A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 27

The first step had been accomplished. He could not have risked interference by an embittered shade or a disgruntled wraith, which, out of pure spite, might have frustrated any recovery efforts. It did seem that he had cleared out all the non-living inhabitants of the pit. Except one, he thought unhappily. At least she was not among the wretched spirits he had temporarily ousted with his incantations. He had dreaded that possibility. And because she was not among them, it did leave open the possibility that she was still alive, even though Balthazar had suggested otherwise. It seemed doubtful, but he had to hope. After all, if she is dead, he thought, he would have to explain to Dumbledore how he had allowed this to occur.

So many tortured souls! It pained him to think he had had a part in it - even if some of them only got what they deserved. No, no - that would not do. Professor Dumbledore had helped him understand that - a lesson more important than any he'd learned in his classes. Still, even Dumbledore could not convince him that, in his father's case, there were any mitigating factors.

Balthazar Snape had been, and clearly still was, a loathsome creature. He had earned his fate; he had been foolish enough to try to swindle Lucius Malfoy. Severus had watched his father die - it had brought him - not pleasure, but a grim solace and a sense of relief. Yet, he had awoken the next day without any real sense that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. In fact, it had then and still did seem that Balthazar's meaty hand lay heavily upon his shoulder, with its perpetual threat of a cruel and unexpected blow. Nevertheless, the actual encounter with his father had been unexpected; the experience had left him feeling ineffably melancholy and fatigued.

He tried to shake off his despondency and considered the task before him. It was tempting to try a simple levitating charm, but the pit was very deep. He would have limited control at that distance. If she is still alive, he considered, it might be dangerous. He would have to climb into the pit and get closer to her to be sure of avoiding further injury.

He had never been particularly talented at conjuring, perhaps because it was not quantifiable. With most magical processes - and potion-making in particular, of course - the proper input produced a particular desired output. Conjuring was so unpredictable. As a result, he had little respect for it as a magical art - it had always seemed to him to be more of a parlor trick than a real skill, but it did come in handy now and then. And, it was a skill that would be useful right now, he thought, as he formed the image of a ladder in his mind and then proceeded to conjure it, hoping for the best. He would have liked to have summoned forth something solid and sturdy. Instead, what he ended up with was quite rudimentary, a bit flimsy, and as he shook the top rung, it seemed rather rickety. However, it would have to do.

He did not relish the thought of climbing down and then up the ladder, especially as he knew he would have Letha with him on the way back up. A bit regretfully, he realized he would have been better off wearing the Muggle's clothing for this particular venture. He removed his wand and a few vials from his pockets, and then removed his robe. "Adams!" he called out, and the man immediately dashed over. He warily handed him his robe, with a threatening scowl. "Be very careful, and do NOT let anything fall out!" He was only slightly mollified by the great care and respect with which the Muggle handled it. Then he sighed with resignation and stepped onto the ladder.

As he descended into the pit, he clung tightly to the side bars, and carefully avoided the temptation to glance downward. He knew he'd reached bottom when he felt his boot squelch in the muck. Reluctantly, he turned around, and peered at the woman lying pale and still on the floor of the pit. He conjured a stretcher, picked her up and carefully laid her upon it. He removed the binding ropes and brushed a small insect from the corner of her eye. With trepidation, he grasped her wrist. He felt nothing.

It was his fault - why had he waited so long to come looking for her?

No, he changed his mind, it was her fault - why had she gone off where she didn't belong, and told no one? It was very reckless, very foolish. Now he would have to face Dumbledore. I really was very unfair. Why did she go and get herself killed? What had she been thinking?

Stop it! he told himself. Calm down; try again. Concentrating on the tiny gold orb dangling from her neck chain, using it as a focal point, he relaxed a bit, took a deep breath and took her wrist, more gently this time, resting his fingertips lightly upon it. This time, to his relief, he felt a weak, thready pulse.

He opened a vial of vermilion liquid, allowed a few drops to fall on her lips, and her color improved slightly. Then he grabbed the ladder with his left hand, pointing his wand at the stretcher with his right. "Wingardium leviosa!" The stretcher began to rise, and he guided it carefully to keep it level. Slowly, gingerly, he began to ascend the ladder, step by step, concentrating on raising the stretcher steadily and evenly. When he had climbed about a third of the way up, he heard an incongruously cheerful voice above his head.

"Severus Snape, of all people? I can scarcely believe it!" One would think he had run into an old schoolmate in the middle of Diagon Alley. He did not exactly recognize the voice, but it did sound vaguely familiar. He glanced up momentarily, and saw a chubby face grinning down at him, topped with bouncy yellow curls. The imbecile's friendly chattiness was enough to drive him into a rage, but his task required concentration. He took deep, regular breaths to keep himself calm.

"I heard she tried to convince Fudge to give you to the Dementors. And I know she absolutely despises you - she told me herself. So the question is, what are you up to?"

He did not bother to respond

"Maybe you've come to rescue your lady love?"

"Perhaps," he responded between clenched teeth. Anything to shut him up.

The man sniggered. "Oh come now Snape, honestly, you've given me my laugh for the day! Dumbledore's offered you a deal to keep you out of Azkaban, didn't he? He's sent you here to rescue poor little Letha, hasn't he?"

He said nothing. This idiot did seem to have stumbled along a series of erroneous assumptions, and yet end up somewhere in the general vicinity of the correct conclusion.

"I'm right, aren't I? You know, you certainly had old Malfoy fooled! And Lucius - he trusts you, y'know. He'll have a fit, that George Bailey smoked you out, when he couldn't - but he'll pay well, I'm sure of that!"

George Bailey - Snape tried to recall who he was. He remembered him slightly from school - he had been one of those unremarkable students who made their way through without particularly distinction, for good or for bad. He never recalled seeing him at the Circle, but he did remember the name - now that he considered. It was Bailey who'd interviewed Malfoy after Voldemort's death. Lucius had mentioned it - what had he said? Snape continued ascending the ladder, and Bailey obligingly climbed up several rungs. Yes - Lucius had said he'd asked for Bailey especially, that he was a credit to the Ministry - he'd though Lucius was being facetious.

To his dismay, Bailey began prattling again. "You're being very careful, I see - I guess that means she's still alive. Well that's good - you have to keep your mind - and your wand - on your task, then. Pay no attention to me." Snape felt a streak of pain dart through his body as Bailey shot a hex at him. He struggled to keep his balance. "Tell me Snape, what am I supposed to do? I don't really want to kill anybody, but I'm afraid of what'll happen if I let you get out of this hole alive. I will not go to Azkaban."

Concentrating on his task, Snape simply responded "Priori Incantatem - the truth will be revealed".

"No, actually, that's not a problem, you see. I've been using her wand all along, so nothing can be traced to me by the Ministry. Try again."

In a low, dangerous voice, Snape responded, "As you wish, Mr. Bailey, you will not go to Azkaban. I am going to kill you."

Bailey responded agreeably, "See, that's just what I'm worried about. The easiest thing is just to kill you both now. But if I do, how will I prove all of this to Malfoy? After all, he wouldn't dare come back here these days - can't say I blame him. And like I said, he trusts you, so he has to be made AWARE of what you're up to, or he might not believe me. Now, that IS a little problem."

While Bailey yammered on, Snape pulled the stretcher close to him. He decided he might be able to hold on to it, and aim his wand at Bailey at the same time. However, he found it too heavy and cumbersome to balance with one hand, and he was fairly certain both he and Letha would fall if he took his other hand off the ladder. Apparently Bailey noticed he was up to something

"Oh no you don't!" Bailey did a Summoning Charm, and several moments later, Snape was surrounded by the sound of angry buzzing. Dozens of ornithixies swarmed around him, attacking viciously. Ornithixies are attracted to moving limbs, and they went after his wand arm, piercing the flesh over and over with barbed teeth. The blood from the wounds drew more of the nasty creatures and they became even more ferocious in their attacks. They snapped at his face, and he had to close his eyes to keep them from blinding him altogether. The stretcher began to wobble precipitously as he tried to brush them away. He reached his arm around the underside of the stretcher and waved his wand in the general direction of the ornithixies, uttering a charm that steered some of them up in Bailey's direction. Bailey tried to shoo them away. They were persistent, however, and he climbed higher up the ladder to avoid them.

Suddenly, there was a loud "CRACK!" and Snape looked up - the feet above him were sliding jerkily up and out of the pit. A few moments later, Adams stepped onto the ladder, descending as far as he could and then perching at a spot just above Snape's head. Crouching down, Adams braced himself against the wall with his back and legs, and held out his arms, into which Snape carefully guided the stretcher. That freed him to dispatch the little blighters, which he did by blasting them into the opposite wall with forceful blows of his wand. That done, the two men guided the stretcher out of the hole.

Snape climbed out and aimed his wand at Bailey, tying him up in thick black ropes, far more tightly than absolutely necessary. He then used his wand to drag the bound man towards the pit.

Adams spoke quietly. "Maybe that's not such a good idea, Severus. You don't want to kill him, do you?"

Was the Muggle out of his mind? "And why not?" he hissed.

"You don't want to be a murderer, do you? You'll regret it, I reckon."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" he sneered.

"No, of course not. If that's what you decide to do, I'll never say a word to anyone. But I don't think you want that on your conscience."

He looked at Adams with an expression of utter astonishment, and repeated slowly "On my conscience? You must be joking!" Weren't Muggle policemen famous for shooting criminals? Wasn't that part of their job? That was the vague impression he had, at least. And if anyone deserved to be shot, or thrown into a hole on his head (as the case may be) - Bailey did. He expelled a sort of forced, unconvincing laugh. "Oh, very well!" I know I'm going to regret this, he thought.

They headed back, Snape with his wand leading along Letha on the stretcher, and Bailey, bound and gagged, dragging along the ground after her. When they reached their arrival point, Snape set Bailey down next to Letha, and sat down between their heads. Adams sat across from him, and at Snape's instruction, placed each of his hands on one of their feet. Snape picked up the bent spoon, and several queasy moments later, they were gone.