The Bookseller's Daughter

Chapter Four: The Shape of Things to Come

For a mid-summer evening, it was unseasonably cold. After she closed the door, Liz paused on the doorstep and looked up at the darkening sky above her. Tiny, bright points of starlight were beginning to appear as the twilight faded fast. She fastened the buttons on her cloak, thinking that it felt more like October than June. The good cheer she'd felt at talking to Tonks and Jack had rapidly evaporated, and she settled back into an all-too-familiar gloom.

She walked down the garden path and out through the gate into the narrow alleyway behind the shop. As she turned into the street, she stopped and listened. It wasn't noise, but rather the absence of it that she noticed, and it made her uneasy. Although Everett's lay in a quiet side street off the main thoroughfare, there were usually a range of summer evening sounds to be heard once the shops closed; the distant laughter of children enjoying an hour's game on the village green before supper, footsteps on the cobbled streets as people returned home after a day's work, the clatter of pots and pans from nearby kitchens. But tonight, there was almost complete silence.

Liz took a deep breath to steady her nerves. You grew up here, for goodness' sake, she told herself. What's to be scared of? She thought of the card. Someone had found out what she'd done, and they wanted her to know it. They'd show themselves sooner or later. Looking around, she reached into her cloak and drew her wand.

At the end of the road, she turned left into the high street. It was deserted and quite dark, the street lamps not yet lit. Buildings loomed large above her, casting eerie shadows as she walked. The Three Broomsticks was ten minutes away yet, down at the far end of the village. Liz began to regret her decision not to Apparate, but she was committed to the walk now, having almost reached the boundary of the pub wards. They extended over a large area, having been carefully set to discourage drunks and prevent fights. She began to hurry, and then slowed again to a purposeful walk, annoyed with herself. Oh, honestly. This is Hogsmeade! What's here to hurt a big, tough Auror like you? Her footsteps echoed as she strode firmly along the pavement. Suddenly she stopped, panic stabbing at her chest. Was that another set of footsteps? She spun round quickly and listened, but all she could hear was the sound of her own quickened breathing. Even so, she had an intense feeling that she wasn't alone, and the night around her seemed to grow darker than ever. She knew that a muted, wand-point Lumos light wouldn't be enough, so she reached into her pocket for her Auror's shield, drew it out and held it high, a slight tremor in her hand. She concentrated hard, muttering the incantation that would make the shield cast its bright spotlight. As the beam shone out, it revealed a swirling patch of purplish mist a few feet away. It seemed to move swiftly towards her, and before she could do anything about it, her mind clouded over with a sudden dizziness. The shield dropped from her hand, its beam fading as the charm lost power. Just as the mist began to thicken further, the door to a nearby house opened and people spilled out onto the pavement, chattering and laughing as they moved off down the street. The air cleared in an instant, leaving Liz choking and gasping. She sat down hard on the pavement, sick and scared. Eventually, her breathing returned to normal and she got up, picked up her shield and warily looked around to make sure she was alone. Finally, still unsettled, she turned and set off again towards the pub.

She made her way across the village green and past the pond, almost jumping out of her skin as the Hogsmeade street lamps lit up en masse with an audible hiss. The village clock struck eight, and she could see the pub at the end of the road now, its windows lit with a golden glow. She hurried towards it, eager to be safe inside. The hubbub of voices and laughter grew louder as she reached the door, and she stretched out her hand to lift the latch. A hard hand grabbed her shoulder. She cried out with shock and turned sharply around, heart thumping, to face her assailant. She pointed her wand, and the sudden flash of light sent a dark, bulky figure tumbling down hard down onto the pavement. "Inspector Everett, Ministry of Magic, Auror Service!" she barked. "Hold your hands in the air and your wand where I can see it!"

"Lizzie, it's me, for Merlin's sake!" a gruff, familiar voice barked. "Put your wand down!"

Liz was horrified at her mistake. "Oh, Uncle Merc! ... I'm so sorry!"

At that moment, the pub door opened and light flooded out, illuminating the scene. "Whatever is going on out here?" demanded a woman's firm voice. Shock spread over Madam Rosmerta's pretty face as she saw her husband sprawled on the cobbled pavement, ruefully rubbing his backside. "Merc?"

"Ah, Ros, my sweet," said Mercurius Robinson, as Liz helped him to his feet. "Sorry, I bumped into young Liz here and tripped over."

"Must be all that Charmdonnay you sank this afternoon with those giggling Coverdale sisters," snapped Rosmerta, giving her husband a stern look. "Watch him, Lizzie. He didn't hurt you, did he, staggering about like that?"

"Er - no, not at all," Liz said hastily. She extended a hand to her uncle and helped him to his feet, whispering a quiet "thank you" as he rose. He smiled back at her, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

Madam Rosmerta held the door open. "Come on in, love," she said, as Liz walked over the threshold. She pursed her lips as her husband followed. "And as for you, you old fool, just be careful next time. Knocking your own niece over!"

The lounge of the Three Broomsticks was comfortable and inviting, softly lamp lit, with a warm fire crackling in the grate. Five patrons sat in their regular places on tall wooden stools around the bar, and ten or twelve more sat at various tables dotted around the room. Several of them looked round at the new arrivals, and a couple of elderly wizards seated at the fireside greeted Liz jovially. "Evenin', Miss Everett!" They had been friends of her late father, and she smiled, glad to see their cheerful, welcoming faces. She exchanged a moment or two of small talk with them, and then turned to see her uncle standing beside her.

"Come on through to the snug," said Mercurius. "I'll get you a hot toddy. Let me take your cloak."

Liz handed him her cloak and followed him into the small, cosy room across the other side of the bar. They sat down at Mercurius's favourite table, next to an ornate, Victorian-style wood-burner. He tapped the table with his wand, and two steaming mugs of spiced, brandy-enhanced Butterbeer promptly appeared before them. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out a battered-looking pipe and loaded it with dark, fragrant tobacco. Liz watched him light it and settle back in his chair. She took a sip of her drink and began to relax.

Mercurius was Liz's favourite uncle. He was a sturdy man in his late fifties, about ten years older than his wife, Rosmerta, Mrs. Everett's youngest and most beautiful sister. They made a handsome couple; Rosmerta was a buxom blonde, and Mercurius was of warlock extraction, with thick black hair and soulful brown eyes. Despite his age, his olive skin remained relatively unlined, and whilst many of the male customers of the Three Broomsticks had a soft spot for Rosmerta's ample charms, their female counterparts sighed dreamily to themselves at the thought of Mercurius and his dark good looks. To Liz, however, he was simply the kindest man she knew, a fount of risqué jokes, and always ready for a beer and a game of chess.

"OK. What was all that business about outside?" The soulful brown eyes fixed her with a hard stare. Liz didn't quite know what to say.

"It's nothing, Merc, really ... I just had a fright on the way here, that's all. Thought I heard something behind me. I just overreacted. I'm sorry."

"Rubbish. I know there's something wrong, Liz. You've been hiding yourself away here for weeks now, creeping about like a ghost, scared of your own shadow, when you're quite well enough to go back to work. Ros and I haven't said anything, because your mother was so glad to see you, and we didn't want her to worry. What is it? Is someone after you?"

Liz sighed. It was a lie, but she didn't see any other option. "No, nothing like that. Honestly, I'm fine."

Mercurius's disbelief was apparent. He shook his head. "All right. Well, if you won't tell me, so be it," he said. "But bear in mind I hear things. And I know plenty of people. People who might be able to help you."

Liz didn't doubt it. She knew however that simply enlisting a bit of warlock muscle from some of her uncle's shadier friends wasn't going to solve things.

"That really won't be necessary. And I'm going back to work soon." She leaned over the table and kissed him on the cheek. "But thanks for your concern. Anyway, how about you let your favourite niece thrash you at chess?"

Mercurius sighed, and then smiled at her. "I suppose so." He got up and went to the shelves beside the wood burner. "Wizard or Muggle?"

"Muggle, I think. I'm in the mood for strategy rather than bloodshed." She smiled back at him, looking forward to losing herself in the game and forgetting all that troubled her for a while.

"Muggle it is, then." Mercurius drained his drink and pointed to Liz's glass. "Another?"

"Why not, Merc. Why not." Her glass refreshed, Liz began to lay out the chess pieces on the board, and battle commenced.

Half an hour later, Mercurius sat upright in his chair, a smug expression on his face. "Checkmate. You're slipping, young lady."

Liz yawned and stretched backwards. "It's the heat from the wood burner. It's making me drowsy."

Mercurius turned in the direction of the bar, as the sound of female laughter drifted through. "Probably a good time to stop, anyway. Sounds like your mother's here."

"Just you wait for the rematch," joked Liz, and then touched her uncle's arm. "You won't tell Mum about what happened earlier, will you?"

"Of course not," replied Mercurius. "But don't forget, your Aunt Ros caught some of it and she's very good at making two and two add up to six. I can't vouch for her silence."

They got up and made their way through to the saloon bar, where Liz promptly received a painfully tight hug from her mother, who would only let go after a whispered assurance that everything was all right. She greeted Alberta, her mother's best friend, and they took seats at the bar. Rosmerta produced a bottle of her best single malt Firewhisky, pouring them a hefty glass each. Liz tuned out of the conversation and toyed with her drink, aware that it was her fifth of the evening, including the fortified Butterbeer. She was just beginning to savour the spirit's sharp warmth when the sound of her mother's voice brought her firmly back to earth.

"Lizzie's got an admirer."

Oh, Merlin. Liz closed her eyes and steeled herself, pulling her mouth into a grimace that just about passed as a smile, as all three of them turned towards her, grinning.

Madam Rosmerta, keeper of many secrets about the illicit loves of Hogsmeade, was the soul of discretion - except when it came to her own family, of course. "Really? Ooh, Delilah. Who is it? Tell me!"

"Severus Snape, that's who!"

Rosmerta was aghast. "No! Not him! Oh, Lizzie, you poor thing!" She burst into high peals of laughter, and was promptly joined by the other two.

Liz sat resignedly, waiting for the mirth to subside. Horrid old hags. I've a good mind to use a mass Silencing Charm on them. The rest of the customers, startled by the rumpus, finally turned back to their drinks. Liz sighed at the three chortling women. "I don't suppose there's any point in telling you it's not true, is there?"

Mrs. Everett, emboldened by the Firewhisky, scoffed. "Of course it's true! And you like him too!"

"Oh, Lizzie, no!" gasped Rosmerta, horrified. "Are you mad? If I'd have known you were that desperate, I'd have fixed you up with one of Merc's cousins. They're all single, and gorgeous!" She turned and walked off down to the other end of the bar to serve a newly-arrived customer, shaking her head and muttering "Severus Snape!" under her breath.

Liz rolled her eyes, and hissed, "Now look what you've done!" at her mother. Exasperated, she began to think that despite everything, her return to London couldn't come soon enough. Just as she was about to sink into a fresh bout of depression, she looked up to find that her aunt had returned and was standing in front of her, a serious expression on her face.

"Here she is, Sergeant." Rosmerta's eyes were fixed on a point above Liz's left shoulder, and Liz turned to find a tall man standing behind her, smartly dressed in Magical Law Enforcement Squad robes.

For one awful moment, Liz thought that it was all over; her blackmailer had done his work already and she was about to be arrested for murder. She scrambled to her feet, mind racing, feeling the eyes of the other drinkers on her.

The officer extended his hand. "Inspector Everett? Sergeant James Bennett, Hogsmeade MLES." He smiled. "I'm sorry to interrupt you on a social occasion, ma'am. Might I have a word?"

Liz took his proffered hand in her own cold, clammy one, and nodded, trying her utmost to look calm and professional, instead of guilty. "Of-of course," she stammered. Rosmerta ushered them through to the snug and closed the door.

Sergeant Bennett removed his hat and stood opposite Liz. "I'll come straight to the point, ma'am. We need your help with rather a serious matter."

Liz swallowed hard. Just cast a Handcuff Charm and get it over and done with, Sergeant, she thought, closing her eyes.

"Are you quite all right, Inspector? You've gone very pale. Chief Superintendent Shacklebolt did say you'd been on sick leave, but he was sure you'd be able to take the case," said the sergeant uncertainly.

Liz's eyes snapped open. "The case?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid there's been rather a serious assault in the village tonight. Young woman left for dead. Working girl, if you know what I mean, ma'am. Not your usual domestic situation, very different modus operandi. We contacted the Ministry for Auror support, and Mr. Shacklebolt said you were here at the moment. He seemed to think that there were similarities with a couple of other cases you'd been working on."

Suddenly, Liz was newly aware of the weight of the shield in her robe pocket, and breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of familiar territory. "I'll be pleased to help, Sergeant. I'm quite all right, thank you for asking." She pointed her wand at her own body and muttered quietly. Her robes instantly turned Auror scarlet, complete with Ministry insignia. "Left for dead, you say?" continued Liz. "So our victim is still alive?"

"Barely, ma'am. They've taken her to St Mungo's."

"Let's hope she makes it, then. She might be able to identify her attacker. In the meantime, I'll need to see the scene," replied Liz. "I presume it's secured? And Magical Forensics ordered?"

"Erm - well …" The sergeant began.

"I'll order the Ministry team," said Liz, briskly. "They're the best, and they processed the previous scenes, so if this is the same thing they'll be familiar with it. And that way it'll come out of the Ministry budget instead of yours." She produced her shield, opened its wallet and touched the leather with her wand. "MFD, please," she spoke into it.

A woman's cool voice answered. "Good evening. Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Magical Forensics Department. How may I help you?"

"Good evening, Myfanwy. It's Inspector Everett, Auror Service. Code AI 288. I'd like a full investigative team sent out to Hogsmeade as soon as possible, please." She held out the shield towards the sergeant. "Tell her the location."

As he gave the details, Liz leaned over the bar and beckoned her Aunt Rosmerta over. "I've been called out on a case. Could you tell Mum, and see that she gets home safely?" Rosmerta nodded, and Liz made for the door, a new sense of purpose in her step. She stepped out into the courtyard, Sergeant Bennett close behind. Though the night air was chill, she shivered more from anticipation than cold. Draping her cloak around her shoulders, she turned to him. "Let's go."

* * * * *

The eastern fringes of Hogsmeade village had grown haphazardly over time, as companies eager for profit had moved into what was famously the only exclusively magical village in Britain. Subsequently, they had either prospered or declined, according to the vagaries of the magical economy, yielding a random mix of shabby factories and industrial units, seedy bars, and cheap, draughty housing. The latter was home to an influx of workers attracted by the new industries, mostly single wizards. Unsurprisingly, an ancient trade had begun to flourish there, and the east end of the village, where Hogwarts' students never ventured, was now home to what was informally known by the locals (and in turn vehemently denied by the village council) to be the nearest thing Hogsmeade had to a red light district. As Liz and the sergeant reached the scene of the night's attack, her first thought was that both vendor and client must have to be pretty desperate to conduct their business in such a grim, uninviting location.

"This way, Inspector." The sergeant led Liz to a dark alley. He made an opening with his wand in a glowing green beam that roped off the entrance, and they both moved through. They walked past a couple of rubbish skips, and turned left into a secluded courtyard. Stacks of damp cardboard boxes and other detritus indicated that it served as back yard to several small industrial units. In the centre of the courtyard, a white, floating Globe Charm lit up a grisly scene, where a young, nervous-looking MLES officer was in the process of marking out a body-shaped outline with a ribbon of red phosphorescence from his wand. Startled at their sudden arrival, he stood up quickly and almost trod in a dark bloodstain that spread outwards over the cobblestones behind him. Fearful that he would contaminate crucial evidence, Liz firmly asked him to step aside.

Sergeant Bennett nodded at the young officer. "Constable Henry Wilberforce, this is Auror Inspector Everett. She'll be in charge of the investigation for the Ministry." He turned to Liz. "The victim was discovered at around 8.35pm by one Miss Laetitia O'Leary, aged nineteen, who is well known to us. She often brings her clients round the back here. It seems her customer ran off sharpish, but young Laetitia at least had the presence of mind to call us."

"Did she see or hear anything otherwise suspicious?" asked Liz, wondering whether to rely on his statement or have a word with the witness herself.

"No, ma'am. No sign of anyone but the victim. Whoever did it was long gone by then." The sergeant noticed Liz's sceptical look. "Laetitia's not the sharpest quill in the inkwell, but she wasn't lying. I really don't think she saw anything but the victim."

"Inspector," The young MLES officer held up a small Spellophane evidence bag. "I've found something." The bag contained what seemed to be a round silver button, stained with a drop of dark red blood. "It was just next to where the girl was lying."

Liz took it from him, lit up her shield and held the bag up to the beam. "Does it belong to our victim? Or Miss O'Leary?"

"I don't think so, ma'am," volunteered the constable. "It looks expensive to me. Of course, it might be nothing to do with the attack, but it'd probably fetch a Galleon or two down at the Hog's Head. That makes me think it can't have been here long, or one of the local girls would have picked it up."

"There's some sort of crest on it," said Liz, peering closely at the ornate engraving on the button. "A bird, and a … a …" She stopped, knowing what the implications would be if she said it.

The sergeant nodded to the constable. "Thank you, Wilberforce. That'll be all." He took the bag from Liz's hand and stared intently at the button, but said nothing until the constable was out of earshot. "A serpent, ma'am. A bird and a serpent," he sighed. "If this came from the perpetrator, I take it from the symbolism that we may be looking at some sort of Dark side involvement."

Liz nodded. "If it's the same as the other attacks, yes. But play it down for the moment. We don't want to cause a panic."

There was a sudden breeze, and several figures materialised in front of them. Liz smiled and moved forward as she recognised the familiar bushy beard of Edgar Marcellus, the Ministry's head Forensics Wizard. She introduced him to the sergeant, and after a brief discussion, Edgar turned away to start work.

Liz touched the sergeant's arm. "We should go to the station," she said. "Oh - and Sergeant? Since we're both going to be leading the investigation, my name is Liz. And please tell the other officers to address me as 'Inspector', not 'ma'am'. It's too formal."

His smile was warm. "Call me Jim."

Hogsmeade Magical Law Enforcement Squad station was buzzing with activity. Sergeant Bennett looked bemused as they made their way through the crowded waiting room, past the front desk towards his office. "We're not usually as busy as this on a week night."

"All sorts going on tonight, Sarge," replied a portly, red-faced MLES wizard behind the desk. He handed a large white handkerchief over the desk to a sobbing witch. "There, there, Madam McPherson, don't upset yourself ... I'm sure it wasn't a real vampire. They're pretty rare around these parts, you know. It's the rain what puts 'em off." He turned back to the sergeant. "Honestly, we've had escaped ghouls, reports of big, black, dangerous dogs, you name it. Seems there's something going on up at the school, too. I've had to call Jonesy in off the day shift to go up there. That'll do for my overtime budget for the rest of the month," he sighed. He surveyed Liz and nodded politely at her. "Top brass, eh? Evening, ma'am."

"The school, Bill?" Sergeant Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Keep me informed about that, please. By the way, this is Inspector Everett."

"Nice to see you again," replied Bill, and winked. He had been a customer of Everett's since Liz was a small child. "I heard they'd called you Aurors in. Nasty business."

"Any word from St. Mungo's yet?" asked Sergeant Bennett.

"Here we are. Preliminary report, came by express owl about five minutes ago." He handed over a parchment.

"Thanks, Bill. We'll be in my office. Don't forget to let me know what's going on at the school. Bad reputation for trouble, those Ministry tournaments."

Once they were seated at his desk, Liz scrutinised the report, as the sergeant conjured two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. "'Miss Demelza Smith, age 21, victim of serious assault'," murmured Liz, reading aloud. "'Magic-induced coma, exact spell currently undetermined. Unresponsive as yet. Bruising to face and neck, wand wheals on forearms, wrists and hands, probably defensive injuries' … sounds like she put up something of a fight." Liz's eyes skimmed over the rest of the parchment. "'Possible ritual assault - some rune-style markings on the chest and abdomen' ..." She broke off and looked up at the sergeant, her expression grave. "It certainly sounds similar. I'll need to see the markings to be certain."

"Let's talk to St. Mungo's," said the sergeant. He pointed his wand at the grate, and spoke his destination as the fire sprang into life. A silver glow to the flames instead of the usual green indicated that it was a secure MLES line. He glanced at the parchment, and then snapped, "Healer Waterbury, please," at the harassed-looking mediwitch who answered.

Healer Waterbury was a pale young man with thinning hair, who looked sorely in need of a good night's sleep. "Miss Smith is in a stable but serious condition," he informed them. "We've tried a Universal Antidote Charm, and she's beginning to show some signs of regaining consciousness. We'll see how she is in the morning. You may be able to talk to her for a few minutes then."

"Thank you," said Liz. "I take it she is in a secure area and MLES officers are guarding her?"

"Yes, we've put her up in the attic, in the closed ward. To passers-by, the bed looks like a janitor's cupboard and the two officers next to it like rather burly mops and buckets."

"Very good," replied the sergeant. "We'll be in touch first thing, then." The Healer excused himself to return to his patients.

After the tea and biscuits, the Sergeant was called away to deal with other matters, and Liz settled down at his desk to start her Ministry casefile. By the time she had finished writing notes, it was nearly two in the morning, and Edgar Marcellus had arrived at the station to give her an update on his findings. He confirmed that enough trace magic had been left at the scene to link this case to the others, but Liz could sense that something was troubling him. Over the course of his thirty years in Magical Forensics, Edgar had seen it all, and his obvious anxiety unnerved her. "What is it, Edgar?" she asked.

He frowned. "As you know, wands leave unique traces - signatures - and if you get to the scene in time you can pick up details about the spells cast, even if the wand itself isn't there for Priori Incantatem. There are certain charms they can use to try and block the signatures, but there was no attempt at disguise this time. And there were several different wands used, more than at the other scenes."

Liz was bemused. "But you already know we think there's a group involved. We've discussed this before."

"Yes, and so far they've been pretty careful to cover their tracks. But this time the wand signatures were fresh, not like the London attacks, and they didn't kill the girl. They must have been interrupted, because the traces all end abruptly. But I've found something else, too. An incoming spell, not cast at the scene, but strong enough to leave distinctive remnants." Edgar looked around to make sure they were still alone. "The samples I took have gone back to the Ministry for definitive analysis, but I know what they're going to reveal ..." His voice tailed off.

Liz felt a chill run down her spine. "Tell me. You know it won't go any further until it has to."

"It's why they were interrupted … my detectors picked it up straight away. It's something I haven't seen for a long time. Not since the Death Eaters ..."

Liz knew that Edgar had lost his first wife in the last war. She nodded grimly, and waited for him to continue. When he spoke again, there were tears in his eyes and his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. "It's an incredibly elaborate combination of flesh combustion and communication charms. It's how You-Know-Who made the Dark Mark work, and it's quite unique. I'd know it anywhere. After the war finished, we worked for years to try and recreate it at the Ministry in order to develop a counter-charm, but we never succeeded. He used it every time he called them; the marks on their arms would burn. We picked up strong traces of it." He paused, and distractedly ran his hand through his hair. "I'm afraid there can be no other explanation. That's why they didn't kill her. He's come back, Liz. He must have called them away to him in the middle of it, and that's why they didn't finish the job."

Liz felt as if her stomach had sunk through the floor. Edgar was one of the best Forensic Wizards in the country, in fact probably the world, and she didn't doubt for a second that he was right. The pain and havoc Voldemort could wreak didn't bear thinking about. It made her own problems seem insignificant by comparison, and yet so much worse; if her blackmailer was one of his chosen few, they'd have all the resources of evil at their disposal. It wasn't as if she hadn't been threatened by Death Eaters before; for a couple of years after the end of the war, as a newly-qualified Auror, she had helped round up the last of them. By virtue of her employment she was a legitimate target. But this time it was different. She had let revenge and spite take control of her, and consequently she was no better than they. And one of them, at least, knew it.

She stood up, knees trembling slightly, a cold, dead feeling in her heart. "Thank you, Edgar," she said softly. "I'll wait for your official report, but at least we know what we're dealing with now. We knew it would happen sooner or later. Sergeant Bennett suspects some Dark involvement, but we won't let him know exactly what yet. We're going to have to tell Kingsley, but not a word to anyone else until then."

Edgar nodded. "I'll contact you for a meeting as soon as my full report's ready tomorrow."

"Good," said Liz. "I'll either be at the Ministry or St. Mungo's. In the meantime I've more or less finished here." She sighed. "I'm going home to get some sleep while I can."

* * * * *

As Liz Everett tossed and turned in her bed, disturbed by feverish, fractious dreams, Severus Snape sat at his kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky at his side. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child until he had no more tears left. Dumbledore's words echoed through his head. You know what I must ask you to do.

Eventually, he got up, went into the bathroom and washed his face. He scowled at the sight of his reddened, watery eyes and sank further into a mire of fear and loathing, remembering his earlier outburst at Cornelius Fudge in the hospital wing. The man was a fool and refused to acknowledge what was going on in front of his face. It would be the innocent and those too weak to protect themselves who would bear the brunt of it, just like last time. And the worst thing was that he, Severus Snape, had once been a willing part of it. He walked back through to his small, untidy sitting room and slumped down on the couch, sullen. He closed his eyes and let the horrors he had pushed away for years come back afresh to haunt him, until he drifted into an uneasy doze.

At six o'clock, the first rays of the sun crept through the curtains to herald the summer day ahead. Snape woke with a start, feeling sick with dread and whisky. His head pounded and his neck ached, and his waking thought was the realisation that all he feared had come true. In his hour of desperation all those years ago, he had promised Dumbledore that he would do it. Now he had to keep that promise, which was another thing entirely.

He dragged himself to the bathroom and spent a full half-hour under the shower as if vainly hoping the water would wash away every trace of his despair. Finally, he pulled on clean robes and went outside to sit on his small balcony. He conjured tea and toast, and looked out over the spacious, green grounds that surrounded Hogwarts castle. The clear blue sky and golden sunlight held the promise of a beautiful day, as if nature itself was in denial of what had happened the night before. After a few minutes, Snape was surprised to find that the combination of fresh air and breakfast had relieved his nausea and made him feel slightly better, physically at least. He glanced back inside at his well-stocked shelf of elixirs, wondering whether a teaspoonful of Dehydration Drops, or even a dose of Never-Again Nostrum was in order, but decided against it. He settled back in his chair to watch a couple of pigeons pecking industriously at the ground on the dewy lawns beneath him. Normally he would have cursed them as unhygienic flying rats, but their air of dumb innocence seemed comforting today, like calm before the storm. His thoughts turned once more to his predicament. A fate worse than death would be the likely outcome. Most would say he had only himself to blame. And wouldn't they all love to see the end of him?

Snape lifted his head and looked around, first through the balcony doors into his shabby, cluttered rooms and then back out over the sweeping grounds of Hogwarts. He felt a pang; maybe of sadness, or something else, he didn't quite know what. He had lived here for almost fourteen years, the longest time he'd ever lived anywhere. He thought of Albus Dumbledore. Irritating old bugger. Deliberately obtuse sometimes, but the man never missed a trick. Minerva McGonagall. Horrible, dried-up old stick. She was always on at him for something or other, generally on behalf of some smelly little Gryffindor. Poppy Pomfrey; now she must have been at Hogwarts since Merlin was a boy. Vinegary old bat. He remembered last Christmas, when he had come down with a bad case of Transylvanian 'flu and had felt as if he was going to die. She had fussed over him intolerably, as if she were his own mother, for goodness' sake. Suddenly, his eyes grew watery again. He cursed the fact that he'd drunk so much whisky; it must have made him maudlin. Then, it suddenly dawned on him. Home. This is home. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey. They put up with the worst of his moods and temper, and he did the same with theirs; yet they were always there. The thought slipped out before he could stop it. Family. And irritating as they might be, none of them deserved to die … with the possible exception of Hagrid, of course. Big, blubbering buffoon. Snape poured himself another cup of tea, and sighed. He would have to do it, then. There was nothing more to be said. He would do it to protect his family, then ... though he had a sneaking suspicion that even the Dark Lord might have a fight on his hands with Poppy Pomfrey.

He drained his tea and walked back into the sitting room, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. He had been out on the balcony for over an hour. It was almost eight o'clock. Well, even the idle rich should be up by now. He knelt down on the hearthrug, stuck his head in the fireplace and snapped "Malfoy Manor!"

A small, anxious house-elf, with a suspicious-looking cut over her left eye, answered and Snape tersely sent her off to call her master. Moments later, he found himself staring into the opulently-decorated chamber that was Lucius Malfoy's study. Lucius himself was sitting in a wing chair by the fire, a copy of the Daily Prophet on his knee. He looked up. "Good morning, Severus! How nice. You are well, I trust? And Draco is behaving himself?"

"The boy is fine. I wanted to speak to you regarding another matter."

Lucius Malfoy's smile broadened until it was positively reptilian. "Of course, Severus. How may I be of help?"

Snape swallowed hard. This was it, and there would be no going back. None whatsoever. He cleared his throat. "I gather, Lucius, that there has been something of a development."