began distastefully, "is that there's something that isn't sitting right. There's something here that I don't like."

"Only something?" she asked with a snort.

Frowning, he closed the case file. "I don't think you should go up there, Granger."

"Why not?"

He clenched his hands into fists in his lap. "I don't know!"

"It's not even that far away -- just the other side of the county -- I barely even need a Portkey. I can go over there right after we finish up here and be home in time for supper." Her voice dripped saccharine condescension. "Would you like me to come back here and check in with you when I'm through?"

Severus slammed his body back in his chair, nearly overturning it in his irritation. "Go on, then," he snapped. "I don't care!"

"Obviously you do, though," she said dryly.

"No ..." he drawled. "I cannot keep you from doing as you wish, and so I prefer to wash my hands of the entire situation."

Jerkily, Granger collected her papers and files together into a single, sloppy pile and swept the whole mess into her arms. "Fine," she said tightly, turning and striding toward the door. "I will say good day to you, then, Snape."

He winced as the door slammed loudly, the sound of metal against metal ringing throughout the room.

-- -- -- -- --

Severus was playing chess with Old Jack again. Over the past few weeks, they'd played often. Most usually, Old Jack thoroughly trounced him, but today, Severus rather thought he had a chance at beating the batty old codger. Jack showed no sign of noticing Severus' queen slip closer and closer to a critical position, so he tried to keep his expression bland, face tipping toward the board.

They did not speak as they played. Although when Old Jack won (usually), he would generally cry "Mate!" with exuberance if they were alone in the room. Actually, as Severus thought about it, typically, they did not even ask each other to play -- there were just days when one of them went into the game room and patiently waited for the other.

He liked it this way. His newfound relationship with Old Jack -- he hesitated to actually label it a friendship for various reasons -- lacked the ... intensity of his other relationships. Even his ... well, whatever it was ... with Granger -- there was far too much sniping and bitterness passing between them to settle into the quiet camaraderie that he and Old Jack shared as they slid chess pieces back and forth across a board.

Severus was two moves away. His queen was nearly in place and his rook had been where it needed to be for five moves at least. He was planning to gloat mightily when he won.

"Mate," Old Jack said mildly, nudging a bishop halfway across the board.

Blinking, Severus stared at the board, stared at his poor king, irrefutably in checkmate, surrounded on all sides by menacing white pieces. When did that happen? He gave Old Jack a cross frown.

"Too busy attacking to bother defending, are we, laddie?" he asked cheerfully.

Severus glowered. "Again."

"I don't know ..." Jack said in a mocking, thoughtful sort of voice. "I have a pressing social engagement later."

He quirked an eyebrow, silently asking a question.

Sighing, Old Jack began setting up the chessboard again. "Haircuts, today. Remember?"

"Actually ..." Severus tugged at a hank of his hair with a sly grin. "They've let me slip past the last three times." His bangs now hung resolutely in his eyes, and the hair on the back of his head more than flowed past his collar.

"I'd noticed," he replied. "Do you want black again?"

"You do equally well with white or black," he said with only a small sigh. "But I suppose ... as the board is already arranged this way."

Jack prodded a pawn forward. "I would have thought they would Bind you to a chair and do it anyway."

He picked up a knight and regarded it briefly before moving it into position. "I thought so too," he agreed. "But I went to my room right after luncheon instead of the common rooms, and no one came looking for me."

"I doubt you'll be so lucky this time," he said. "Not being in your room and all. And you're looking rather ragged anyway, boyo. Could do with a bit of a trim."

Severus fell silent, preferring to concentrate on the game. Jack followed suit. At least an hour passed.

His strategy was unraveling yet again when they both started at a sharp rapping noise coming from the doorway. Glancing up, he saw a nurse hovering beside the door with a cheerful smile. "Time for your haircuts," she said brightly.

Obediently, Old Jack stood and moved toward the door, but Severus stayed firmly in his seat.

"Severus ..." she said, a warning glinting in her tone.

"I'd rather not," he replied placidly, trying to see how far he could push it.

Not far, apparently. The nurse's wand was in her hand, now, pointing at his chest. "Severus," she said again.

"And how is this supposed to improve my mental well-being?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"You need to be in the best physical condition we can keep you in, Severus," she said, neat and prim, wand not wavering.

He held his ground. "Long hair is detrimental?" He'd forgotten how much fun it was to bait the staff. She would probably Stupefy him any time now. Jack grinned at him from over the nurse's shoulder.

But she chose to continue to reason with him instead. "Short hair is easier to maintain -- you wouldn't want lice, now, would you, Severus?"

"All in all," he said in a perversely decisive tone, "I'd rather keep my hair the way it is. I see no reason why I'm incapable of keeping it clean in its current state."

Still, she did not hex him. Idly, he wondered why.

"Severus," she eventually began. "To be honest, I don't see why you should have to have a haircut if you don't want to -- but I'm going to have to check with Dr. Cuthrell first."

She must have read the amazement in his eyes because she continued to speak, flashing him another one of those syrupy smiles the nurses here were so good at.

"You see, Severus? You catch more flies with honey."

He made a face at her, but she let it slide, turning and walking out of the room. Jack followed her -- apparently he didn't mind a haircut -- and left Severus alone, wondering what had just happened.

-- -- -- -- --

"You know, Severus," Albus said thoughtfully, "if you wanted me to visit more often, you could have just asked."

He rolled his eyes at the insinuation but chose to remain silent. Cuthrell was in the room.

"I'm sorry to have called you down here yet again, Professor," Cuthrell apologized insincerely, "but I feel that we need to have a meeting about Severus' treatment."

"We seem to have a lot of those," Albus said. "Especially lately."

The sarcasm was lost on Cuthrell, who simply plodded forward. "I feel that I have been fairly indulgent up to this point. His therapy sessions have been largely unsuccessful, but I have tried to adhere to your requests and keep him off medication. And I stepped aside and allowed these ludicrous visits from Hermione Granger at your behest. But with all due respect, Professor Dumbledore, I must insist -- Severus cannot be exempt from hospital policy in this case. If he is not required to maintain our usual hygienic standards, then I cannot hold my other patients to the same level. Exceptions cannot be made."

"I don't see why not," Albus replied mildly. "It is a simple haircut, Jake. It is not as if I'm asking you to indulge him in something particularly incendiary."

"That's beside the point!" he cried.

Albus' eyebrows raised in surprise. "I rather thought that was the point. Or was there some reason you called me away from a governors' meeting besides Severus' hair?"

Reddening, Cuthrell began immediately to backpedal and Severus smirked at his discomfort. "Erm ... that is to say ... I meant ..."

The eyebrows rose further. "Maybe it is finally time for me to request that Severus be put under the care of another doctor. You are obviously finding it difficult to work with him."

You mean you could have gotten rid of Cuthrell? Severus mentally shouted at his uncle, glowering darkly. Why didn't you do it ages ago?

Albus smiled over at him and Severus had the disconcerting feeling that he knew exactly what his nephew was thinking. "But don't worry, Jake," he replied to Cuthrell's suddenly pasty face. "That doesn't mean I would withdraw my financial support of this fine institution."

With an audible gulp, he fumbled for words. "Perhaps ..." he conceded after a moment of stuttering. "Perhaps I have taken Severus as far as I can."

"All right, then," Albus said, clasping his hands together and smiling condescendingly at the doctor. "I'll arrange for the paperwork in the morning. Now ... if you don't mind, I believe there's another meeting that I should be taking part in, if we're done here."

"We're done," Cuthrell mumbled. Severus inwardly rejoiced at the defeat in his eyes.

"Good," he said, beaming at them both. "I suppose, then, Severus, that I'll probably see you tomorrow." With a nod, Albus Disapparated.

Cuthrell turned to a now bemused Severus. "Well ..." he sighed. "You finally got your wish, then. I can't say I'm unhappy to be rid of you, either."

Mockingly, he stuck out his right hand. "Goodbye, then, Cuthrell," he said coldly.

To his surprise, the doctor took it, giving it a firm shake. "Goodbye, Severus."

-- -- -- -- --

Supper, then, was a jubilant affair. Severus dug into his potatoes with something that he dimly remembered was called relish. Even the watery tea didn't taste as terrible as it usually did.

No more Cuthrell.

No more of his stupid attempts at slyness, trying to catch Severus out and make him admit feelings that he had no intention of sharing. No more therapy sessions under a Body Bind.

Of course, Severus was not obtuse. He was well aware that he'd be assigned a new therapist within the week -- possibly even worse than the hapless Cuthrell had been. But he had a few months yet before the novelty of whoever it would be could wear off and he settled into the old bitter hatred -- a few months of grim delight at toying with them, slowly killing off any innocent desire to save him.

Rather like what he had tried to do with Granger.

Except that Granger hadn't broken. Quite possibly it was only because she hadn't ever had any genuine aspirations of helping him. Whatever her motive for continuing to visit him had been, it wasn't that. Otherwise, her first question probably would have been along the lines of, Why do you want to die?

What's more, she probably would have called him Severus.

With the grand exception of Albus Dumbledore, everyone else that attempted to address him by his given name managed to pronounce it with such condescension, with such puerile glee, that it always sounded like a diminutive to his ears. Perhaps it was so many years as a teacher that had done it -- many of the people now calling him Severus with such childlike abandon he remembered as fresh-faced, obnoxious brats. It was as if now they were saying, See, Professor? Who's in charge of whom, now?

He wondered what it would sound like if Granger called him Severus now.

Possibly not like the orderlies and doctors, who delighted in the role-reversal and addressed him as if he was a backward toddler. Now, Sev-er-us, as if they were about to pry some dangerous toy out of his grasp.

Or even the professors he'd worked with at Hogwarts, who still remembered the scraggly eleven-year-old with his ears sticking out from under the Sorting Hat. Severus, briskly, authoritatively.

And certainly not like the few Death Eaters who addressed him so familiarly -- that hissing, sibilant pronunciation that simply made his skin itch with the wrongness of it. Ssev-er-uss, Lucius Malfoy used to call.

Granger's Severus would probably be a different category altogether.

He thought back to their earlier conversation. The stupid girl was hell-bent on going to the scene of the latest murder.

Severus frowned down at his applesauce, good mood forgotten.

Why should he care?

For that matter, why would he think there was anything wrong with it?

It was standard procedure -- Aurors visited the scene of the crime as soon as they could. Some magical energies faded after relatively short periods of time, so they had to perform their charms as quickly as possible in order to obtain the maximum amount of evidence.

And since Granger had gotten it into her head that it was necessary to gather evidence the Muggle way, it was doubly important that they process the crime scene in a timely fashion. If the energy from the Killing Curse dissipated quickly, it was nothing to what a good, stiff wind could do to disturb hairs and fibers and whatnot.

Severus was admittedly hazy on how Muggles went about investigating murders and such things. He had read enough Muggle mystery novels to reach the conclusion that there were usually crafty old ladies involved, armed with arcane bits of lore and flowered hats, although he was unsure as to exactly how the flowered hats factored in to the actual crime-solving process. And the delinquent usually made one crucial mistake that the law enforcement agencies were never bright enough to pick up on.

But Granger seemed to know enough about it to sound rather confident as she nattered on about fingerprinting and fluorescent scanning and other such things that Severus had never heard of. And she certainly had mountains of arcane lore to rely on -- he wasn't certain that she owned a flowered hat, but the more he thought about it, the more dubious he was as to the actual necessity of owning such a thing in hunting down Dark wizards.

And yet there was something ...

Some feeling, deep down in the pit of Severus' stomach.

Something bad was going to happen. He felt it.

And the more he turned it over and over in his mind, trying to quantify it, the more he managed to convince himself that it was going to happen to Granger.

A bell rang, signaling the end of supper. Patients began picking up their trays and heading toward the washers; Severus joined the throng obediently, absentmindedly.

A thought was tickling in the back of his skull.

He immediately dismissed it as irrational, foolish even.

But it persisted.

And so it was that instead of returning to one of the common rooms, or even to his sleeping quarters, Severus walked toward the front of the hospital, berating himself for a fool with every step.

Security at Perkins was minimal at best. Within its walls, the doctors and orderlies kept tight control, of course, but the outer rooms were not closely watched.

After all, only a thrice cursed, drooling idiot of a patient would try to escape.

Severus tried to stop his feet.

Only the stupidest of lunatics would even dream of leaving the asylum.

They kept moving, as if of their own accord. He was nearly at the door leading to the visitation room.

As soon as Severus had been admitted into Perkins -- truth be told, as soon as he'd awakened in the Hogwarts Infirmary, Petrified and tied to the bedposts, for good measure -- his magic had been bound. Albus Dumbledore had actually performed the charm himself. Severus barely remembered it -- a fuzzy sort of pain amidst hazy screaming was the closest he could come to genuine recollection. But the end result was the same.

He currently had the magical ability of a Squib.

All of Perkins' patients did. Binding magic was a standard procedure. After all, if one became agitated enough, there was not a cage in the world that would hold him if his magic was intact. That was why Azkaban was overrun with dementors -- draining the prisoners' magic was the only way to effectively guarantee that no one would escape.

Severus walked through the visitation room in a daze, hand hesitating only slightly as it grasped the doorknob that led to the hallway that ultimately went past the reception area.

No wizard in his right mind would venture out into the world without his magic.

Well ... Severus had an entire facility full of sane doctors telling him he wasn't in his right mind. He pulled the door open and went through it.

The receptionist wasn't at her desk. It was actually late enough that she might have gone home for the day.

The glass door leading outside was unlocked, but all the same, Severus' resolve faded as he laid a hand on it.

It was dark outside. Night was approaching.

Why was he leaving, anyway? Granger had probably already gone to the victims' house.

What was he doing?

Severus' hand pushed and the door swung outward.

A blast of cold air shot through his scrubs, and he shivered.

It was cold.

Well ... of course it was cold, he berated himself. It was November.

The leaves rattled as a wind blew through them and Severus took a cautious step outside, bare feet chilling on the concrete beneath his toes.

He was outside. It had been five years since he'd been outside.

As soon as this realization struck him, Severus began to walk more quickly. Through the front lawn and down the sidewalk in front of Perkins Hospital for the Mentally Challenged.

Severus walked away.

-- -- -- -- --