How I Spent My Spring Holidays, By Prof. Severus Snape

Chapter 11: Pauline Fowler's Doorstop

"Are they for real?" Draco asked suspiciously. His eyes kept darting from the box to Dumbledore's lined face. "Really real... like... mint."

"They are genuine Reeboks' Classics," Dumbledore confirmed. "Purchased from Kings Way Sportswear on the Grimsby Road at Cleethorpes. That shop's proprietor was quite astonished, I might add, when I asked him to sell me something other than bowling attire for once." Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Draco's boots and he added meaningfully, "These are certainly more authentic, not to say vastly more 'mint', than the white painted, dragon hide monstrosities you are wearing at the moment."

Self-consciously, Draco tried to tuck his feet underneath the base of the armchair. "Snape wouldn't let me transfigure..." he began, then his voice trailed away. He hung his head and after an awkward pause, mumbled, "Well, what do you want for them? The Muggle shoes, that is. I've only got fifty Galleons here, but I can get more from Gringotts if you want it."

Veronica had been studiously ignoring me since entering the sitting room. She found the remote comptroller for the televisum (which had landed on the floor when my table had been upturned) and began to flick disinterestedly between channels. She lingered on the commentary of a Muggle news announcer, who said with forced jollity, "And finally, we'll leave you with another view of that stolen Noddy car on the A41 roundabout. A spokesman from Shifnal police station told us tonight that that they are no closer to finding the mysterious green-faced man. Maybe Shifnal's finest need to get Constable Plod on the case!"

"Oy!" Draco exclaimed "Turn it back on BBC1. EastEnders'll be on in a minute."

Veronica selected the requested channel and settled onto the sofa beside Dumbledore, where she proceeded to chew the vermilion nail polish from one of her chipped nails.

"My price," Dumbledore began, steering the negotiations back to their true course, "cannot be met with Galleons. Let us just say that, whilst enjoying my current reputed status as a dead wizard, I have much less need for hard currency than I used to."

Draco frowned, trying to unravel the Gordian knot of Dumbledore's reasoning. I was struck by how decidedly unintelligent the boy's reactions were. It angered me to realise that one of Slytherin's finest, a prefect no less, had been reduced to this level of imbecility. The boy was dimmer than Crabbe and Goyle combined.

"Yeah..." Draco drawled. "How come you're not dead any more?"

"I never was quite as dead as my enemies believed," Dumbledore said softly. "Just as I was never the kindly, old man my friends believed in."

As Draco struggled to make sense of this aphorism, Veronica pulled her finger from her mouth and chimed in. "It's a bit like old Dirty Den, innit?" she explained. "He starts off on EastEnders, the big man, playing everyone for a fool. Then The Firm shot him - or so we thought. Fourteen years later he comes back, and picks up where he left off with no more than a, 'Hello Princess.'"

Draco's grey eyes narrowed, and I sensed a spark of his former cunning. "Den didn't come back from the dead for long though, did he?" he replied. "Chrissie got him in the end. Beat him to death down the Old Vic with Pauline Fowler's doorstop. I saw it on the repeats on BBC3."

"I stand warned," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "to avoid doorstops at all costs." He opened the shoe box and let a leathery aroma waft out. "These are excellent shoes," Dumbledore remarked. "Perhaps I will keep them for myself."

"No!" Draco said quickly. "No - I'm willing to pay for them. What do you want?"

"I have recently become fond of jewellery," Dumbledore said airily. "I notice you are wearing a very fine, goblin made bracelet with a dragon's head clasp. Maybe that would do."

Draco looked uncomfortable. "Er... that's my mum's. Dad gave it to her for their twentieth anniversary."

"A shame," Dumbledore said. "It's rather pretty... Well, I could possibly trade the shoes for that large chain you're wearing - the one with all the diamonds along it."

"B-but," Draco stammered, "that chain cost more than eighty-seven thousand Galleons! Mum used to joke that just one of the links could buy the Weasleys' whole house." The lad looked torn, then added, "I don't think I'd be allowed to swap it for a pair of shoes."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "A great pity. These are quite superior shoes. I'm beginning to wonder if you actually want them, Draco."

"I do, I do," Draco pleaded. "How about you take this chain." He unwound a long, silver necklace from around his neck. "It's dead heavy - must be worth a bit."

"No, I prefer gold," Dumbledore said. He examined the boy's finery keenly. "You've got a few gold pendants that I suppose would do. None of them are very attractive, but they are all impressively sized."

"Which ones?" Draco asked excitedly. "My grandmother's medal of Barnabas the Barmy? The Egyptian ankh?" He started ripping the gewgaws from his neck and held them out plaintively. "There's a figurine of Emeric the Evil, a triple serpent chain and a weird clown thing of my aunt's. You can take the lot! Go on!"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to be greedy," Dumbledore said magnanimously. "Maybe the ankh, the clown and the serpent chain will do."

"Done!" Draco cried triumphantly. He thrust the chains at Dumbledore and snatched up the shoe box. Dumbledore had barely time to untangle the mass of gold before Draco had flung off his boots and was tying the laces of his new trainers.

Familiar music played on the televisum and Draco sat heavily in the armchair, turning it to face the device. The glowing screen showed that a programme called "EastEnders" was about to commence. "They reckon this is the episode when Juley leaves," Veronica informed Draco.

"Wonder if Ruby will go running after him," Draco murmured, his eyes glazing over as the televisum hypnotised him. "Or perhaps Little Mo will..."

Dumbledore leant towards Veronica and whispered, "Keep him chatting." Then he rose and beckoned me towards the far side of the room, in the direction of the front door. I followed while Veronica asked Draco his opinion on several characters (all of them named Slater) from the soap opera they were watching. I half-expected Dumbledore to lead me into the street, but instead we stopped next to the doorway and Dumbledore placed the ankh and serpent chain on the windowsill. Then he held the clown pendant up to the thin sliver of twilight that was struggling through the gap in the curtains.

Pointing Veronica's short wand at the ornament, I said, "Lumos."

"No, Severus," Dumbledore hissed sharply, snuffing out the wand light between his thumb and forefinger. "Save your magic. I think we shall need every ounce of it."

The old man held the chain up to his long, crooked nose. "Dung's limited powers of Transfiguration should pose no obstacle," he observed softly, letting the feeble light play on the coloured stones embedded in the clown's belly. "And the power of the Horcrux is a known, if formidable, quantity. What is not known is how the Thief's Curse will play out."

"But we avoided it," I argued. "You tricked Draco into giving you the pendant freely. Bella's curse won't affect you."

"I'm sure she wants us to believe that," Dumbledore said. He tapped the clown lightly with his wand and it evaporated, revealing a heavy, gold locket with an ornate "S" on one side. "We will just have to see how far Bella trusted Draco, when the time arises. I hope the destruction of her property won't alarm her unduly." He placed the Horcrux on the windowsill and pushed the curtains far away from it, scaring a cockroach that had been hiding in the dusty folds. The old wizard took two paces backwards, and then levelled his wand at the locket, saying, "Now - to work!"

I took up my position at Dumbledore's side and began the wordless incantation. It was strange how a spell that had been overwhelming, almost sickening, just a few hours earlier was now slipping through my thoughts in a perfectly routine manner. Once again my mind's eye beheld the horrors of the Dark Lord's past, but now I found these images appeared so distant that they scarcely bothered me. It seemed the work of a very few minutes before the gold locket erupted in bright green fire. When the fire subsided Slytherin's relic was destroyed.

I squared my shoulders, rather impressed at my mastery of this incredibly risky type of magic. I doubted strongly that any other Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts could ever have cast four such spells in an afternoon. Few in the wizarding world possessed such power. I was about to remind Dumbledore that this was why the Defence job should have been mine a long time ago, when the old wizard fainted at my feet.

"Blimey!" Veronica cried. I thought she had been watching the soap opera, but apparently she had been keeping a close eye on our progress the whole time. In contrast, Draco sat completely mesmerised by the glowing screen.

I helped Veronica to carry Dumbledore to the sofa, putting up with her abuse every step of the way. "No bloody wonder he fainted," she snarled. "He took nearly the whole weight of that spell on his shoulders." She plumped a cushion under him. "You just stood there like a great, useless sack of Mooncalf dung!"

"How dare -" I began, fully intending to throw the trollop out of my home. However, Dumbledore stirred.

"Water," he hoarsely whispered.

""I'll get it," Veronica offered. As she disappeared through the kitchen doorway, her hips swaying alluringly, I reflected that there were a few things I was going to miss about the woman... but not many. "And I want my wand back now, Sev," she shouted shrewishly as she hunted in my cupboards for a clean glass.

I righted my table with a quick charm and then put her wand down on the dark, wooden surface.

"The Thief's Curse," Dumbledore said, barely audibly. "Has... she arrived yet?"

"Who?" I asked. I noticed that Dumbledore was fumbling weakly in the folds of his robes, possibly trying to draw his wand.

A loud CRACK sounded and my front door was blasted off its hinges. I jumped backwards, knocking the table over yet again. Draco did not even stir.

"Where is Mighty Salazar's treasure?" a woman's voice asked accusingly. "What have you done with it, Snape? What has my little fool of nephew -"

"You might have knocked, Bella," I interrupted frostily.

Bellatrix stepped unbidden into my house, her eyes darting about madly until they fixed on Dumbledore's prone form. "Expelliarmus!" she screeched. Dumbledore's wand flew from his hand into her open palm.

"HA!" she spat out exultantly. "I knew it! Blood traitor! I knew you never killed the old fool!" She strode across the room, her long cloak streaming behind her, her chin jutting out proudly. "Now," she proclaimed, "I will finish the job that you and Draco had no stomach for! I will hold you both to my sister's vow!"

Baring her teeth like a ravenous Chimaera, she pointed her wand straight at Dumbledore's chest and hissed, "Avada Kedavra!"

I closed my eyes. To be honest, I have seen the emerald blaze of the Killing Curse far too often to find the sight enjoyable. When I reopened my eyes, I saw Dumbledore attempting to raise himself up to a sitting position. Bellatrix's once proud jaw hung open in slack astonishment.

"You look disappointed," Dumbledore said gently, as though he was addressing a young child. "Bella, you didn't think that could work, did you? Have you forgotten that you are Severus's Bonder?"

"Wha-wha -" Bellatrix stuttered, before lifting her wand to curse Dumbledore again.

He raised a long, pale hand and adjusted his spectacles. "I once heard," he said softly, "that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and expect a different result."

With a hateful scream, Bellatrix sent another Killing Curse into Dumbledore's frail body. This time I watched. The light from the spell stopped when it reached Dumbledore, then sputtered and vanished like a blown out candle.

Draco did not even turn around. The televisum played maudlin music, suggesting that some particularly tragic fate had befallen one of the many Slaters. I could hear the boy sniffing sadly. I could not hear Veronica in the kitchen at all. Perhaps she had fled.

"The role of a Bonder to an Unbreakable Vow," Dumbledore explained evenly, seemingly addressing an invisible classroom full of students, "while powerful, has strict limitations. A Bonder witnesses the vow and ultimately imposes the penalty on those who default. But the Bonder must leave performance of the vow to the parties. They cannot subvert performance by taking on the promised task themselves."

"I - I do not understand," Bellatrix gasped.

"Putting it simply," Dumbledore began, rallying gradually from his faint, "you cannot kill me while the Unbreakable Vow binding Severus is still in place. You must wait for Severus or Draco to do so."

A rich glint of lunacy infused her dark eyes. "Or," she countered, "I can end the vow immediately! I can declare that Severus has failed to live up to his part of the bargain - Let him be punished!" She threw back her head a cackled. "I can watch him die! And then, when the vow is put to rest, I can kill you, you pathetic, old man!"

She held her wand above her head and conjured a thin tongue of flame, like a fiery snake. I knew what would follow. She was calling an end to the Unbreakable Vow, and when she did my death would surely be as inevitable as it would be painful. "And don't bother trying to run away, you coward," she growled at me (proof positive that the witch is delusional, for I am no coward). "I placed an Anti-Disapparation Jinx around the boundaries of this house - nobody can get in or out."

"Let us not act rashly," I said, in what I hoped was a calm voice. I watched a second rope of fire burst out of Bellatrix's wand. "You've travelled far, Bella - can I offer you refreshment? Bovril perhaps?" I stressed these last words, hoping that (if Veronica remained in the kitchen) she would discover my wand hiding in the Bovril tin and rescue me. However, my hopes for rescue were slim. I could not even see Veronica's own wand on the floor any more, and surmised that it had rolled under the sofa.

I continued, "I'll kill him straight afterwards, if you like. It was always my intention to kill him. Why do you think I lured him here? I have only just discovered how he deceived us into thinking him dead, and have used considerable cunning to entice him into this trap. But I also planned to ask him a few pertinent questions before he died. It seems such a wasted opportunity, to murder Albus Dumbledore precipitately, on a whim, without discovering what his allies are currently plotting against our Master." Bellatrix snorted cynically, and shot a third strand of fire from her wand. I concluded lamely, "We don't need to kill him right away.... Can't we just... wait?"

"You've had long enough!" Bellatrix shrieked. The three flames twisted together and snaked through the air towards me, then encircled me like a python ready to crush its prey. "This is how the Dark Lord repays disloyalty," she laughed.

"Severus," Dumbledore breathed. One of his slender fingers pointed to the floor, near Draco's armchair. I saw the stubby end of a wand near the chair's leg.

"Severus, please," Dumbledore repeated.

The fiery serpent began to constrict and burn. Searing pain ate into the back of my neck. While it was not the first time I have stared death in the face, I have never felt death's sting so nearly pierce me.

With no other option, I lunged for the wand on the floor. In one action I scooped it up, turned back to the sofa and shouted, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Dumbledore's arm went limp. His ice-blue eyes stared, unblinking. My agony ceased. The Unbreakable Vow had at last been fulfilled, and Bellatrix was left with no choice but to withdraw her punishment instantly.

Bellatrix folded her arms. "You can slither out of anything, can't you, Snape?"

My breathing was shallow and a wave of nausea threatened to overcome me. "A tragedy," I whispered. So this is what it feels like, I thought, to be Pauline Fowler's doorstop.

Bellatrix poked the corpse with her wand. "You're not getting sentimental on me, are you? Doesn't suit you at all."

"No - no," I corrected myself. "I merely thought it was a shame that we profited so little from his capture and death. If you had allowed me just ten minutes, I could have extracted such intelligence that follies like the Bulgarian campaign need never be repeated." Bellatrix's eyes widened. "Yes, I know about the foreign battles," I said, waving dismissively, "as well as the debacle in the Forest of Dean. It is therefore a tragedy that we have executed our prisoner, without discovering where our enemies will next strike."

She cocked her head and smiled sinisterly. "Oh, I intend to profit from this," she cooed. "Dumby'll make a very useful Inferius, if nothing else." She levitated the body and it floated above the sofa, the long beard and hair hanging like a silver shawl. The lifeless eyes were level with my own. "Imagine little baby Potter's face when they meet again."

The corpse bobbed in the air as it moved over the furniture. As Dumbledore's wrinkled visage passed close to me, I was unsettled to smell the stench of low tar cigarettes.

"Come with me, Draco," Bellatrix commanded. "You can help me tell the Dark Lord how I found Dumbledore, and forced the traitor to kill him. Then I'm sure there'll be a bit of sport when our Master exacts his revenge on Snape."

Dumbledore's crippled hand had been tucked into his pocket. It flopped out and a tiny, green glass bottle rolled onto the floor with a soft tinkle.

"And, Draco," Bellatrix added, as she steered Dumbledore's body to the front door, "bring that clown shaped pendant I gave you."

TO BE CONTINUED