Darkness and Light 03: If We Survive

"Right," said Tony, "drop whatever you're doing and pay attention. We've got an emergency."

Maud looked up from her cauldron. "Not another one," she said.

Over the past few months the lab at St. Mungo's had become increasingly busy, as the war against Voldemort and his servants escalated. The hospital was full of wizards and witches suffering magical injuries which only the most sophisticated potions could treat. And that was only half of the team's workload, thanks to the ever-growing number of special commissions for the Ministry. For weeks now the three of them had been working late every night and even some weekends, trying to keep up with the demand for their services.

As Maud and Sarah's spirits and energies flagged, Tony had cheered and encouraged and badgered them on, all the while working the most punishing hours and taking the most dangerous assignments himself. Maud could not remember the last time Tony had left the lab before she did, and his arms were shiny-speckled with burns from brewing volatile potions. Indeed, he drove himself so ruthlessly that she wondered if his brother's death had made him determined to win this war no matter what the cost...

"'Fraid so, love," said Tony. "Word's come in from Espionage that You-Know-Who's planning something big this weekend. We're not sure where, just yet, but the Healers want a full stock of field remedies, and Magical Law Enforcement's calling for lots of lovely things that go boom. So, away we go. You two --" he pointed to Maud and Sarah -- "make nice. I'll make nasty."

Sarah's head came up. "Why?" she asked flatly. "Why always you?"

Tony didn't even pause to ask what she meant. "Because I'm the expert, love. I know you've the brains, but you haven't the nerve. And at a time like this, we can't afford mistakes."

It was an old argument. For nearly a year now Sarah had been pushing, first timidly and then with growing persistence, for the chance to prove herself again. And every time Tony refused her, she became more openly upset; in fact, right now, she looked almost angry.

"I know what I'm doing," she said, her voice quavering a little. "I know more than you think. A lot more."

"We haven't time, love," said Tony mildly. "We'll argue about this later."

For a moment Sarah bit her lip, and Maud thought she would concede defeat; but then her chin came up, and she said, "No. We'll talk about it now."

Tony looked at her sidelong a moment; then he blew out his breath in a sigh and said, "Oh, all right. But let's not make a grand scene of it, shall we? And there's no sense tying up all three of us." He jerked his head toward Maud. "Go on, then. We'll be back in a jiff."

He crooked a finger at Sarah, beckoning her after him, and strode out the door, not looking back. Sarah hesitated, licked her lips nervously, then slid out from behind her workbench and followed. The door shut behind them, and Maud was alone.

She had started up three cauldrons and was adding the base ingredients for a Clotting Concoction to the first when the door opened again and Sarah came back in. Her face was ashen, her eyes red and puffy-looking. She said nothing, nor did she look at Maud; she kept her head down and moved woodenly to her desk, where she stooped to retrieve something from a drawer.

Maud was just about to ask whether she was all right, but then Tony walked into the room, his face uncommonly serious. He looked at Sarah, rummaging around in her workbench with hunched shoulders and drooping head, and his eyes softened; he took a few steps forward and said in a low voice, "Don't take it so hard, love --"

Sarah straightened up. "I'll kill you," she said, in a voice that was all the more chilling for its utter lack of emotion. Then she lunged forward, a knife glittering in her hand.

Maud drew her wand and levelled it, but not quite swiftly enough. Sarah's knife came flashing down as Tony twisted aside, and he gave a shout of pain. He clapped a hand to his shoulder; it came away dark with blood.

"Expelliarmus!" Maud shouted, but there was no need. Sarah had already dropped the knife and clapped her hands to her mouth.

"I--" she stammered. "I didn't--"

Tony looked up at her, his eyes stricken. "I thought we were friends," he said softly.

Sarah drew in her breath with a sound like a sob. "Friends," she gasped. "How -- how could you --" and then she whirled, snatched her cloak off the stand, and Disapparated without another word, leaving Tony and Maud staring at the place where she had been.

For a moment there was silence in the lab, and Maud could hear the blood thudding through her ears; then Tony grimaced and said, "Well. That could have turned out better."

"You're hurt," said Maud a little wildly, putting her wand back in her sleeve and hurrying over to him. "How deep is it?"

He gave her a brave, lopsided smile. "Not so bad. Just a scratch -- stings like fury, but it'll be fine in a mo." He paused, then added, "She... didn't mean it, you know. She just wasn't thinking."

Maud shook her head. "You know better than that, Tony."

The seed of doubt had been planted in Maud's mind over a year ago, when the Exploding Extract she had borrowed from the lab had failed to perform properly. Since then, several more suspicious incidents had occurred. Until now, there had been no way to confirm Maud's fears that their group contained not merely a clumsy or careless member, but a dangerous Death Eater mole; still, all this time she had been watching the growing tension between Tony and Sarah, as well as doing some investigations of her own. A few discreet inquiries, and a look into Glossop's files, had done much to confirm that her worries were not unfounded; now, with Sarah's sudden and uncharacteristic act of violence, the suspicion had blossomed into grim certainty.

"No idea what you mean," said Tony, but his eyes flicked away from her as she spoke.

"You've known about this for a long time," Maud said quietly. "Too many Ministry people have died or been injured because of faulty potions from this lab -- even if no one else has recognised it yet. Did you really think you could control Sarah, keep her from being a danger, just because she loved you?"

Tony's shoulders slumped. "You don't know... the things she's been through..."

Oh, I know all right, Maud thought grimly. Aloud she said, "I know. You felt sorry for her. So did I. But it's over now. You know she can't come back to the lab after this. Aren't you going to lay charges against her?"

"No," he said sharply. "This stays between us. She can't do any more harm now; she never was good at anything but potions. Let her go."

Maud stared at him. "Tony, do you realise what you're saying?"

He grimaced. "I know it sounds mad. It's just -- I don't think she ever wanted things to turn out this way. She just got in over her head, and couldn't see any way out."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course I do. If I didn't, I'd have turned her in long ago. Promise me, love --" His eyes were suddenly earnest, pleading with her -- "don't tell anyone about this. Let's just keep it between us."

Part of her wanted to shout at him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him, anything to snap him out of this insanity; but she knew already that it was no use. Once Tony made up his mind, there was no arguing with him. She looked down at the floor and sighed, but made no further protest.

"There's a girl." Tony put his hand to the cut on his shoulder, wincing. "I'd best go look after this. Just you keep working, while I'm gone -- we can't afford to lose any more time now." He turned to leave.

"There's just one thing I want to know," said Maud.

He looked back at her, and now she could see the lines of tension in his face. "What, then?"

"If you loved Sarah, why didn't you tell her?"

His strained look eased a little, as though he were relieved that she had guessed without having to be told. "That's between Sarah and me, now, isn't it? But trust me, love, I had my reasons. Some things... just aren't meant to be."

Maud made no reply. Quietly she walked back to the cauldron of half-finished Clotting Concoction, and began to add the remaining ingredients to the simmering liquid within. She could feel Tony watching her, but she did not return his gaze, and in another moment the sound of retreating footsteps and a final-sounding click told her that he had left the room and shut the door behind him.

It was then, and only then, that she let out the breath she'd been holding, and the pounding of her heart began to slow. Sarah, she thought, sickened by the memory of the other woman's white and tear-stained face, the dead, hollow look in her eyes as she raised the knife. They had worked together for nearly two years. Oh, Sarah, where are you now?

* * *

Two days later, in a haze of exhaustion after a long and nerve-wracking week at the lab, Maud stopped by Euphemia Glossop's office on her way home. It was past eight o'clock, so she did not expect to find anyone there; it came as a surprise, then, when she Apparated into a lighted office and saw Glossop still sitting at her desk.

"Good evening, Miss Moody," she said, looking up at her with arched brows.

Maud blinked, and tried without much success to stifle her yawn. "I'm sorry, I just came to check my file... am I intruding?"

"Not at all." The older witch rose from her desk and walked toward her, looking down at her with a slight frown. "You do not look well," she said. "Is something the matter?"

Maud made a wan attempt at a smile. "Nothing you don't know about," she said. "It's been... a difficult week at the lab. Tony's being his usual charming self, but..."

"I quite understand," said Glossop. "I apologise for leaving you in such a difficult position -- but I must be candid and warn you that you may have to make do a little while yet. The Department has no one with the necessary expertise to fill the vacancy in your group, and the Enemy's most recent surge of activity makes it difficult to find time to screen potential new recruits. But that screening must be done -- we cannot afford to put another Death Eater in your team."

True to her implicit word, Maud had not told Glossop what had happened on the day Sarah left the lab. What Tony did not realise was that she hadn't needed to. Glossop had been aware of Maud's suspicions, and her reasons for them, for several weeks now; since then, the lab and its members had been under near-constant magical surveillance.

"But what if," said Maud slowly, "you recruited someone who's already been screened, or at least could be vouched for? Because I've been thinking of someone, or rather two people, who might be nearly ideal..."

"George Weasley and his twin, I presume?"

Maud was startled. "How did you know?"

"Imogen made the suggestion to me almost as soon as we learned of Sarah's departure. I will admit that I had been considering it, but did not want to mention it to you prematurely."

You wanted it to be a surprise, you mean, thought Maud, with a rush of relief. Not until then had she realised how much of a toll the last few weeks had taken on her; the thought of working in a fully staffed lab, with people she could trust, was so overwhelmingly welcome that she almost wanted to cry. "Are you -- do you plan to contact them, then?" Please, she added silently. Please, please, say yes...

"No," said Glossop, and then, as Maud's face fell, "We have already done so. I understand they have a successful business which they are reluctant to leave unattended, but the suggestion was made that they might assist on a temporary basis, and they appear to be considering it."

"Did you tell them," said Maud, who was feeling a little light-headed, "that they'd be able to make lots of lovely things that go boom?"

Glossop gave her a penetrating look over her pince-nez. "Not precisely, no. Miss Moody, may I suggest that you collect your letter and go home before you collapse?"

"Is there a letter?" Her heart leapt wildly. She had been nearly convinced the folder would be empty; after a miserable week like this, a letter from Snape seemed almost too much to hope for. She hurried to the familiar cabinet and opened the top drawer, her fingers instinctively finding the file and pulling out the single sheet it contained.

In response to your inquiry of the 25^th, we regret that we have yet to receive payment, it began. Maud clutched it against her chest and closed her eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude. During the first year of their separation she and Snape had exchanged letters regularly, and even met a few times, albeit in public settings that made it impossible even to speak freely. But when Voldemort had made his latest, barely-thwarted attempt on Harry Potter's life several months ago, Professor McGonagall had been seriously injured, and Snape -- as both he and Dumbledore had anticipated -- had been appointed acting Headmaster in her place. Since then Snape's letters had been coming farther and farther apart, and she had seen him not at all.

"Thank you," said Maud, folding the letter carefully into the pocket of her robes and turning to Glossop. "If we didn't have this..."

"I consider the use of my filing cabinet a small price to pay," said Glossop, "for the continuing health and welfare of two highly valuable operatives. Severus and I have been friends after a fashion for some years, but I do not flatter myself that I am capable of inspiring and motivating him as you do. And I am also aware that you yourself have made considerable sacrifices for the sake of the Department, which only Severus can hope to recompense. No, it is I, Maud, who should be thanking you."

If Maud had been Imogen, she would have flung her arms around Glossop and chirped, Oh, Phemie, I never knew you cared. However, although that was a scene that Maud would have given fifty Galleons to see, she would never dream of enacting it herself. She bowed her head, in half-embarrassed acknowledgement; then she gave Glossop a wavering smile, and Disapparated.

* * *

When she materialised in her flat, the main room was disconcertingly dark; only the faint luminescence of the pot of night-lilies, sitting by the curtained window, confirmed that she had even arrived in the right place. For a moment she looked about in confusion; then several voices at once chorused "Lumos!" and the room leaped into light.

She barely had time to recognise the smiling faces around her before an enormous, gaudily sparkling hat unfurled from the tip of Imogen's wand and clapped itself onto her head. A pile of wrapped gifts materialised atop the tea-table. The sofa cushions flipped aside ("Hullo, there's my hairbrush," said Lucinda in surprise) and a dazzling array of tropical birds erupted from beneath them, shrilling in three-part harmony a song that sounded remarkably like "Happy Birthday". It was then that Maud said, "Oh no," in a faint voice, and George Weasley had to catch her as her knees wobbled.

"None of that," he said, steering her firmly over to the armchair, "we've been sitting about for hours waiting for you to get home, and we're not going to be done out of our party now. Lucinda's cooked up enough hors d'oeuvres to feed three starving trolls, and Jennet's gateau is a thing of beauty, let me tell you. Besides, you only turn twenty-one once."

After the strain of the past week, celebrating her birthday -- or even remembering it -- had been the very last thing on Maud's mind. And since her twentieth birthday had come and gone in relative peace and quiet, she had never imagined her friends would conspire to have a party for her now.

"I... don't know what to say," she murmured, which was true as far as it went. What could she say, after all? They meant to be kind, and they had gone to considerable effort to arrange this celebration. There was nothing to be gained by telling them that all she really wanted was to curl up in bed with Snape's letter and go to sleep as soon as her troubled thoughts might allow.

"Then don't," said Imogen promptly. "No speeches required. In fact, if you tried to give one we'd have to stuff you in a bag and sit on you. Lucinda, trot out those canapés, won't you? I've been eyeing those smoked salmon and dill things for two hours now, and I swear if I don't have one this very minute, I'll go mad."

"Go?" said George, who had perched himself on the arm of the sofa, with a parrot on each shoulder and an exotic finch on the top of his head. "You mean we'd notice a difference?"

Jennet made a tsking sound and poked George in the ribs. "Rude thing. Can't I take you anywhere?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her and leaned down for a kiss; she raised her face to him invitingly, then plucked the smaller parrot off his shoulder and kissed it instead. No sooner had her lips touched it, however, than it burst like a tiny bubble, and she jumped back with a shocked "Oh!"

"Charm wore off," said George with an insouciant shrug. "You didn't think I'd bring a lot of real birds in here, did you? This carpet's grotty enough as it is."

"That's not true!" said Lucinda indignantly, emerging from the kitchen with a loaded tray in hand. "I did a Dusting Charm on it yesterday."

The worn and faded Persian carpet had been a source of contention ever since the day Lucinda had brought it home in triumph from a second-hand shop in the Kentish Town Road. No doubt it had been magnificent once, but now it was faded, slightly singed, and sported holes not even the best Darning Spells could conceal. Still, Lucinda loved it, and Maud had never had the heart to tell her how awful it was.

George, however, had no such scruples. "You did not," he said promptly. "If you had, there wouldn't be anything left."

Lucinda heroically ignored him. "Here," she said, proffering the tray to Maud. "Help yourself, there's lots."

Resigning herself to sociability, Maud took one of each kind of hors d'oeuvres and settled down to eat them. Imogen sailed by and pressed a drink of something red and effervescent into her hand; Maud sipped it without thinking, then gave a start as she felt herself floating off her chair.

"George!" Imogen said in exasperation, pulling Maud back down. "I should have known better than to let you make the punch."

"Couldn't help it," said George, grinning. "Red Balloon Soda's our latest thing, just had to try it out."

Fortunately, the effect faded after a few seconds, and Maud hooked her ankle around the leg of the chair before taking a second sip. Jennet, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the experience of levitation, and was sitting cross-legged in mid-air. The diamond on her finger winked in the light as she raised her glass for another drink; only then did Maud recall herself enough to ask, "How are the wedding plans coming?"

"Dire," said Jennet, with a sigh. "My aunt simply refuses to see reason. I keep telling her, no charms, no potions, no magic of any kind. But every few minutes, it's 'Oh, but dear, just a little Scintillating Charm on your veil,' and 'But the wedding cake has to sing, it's tradition,' and so ad infinitum. I thought she'd got all that out of her system when Rob married Laurel two years ago, but apparently not."

"Well," said Imogen, "you are like a daughter to her, and she's already made a lot of concessions. I mean, it had to come as a shock when you insisted on a Muggle ceremony, in a Muggle church, with only fifty guests and half of them Muggles too."

"She should have seen that coming, though," Jennet insisted, who had finished off the last of her drink and was now drifting slowly back down to the sofa. "I mean, I practically am a Muggle. And if we'd had anything like the big wizarding ceremony she wanted, with a lot of distant relatives and vague social acquaintances and an announcement in the Daily Prophet, we might as well have put up a sign with big flashing letters reading DEATH EATERS ATTACK HERE." She grimaced. "Even now I don't think I'm going to be able to relax until it's all over."

George reached out and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand in a gesture of solidarity. "You think you're worried," he said. "Fred's plotting some prank for the wedding and for once I've absolutely no idea what he's up to."

"Oh, well, after that, the most nefarious plans of You-Know-Who pale in comparison," said Imogen, rolling her eyes.

"I don't know how you two can make jokes about something like that," said Lucinda. "It's so awful."

"Awful but necessary," said Jennet philosophically. "Some days, if I didn't have George to make me laugh, I'd go mad. But you're right about one thing -- let's not talk any more about You-Know-Who. This is supposed to be a celebration."

"A double celebration, actually," said George, reaching for another canapé. "Yesterday Fred and I got an offer to branch out with our business, and today we decided it was too good to refuse. So, it looks like we'll have a fair bit more work coming in."

"George, that's wonderful!" said Jennet, looking surprised and pleased. "You didn't tell me --"

"Yeah, well, I thought you had enough on your mind these days," he said with a lopsided smile. "And I didn't want to say anything until I was sure." He patted her knee. "I'll tell you more about it later."

Relief washed over Maud, sweeping her weariness away. She wanted to throw her arms around George's neck and hug him until he couldn't breathe, but she settled for giving him a radiant smile instead.

He returned the smile hesitantly, with a faintly puzzled look, and it was only then that it hit her: George didn't know they'd be working together. And judging by the casual indifference with which his eyes flicked over Imogen, he had no idea that she was with the Department of Secrets either. Which meant...

Maud glanced over at Imogen for confirmation, and saw her friend's mouth curve up in a small, wicked smile. Obviously, she'd realised the extent of George's ignorance too -- and was already preparing to make capital of it. Oh, George, thought Maud in barely concealed delight, you are in for a surprise come Monday...

* * *

It was nearly eleven o'clock before the party ended. By that time Maud, having been prevailed upon to open her presents in front of the group, found herself the owner of an antique fountain-pen (Lucinda), a portable self-warming cauldron (Jennet) with a beaming, rosy-cheeked face on one side that stuck out its tongue and blew a loud raspberry when the cauldron was hot (George), and a small, beautifully framed foe-glass (brought by Imogen on behalf of Uncle Alastor, who had been called away that evening).

The final gift was both the largest and the most disconcerting. The first layer of tissue disclosed a demure white lace camisole; the second, a pair of black silk boxer shorts with little cauldrons on them (which, Maud noticed, with a blush that made George whoop and Jennet and Lucinda look puzzled, were not her size). The third gift would have made her blush even more if she'd dared to look at it for more than a second: a little red leather volume entitled The Magic of Love: Charms and Potions Every New Bride Should Know. From anyone else such gifts would have seemed cruel, but Imogen's enclosure read I'm not giving up hope, so neither should you -- and Maud was grateful for it.

And now, having waved everyone out the door and been forcibly turned away from the kitchen by Lucinda ("Don't be ridiculous, Maud. It's your birthday"), she was at last where she had so long hoped to be, alone in her bedroom with the door closed and her feet up, reading Snape's letter.

For some minutes Maud sat staring at the page; then she closed her hand slowly around it, crumpling the parchment. I will not hold you to a promise I never asked you to make... The line pierced her conscience like a double-edged sword. It was true that he had not really asked her to marry him, at least not in so many words. In anticipating his proposal, she had only meant to comfort him, to give him some lasting and definite assurance of her love that would ease the pain of parting. Now, however, she wondered if she had been presumptuous, binding him to a commitment he had not been fully prepared to make.

Of his feelings, then and now, she had no doubt. But he had always been more farsighted than she, and perhaps had foreseen what added difficulties their engagement might create. In freeing yourself, you may free me as well... Was that what he needed from her? Would the best proof of her love be to cut the ties between them and let him go?

And yet... the bond they shared could not be severed, except by death itself; even if she broke the engagement and ceased to write to him, there would be no freedom for either of them as long as the other yet breathed. If she had erred in declaring herself ready to become his wife, it was too late to undo that error now.

Noble idiots, both of you, growled her uncle's voice in her mind. It was what he had said to her after one of her painful public encounters with Snape, an unexpected meeting in Diagon Alley which had been conducted coolly and with the utmost brevity, and had left her shaken for days afterward. If you're going to be paranoid and miserable every time you see each other anyway, why don't you just stage a secret elopement and have done with it? It could hardly make matters worse.

Part of her had longed to take his advice, but the rest knew better: if she and Snape began seeing each other again, particularly as husband and wife, it would be difficult or impossible for them to stop. Stolen moments would lead to stolen hours, and the danger of being caught together would be enormously increased. Even if they met at some secure location like Glossop's office (a use of her facilities which Maud was quite sure the Director would not approve), their repeated mutual absences from wherever they were supposed to be at the time might well be noted -- which, taken in tandem with the rumours that had circulated during Maud's year at Hogwarts, could prove quite convincing evidence against them.

Not that a growing number of people didn't have the power to betray them anyway... At times Maud had caught Lucinda looking at the pot of night-lilies thoughtfully, and wondered if even she knew the truth. The whole charade seemed more ridiculous and even hopeless by the day, but even so, there was only one way out of it now.

Maud opened her hand again, smoothed the crumpled letter out upon her knee (If by next Tuesday we are still not in receipt of your funds, it now read) and folded it carefully. With a swift gesture of her wand she Banished it, to join the others in the old tin dispatch-box beneath her bed; then she turned over, slid between the cool sheets, and sank at last into the merciful oblivion of sleep.

* * *

"Maud. Maud!"

The voice, and the hand on her shoulder, were Lucinda's, jolting her awake. Maud blinked at the sunlight streaming through the open curtains, said foggily, "What? What's wrong?"

"The wireless," Lucinda blurted out. "I just heard the news --" She put her hands to her mouth, her eyes huge and haunted. "Oh, Maud, this is bad."

Maud had to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She sat upright, said with slow, deliberate emphasis, "Calm down. Tell me. What happened?"

Lucinda swallowed. "You-Know-Who's army attacked Azkaban last night. A lot of the guards were killed, and some of the creatures too -- even a dragon --"

A cold knife of fear stabbed Maud's heart. "But the Ministry would have known this was coming -- they must have been prepared."

"They were, or thought they were, but something in their plans went wrong. The prisoners were all freed, and oh, Maud, you know what that means --"

She knew, all right. And the bitter irony of it, after Severus's letter and her thoughts of last night, was almost too much to bear. Maud closed her eyes, breathed a name like a curse:

"Muriel."