Vita Labyrinthae Similis In Quo Umbrae Vagamus

CHAPTER 7

In your endless summer night I'll be on the other side

--Hole—

The next two hours were the hardest. Draco had woken up, his face twisted in excruciating pain, and had promptly thrown up again, despite Nadezhda's conviction that there simply couldn't be anything left inside him to be sick with; he had vomited blood. "It's getting worse," Snape had muttered. "His body's being destroyed from the inside."

Nadezhda had done what she could to ease the boy's pain, but all her charms and all Snape's potions were pretty much helpless against the agony his father was causing. Again and again she held Draco's head over the basin, as he grew weaker. She hated this; hated merely sitting back and watching the death of an innocent...well, fairly innocent....student. But Snape knew him much better than she did, and Snape knew what Draco's wishes would be, and she had to respect those wishes, at least.

She set aside the basin, splashed with horrible scarlet, and eased Draco down to the pillows once more. His eyes fluttered open, and she saw with detached horror that his pupils were so expanded with pain that only a narrow ring of silver had escaped the black. He can't see me, she thought. He can't see anyone. It's all blurry and dark to him.

"Mother?" he whispered. She threw a glance at Snape, who nodded, although he looked very grim.

"Yes, Draco," she murmured, feeling like the worst kind of liar.

"Mother, what's happening...?"

"Hush, love," she told him, the words now coming unbidden to her mind, as she might speak them to her own child. Not that that's ever going to happen. "You're going to be all right. Just relax."

"Mother, I'm scared," he moaned. Nadezhda gritted her teeth against the tears.

"I know, love, but you're going to be fine. You're safe now."

"Stay with me," Draco said, very clearly, with a trace of his old imperiousness.

"Of course."

He drifted back into unconsciousness, but the brief exchange seemed to have calmed him a bit, and he seemed to sleep more peacefully.

There was a strange muffled knocking at the office door. Snape jerked to his feet, stalked over to the door. "Who is it," he hissed.

There was silence. Snape wrenched open the door, to reveal a completely empty corridor. His eyes narrowed, and the familiar look of cold hatred found its way back onto his features.

"Potter," he said in a low and deadly voice, "I know you're there, in that foul Cloak of yours. What do you want now? Reveal yourself, or it's a hundred points from Gryffindor and a month of detention."

The empty corridor gave a little shocked gasp, and a head appeared floating in midair. Hermione Granger's hair had more or less returned to its usual state, although there were several blonde streaks snaking their way down through its chestnut length. She looked white and pinched and very worried.

Snape gasped, doing his best not to start coughing again, and put his hands on his hips. "Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," said Hermione, and her voice was low and tired and even. "I've got no right to be here. I just wanted to see if Malfoy was all right."

Snape swallowed hard, fighting for control."Miss Granger, I'm surprised at you. One of the best and most conscientious students in the school creeping around after curfew? Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"I," began Hermione, but she was cut off as Nadezhda came to the door to see what was going on. "Professor Serenskaya?"

"Granger," said Nadezhda tiredly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was so worried about Malfoy," said Hermione. "I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I finally stole Harry's Invisibility Cloak and snuck down here to see if I could see him. I'll go, Professors, I'm sorry..."

"No," said Nadezhda. "Severus, let her in. She's not the sort to tell secrets."

Snape turned to her, his eyes burning. "She's one of Potter's little crew."

"Potter's not here. Nor will he find out about this. Potter's the one who came and got me to help Draco in the first place, Severus. He was honestly concerned about Draco."

Snape shook his head. "This is too much," he said. Nevertheless, he released the door, let Miss Granger inside. The girl took off James Potter's cloak and hung it quickly on the back of the door before hurrying to Malfoy's couch with a little horrified squeak.

"What is it?" she asked as Nadezhda joined her, looking up at her with wide and appalled brown eyes. Nadezhda sighed.

"It's a curse," she said quietly. "The simulacrum mortus curse."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "No. That was outlawed in the fourteenth century!"

"Nevertheless, someone's put it on Draco," Nadezhda said. "He's dying, Hermione. There's no cure for the simulacrum mortus. It requires a death."

Hermione blinked, closed her eyes for a long moment. "Professor Snape," she said softly, after a while.

"Yes?" He still sounded thoroughly put out.

"Do you have a copy of Burnside's History of Magic?"

"Of course," Snape said, stalking over to his bookcases and pulling out an absolutely enormous tome bound in what looked like dragonhide. Hermione rose to take it from him, staggering under its weight, and sat down at his desk without asking. Snape looked as if he was about to explode, but the urge seemed to pass, and he collapsed back into his chair, looking spent. Nadezhda went to him.

"I can't believe this," he sighed. "First you bring me a student who's dying of a particularly nasty medieval curse, and then another student shows up demanding to see him and requisitioning my books and using my desk and...."

"Times are changing," said Nadezhda.

"And Potter!" Snape began again, as if just reminded of Potter's existence. "What does Potter care about Draco Malfoy? They've spent the past five and a half years trying strenuously to get each other maimed, killed or expelled. Or all three. Why in the name of Salazar Slytherin is Potter worrying about his archnemesis?"

"You won't believe me," said Nadezhda, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Hermione, who was utterly engrossed in the book, scribbling notes on scraps of parchment, "but Potter was also concerned about you, when you were so ill. He said he hoped you'd get better soon. He also told me not to tell you he said that, by the way."

"Sounds like Potter, the devious little brat. He's trying to worm his way to better marks for his Potions midterm."

Nadezhda was tired of this. All of it. "Look, Severus," she said acidly, "the world does not revolve around you and your classes. Potter was honestly concerned for you. For some reason, he seems to rather respect you, although he won't ever admit it. Both Potter and Miss Granger were worried to death when they found Draco in the bathroom, and cared enough about what he wanted to come to me instead of Pomfrey. They would have brought him straight to you, had they not known you weren't well." She sighed, feeling extremely old. "And now Granger's come here at personal risk to find out how Draco is, knowing damn well that you'd yell at her and probably give her detentions and take points off her house. As you said, she's a conscientious student, and she's too clever not to know what consequences awaited her. But she did it anyway. Out of concern for Draco."

Snape didn't look at her. He was twisting the silk of his dressing gown between his long fingers, nervously. "What do you expect me to do," he hissed, "apologize to her?"

"No, Severus," she said, and tipped up his chin with her finger (see how you like it, Snape, you always did this to me) so that he was forced to meet her eyes. "I just want you to see what's really going on, without making snap judgments. I want you to give these students the credit they deserve without immediately assuming their actions are motivated by an underhanded desire for better grades. Please, my love. You're smarter than that."

Snape sighed, took her hands in his. "I'll try," he said. "It's been so long."

"I know."

Behind them Hermione muttered something under her breath. Nadezhda turned to her.

"What is it?"

"I've found the earliest record of the use of the simulacrum mortus. 1158, in Gottingen, Germany. An unpopular wizard used it on his long-standing enemy. There's a long passage describing the curse." She paused, frowning at the crabbed text. "I'm not very good at German..."

"Let me," said Snape, rather more kindly than either Hermione or Nadezhda was expecting. Hermione handed the book to him without a word.

Nadezhda, watching, saw his eyes widen and then narrow, his mouth moving ever so slightly as he translated the passage. At last he cleared his throat. "This is an excerpt from an extremely rare medieval German necromancy text," he said quietly. "What it basically says is that, like the Haitian practice of voodoo, the curse is based on a model of the victim, and its power stems from the incorporation into the model of something belonging to the victim....hair, nail clippings, eyelashes, teeth. Like Polyjuice Potion, only rather deadlier." He paused, shoved his hair out of his face. "The fragment of the victim is placed inside the model when it is being made. Then an incantation is said, and the model and the victim become linked. In this state, it is possible for the victim to exist with no ill effects....until the perpetrator begins to harm the model. There are many ways to kill someone with the simulacrum mortus. The perpetrator can throw the model into fire, causing the victim to die in excruciating pain from what appear to be phantom burns. Limbs can be removed, which results in paralysis and swift gangrenous decay. Perhaps the simplest method is to drop the model into water, which causes the victim to drown slowly as the model disintegrates. Fluid appears in the lungs within an hour of the curse being activated, and the victim has up to two days of agony before death. The most unpleasant method is also the most personal and physical, and requires the perpetrator to produce a much more detailed model of the victim, complete with organs. The perpetrator then plunges his hand into the model's body and begins crushing the organs. This generally results in extreme pain and systemic symptoms, including fever and protracted vomiting. As the victim's body is destroyed from the inside, internal bleeding is generally the cause of death, and the victim has between five and eight hours to live once the symptoms have set in."

Snape stopped reading; his voice sounded oddly choked. Hermione Granger was staring at Draco's limp form on the couch, her eyes flicking over the blood in the basin, the fever-sweat that was sticking his robes to him. Nadezhda calculated furiously. By her watch, it was about eleven-thirty; it had been about half past eight when she'd brought Draco to Snape's dungeon. Two to five hours left, then, and judging by Draco's condition it was going to be closer to two.

"Oh, God," said Hermione, and got up from Snape's desk, walking over to where Draco lay. "Oh, God, Draco, I am so sorry." She knelt down by him, took one of his hands in hers, bent over it. Nadezhda could hear the tears threatening in her voice. "I'm sorry for calling you a stuck-up git all those times. I'm sorry for slapping you. I'm sorry for laughing at you when Moody turned you into a ferret. I'm sorry for hexing you on the train. I'm sorry for every time I've done something nasty to you. You didn't deserve this. There've been times when I'd have dearly loved to see you suffer, but I never wanted you dead. Draco....please forgive me."

Incredibly, he roused a little, moving his head on the pillow. "That you......Granger?"

"Yes," said Hermione, tightly; Nadezhda knew the tightness was the evidence of her trying not to cry.

"What're you.....doing here, Granger?"

"Getting in trouble," she said, and lost the battle, gasping as the sobs shook her. Nadezhda found herself unable to look away as, amazingly, Draco's free hand crept over to her head, wobbling a little, and he began to stroke her hair.

"Don't cry, Granger," he murmured. "It does nothing...for your looks."

Hermione, sobbing, raised her head. "Draco, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" he managed, surprised.

"All those times I've been horrible to you," sniffed Hermione.

Incredibly, Draco made an attempt at a laugh. "Granger, you idiot," he gasped, "don't you think.....I ought to be...the one apologizing? Deathbed remorse...and that."

"You never really hurt us," said Hermione.

"No," he agreed, "I only....made your lives.....miserable....all those Mudblood cracks, and I never......missed an opportunity to get at.....Weasley and Potter...Forgive me, Hermione."

"Of course," she said, through her tears. Nadezhda, who was trying her damnedest not to listen, couldn't help noticing his use of Granger's first name. "Of course. But Draco, will you forgive me?"

"I've got nothing to forgive," he told her. "Now stop crying, Hermione....you're much less pretty when you cry."

She snorted. "It must make me really horrible looking, then."

"You haven't looked....in a mirror lately...have you?"

She frowned at him, but behind the pallor and the lines of pain, she could see nothing but honesty in his face. "What do you mean?"

"Christ," said Draco tiredly. "Granger, quit being dense....I'm trying to give you a compliment."

"Oh," she said in a small voice, and then the tears kicked in again. Draco made an exasperated noise, but he didn't stop stroking her hair, and he made no attempt to reclaim his hand from her grasp.

Behind them, Nadezhda sat with her arms clasped around her knees, staring at the floor. Snape was still holding the book, and suddenly he let out a string of oaths she hadn't thought he'd know. "Nadezhda!" he hissed. "Look at this!"

Jerked to her feet by the urgency in his voice, she joined him and followed the line of text his finger was indicating. The simulacrum mortus curse is always fatal. However, the intended victim has a chance at survival if the Vita Reflectus charm is performed in time. The Vita Reflectus effectively acts as a magical mirror, reflecting any magic performed on the victim back to its owner. This is an extremely difficult and dangerous spell which requires the joined magical efforts of at least two fully trained wizards. The true difficulty lies in the requirement that a virgin be part of the team casting the spell. Since it is very rare to find a virgin who has completed magical training, the Vita Reflectus charm is not always possible.

She looked at Severus, who looked at her. Neither of them, of course, retained the flower of innocence, but...

"Is she old enough?" she whispered. "Does she have enough power?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "She's one of the best students I've ever had, and she passed her OWLs with flying colours...I don't know, Nadezhda."

"Should we try?"

"It's his only chance."

"Hermione?" she asked, raising her voice slightly. Hermione looked up from Draco, her eyes red and puffy, her face blotched and tearstained. "Please come here. Professor Snape and I need to speak with you."

Hermione came, clearly dreading whatever they were going to tell her. "Yes?"

"Listen, Miss Granger," said Snape in a low businesslike voice. "There's a spell that may be able to save Draco's life. Professor Serenskaya and I are able to perform this spell, but in order for it to work, a..." he paused, swallowing, "virgin must assist in the spellcasting. May I assume that you are....?"

Hermione goggled at him. Nadezhda would have found the look on Severus's face amusing, were the situation not so dire. She nudged the girl. "Go on, Hermione. Can you help us?"

"Yes," said Hermione weakly. "Yes, I, uh, qualify."

"Thank God," Snape breathed. "We haven't got much time. Hermione, run to my personal storeroom and get me the chamougra oil, the powdered diamond, the lodestone shavings and the small bottle of dragon's blood. Nadezhda, help me draw the sigil on the floor." Hermione fled, and Nadezhda and Snape fell on their knees, copying the complicated runic diagram out of the book Snape still held. Less than two hours now. I hope this isn't as difficult as those medieval Germans make it out to be.

By the time Hermione returned, her arms full of bottles and jars, they'd finished the sigil and were muttering words beneath their breath. Snape looked up as she came in. "Excellent," he said, and quickly mixed together the ingredients in a small cauldron he conjured out of thin air. He spread the resulting mess over the chalk lines on the floor, and painted a small dot on Draco's forehead with the last of it. Draco had sunk back into unconsciousness, his breathing uneven. Please let this work, Nadezhda thought helplessly. Please, God, please, Merlin, please, anyone who's listening...let this work.

"Take hands," said Severus, finishing with the cauldron. She and Hermione joined hands with him, taking out their wands and holding them while grasping their neighbor's fingers. Good thing we're all right-handed.

"Professors?" Hermione asked. "What am I to do?"

"Repeat the words I will say," said Severus. "You too, Nadezhda. And when the moment comes, you will both point your wands at Draco. You'll know."

Hermione nodded. Severus began the spell.

Later, Nadezhda would tell the curious that she couldn't remember anything about the Vita Reflectus charm. Except Dumbledore, of course, from whom no secret could be kept. She often wondered what he'd been thinking, that night.

But the spell itself seemed to suck her out of her body, into a strange red-lit world where there was no ground and no sky, just a strange rushing noise that went on and on. Distantly she could hear herself and Hermione repeating the odd words Snape was saying, but she could no more understand them than if they'd been in Urdu. The old scar the Death Eater had given her was alive again with pain. Suddenly, the sigil they'd drawn on the floor appeared in that red void, and Nadezhda could see that it was burning, the flames leaping almost as high as she was tall, and she found it in her to wonder if the spot Snape had drawn on Draco's forehead was burning too. Then the flames were gone, and it was very dark, but she could still hear the red-lit words continuing, inexorable, unstoppable. The sigil now glowed with a faint silver light, like a...

Like a mirror.

She felt Snape's hand tighten in her own, and forced herself to gather the strength required for this last stage. As though the air around her were cold treacle, she struggled to raise her wand arm, and felt the others doing the same. For a brief moment, the darkness was gone, and she could see Draco lying on the couch. She pointed the wand at him, aware that Hermione's and Severus's wands were also aimed at the boy, and cried in unison with them "Reflecto magius!" The words had leapt into her head as clearly as if someone had shouted them at her.

The world went bright, then utterly dark, and she felt herself falling; she did not feel herself hit the floor.