A Merciless Affection

Chapter 23: Bravi, Bravi, Bravissimi...

A night's sleep, as unrefreshing as it was, still managed to blunt Sarah's unease and unhappiness to the point where it did not torment her upon waking. Perhaps she was still too tired to really face anything. Whatever the reason for her reprieve, it did not last long. As she went down to the Great Hall, she discovered that the results of last night's disaster were even worse than she could possibly have imagined.

Umbridge had gotten her fondest wish. According to 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight'--the notices of which were plastered all over the walls--the High Inquisitor was now Headmistress of Hogwarts.

The change was, predictably, the only topic of discussion among the students. Rumors were spreading from mouth to mouth in the hallways: Dumbledore had fled the school when the Minister attempted to arrest him. No one seemed very concerned about what the charges had been. But the tales of his escape exploits were fast becoming the stuff of legend.

Harry Potter had been there to see it, the rumors said, as well as Marietta Edgecombe, who was reportedly now under Madam Pomfrey's care for an unspecified injury. But as Sarah came into the Great Hall, she was surprised to see Potter holding court at the Gryffindor table. He had--somehow--not been expelled.

Whatever the explanation for that mystery, the reality of Dumbledore's displacement was undeniable. Dolores Umbridge sat in the headmaster's chair at the staff table. Professor McGonagall, who usually sat next, was absent. Everyone on the other side had moved down, taking advantage of Umbridge's former (and now empty) place, so that she had a wide expanse of table to herself. Snape, down on the end, sat glowering over his breakfast. But then, he usually glowered over breakfast. The rest of the teachers wore guarded expressions of dismay.

The owl post brought more bad news:

Congratulations on a job well done last night! The Inquisitorial Squad is now official. You may wear your badges openly. They have been fully activated, and you may now use them to award or remove House points. I am sure you will use this power wisely to help me restore order to the school.

(signed) Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts

Sarah looked up at the staff table again, but Umbridge wasn't paying attention to the students. She had called Snape over to speak with her. When Sarah saw him nodding agreeably in response, she lost her appetite altogether. She left the rest of her breakfast unfinished and headed for her workroom.

* * *

Wherever Sarah went for the rest of the day, she saw I.S. members abusing their new badges. They did not go entirely unpunished. As she was on her way upstairs during the morning break, Sarah happened to see Fred and George Weasley push Montague into the Vanishing Cabinet near the History of Magic classroom. They grinned at her.

"He'll show up again..."

"...sometime."

"Too bad it wasn't a Vanishing Bin," Sarah commented.

"Now there's an idea..."

"Excellent, Sarah, thank you!" The two went on their way, deep in conversation.

Sarah was not so enthusiastic in her own destination. The thought of Umbridge sitting behind Dumbledore's desk...the thought of knowing that it was her fault...was nauseating. But when she reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office, she saw a small notice hanging from the gargoyle's nose: This area is now off-limits. The new headmistress's office is located in the south corridor. A small diagram indicated it had replaced the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office. Convenient, that.

After retracing her steps, Sarah knocked hesitantly on Umbridge's door. She was admitted into to the same old room, except that Umbridge's desk now sported a large sign declaring its occupant to be the HEADMISTRESS, in gold letters.

"I really am very busy," Umbridge said. "What is it?"

Sarah had fantasized about laying her silver 'I' on the desk. About saying, I'm sorry, I can't help you any longer. About saying, Sod off, you bitch. But none of those things were an option.

"I just wanted to let you know that I've been thinking, and I don't think I'd better wear my badge openly."

"Whyever not?"

"Well, I think I would be more effective within Gryffindor, you know, if my true loyalties," Sarah almost choked over the words, "aren't known."

"Ah, yes. I quite see your point. Very well, dear. That will do." If Sarah had ever heard a dismissal, that was one, and she made a grateful retreat.

Sure, she accused herself, cover up your guilt. Keep on feeding the toad her diet of little Gryffindor flies. Even if that's still the only thing you can do if you want to survive unscathed.

Not unscathed. No, not unscathed.

'I can imagine how very painful it must be to live, Julia, to even want to live, knowing the way you have betrayed....'

NO! Shut it off. Shut it all off. It wasn't the same. It doesn't apply. It means nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Sarah made her way up to Gryffindor Tower. All the way, she had to fight the impulse to make it the Astronomy Tower instead.

* * *

She almost didn't go to Snape's rooms that night. Even the impromptu (and still ongoing) fireworks display--engineered, she would have bet her last Galleon, if she had one, by the Weasley twins--did not do much for her mood. She had pondered it all day, wondering if she could stop herself from screaming at him, from hexing him, from collapsing in tears in front of him. After dinner, she headed downstairs, meaning to work on her moonstone mixture. But as she got closer to her workroom, she couldn't help thinking about all the lovely toxins she had access to in her store cupboard. That would not do.

Besides, she decided, turning back toward his office, she needed to know more about what had happened last night than student rumors could tell her. In his office, as a student, she would be less tempted to fly out at him, knowing that someone else could happen along anytime.

"Come in," Snape said. When she opened the door, he seemed surprised. "What it is, Miss Darkglass?"

She stepped in and shut the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked, a note of genuine concern leaking into his voice. "Were you injured last night?"

"No, I wasn't part of the chase scene. I was told off to babysit Edgecombe and her face. Have you seen her?" Sarah sat down. She let her head fall into her arms on the edge of the desk.

"Yes. Madam Pomfrey had me up there this afternoon. She's running out of ideas to try."

"Can you make something for her?"

"I'm not sure. The jinx may only respond to another spell, not to a potion," he said. His lip curled slightly. "Why should you care about a few more pimples on a smarmy little Ravenclaw traitor's face?"

"Because it's my fault," Sarah said, some of the grief at her guilt breaking through. "If I had been able to warn her that Umbridge was after her.... If you had told Professor Dumbledore what was going on, none of this would have happened!" She kept her voice down, but the invective spilled out all the same.

"What makes you believe that I didn't tell Professor Dumbledore what was going on?" he snapped. "What had I to tell him that would have changed anything? Did you know about this plot to capture Potter last night?"

"No," she admitted. "Not until it was already happening. But if he had been warned before that there was some hazard...."

"You seriously believe," Snape hissed, interrupting, "that the arrogant Mr. Potter would have listened to any suggestions that his clever little scheme was about to go awry? And since Professor Dumbledore saw fit to take all the consequences upon himself, the boy has managed to scrape through with yet another lesson left unlearned."

"It might have made a difference," she argued. Her shoulders sagged. "I still feel guilty for not doing something."

"Well, don't. It would have made no difference. More to the point, it makes no difference now." He held her eyes, and it was difficult not to want to believe him, regardless of what her conscience said. As if he saw the lingering weakness, he added, "You've chosen a path where such things will happen, Sarah. So, stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Sarah winced and looked away. She asked, more quietly, "What happened to Professor Dumbledore?"

"A 'working exile' was how it was described to me."

"He didn't get taken to Azkaban?"

"No, of course not." Snape frowned.

"I just...I wasn't sure if what everyone has been saying is just wishful thinking."

"If you mean, did Professor Dumbledore hex Minister Fudge into St. Mungo's, no. But he did escape without them laying a finger on him, and he is still, as they say, very much 'at large.'"

"How bad is this?" Her voice was the thinnest of whispers.

He sat far back in his chair and sighed. "It could be worse. Of course, I must be seen to be helping our new headmistress, since Dumbledore's continued absence is to the Dark Lord's advantage--or so he may suppose, even though it means I can no longer report directly on Dumbledore's actions." He actually looked somewhat relieved that that was the case. "Besides, Umbridge has given me a little taste of what I can expect if I don't support her." He pushed a folded letter across the desk to her.

Professor Snape, (it read)

In spite of your reassurances, I was unable to extract any useful information from Harry Potter. Are you quite sure you gave me the correct potion? This failure suggests to me that your skills may not be quite as spectacular as I have been led to believe. You are now to consider yourself on probation. I hope that I can expect better things from you in the future. I would regret having to find a new Potions master.

(signed) Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts

"Potion?" Sarah asked.

"She tried to question Potter with Veritaserum this morning. Or what she thought was Veritaserum. Speaking of which...." He stood and opened the hidden compartment, behind the store cupboard, where he kept completed potions. He drew out a smallish, plain, wooden box, with a complicated lock on the lid. After closing the compartment, he brought the box to the table. "I think this would be safest in your trunk. In the bottom of your trunk."

She looked at him questioningly.

"My Veritaserum stores. Under no circumstances must Dolores Umbridge be allowed to question Potter under Veritaserum. If she should order me to supply another bottle, or attempt to help herself to one, I want these hidden someplace she would never think to look for them."

Sarah fingered the seam on the box. It was a measure of how terrible the situation was that she wasn't even tempted to say anything amusing about her own potential uses for the contents.

The door sprang open behind her. Sarah's heart almost stopped before she managed to turn around, fully expecting to see Umbridge bursting in with the I.S. The reality was not much better. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Why do you always turn up?" he sneered at Sarah, stopping short when he saw her.

"I was wondering the same thing about you," Sarah riposted. In spite of her scare--or maybe because of it--she wanted to make the boy pay...for a great many things. "It reminds me of the little worms you find when the spade gets upended."

"Why aren't you wearing your badge? Afraid the ickle Gryffindors won't like you anymore?"

"That is enough!" Snape came out from behind the desk to stand in front of it, neatly occluding Malfoy's view of the box on his desktop. "What is the meaning of this, Draco? I do not recall inviting you here to insult one of my N.E.W.T. students." His voice was icier than she had ever heard him use with a Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, sir," Malfoy said, attempting to appear appropriately sheepish. On his narrow, aristocratic face, it merely looked as if he had bitten into something he hadn't planned on eating. "I just thought she ought to have her badge on, sir."

"What are you talking about, Draco?" His puzzled expression was entirely convincing.

"She's on the Inquisitorial Squad, sir," the boy responded, shooting a glare at her. "A mistake if you ask me, sir." Sarah winced inwardly at his excessive attempt to pacify Snape with honorfics.

"Why is that?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Well, sir, it's not as if she can be trusted."

"Draco," he asked coldly, "do you know who Miss Darkglass's father was?"

The boy's eyes widened a little; apparently he hadn't thought of that until he was reminded of her family name.

"But...sir...she got sorted into Gryffindor!"

"Where, as I believe our new headmistress has already realized, she is able gather information no one else can. Now, may I assist you in some way?"

Malfoy blinked, as if suddenly remembering the real reason he was there. "It's one of those blasted fireworks, sir. Someone drove it down into our common room. It's causing an awful mess now. All the furniture is knocked over, and the statue of Sir George already had a big scorch mark down one side when I left." The boy looked as much excited as distressed. Sarah, reading between the lines, guessed that it had been a Slytherin who brought it down: a little fun gone wrong. If Malfoy had truly considered it an emergency, she doubted he would have taken the time to insult her.

"I see," Snape said smoothly, probably discerning the same thing. "Well, then. Miss Darkglass, if you intend to keep working on your Potions project this evening, perhaps you can return later. Otherwise, your question will have to wait until tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. I'll try back later."

"Come along, Draco." Snape swept the boy out ahead of him, leaving Sarah alone in the office.

She dived for the box, cursing at Malfoy under her breath. A few quick taps, a few words, and the doorway behind the tapestry was revealed. She ducked through, making her way back into the bedroom.

Under the bed? She knelt down to twitch up the dust ruffle, and found something she did not expect. Hesitantly, she pulled it out into the light.

It was a broad stone bowl, with runes and symbols carved around its edge. She had studied Ancient Runes up through O.W.L. level, but she couldn't make much of these. One, at least, had to do with memory, another with containment. She regretted, for the first time, only receiving an "Acceptable" on that O.W.L. Whatever it was, it had not been there during the Christmas break. It almost certainly had something to do with whatever Snape was doing to remove her from his mind before Potter's lessons, and he would probably come unhinged if he discovered her tampering with it. She carefully slid the bowl back into precisely its previous location and began looking for another hiding place.

She wanted it convenient to the bed, so she could retrieve it quickly. She didn't dare Portkey it up to her room now--chances were good that someone was in there, and she hadn't made the necessary preparations. As she stared around at the spare bed frame, a new idea occurred to her. She flicked back the covers, lodged the box carefully between the pillows, and made up the bed again. Once she did get back to her room, it would only take a few quick twists of her ring to carry the Veritaserum away to safety, with no one the wiser. Later tonight, when everyone was sleeping, she could bury the box at the bottom of her trunk.

She was approaching the tapestry, after giving each of the potions in the workroom a quick look in passing, when she heard another knock on the office door. She froze. The door creaked.

"Severus?" asked a querulous voice. It was Professor McGonagall.

Sarah peeked out at the edge of the tapestry, hoping against hope that her Head of House hadn't dragged some luckless Slytherin down to atone for some misadventure. But the woman was alone. She was looking around the office hesitantly.

"Professor McGonagall?" Sarah whispered, twitching the tapestry partway aside. "Is the door closed?"

The older woman went red to the roots of her hair. "Well, yes." She only seemed slightly relieved when Sarah emerged from hiding fully clothed. Dubiously, she asked, "Where is Professor Snape?"

"He had to go deal with a little fireworks problem in the Slytherin common room."

The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched, then she schooled her expression to sternness. "What are you doing here at this time of the evening? Anyone could come in and see you."

Sarah decided not to say anything about Malfoy. "I am working on a difficult N.E.W.T. project," she said, a bit loftily. "I do have the right to consult with my teacher from time to time."

"Don't you get high-handed with me, young lady!" McGonagall's mouth was a thin line; Sarah had never heard her speak that way to a student. "Of all the hazards we've been under, the exposure of your situation is the one I've feared most. That, apparently, was a mistake. But must you risk making things worse than they already are? I warned you about carelessness, and you seem have ignored me." The woman sounded very close to tears, and she sank down in a chair, looking exceedingly old.

Maybe it was compassion, maybe it was just her guilt bubbling out, but Sarah found herself on her knees in front of her Head of House. "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. I didn't mean to sound snippy. And we have been careful."

"I wish I could feel sure of that."

"I don't want to get caught anymore than you want me to. Nor does Severus. And he has more to lose than either of us."

"I just didn't...expect events of late."

And I could have warned you.... Sarah squashed the thought. Snape was right--it made no difference now. At least no helpful one.

"Is Professor Dumbledore all right?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Don't be concerned about that. It's not him I fear for so much. In a way, he's safer out of Hogwarts. The question is, how safe are we here without him?"

Sarah did not know what to say. She clenched the woman's thin hands, trying to convey some of her own young strength (however limited it had become) to McGonagall. After a time, McGonagall stirred. "This is hardly a fit scene for curious eyes, is it? You and I in Severus's empty office."

"Well, if anyone else comes looking for him, you've come to complain on my behalf about his ruthless requirements for my project. I'm so exhausted from potion-brewing that I have to sleep twelve hours a day."

McGonagall blinked, seeming not to sense that it had been half a joke. "Really? It's that apprenticeship, isn't it? If he's pushing you too hard...."

"He takes very good care of me," Sarah broke in. It felt very strange to be defending his behavior to anyone but herself. "He's no more demanding than you were in Transfiguration. You were just...nicer about it." Sarah forced herself to grin.

The woman's eyes studied her, seeing more, Sarah feared, than she would ever have revealed willingly. More, maybe, than there was to reveal, products of an overweary imagination. "I wish there had been another way," McGonagall said, reaching out a hand unexpectedly to push a lock of Sarah's hair back from her eyes. "When I saw how frightened you were, my courage nearly failed me. I was sure I was condemning you to a terrible fate."

"It didn't show," Sarah said, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of her voice.

"Is it so very bad?" McGonagall's study of her became even more earnest. "Albus never meant your unhappiness."

"I'm not unhappy. Not exactly. Not right now." She shook her head. Then everything she feared rose up into her throat, and her words dissolved into a sob. "I just don't know what will become of me." She laid her head on McGonagall's lap, the tears flowing.

"Oh dear," McGonagall said, squeezing the hand she still held. "I wish I knew...."

The door opened again.

"What's the matter here?" Snape asked, taking in the scene with a frown. "What's happened, Minerva?"

The moment he appeared, Sarah had lifted her head, swallowing her sobs, trying to compose herself. She stood up and wiped her face with the back of her hand, the sleeve of her robe.

"Just a little feminine emancipation of emotions," McGonagall said. "Probably nothing you would understand."

Snape's brow furrowed as he looked from one to the other and back. There was a hint of alarm in his eyes, as if he were afraid of what they might have said to each other in his absence. "Have you come here merely to insult me, Minerva, or do you have something significant to say?"

McGonagall rose to her feet, setting her shoulders firmly. "I have a message for you," she said cryptically. She reached in the deepest pocket of her robes and pulled out a slip of folded parchment. "Everything is going as well as can be expected, so far. But he thought this was important. I took it down word for word."

Snape took the parchment and unfolded it. He scanned whatever brief message it held, and his expression darkened.

"He may be right," McGonagall remarked quietly.

"I'll think about it," Snape growled.

"I'll make sure he knows you're considering his request," McGonagall said, moving to excuse herself from the office. "After all the risk that was taken to send it."

"Very well, damn it." He closed his fist around the parchment. "Tell him: very well."

If McGonagall looked a trifle smug, her obvious weariness covered it well.

"Goodnight, Sarah. Severus," she said, and departed, closing the door behind her.

They stood in silence for a moment, as if they were part of some tableau that had ceased to move when the third player left.

"If I ask you what that was about, will you tell me?" Sarah asked, feeling weary herself. Too weary and too unbalanced by the interrupted relief of her feelings to play games.

He handed her the crumpled note.

She smoothed it across her palm. It was very short, only a single sentence, in McGonagall's fine handwriting. Curious, how such a simple instruction could occasion so much tension:

Take her home for the Easter holidays.

"He can't mean Aunt Portia's?" Sarah asked. An idea full of dread swept over her. "Not the Notts'?"

"No," Severus said. "Not your home."

"Not that I have one," Sarah said. Then, as she saw what he was saying, she blinked at a notion that seemed the oddest one of all. It was almost impossible to imagine him living anywhere except at Hogwarts. "Where's home when you're not here?"

"I keep a flat," he said, his voice strangely hollow.

"A flat?" she echoed. "Where?"

He looked at her with hard eyes. "In Knockturn Alley."