Darkness and Light 02: Personal Risks

"What are you doing?" said a girl's voice.

Maud looked up to see Hermione Granger standing in front of the table, her head tilted to one side in an effort to read what Maud had written. "Practising the Hebrew alphabet," she said, and the younger girl nodded, as though satisfied.

"I knew I didn't recognise the letters. But... Hebrew?" Her eyes widened with an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety. "It's not going to come up in Ancient Runes, is it?"

If it had been any other Gryffindor talking to her, Maud would have ended the conversation coolly and returned to her work. Hermione, however, was a friend of Viktor Krum, and with such a mutual acquaintance it was only natural that they should have at least one conversation. In any case, Snape had left Hogwarts after breakfast this morning, and Muriel had no reason to be jealous of Maud talking to Hermione, so there was little to fear. "No," she admitted. "I'm learning it for Potions."

"Oh. Why not just use a translation spell?"

"Because I have to write Hebrew, not read it." When the other girl continued to look puzzled, Maud continued with a touch of exasperation, "You know, for when you have to draw a letter on the surface of a potion."

Hermione seemed surprised. "I've never heard of Hebrew letters being used that way." She paused. "It's not mentioned in Magic of the Middle East, I'm sure of it. There's a reference in A History of Potion-Craft in the Orient to Chinese wizards drawing lucky ideograms around the mouths of their cauldrons, but that's not the kind of thing you're talking about. Is it?"

"No." Maud set down her quill and closed the Hebrew primer she'd been reading. "Do you mean you've never come across any reference to tracing letters or runes over a potion? With a feather, for instance?" She didn't know Hermione very well, but from all accounts the girl was a walking encyclopaedia of magical theory. If she hadn't heard about it...

"I suppose it might be in Magica Hebraica," mused Hermione, but she sounded dubious. "Hang on, I'll go and have a look."

She returned some minutes later with a worn-looking volume, sat down at the end of Maud's table and began leafing through the pages. "No," she murmured. "No, that's not it... maybe in Chapter Eleven..."

There was a quicker way to solve this problem, Maud realised: look up the recipe for Dissolving Solution and see what it said. If she remembered correctly, it would be listed in Moste Potente Potions, which was kept in the library's Restricted Section; but Snape had already given Maud carte blanche in that regard, and Madam Pince no longer even asked for a note. As Hermione continued to flip pages and mutter to herself, Maud rose quietly from her chair and went to request the book.

One look at the relevant page confirmed her fears. The recipe did call for a griffin feather, but the instructions gave no hint that anything unusual should be done with it. There was certainly nothing in there about Hebrew letters, or drawing, or...

Last night, Maud had stayed away from the Slytherin dormitory until the last possible moment, and crawled into bed only after the lights were out, not wanting Muriel to see her. Even at that, the memory of Snape's touch still burned against her skin, and she had feared to look down at her arm lest she see the mark of his fingers glowing there.

Sleep had never seemed so far away. The only way she could find any rest at all was to tell herself, again and again, that she was making a fuss about nothing. How else could Snape have shown her what to do? It was, after all, a volatile potion, and the instructions had to be followed to the letter...

I'll kill him, echoed her uncle's voice in her mind.

"Did you find it?"

Maud jumped and nearly dropped the book. She turned to see Hermione standing there, Magica Hebraica in hand. "I couldn't," the younger girl admitted. Then, with renewed curiosity, "Where did you hear about this, anyway? Are you sure it wasn't just a joke?"

"Yes." Maud gave Moste Potente Potions back to Madam Pince and turned away. "Quite sure."

* * *

* * *

The cauldron in Snape's office had boiled dangerously high by the time Maud was able to escape from her final class and hurry down to the dungeon to stir it. It would serve him right, she thought bitterly, if she did it the wrong way and it blew up in his face. Nevertheless, she gave it the required six strokes anti-clockwise and waited for the bubbling to subside before leaving the office again and closing the door behind her.

She had taken less than three steps down the hall when Muriel's nasal, strident voice interrupted her. "What were you doing in Snape's office, Moody-girl? Or do I want to know?"

Maud stopped, but did not turn. "Oh, I'm sure you think you do know," she said. "But as a matter of fact, Professor Snape is away from Hogwarts today. Take your filthy rumours somewhere else, Muriel. There's nothing here for you."

It was the bluntest speech she'd made to Muriel yet, but it didn't seem to faze her. "You didn't come in until late last night," said the other girl softly, walking up beside her and poking Maud hard with the end of her wand. "Very late. Where were you, Moody? What were you doing?"

"Snogging in the Astronomy tower with George Weasley," snapped Maud, and began walking away.

Muriel grabbed a handful of Maud's robes, yanked her around and shoved her against the wall. "You think you're perfect, don't you? You think you're just so good. Let's see you prove it, then. Right now."

Maud wrenched away from her. "I have nothing to prove. And duelling is against Hogwarts rules, so put that wand back in your sleeve."

"Come on," whispered Muriel, her piggy eyes glittering in the half-light. She stepped into the middle of the hallway, elbows flexed, fingers clenching and unclenching around her wand. "Come on, you know you want to."

"Get splinched, Groggins."

"Ooh, the little blind girl has a temper. Does Snape know that? Maybe he does. Maybe he likes it. Is that what he was whispering in your ear last night?"

Maud froze, as though she had locked gazes with a Basilisk. She stared at Muriel, unable to speak.

"He leans awfully close when he's giving you directions, doesn't he?" said the other girl, a malicious grin splitting her face. "Not in class, oh no, our Snapey's far too clever for that. But when he thinks the two of you are alone..."

The blood leaped into Maud's face, and her wand into her hand. "Three," she said huskily. "Two. One."

"Apis!" shouted Muriel, and a stream of bees, buzzing furiously, shot out of the end of her wand. Maud ducked, feeling Athena's claws digging hard into her shoulder, and cried "Fumidus!" Instantly the corridor filled with thick grey smoke, and the bees vanished, leaving Muriel coughing into her sleeve.

There was no time to waste. Maud levelled her wand again. "Limus!"

"Contego!" Muriel spluttered, just in time. The spell rebounded off an invisible shield and splattered against the wall. Then she called out in a clearer voice, "Turbo!"

Instinctively Maud threw herself to one side, but it was too much for Athena. Frightened, the little owl took to the air -- straight into the middle of Muriel's hex. With a screech, she began tumbling in place, head over talons, wings flapping frantically as she strove to keep herself aloft.

The corridor whirled dizzily around Maud. Her stomach rebelled, and she dropped to her knees, hands over her mouth to keep from vomiting. She could barely gasp out the spell that broke her visual link to Athena: "Abiungo--"

And then Muriel's wand was at her throat.

"Not so great after all, are you?" Muriel was breathing hard, but there was no mistaking the triumph in her voice. "Without your owl, you're nothing but a useless cripple. And darling Snapey isn't here to rescue you. So... kneel, blind girl. Kiss my feet and promise to be good, and maybe I'll let you go."

Behind her, Athena still whirled and flapped desperately, her terrified hooting echoing down the hall. "Don't be a fool, Muriel," said Maud between her teeth. "Somebody will be down here any moment. You want me to tell you you've won? Fine. You've won. You're better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"It's a start." Muriel flicked Maud's cheek with the wand, hard enough to bruise. "Now ask me how I knew about you and Snape."

Maud lifted her head, eyes straining for a glimpse of the other girl's face, but the world remained black. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so helpless.

"Go on," insisted Muriel, "ask."

"All right." Maud's voice was barely audible. "How did you know?"

Muriel gave a little crow of delight. "I didn't! I was just winding you up. You mean-- it's really true? You were with him last night? Like that?" She giggled. "Oh, you're going to be in so much trouble when I tell Umbridge... You could be sent down, you know. And that's nothing to what they'll do to Snape--"

There was no time to hesitate, no time even to think. Maud whipped her wand free of her robes, pointed it in the direction of Muriel's voice, and spoke a single word, cold and clear:

"Obliviate."

There was an awful silence. Muriel's grip on her slackened, and Athena's frantic screeching stopped. A moment later Maud felt the little owl's talons close on her shoulder, and she put up a hand to calm the trembling bird. She could taste bile in her throat as she whispered, "Iungo."

Muriel was sitting against the wall, her wand fallen from her hand, her eyes vacant. "Hullo," she murmured vaguely. "Where am I? And what are you doing here?"

Hating you. Hating myself. Violating everything I thought I stood for. Tears prickled behind Maud's eyes. "It's not important," she said thickly, picking up Muriel's wand and handing it back to her. "Just-- you'd better come with me. We're going to be late for class."

* * *

* * *

Maud had never imagined she'd take her uncle up on that offer, but by the time night fell on Hogwarts, she was seriously considering it. Where was Snape, anyway?

The potion he'd entrusted to her care had been blue and watery at the first stirring, purple and glutinous at the second, and now, finally, it had turned as black as Marmite and was nearly as thick. Yet she had no instructions that would help her identify the potion or decide what ought to be done with it. Snape had told her he would be back before now. But here it was ten o'clock, and still no sign.

Was she meant to come down here to stir the potion in another five hours? Surely not: it was against Hogwarts rules for students to leave their dormitories after lights out, and Snape -- his uncharacteristically reckless behaviour of last night notwithstanding -- would not expect her to break the rules, nor be pleased if he learned that she had done so.

But if she didn't tend to the potion, who would? Potter?

Now it smelled like Marmite, too. Maud made a face and put down the spoon. What a splendid day she'd been having. All she needed was to have Snape's cauldron boil over at three in the morning and flood the dungeons. Then he'd probably come back and make her clean it up.

Helplessly she glanced around the room, hoping for some sign of a note, a recipe, a book left lying out; but typical of Snape, he had left his office in clinically perfect order, and it yielded no clues. Her only hope was to talk to Snape, or at least find out where he might be. But how?

Athena, no doubt sensing her mistress's frustration, sidled closer to Maud's ear and nibbled it comfortingly. Maud gave a reluctant smile, put up a hand to stroke the little owl--

--and just like that, she knew.

A few minutes later, armed with parchment and quill, she sat down at the table in the Slytherin common room and wrote the first three words that came into her head. The contents of the message weren't important anyway: all that mattered was the address. Carefully she folded the paper over, sealed it with a touch of her wand, and printed "Professor Severus Snape" on the outside. Then, with some difficulty since she was seeing through Athena's eyes and therefore couldn't actually look at Athena, she rolled up the parchment and tied it to the owl's leg.

Ever since the incident with Muriel, Athena had seemed withdrawn and even a bit depressed: but now, seeing the letter, she hopped up and down excitedly. As a seeing-eye owl, she seldom had the opportunity to deliver mail. She would put her heart into this, Maud knew. If Snape could be located within any reasonable distance, Athena would fly to him as fast as her wings would carry her.

On the other hand, if Snape was more than a few miles away, Maud would lose the visual link before Athena found him. But it was still worth trying. Even if only the message reached Snape, at least he would know Maud was looking for him.

None of the other Slytherins lounging about the room seemed to notice, or care, what Maud was doing: after all, they sent owls to their friends and relatives practically every day. Maud chose one of the high-backed chairs before the fire and lowered herself into it, taking deep breaths to quell her nerves. Then she lifted Athena in her cupped hands, feeling the little owl's warmth, her quick erratic heartbeat.

"Go," she whispered.

At once Athena zoomed off, skimming the common room's low ceiling. She had to circle three times, narrowly avoiding the hanging lamps, before the door opened and some more students came in; then she flashed through the opening and away, veering left, right, left again, and up the stairs.

Maud's fingers dug into the arms of the chair as the world dipped and soared around her. Sharing Athena's vision in flight was never a comfortable experience, especially indoors. But at last Athena found one of the school's many owltlets, those cleverly concealed openings specifically designed for the use of her kind: in a twinkling she passed through the outer walls and into the wintry night.

She had sent the little owl into miserable weather, Maud realised with a pang of guilt: even though she couldn't feel the chill as Athena did, she could see the thick clouds covering the moon, the icy fields and the hard sleet driving down. For a moment Athena's wing-beats faltered, making Maud's vision lurch as she plummeted through the air: but the little owl caught herself before she had fallen more than a few feet, and stubbornly carried on.

Over the Hogwarts grounds she flapped, past Hagrid's lighted hut, and into the forbidden forest. There, amid the dark skeletons of the trees, Athena slowed her pace and glided, her gaze sweeping the uneven ground as though in search of prey.

Now that was odd. The only explanation Maud could think of was that Athena must be hungry, and felt the need of a snack to fortify herself before beginning her task in earnest. But no sooner had she framed the thought when a mouse scurried out of the underbrush, and Athena stolidly ignored it. What was she doing?

Still the owl flew on, weaving her way among the trees, until she reached a small clearing half choked with thorns and brambles. She circled this area slowly before coming to light on an overhanging branch, and Maud clenched her fists in impatience. Something had gone wrong, she thought. Athena must be confused. Perhaps Muriel's whirlwind hex had--

Then she realised what the owl was seeing, and the blood froze in her veins.

Near the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by the brush, a dark shape lay sprawled upon the ground. His robes were in tatters, the side of his face black with blood. As Athena left her perch and fluttered toward him he made an effort to pull himself up, only to collapse once more upon the snow-dusted grass.

Undaunted, Athena lighted on the wounded man's shoulder and hopped toward the pallid crescent of his face. When he failed to respond, she nibbled at his ear, but still he did not move. At last, evidently bewildered, she backed away and sat gazing at Snape's motionless body while the sleet pelted down around them.

Maud had to fight the impulse to fling herself out of her chair. Silently she cried out to the owl who was her only means of sight: Come back! We have to get to him -- you have to show me -- leave him and come back!

The link she shared with Athena was visual, nothing more; but the spell did create a certain bond, which familiarity and the passing years had deepened into near-empathy. Athena might not have been able to hear Maud's cry, but she knew her mistress well enough. Her hesitation lasted only a moment longer: then with sudden decisiveness she clawed the letter free of her leg, dropped it on Snape's limply outstretched hand, and launched herself back into the air.

There was no time to waste. "Abiungo," whispered Maud, and the image of the forest, with its winding paths and gloomy close-set trees, vanished. Blindly she rose from the chair and felt her way along the rough stone wall toward the door.

It was not the first time Maud had walked the Hogwarts corridors without Athena. Over the last few weeks, knowing that her unfamiliarity with the castle put her at a disadvantage, she had forced herself to memorise the routes from her dormitory to several key places: the Great Hall, the dungeon where Snape taught Potions, Dumbledore's office...

Dumbledore. He would help her -- help Snape -- if anyone would. Dumbledore was the one to whom her mentor reported, both as a teacher and as a spy; he was also, Maud sensed, the closest thing Snape had to a father. If she could only get to him before it was too late!

Fingertips brushing the wall, she counted her footsteps, moving as rapidly as she dared. Fifty-three, fifty-four -- and left. At the next turning, it was right: and then she had to go up a narrow staircase of seventeen steps, carefully avoiding the sixth, which had an unfortunate tendency to flatten out and leave the unwary student sprawling.

The entrance to Dumbledore's office was thirty-eight paces from the top of the stairs, behind a stone gargoyle. Maud put her hand on the statue's rough head, forcing herself to take deep breaths, to think rationally. The last time she had visited here, the password had been...

"Treacle fudge," she said.

There was no response, but Maud had not really expected one: of course Dumbledore would have changed the password by now. She tried the names of several other confections, ranging from the delectable to the grotesque. None of them worked. With mounting frustration she gripped the gargoyle with both hands and began rattling off the names of every kind of food and drink she could think of: still nothing.

"Pumpkin juice," she said hoarsely. "Black pudding. Bouillabaisse--"

"Maud?"

The voice was George's, and it sounded uncharacteristically serious. Maud froze, wondering if it was safe to talk to him, but he anticipated her:

"It's all right, there's no one about. What are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to the Headmaster," she said shakily. "Right now. It's important."

"Dumbledore's not in his office. He's not even at Hogwarts. Look, Maud, I--"

"Not... here?" Even her worst fears had not included this. She had seen Dumbledore in the Great Hall at supper: there had been no reason to think that he planned to go away tonight. There was, of course, the possibility that he had gone to find Snape. But she dared not risk her mentor's life on a possibility.

There was nothing else for it. Maud had to go out, into the cold and the sleet and all the dangers of the forbidden forest, by herself. As soon as Athena got back, she'd--

George's hand came down, gently, on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry," he said, and taking her hand he laid something small and soft into the palm. It was warm, but utterly limp, and her fingers could detect no heartbeat.

"Athena," she whispered.