Into the Fold

June, 1976

As always, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries bustled. Healers strode through the lobby, their lime-green robes flapping behind them like the wings of brilliant tropical birds. Visitors, uncertain, worried, frightened or all three, lined up at a desk near the lifts. Behind the desk sat a grandmotherly-looking, kindly-smiling witch.

"Mr John Entwistle? Let me see.... Ah, yes. The Magical Bugs Ward, second floor. His wife? Of course you can go up, my dear. You're perfectly entitled to see him--well, what's left of him, as he's got the vanishing sickness.... You're quite welcome, I'm sure."

House-elves intent on their errands dodged deftly around Healers and visitors alike. The lift came and went. It transported Mrs Entwistle to the second floor, then plunged downward to Accident and Emergency. After a few minutes, the lift returned to the lobby and its doors slid open. The first to emerge were a pair of burly, bluff-faced medi-wizards, clutching mugs of steaming tea and sharing a joke: "And then I said to him..."

Behind the laughing medi-wizards came another wizard dressed in plum-coloured robes embroidered with silver stars and planets. He had a long white beard, a long crooked nose and bright blue eyes glittering keenly behind half-moon spectacles.

The very last to disembark--indeed, he hung back until the white-bearded wizard turned an inquiring eye on him--was a stringy, lank-haired youth wearing school robes caked with dirt. His face was so pale that but for his eyes, darting here and there with lively suspicion, he would have looked ill.

However reluctantly, the young wizard followed the old wizard to the grandmotherly witch's desk. On the desk was a sign saying Inquiries. The witch received the older wizard graciously. "Why, Professor Dumbledore, what a pleasant surprise!" Her rosy face fell a bit and she blushed rosier still. "Unless--er--you're here to visit a patient?"

"Not right this moment, Mrs Shaw, no," said Professor Dumbledore. "But if you could possibly send a message in to Head Healer Meed and let her know I've arrived?"

"But, Professor--at this hour?"

"I assure you, she is in her office, and she is expecting me."

"Very well, sir." Mrs Shaw took a small parchment from the tray on her desk, dipped a quill into her inkstand and wrote a brief note. Then she waved her wand. The parchment leapt off her desk, folded itself into an aeroplane and flew down the nearest corridor.

In no more than a minute, another paper aeroplane shot out of the same corridor. Professor Dumbledore opened his hand and the aeroplane landed lightly on his palm.

He unfolded the aeroplane, read it, refolded it into a neat square and placed it in his pocket. "This way, please, Severus," he said to the youth.

Professor Dumbledore tipped his hat to Mrs Shaw. Severus glanced at her, then away. Then the old wizard walked with the young wizard into the corridor, toward the office of Head Healer Meed.

****

Before reaching Constance Meed's office, however, Albus Dumbledore stopped in front of a door with a plate on it saying Trainee's Room. He opened the door and pointed his wand inside. A single candle flared to life on a battered desk, revealing a frail-looking chair in front of the desk and a tiny, ascetic-looking bed against a featureless wall.

"It might be best if you waited here, Severus," said Professor Dumbledore. "Not particularly comfortable, perhaps, but Healer Meed promises you won't be disturbed."

Severus stared at the Headmaster in expressionless silence. But to Professor Dumbledore, who had long been a Legilimens, only Severus's face communicated nothing. He could feel fear burning in Severus's heart.

With a tiny, nearly-smothered sigh, Professor Dumbledore softly closed the door of the Trainee's Room and proceeded down the corridor to Healer Meed's office.

****

"Don't talk yet, Albus," said Constance as soon as the former had crossed the threshold of her office and closed the door. She passed him a cup of tea. "Drink this first. You could use it."

Albus opened his mouth, about to demur. Then he changed his mind. "Thank you," he said.

Constance permitted a comforting silence to rest between them as he drank. She looked the same as ever: hair so black that it looked almost blue where the candle-light brightened it, drawn back softly into a bun less severe than Minerva's. She had eyes through which shades of grey seemed to shift, reminding Albus of the shadows of clouds crossing the sea. They were as large and protuberant as Horace Slughorn's eyes, but on her they looked better. She was younger than Minerva McGonagall, though not by much, for she had held the position as Head Healer of St Mungo's Hospital, one of the highest institutional posts in wizarding Britain, for twelve years.

"I won't tell you to stop worrying about James Potter," said Constance. "I will tell you that you'll wear yourself out doing so. And you look worn-out as it is."

"I feel fine. Almost," said Albus, knowing better than to lie to her. Still, a soothing calm stole through his brain, driving out the headache that had taken root behind his eyes once he'd realised he didn't know how to keep James Potter from bleeding to death.

"The tea," said Constance. "My own recipe. I may not spend much time on the wards any more, but I haven't lost my touch."

"In anything, I hope," said Albus. "Healer-Legilimens."

She gazed at him, and he did not try to shield himself. "You haven't failed them, Albus." She smiled briefly. "For one thing, you haven't had the time. The three of you just got here, after all."

"Thank you for that, at least." Albus sank into the armchair. He should still have felt desperate, his head should still have been spinning, but Constance's tea was doing its work.

She picked up a couple of parchments from her desk. "The reports from A&E and Acute Spell Damage. James Potter remains on the regime of Blood-Replenisher that was begun in Accident and Emergency. He's been admitted to the isolation room in Acute Spell Damage. The room's been Disillusioned and has a private entrance. Quite convenient for me, as I'm the only Healer attending to him. Eugenia Wort, the ward's Healer-in-Charge, knows the room is in use, but she doesn't know who is there or why." Constance dropped the parchment back onto her desk. "All at your request."

"And I thank you for indulging my request," Albus said. "I'm sure it couldn't have been easy."

"You want to protect the boys' privacy." Constance folded her hands on top of the desk. "And Hogwarts' reputation."

Albus smiled thinly. "I dread my next meeting with the Board of Governors."

"I've notified James Potter's parents that their son has been admitted to St Mungo's. They're on their way." Constance paused. "I can tell them what happened to James. I can't tell them how it happened."

"Harold Potter is an old friend of mine. I've known Madeline since he married her. I can speak to them if you'd like."

Constance gave him an ironic smile. "You're very helpful, as usual, Albus. And very secretive. As usual."

"Let's just say it was a schoolboy prank gone horribly wrong."

"A schoolboy--! Wait, the other boy. Severus Snape. Is that why he's here?"

Albus nodded.

For several moments Constance didn't speak. "No one knows what's wrong with James Potter except that he won't stop bleeding," she said finally. "No one parsed the spell before he was rushed to that private room in Acute Spell Damage, where my house-elf Dilsey is feeding him Blood-Replenisher Potion. Not an appropriate task for a house-elf, but since you don't want another Healer there..."

"A Healer might talk. Your house-elf won't."

"And if you have your Board of Governors to worry about, I have my Board of Trustees."

"Ah, but what they don't know won't hurt them," Albus said.

Constance laughed shortly. "I hope you're right. Meanwhile, what I don't know could hurt James Potter. If you want me to help him, I need to know more about the spell that struck him. A good bit more, if you want me to counter it."

"I do. Happily, the task should be far from insurmountable, as I've brought you the spell's creator."

Constance stared at him in undisguised astonishment. "Not that boy in the Trainee's Room!"

"Severus Snape, yes."

"How old did you say he was?"

"Seventeen. Of age, and no longer a boy."

"No," Constance agreed. "Though he hasn't left Hogwarts yet."

"Except by casting Sectumsempra, he's given me no indication that he wants to."

"Sectumsempra," Constance repeated. "The incantation?"

"As well as the name."

She was silent for a moment, as if turning the magic words over in her mind. "That curse is supremely Dark," she said. "Unlimited."

"Do you say so?" Albus asked softly.

"James Potter hasn't stopped bleeding. He won't stop bleeding until the spell is either countered or it kills him."

"I was afraid of that," Albus sighed.

"And Blood-Replenisher is all very well, but it loses its effectiveness over time. In a very short time, I'd guess, when pitted against a spell like Sectumsempra."

Albus said nothing, but he had turned so pale as to look as though he needed Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"Which brings us to Severus Snape," said Constance. Leaning over her folded arms, she looked searchingly at Albus. "One of your reclamation projects?"

"He'll have to be, won't he?"

"You could expel him. Perhaps you should expel him. Anyone who can invent a curse like Sectumsempra--perhaps you should cut off his magical training as quickly as you can."

"You of all people, Constance, know that I am here to do exactly the opposite. I want to help Severus Snape discover the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. And I need you to help me do that."

Healer Meed straightened. "That's impossible."

"I hope not. You will have a much more difficult time creating the counter to Sectumsempra without Severus's help. Not that I think you couldn't do it," said Albus with a winning smile.

"That's impossible too. Or well-nigh so. You of all people, Albus, should know that."

"That's why Severus and I are here."

Healer Meed began shaking her head before he had finished. "Has it occurred to you that the inventor of Sectumsempra might not have it in him to create its counter?"

"It has," said Albus. "Quite unjustly."

"You hope."

"I hope."

Constance sighed. "Another one of your reclamation projects."

"I wouldn't want to miss one." Albus's voice fell. "As I have done in the past."

"You and your mysterious past," said Constance.

Albus looked at her with a benign expression and said nothing.

"I'll have to search the boy," said Constance. "Does he understand what that means?"

"I've explained as far as I reasonably could. But my students, I'm afraid, are accustomed to only the mildest form of Legilimency."

"Your own."

"My own. There is no other Legilimens at Hogwarts."

"Well. I am a Healer. I have no wish to harm or upset Severus. But it would do neither of us any good for me to waste my time and effort trying to dredge Light magic from a soul that has none. I'm not talking about power. We know he's got that. I'm talking about a bedrock of decency. Innate goodness."

"I understand."

She looked straight into his heart, and again Albus allowed it. He knew how to hide the secrets he needed to keep.

"I don't suppose you could vouch for him," Constance said at last.

"Assure you, you mean, that Severus has the innate goodness to create a counter-curse to Sectumsempra."

"That's right."

"No," said Albus, softly and sadly. "I very much regret that I cannot."

"Pity." Constance cleaned Albus's empty cup with a wave of her wand and stood to replace it in the small cabinet behind her desk. She turned back to Albus. "But then I didn't really think you'd be able to say you could."

"That," said Albus again, "is why Severus and I are here."

"I'll see him tomorrow, then," said Constance. "We'll have breakfast in the Trustees' dining room--better to keep him away from prying eyes in the cafeteria, don't you think?--and then I'll examine him."

Albus inclined his head. "Till tomorrow, then."

****

Professor Dumbledore, having left Head Healer Meed in her office, proceeded to the Trainee's Room. He knocked on the door and Severus called dully for him to enter.

When Dumbledore opened the door, he saw Severus sitting bolt upright on the bed, his black eyes gleaming in the light of the single candle guttering on the table. He was as hot as a furnace to Dumbledore's Legilimency, radiating waves of fear, anger and imperfectly-suppressed guilt. None of those feelings showed on his face.

Dumbledore looked at him in helpless silence for a moment. Severus did not look back at him until the Headmaster spoke.

"I'll call for you at nine tomorrow, Severus, and we'll have breakfast with Head Healer Meed. She's the Healer-Legilimens whom I've asked to help you discover the counter to Sectumsempra."

Dumbledore glanced around the room. It was bare of everything but the bed, the table and a small cold fireplace. There wasn't a window or a picture on the wall. The room seemed entirely devoted to its purpose of providing a place for Trainees to crash into near-comatose sleep after a long shift.

"Do you have everything you need?" Dumbledore asked. "There's a house-elf you could ask for, who takes care of the rooms in this corridor; her name's Dilsey--"

"I know. I've spoken to her. I have everything I need."

"Could I find you something to read?" Dumbledore asked, because that was what he'd want if he were in Severus's place: a good book to take his mind off things.

"No," said Severus in the same dull tone, as if speaking were a chore. "I'm going to bed."

"Of course. As should I. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron." Dumbledore nodded toward the fireplace. "There's Floo powder on the mantel. Call me if you need me."

"Yes, sir."

"Good night, Severus." Not wishing to tax Severus with the necessity of forming a reply, Professor Dumbledore didn't wait for one. He quietly closed the door and made his way to the lobby, where he took a public Floo-fireplace to the Leaky Cauldron.

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