Into the Fold

ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY

September, 1979

It was a quiet evening in the Potions and Physics Department on the third floor of St. Mungo's Hospital, and Apothecary Severus Snape had learned to appreciate that rare event. He'd had only two calls from the wards thus far, so, wonder of wonders, he had been able to take a full hour for dinner.

Afterwards, he went to the brewing room behind the dispensary and set up a still and three cauldrons. As was so often the case these days, the department was short on painkillers, blood-replenishers and body-part regenerators. Other apothecaries complained about the daily chore of replacing them. But to Severus it was the most pleasant part of the job. He enjoyed the exacting preparation of the ingredients, the chopping, grinding and straining, the decocting and infusing. He liked listening to the gurgling hiss of the still and the bubbling of the cauldrons. Most of all, he liked it when the Emergency Floo was blessedly quiet, so that he could sit with a copy of The Potioner's Periodical open on his knee while he monitored the brewing.

Severus was deep in an article by Dagworth-Granger on Freezing Charms for ashwinder eggs when he heard a whoosh! in the fireplace behind him. It was followed by the familiar nasal tones of Harding, the clerk in Accident and Emergency: "Apothecary to A&E now, please."

Severus allowed himself a single groan of protest. Then he placed his potions in stasis, took the emergency kit from its hook by the fireplace and Flooed to Accident and Emergency. He emerged from the fireplace at the A&E reception desk. Harding, a stoop-shouldered wizard who looked as though he would have been more at home in a counting-house than a casualty department, waved him absently down the corridor. "Room Three."

"Who are the Healers on duty?" Severus asked.

Harding was scratching away with his quill over one of his endless forms. "Sage is the Healer-in-Charge," he answered without looking up. "Potter's the Trainee."

Healer Potter was how Severus unfailingly addressed her aloud. In his thoughts, she remained Lily.

Lily Potter and Galen Sage. At least they worked well together. For of course Lily was one of Sage's favourite Trainees, just as she had been the favourite of her teachers at Hogwarts.

Severus went down the corridor and opened the door to Room Three. A tense hum of activity issued forth. Inside with Sage and Lily were an Auror and Crandall and Everett, the two mediwizards who drove the St. Mungo's rescue coach. They surrounded the bed in the centre of the room.

On the bed lay a man. His eyes were shut, his face was grey and his jaw was rigid. His body shook rhythmically with convulsions. Blood spurted and flowed from gashes in his chest, abdomen and thighs.

Everett was cutting the injured man's robes away from his body. "He was bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the street when Crandall and me picked him up. Dark wizards, Auror Scrimgeour here says. They've cooked up some new devilry, then, 'cos I haven't seen the like of this before."

Sage stood at the head of the bed. In one slim, well-manicured hand, he held his wand pointed at the injured man's throat. In the other, he held a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"The patient's name?" Sage asked in his cool, cultivated voice.

"His name is David Dawlish, and I'm not leaving him. He's my partner," Scrimgeour said. The gold-flecked eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were narrowed in determination, as if he were intent in carrying on an argument which had begun before Severus's arrival.

Sage did not look up from Dawlish's face. "I understood you the first time, Auror," he said, in the tone he usually reserved for slow-witted first-year Trainees. "What I want you to understand is that I can do very little for your partner if you won't stay out of my way."

Sage might not be able to do much for Dawlish no matter where Scrimgeour stood, Severus thought. The skin around Dawlish's lips was beginning to turn blue. His blood had soaked the robes the mediwizard had cut away from his body and stained with scarlet the pristine white of the sheets beneath him.

With an exasperated sigh, but without taking his eyes off Dawlish, Scrimgeour retreated to a corner of the room.

"Where's that Apothecary I called for?" Sage said.

"Here," said Severus.

Sage looked up. "Ah, good, Severus, you're on," he said, his calm voice tinged with relief. "Have you got some Counter-Convulsant with you? I don't seem to be able keep Mr Dawlish's throat open long enough to get any Blood-Replenisher into him."

Severus dug a phial of Counter-Convulsant from his kit and handed it to Sage.

"Your formulation, I hope?" Sage asked as he tried both magically and physically to insert a dropper of Counter-Convulsant between Dawlish's clamped lips.

Severus looked at Dawlish uneasily. The blood continued to pour from his wounds with no sign of easing off. From his closer vantage point, Severus could see that the wounds were clean cuts slicing well into the muscle. Blood dripped from the saturated bed to the floor. Crandall Vanished it with a wave of his wand.

"Yes, I made it up last night," Severus answered Sage.

"Excellent. And some Sopping Solution, if you please, Severus," Sage continued. "And Comfrey Concoction, to close the wounds. And more Blood Replenisher; this is Casualty's last bottle of emergency stock, I'm afraid..."

Severus pulled the potions from his kit and passed them over.

"Thank you," said Sage. "Now then, Lily, if you'll apply some Sopping Solution to the wounds. Nice, thick cloths, that's the ticket. You're finished there, aren't you, Everett? Would you mind getting them for her?"

Everett hurried to a cupboard and returned with a small stack of linen cloths, which he gave to Lily.

"Why is he convulsing?" Severus asked.

"I don't know," Sage said quietly. "I might have expected it with head trauma, but Scrimgeour says he wasn't hit in the head." Finally he slipped the tip of the dropper between Dawlish's lips. "Ah, there we go. Now if I can just slide a couple of drops of Counter-Convulsant between his teeth...." He frowned in concentration while Lily poured Sopping Solution on the linen cloths and dabbed them around the edges of Dawlish's wounds. The potion-soaked cloths sucked in the spilled blood until they looked as though they couldn't absorb another drop. Then, destroyed by the potion, the blood disappeared. The cloths turned white again.

Now that Dawlish's wounds were clear of blood, Severus bent closer to look at them. They were deep, yet amazingly straight, like slashes made by a strong, sure swordsman seized by a cruelly violent rage, a killer for whom one deadly blow hadn't been enough....

Sage removed the potions dropper from between Dawlish's blue lips. "This isn't working. Lily, I need your help with the Carmenoris. Everett, take over for her, please. Spread some of Severus's Comfrey Concoction over the cuts."

Lily went to stand opposite Sage at the head of the bed. Everett applied Sopping Solution and Comfrey Concoction to Dawlish's gashes.

In spite of Everett's ministrations, blood continued to flow from Dawlish's wounds. Everett poured the last of the Sopping Solution onto his cloths and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin. "Give me some more," he said, sticking his hand out.

Severus gave him another bottle. There was something familiar about it all: Dawlish's tremors, growing feebler now, and the straight, slicing cuts that oozed even through the Comfrey Concoction ointment, as if the Dark spell were actively wringing the blood out of Dawlish's body.

"Say the incantation aloud if you have to, Lily." Sage's voice was extremely calm. Both his and Lily's wands were pointed at Dawlish's throat. The cords were tight in Dawlish's neck and his Adam's apple bobbed as if it were trying to escape through his skin. A film of sweat shone on his grey face. But his jaw was clenched and his mouth remained closed.

"We'll say it together," said Sage. "One, two, three..."

"Carmenoris!" Sage and Lily said in unison.

Dawlish's jaw did not relax in the slightest, as far as Severus could tell. Sage tried to insert the dropper between Dawlish's lips without success. He looked up, his eyes rapidly flickering over Dawlish's wounds. The Comfrey Concoction had dissolved uselessly into the cuts, and they were bleeding freely again. Muttering an oath under his breath, Everett hurriedly applied more of the ointment.

"We'll try it again, Lily," Sage said. "We have to stop Mr Dawlish's seizures so that he can swallow the Blood-Replenisher Potion, because if we don't get it into him very soon, he's going to bleed to death."

"What's going on over there?" Scrimgeour said from his corner.

"I've had about enough of him," Everett muttered as he dabbed Comfrey Concoction on Dawlish's abdomen. "If he takes one step toward this bed, I'm Stunning him." Crandall gave a low, cynical laugh.

Sage and Lily spoke together: "Carmenoris!"

Finally something happened. Dawlish's convulsions deteriorated to irregular shudders. His mouth dropped open and, with a moist, rattling sound at the back of his throat, he breathed in once. Seconds passed before he breathed again, with the same rattling sound.

Sage swept his wand over Dawlish in the characteristic motion of an Examination Spell. He lowered his wand slightly, and fear and bafflement flitted through his eyes.

Sage's composure returned almost at once, but Lily had seen that moment of agitation just as surely as Severus had done. Her lower lip trembled. She bit down on it, hard and fast.

"I've run out of Comfrey Concoction," said Everett. Severus reached absently into his kit and, with only the briefest glance to identify it, handed Everett another pot of Comfrey Concoction. He looked back at Dawlish. He couldn't shake the feeling that, though no Healer had yet identified the spell which had felled Dawlish, he knew exactly what he was seeing.

"What's happening?" demanded Scrimgeour.

A flush of fury rose in Lily's cheeks. She whirled toward Scrimgeour. Sage's hand shot out, and he gripped her forearm hard.

"Healer Potter," Sage said in a clear, firm voice. Swallowing hard, Lily turned back to him.

"The Resuscitation Charm, Lily," Sage said, cool and quiet again. "Do you remember?"

Perhaps it was the untiring calm in Sage's voice, so like Albus Dumbledore as Severus remembered him. Perhaps it was simply the question Sage asked: Do you remember?

Yes. Severus remembered.

For enemies. His enemies. Sectumsempra.

Sectumsempra. A spell made of Severus's hate, the word by which he had learned to unmake flesh.

How could he have forgotten? Maybe the answer to that was too easy. He hadn't wanted to remember it. Not any of it.

Sage and Lily now had their wands pointed at Dawlish's chest. Though they were doing it nonverbally, Severus knew they were casting the Resuscitation Charm. He'd seen Healers do it often enough before, on other patients who were at the point of death.

"Healer Sage?" Severus said.

Sage did not look up. "Yes, what is it?"

"I can cast the counter-curse to this spell."

Sage looked up sharply.

How much did he know? Severus wondered, not for the first time. How could Dumbledore possibly have kept all the secrets he'd promised to keep?

"What do you mean, cast the counter-curse?" Lily said in a low but impatient voice. "You're no Healer. How can you know the counter-curse to a traumatic spell I've never seen before?"

Severus didn't answer. For a moment, there was no sound but that of Dawlish's irregular, faintly-rattling breaths.

Both Healers stared at him. "Not so fast, Lily," Sage said. "Why don't we let Apothecary Snape show us what he can do?"

What could she say, really? It was clear that the Healers' Resuscitation Charms weren't working. Dawlish was dying.

Lily looked from Severus to Sage. She looked down at Dawlish, whose struggles to draw breath were growing weaker by the moment. Then, slowly, she stepped back to make room for Severus. Sage did the same.

Severus came forward and positioned his wand over Dawlish's body. It took him only a moment to recall the murmuring song, like the sound of flowing water, which was the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. It had been three years since he had learned it, and he had cast it only once, but he hadn't forgotten it.

Severus began to sing softly. He could feel the magic spinning out like tendrils of spider's silk from his heart and brain, to its focusing-point in his wand. When he knew the magic was ready to flow from the tip of his wand, he began tracing it over the wounds in Dawlish's chest, abdomen and thighs. The muscles and fascia began knitting together, but blood still flowed, albeit more slowly, from the cuts.

Severus stuck his hand out without looking up from his work. "A cloth."

A cloth soaked with Sopping Solution was dropped into his palm, and he used it to staunch the flow of Dawlish's blood. Chanting softly, he passed his wand a couple more times over the wounds.

It should have been enough to close them, but it was not. Dawlish was breathing regularly again, however, and his convulsions had stopped. Still, through the murmurs of curiosity coming from the mediwizards and the renewed demands from Scrimgeour to know what was going on, Severus sensed that this Sectumsempra was even more vicious and deadly than the last one he had healed.

With renewed concentration, Severus passed his wand twice more over Dawlish's wounds. Finally the last of the bloody gaps in Dawlish's skin knitted up. Feeling a compulsion to be neat, Severus dabbed the last of the blood from Dawlish's skin. The Auror was still unconscious, but his face had turned from grey to white. His lips were very pale.

"He needs Blood-Replenisher," said Sage's quiet voice behind Severus. "If you could see to it, please, Lily?"

Finally Severus looked up. Sage looked as serene as ever. Lily stared at Severus, frowning slightly. Scrimgeour stood beside her. He looked from Severus to Dawlish and back again, with an indecipherable expression in his eyes.

"Certainly, Galen," Lily replied. She returned to Dawlish's side.

"What just happened here?" asked Scrimgeour.

"It's rather obvious, isn't it?" Sage said pleasantly. "We've been treating your friend."

"What do you mean, 'we?' You Healers hadn't a clue what to do with my partner. The Apothecary's the one who cured him."

"Well, he's hardly cured," said Sage. "He'll need to stay in hospital, for about a week, I should say. Have Mr Dawlish admitted to the fourth floor," he said to Lily. "Two drams of Blood-Replenisher every two hours through the night and an application of dittany ointment to his wounds every four hours."

Sage turned back to Scrimgeour. "I am having Auror Dawlish admitted to the Acute Spell Damage ward. Eugenia Wort, the Healer-in-Charge there, will take over his care." He extended his hand. "Very nice meeting you, Auror--"

"Just one moment," Scrimgeour interrupted. "This curse," he said with a tilt of his head toward Dawlish. "What's it called?"

"Healer Wort is our expert in Dark curses," Sage said. "Once she has examined Auror Dawlish, I'm sure she'll be able to tell us both something more. In the meantime, it's been very nice meeting you, Auror Scrimgeour."

Sage's hand was still extended. Reluctantly, Scrimgeour shook it.

"Very well, then," said Sage. "Lily, why don't you join me in the lounge for a cup of tea after you've sent Mr Dawlish upstairs? I'll have Harding notify us once Eugenia has seen him. I think it would be most instructive for us to confer with her once she's had a chance to examine Mr Dawlish, don't you agree?"

Lily's eyes went from Sage to Scrimgeour and Severus, then back again to Sage. "Yes, Galen," she said. "I certainly do."

And that was all. Without sparing a word or a glance for Severus, Healer Sage left the room.

****

Naturally tactful as well as obedient to the unspoken code of discretion at St. Mungo's, Lily also kept to herself whatever questions she may have had for Severus. She and the mediwizards were still busy preparing Dawlish to be Levitated to the fourth floor when Severus and Scrimgeour left Room Three.

Severus started back toward Harding's desk and the Floo hearth, only to find that somehow Scrimgeour had got in front of him and was blocking the way.

From his somewhat greater height, Scrimgeour looked at the staff name tag Severus wore. "Apothecary Snape, is it?"

"Severus Snape, yes."

"Well, Mr Snape. I'd like to thank you for saving Auror Dawlish's life."

"You're welcome." Severus moved to go around Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour moved with him. "Really," Severus said, "it was--"

"Don't say it was nothing. It was far from nothing."

"I need to get back to my department. I really don't have time to chat." Again Severus tried to get around Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour placed a lightly restraining hand on his arm. Severus froze.

"Neither do I," said Scrimgeour. "I'm speaking to you in an official capacity."

"An official capacity? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"I never said you did, now did I, Mr Snape?" Scrimgeour kept his hold on Severus's arm and led him down the corridor. Gritting his teeth to contain a sudden spurt of fury, Severus shook off Scrimgeour's hand. But he didn't dare turn and go in the opposite direction.

"All I want is to ask a few questions," Scrimgeour went on. Healers and mediwizards hurried past them, intent on their next tasks. "Somewhere quiet, where we shan't be in anyone's way. There's a meditation room down the hall near the lobby, isn't there? I've been there a few times in the past year, to speak to the families of murder and torture victims." Scrimgeour spoke the last in no less conversational a tone than he'd said the rest.

As Scrimgeour had made it clear he knew his way about, Severus didn't feel the need to reply.

"Ah, here we are," said Scrimgeour.

The sign beside the door to the meditation room said Not in Use. Nevertheless, Scrimgeour, surprisingly, had the courtesy to knock before opening the door and beckoning Severus inside.

There were a couple of soft armchairs before the hearth and two more facing a window which looked out over the cobbled walks and raised beds of the hospital's physic garden, now bathed in moonlight. But neither Scrimgeour nor Severus took a seat.

Scrimgeour broke the silence. "I'm afraid you're going to think I'm ungrateful. So I want to thank you once again for saving Dawlish's life."

"Again, you're welcome," Severus said, watching him cautiously.

"I'm still wondering how you did it."

"I cast a counter-curse."

"I'd gathered that." Scrimgeour waited, clearly expecting Severus to say more. When he didn't, Scrimgeour said, "Don't you know why I ask?"

"I suppose because I'm not a Healer."

"Well, there's that," Scrimgeour agreed. "If you were a Healer, you'd know you can't learn to counter a morbid or traumatic curse without learning the curse itself."

"What do you mean?"

Severus had waited too long to ask, but did it matter? Scrimgeour wasn't trying to hide his suspicion.

Scrimgeour tilted his head, as if he wanted to get a better look at Severus. "I mean that the curse you cured was one with which a Death Eater tried to murder David Dawlish."

"A Death Eater?" Severus said. "You told the mediwizards you were attacked by Dark Wizards."

"Death Eaters, Dark wizards." Scrimgeour waved his hand dismissively. "What's the difference nowadays?"

Severus said nothing.

"So, as I was saying," Scrimgeour went on. "I've never seen this curse before. I've never heard anyone in the Auror Office describe anything like it. The Healer-in-Charge of the Casualty Department didn't seem to know what to do with a patient who had been struck with it. Yet here you are, not a Healer, not an Auror, but an Apothecary, and a fairly young one at that, countering a curse so deadly it would have killed my partner if you hadn't stepped in."

"As I've said, Auror Scrimgeour, you're welcome," said Severus.

Scrimgeour smiled thinly. "As I've said, I'm grateful. As I've also said--or maybe I haven't yet, in so many words?--I want to know the name and incantation of the spell that Death Eater cast on Dawlish, and I want to know where and how you learned it."

Severus hesitated. He could not think of a safe answer.

"No embellishment," Scrimgeour said. "Just the truth."

"Sectumsempra," Severus said.

"Is that the name or the incantation?"

"They're the same."

"Sectumsempra," Scrimgeour repeated. "And where did you learn it?"

"At Hogwarts."

"At Hogwarts." Scrimgeour folded his arms, walked to the window and looked out into the moonlit garden. "It's true I left Hogwarts before Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster. But somehow I can't imagine him allowing even the mention of a spell like Sectumsempra in the curriculum, any more than Dippet would have done."

"I didn't say I'd learned it in a classroom."

Scrimgeour turned back from the window. "No, you didn't. What House were you in?"

This time Severus didn't hesitate, for his reply was easy enough to check. "Slytherin."

"Of course. Slytherin," Scrimgeour said. "You never mentioned it while you were working in Azkaban; at least, no one's told me you did. But you must have known Olaus Ruskin in school. You look about his age."

So that was where Scrimgeour was headed: straight to the debacle in Azkaban. "Are you sure no one's told you?" asked Severus. "Not Reid? Nor Potter? Or perhaps you're a Legilimens."

"Reid's not talking. On the advice of higher-ups, I've the strongest feeling. And Potter hasn't spoken to anyone in the Auror Office since Reid threw him and you off the Azkaban project. He's quit the Aurors; did you know that?"

Potter would live on his father's money. He had admitted as much to Severus. "I knew it," said Severus.

"Well, well, nobody's denying Reid overreached himself, least of all Barty Crouch," Scrimgeour said. "Law Enforcement aren't going to use the Dementors on interrogations any longer. Crouch has ordered them all to be put back on guard duty. Too late for Ruskin, of course." Scrimgeour paused. "I suppose it was difficult for you to see a Dementor Kiss your friend."

"I suppose it's difficult for you to care," Severus retorted coldly.

"Actually, it is," said Scrimgeour. "Given what I've seen Death Eaters do to their victims. Was it Ruskin who taught you Sectumsempra?"

"No. I just picked it up."

"While you were a student at Hogwarts."

"Yes. It wasn't such a vicious spell in those days. And I never cast it," he added quickly. "I only used it to learn the counter, in case someone cast it on me or my friends."

"No one's accused you of casting it," Scrimgeour said. "I'm only wondering why you won't tell the truth about how you learned it."

A panicked fury rose up in Severus. "How do you know I'm not telling the truth!" he spat.

"I also wonder whether you're a Death Eater," Scrimgeour mused, acting as though he hadn't heard. "I'd ask you to show me your left arm, but You-Know-Who--or maybe you don't mind if I say Voldemort?--has lately devised an Invisibility Charm for the Dark Mark that Law Enforcement's most sophisticated Revelation Spells haven't been able to crack."

"You're all alike, aren't you?" Severus asked softly. "You. Reid. Crouch. The Dark Lord's the best thing that ever happened to you lot. You get to bully the kind of people you've always envied, like Ruskin, and nobody dares to call you on it, for fear they'll be the next one thrown into Azkaban without a trial, the next one who dies from one of those Unforgivable Curses that are illegal for everyone else but you."

"The Dark Lord, is it?" Moving as gracefully and silently as a cat, Scrimgeour came closer to Severus. "I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that." He studied Severus's face. "Who taught you Sectumsempra?"

Severus stared at Scrimgeour, unable to drag his eyes away. He felt a brief pulse of pain in his forehead. Then suddenly the sight of his mother rose before him, blocking his view of Scrimgeour. She was seated at the kitchen table at home, leaning on her folded arms and staring at the table top.

With that coerced vision came a sense of violation which made Severus's heart pound with primitive terror. He gasped, and magic burst out of him, magic born of an instinct to repel the attack, repulse the invader--

"Protego!" Severus yelled.

There was a crash. Severus's vision cleared, and he saw Scrimgeour next to one of the armchairs by the window. Auror and chair both were lying on the floor.

"You used Legilimency on me!" Severus shouted. "You never warned me, and I'm not under arrest; I can't be under arrest, for I've done nothing wrong! You had no right!"

Scrimgeour got up and, wincing a bit, brushed off his robes. "You have one powerful Shield Charm."

"It's your own fault! You didn't tell me you were going to use Legilimency on me! I ought to report--"

"Oh, calm down!" Scrimgeour interrupted him impatiently. "And stop nattering about your rights. No one's hurt you. We're at war, Mr Snape. How long do you think I'd live if I warned every Dark wizard I talked to that I was about to use Legilimency on him?"

"I'm not a Dark wizard! And you're supposed to warn everyone in advance! That's the law!"

"You're an Apothecary, a Healer, and you know enough law to be sitting on the Wizengamot!" Scrimgeour said with a contemptuous laugh. "You're a regular jack-of-all-trades, aren't you?"

Just then the door burst open and, wands drawn, Lily and Sage rushed in. When they saw Severus and Scrimgeour, they lowered their wands slightly.

"We heard a crash and people shouting," Lily said, looking uncertain.

"Is everything all right, Auror?" asked Sage.

"Everything's fine," Scrimgeour said easily. "I was just looking for some information from Mr Snape. I'd forgotten he was rather new to St. Mungo's. He's not used to dealing with Aurors yet, I reckon."

Sage looked at Severus. "Apothecary Snape. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Healer. Everything's fine."

Sage waited, but Severus certainly wasn't about to say any more. And Scrimgeour also kept silent.

"Then I'll thank you both to keep it down," Sage said coldly.

"My apologies," Scrimgeour said. "Mr Snape and I are through with each other. We won't make any more trouble."

Severus, still infuriated, bit his lip and said nothing. When he saw Lily looking at him with a puzzled frown, he dropped his eyes.

"See that you don't," Sage said. Then he and Lily left.

Severus was following them when once again he felt Scrimgeour's hand on his arm. Whirling around, he once again shook it off.

"Settle down, Apothecary Snape," Scrimgeour said. "I just have one more question."

"What's that!" Severus snapped.

"You're not going on holiday any time soon, are you?"

"Holiday? No."

"Good, because I may be coming round again." Scrimgeour grinned at him. "But don't worry. Next time I'll warn you in advance."

Severus left the meditation room. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from slamming the door in Scrimgeour's face.

Head down, hands jammed in his pockets, Severus strode down the corridor toward the Floo hearth. No good deed went unpunished, did it? If Lucius Malfoy hadn't stepped in, Reid might well have had Severus behind bars in Azkaban for refusing to give Ruskin the Defences-Downdraught. Now here was another lackey from Law Enforcement, Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, showing his "gratitude" to Severus for saving the life of his friend.

He should have let Dawlish die. The thought ran over and over in Severus's head, until he stepped into the Floo hearth and was spinning in the emerald flames. He would be safe now; Scrimgeour would have suspected nothing, if he had just let Dawlish die.