The mirror was ancient and ornate, gilded spirals and loops on a copper frame. Pale light illuminated it, weak enough that the corners of this strange room remained in shadow. I stared at the darkness with my jaw clenched, my fingers twitching to flood it with light. But before the idea could take root in my mind, I was suddenly approaching the mirror, my curiosity piqued.
It glimmered in the blackness like a beacon. As I walked, pillars loomed out of the shadows on either side of me, suspicious sentinels that made my skin crawl. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I drew closer; pressure hung in the air like an oppressive cloth pressed to my face.
But when I finally stood before it, everything was suddenly anticlimactic. All I saw was my own reflection: pale face; tired, dull eyes; dark hair with ribs of grey here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was a terrible letdown.
I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding, glaring into the mirror. I glared back at myself, faint lines appearing around my eyes and lips. I suddenly looked a lot older than twenty-two, older than I’d ever thought I could be right now. It wasn’t reassuring... something was very wrong, that I suddenly knew without a doubt.
Then, as I was staring, my reflection started to change.
It didn't even occur to me to scream. I only balked, my mouth hanging open, as I wavered and rippled in the mirror, my features blurring beyond recognition. Then, in mere seconds, everything stopped — and Callidus stared out at me.
My mouth snapped shut again, but Callidus was motionless, staring at me with his frozen blue eyes, devoid of any expression or emotion. He was paler than normal, his hair blowing in a silent breeze that I couldn’t feel, and all he was doing was staring. I hunched for a moment, feeling somehow ashamed of his continuous watching. It was as if I’d done something terrible.
Then, swallowing hard, I reached out with a shaking hand, trying to ignore my screaming instincts that this was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Something was very wrong, and I needed to know what, and to know I had to touch the mirror, though I couldn’t understand why.
The moment my fingers touched it, burning pain scorched my chest. I opened my mouth, a strangled yell trying to fight its way out of my throat. But no sound came; it hurt too much to even draw a breath.
I stared down at my chest, where blood was steadily soaking my robes, drenching them so heavily that it was starting to drip to the floor. My robes were becoming a sickening Christmas decoration, red and green clashing horribly. But it was the darker things in the red that worried me, proof that this was more than just a normal wound. This was a killing blow.
I looked up again before I could help it, my eyes rushing up to Callidus. I froze, aware of the blood still running down my chest, seeping in to stick to my skin. He was smiling, eyes glittering with sudden malice. He held a sword in his hand, its blade glistening with blood. My blood, I realised in horror. Callidus’s smile widened to a vicious grin.
The ground was cold and unforgiving as I fell to my knees, choking sounds croaking from my throat. My balance gone, I slumped to the side, blood clinging to my hands as I cradled them to my chest, the bizarre comforting gesture worthless. I closed my eyes, knowing there was nothing I could do, knowing I was giving up, and hated myself.
Blood formed a warm pool around me as I died.
I jerked into consciousness, my wide eyes frantically searching the darkness. Before my mind had come to terms with the fact that it had been a horrible, horrible, nightmare, my hands flew up to my chest, patting nervously. My robes were filthy but dry, not even a spot of wetness on them. A sigh of relief spilled from me, before I remembered what had happened.
I hauled myself up to a sitting position, waiting furiously for my eyes to adjust, before a quiet, soft voice said, “Please, don’t move. You’ll only make things harder for yourself.” My nerves jangled as I looked around, desperately trying to find the source of the voice.
Light blossomed near me, pale, but strong enough that I could make out the woman sitting in a chair near me. I glared at her for a moment, trying to remember where I’d seen that silver-streaked red hair and pale, tired face before.
Then I looked into her frozen sapphire eyes, and knew I was in very big trouble.
“You!”
She smiled faintly, her expression sad. “I see you remember me.” I did, though it had taken a few moments; even my memory wasn’t good enough that I could immediately remember a woman who’d burst into my office last January.
I nodded. “You told me to protect your boy. That was Callidus, wasn’t —” Burning pain suddenly filled my forehead and I yelped, my hands flying to my head as my vision swam and I swayed unsteadily.
She was at my side instantly. “Here, drink this.” She pressed a vial against my lips and cold liquid slid down my throat like ice, making me shiver uncontrollably. I choked, spluttering, but she merely laid a cool hand against my cheek, watching me silently. What I’d thought was just heat from my sudden panic now seemed more dangerous, making me sweat in my robes, though this room didn’t seem particularly warm. I opened my mouth, but she began to speak.
“You were drugged when you arrived here, a potion to ensure that you wouldn’t have enough strength when you came to. Unfortunately, you seem to have had a reaction to it. I’ve done my best to keep the fever in check, but I couldn’t do anything substantial until you woke.”
I gasped, shivering; the temperature seemed to have suddenly plummeted. But my face still seemed unnaturally hot. The horrible juxtaposition of the two extremes only succeeded in making me nauseous. “How bad?” I finally managed to croak out.
“Not particularly threatening,” she said, now moving her hand to my forehead. When she touched it, she hissed, apparently alarmed at how warm I was. “The worst should soon be over.” I didn’t need to hear her say what I could see in her eyes: Hopefully.
Pain flooded my head again, so intense I didn’t know if it was the fever, or my scar, or both. But my scar... that was impossible, wasn’t it? Then it plummeted to my stomach, so painful I nearly screamed, clutching my hands to my stomach almost desperately.
Then the pain shot up to my head again, and my vision began to darken. For one terrifying moment I thought I was going to faint. Pain almost burst through my eyes and I fell off the bed, my palms slapping against the stone floor. She silently conjured a basin, and I felt myself throwing up as the agony exploded through my head. I would have cried out if I could, but was only able to retch again and again, hardly noticing what I was actually bringing up. She put one hand on my forehead, supporting me as my head throbbed and my stomach churned.
When at last it was over, I leaned back, coughing weakly. A cloth was offered for me to clean my mouth, followed by a glass of water. As I sat back on my heels, wearily rubbing my forehead and trying to catch my breath, she regarded me almost speculatively. I grew tired of this after only a few minutes.
“What?”
She shrugged, still watching me. “Forgive me, but after all I’ve heard about you... well, I suppose I put you on a pedestal.”
I blinked. People rarely put me on a pedestal anymore. “What did Veronique tell you about me?”
“Pardon?” she asked quietly, but something flickered in her strange eyes and it was almost like walls were slammed down.
“You have to know Veronique,” I said flatly, letting out a deep breath and grimacing as my throat protested. “She obviously brought me here. Besides, your expression gave you away; I’ve become good at reading people.”
“Obviously not well enough,” she murmured, but continued before I could ask her what she meant. “Do you know you had another drug in your system besides the one Veronique gave you when you were brought here?”
While she had deliberately changed the subject, what she told me was effective enough that I gaped at her, speechless. After several moments of silence, I finally managed to say slowly, “I don’t do drugs, Muggle or wizard. I don’t.”
“I gathered that — I’ve been watching you for some time,” she replied patiently. Before I could reply to that, she went on, “But what I meant was, did you know Veronique had already slipped you something months ago?”
“What?”
“That,” she said, indicating the basin that I’d vomited into, “was your body deciding it had finally had enough. The new drug Veronique gave you reacted badly with the one she’d previously given you — not her intention, I’m sure, but then, she never was any good at Potions — and your body had to reject them both, before they did you serious harm. I managed to help by attempting to peak your fever early, speeding the process along.”
“Another drug?” I said faintly, trying to think fast, which was rather difficult considering how my head felt. I closed my eyes, realising that for the first time in months there was no headache beginning to throb at my temples. My eyes snapped open, as pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together, offering me part of the big picture at last.
The headaches, the constant fatigue, the way important things just seemed to slip away — it had all been because of this potion — poison — whatever it was, that Veronique had given me. It explained why I’d been so ill for the past few months, why none of Severus’s potions had worked, why I’d never been able to talk to anyone whenever I’d thought of something important. Why I’d completely flipped my lid with Severus for no apparent reason. She’d done all of this on purpose, but how? I racked my brains furiously, the answer eventually coming to me.
The wine.
The wine she’d tried to give me months before, when I’d broken the glass with my own hand. The wine had flowed down my hand like blood and— I closed my eyes in resignation. It had sunk in through my skin. How could I have been so stupid to forget that many poisons could sink in through the skin and thus into the bloodstream? How could I have forgotten?
After several deep breaths in an effort to calm down, I opened my eyes and asked, “Is it... has it done any permanent damage?”
She shook her head. “Nothing beyond the illness and memory lapses you’ve suffered. Now that I managed to drain the poison from your bloodstream, you should return to normal. Here.” She held out a pale green vial to me, which I eyed suspiciously.
“It’s the antidote,” she told me quietly, not appearing to be offended by my suspicions. “It’ll help bring you back to normal much more quickly. Somehow, I don’t think you want to be anything less than at your best to deal with Veronique.”
Her sly reasoning worked, and I hesitantly took it from her. The potion, unlike the previous one that had helped me throw up, was warm and tasted faintly of lemons and honey. I swallowed it, noticing that it helped soothe my raw throat.
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked, recapping the vial and handing it back to her.
She looked away for a moment, before murmuring, “I invented both the poison and the antidote.”
There was nothing I could say to that, though I did think for a moment that Severus would love to meet this woman. Well, either that, or hate her on sight, since it seemed she could be serious competition for him. I knew I should be furious at her, but I couldn’t find the energy; everything was catching up with me at once, and my emotions were just spread too thin. Later, later, I told myself.
“Besides,” she added, watching me carefully, “if Veronique had wanted to kill you back then she would have, instead of giving you a slow-acting poison. Trust me.”
I didn’t, really, but considering I had no idea where I was, and all she’d done was so far was help me, I didn’t seem to have any choice. At least she hadn’t tried to kill me yet. Made a nice change.
“Wait,” I said suddenly, as something occurred to me, “if you’ve been watching me and you knew that Veronique had given me a poison, why didn’t you try to help me then? Things wouldn’t have turned out like they did!”
She gave me a wry, condescending look, and I somehow managed to feel subdued. “I’ve only been able to watch you from afar, and that was difficult enough,” she said. “Veronique dislikes me as much as she dislikes you. You can’t imagine what she did to me when she found out I was watching you.”
“Believe me, I can,” I muttered quietly, as memories surged from a place I thought I’d kept well hidden. She suddenly looked uncomfortable, but for the life of me I couldn’t understand why.
“Who are you, anyway?” I asked. “You know an awful lot about Veronique and a good bit about me, but all I know is that you burst into my office last January to want me to protect Callidus. Oh, and that you have a serious knack for Potions.”
She smiled briefly at that, but her expression remained grave and uncomfortable. She moved over to help me back onto the bed.
I rubbed my eyes as I lay back on the soft duvet. The absence of the headaches was a strange but welcomed change, however, being comfortable was even stranger. This had to be the first time I’d ever been kidnapped and been treated almost decently; I wasn’t going to forget the poison anytime soon. My comfort had been the last thing on Voldemort’s mind; all he’d wanted to ensure was that I ended up dead. Why was Veronique acting so hospitable?
It took me a few moments to realise she hadn’t answered, and I glanced at her, curious. She was pale, her discomfort turned to distress. She was looking everywhere but at me, her hands clenched into fists. She finally saw me looking at her and she smiled, but it was strained.
“My name is Rose Riddle,” she said at last, and it wasn’t as shocking as it could have been, probably since I knew she was related to Callidus somehow. It didn’t make the fact that she was linked to Voldemort too any easier, but it was a lot more bearable than it could have been.
“I see,” I said at last, racking my brains for something intelligent to say. It suddenly occurred to me that I was taking all of this rather calmly. Maybe growing up was as subtle as they all said it was; I certainly hadn’t been this calm whenever I’d been kidnapped before. Or maybe I just subconsciously knew there was no point in being furious, since it would accomplish nothing. I suddenly realised that Rose’s efforts to help me had had their own motives; now that I’d thrown up, I was too weak to even try to escape this room.
“The door’s locked and there are wards all over this room,” she said quietly, and I stared at her, my suspicions suddenly piqued again.
“Have you been influencing me?” I asked, realising that normally I would have checked the room for wards the moment I’d been awake. Of course, throwing up had put things slightly out of loop, but still...
“Slightly,” Rose answered, smiling bitterly. “You could say it’s another ‘knack’ of mine.”
Anger rose in me this time, but instead of lashing out, I tried another tactic, determined to startle her into giving me some more information. “How are you related to Callidus? What are you to him?” I’d assumed she was his mother, since she’d called him ‘my boy’, but suddenly I wasn’t quite so sure.
Surprise flickered across her face for a moment as her eyes widened, but then she pulled her calm expression back up. “I was waiting for you to finally ask that,” she said at last.
“Influenced me again, you mean,” I snapped, unable to help myself.
She smiled faintly. “Whatever you want to believe.”
“Just tell me,” I sighed.
“I’m his grandmother,” Rose said, staring down at her hands.
I didn’t say anything, partly because I didn’t know what to say (I was never going to be a father, was I, so what did I know?) and partly because I was doing some extremely quick calculating in my head, as something horrifying struck me out of the blue. Doing Math in my head was never something I had been brilliant at, but the conclusion was the same no matter how many times I did it.
Oh, shit.
I think I’d just solved part of Callidus’s family puzzle.
“And who... who was his grandfather?” I asked in a whisper, trying to ignore the leaden feeling in my stomach that warned me one my worst fears was about to become reality.
Rose’s smile turned bitter again. “I think you already know, but I’ll tell you if you really want.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then said, “Tom Riddle.”
My stomach twisted violently, as blood roared in my ears. Damn, damn, damn. I buried my face in my hands, trying to take deep breaths so as not to succumb to hysterics, but I could feel my emotions swirling away from me, spiralling out of control. Running my hands through my hair, I raised my face and croaked out, “How... how could you marry... love... someone like that?” The very idea was incomprehensible to me, but that wasn’t surprising, all things considered.
Her face hardened and I saw the steel backbone she’d tried to keep hidden from me. “He wasn’t always like that,” she snarled. “I knew him before he became driven by the wish for power and immortality. I know you’ll never believe me, but once there were things to love about him. Besides,” she added tartly, raising an eyebrow, “considering whom you’ve chosen I hardly think you’re in the position to throw stones.”
I blushed before I could help it, but my heart twisted. Severus. Did he know where I was, had he even realised I’d been taken yet?
Rose considered me for a moment and then said, “I suppose you want to know who his mother is?”
I looked at her wearily. “I’m not sure I do.” But she’d said who his mother is, which implied she was still alive. Which didn’t make sense at all, if he’d been in an orphanage for most his life. But curiosity flickered inside me; if I’d been a dog my ears would have pricked.
Her expression was strangely flat. “You’re going to hate this.”
I glared at her. “Things can’t become any more difficult than they already are,” I snarled. “Who the hell is Callidus’s mother?”
She smirked. “Veronique.”
I promptly regretted my words.
* * * * *
I lay on my side on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The sounds of a crackling fire drifted towards me, but I ignored them. I supposed night was falling; the room was completely windowless, so I had no idea if it was day or night. There was no clock and my watch had been taken off me, as had my wand. I wondered where I was in the country if a fire still had to be lit at late April.
I felt numb, heedless of any warmth that emitted from the fire. I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Callidus was well and truly related to Voldemort after all, and Veronique, the bitch, was really his mother. Closing my eyes, I found myself thinking that it was a good thing Callidus had been raised in the orphanage, after all. Merlin only knew what he’d have turned out like if Veronique had been involved in his upbringing.
“Harry, you have to eat.” Rose’s voice floated into my thoughts, making me flinch.
“I don’t think I have to do anything you tell me,” I replied calmly, digging my fingers into the pillow; the urge to throttle her was strong since I’d seen her malicious glee at yanking the carpet out from under me, figuratively speaking. My initial impression of her had drastically changed, and I wished I hadn’t taken that antidote now, even though nothing had happened to me... yet. Her dig at Severus hadn’t helped, either.
“So you’re just going to starve to death?” she snapped.
“Wouldn’t be the first time a Riddle tried to do that to me,” I said calmly, knowing I’d just gone too far and not particularly caring.
“Bastard!” she snarled at me, but went silent as the door opened.
“Out, Rose,” a very familiar voice said coldly.
Ice dropped in my stomach, as I turned in the bed and stared at the dark, imposing figure of Severus Snape.
“W-what?” I stammered in a hoarse whisper, staring blankly at him. “No... no...” I shook my head, refusing to believe what was in front of me, what his appearance here could mean. Not again, please not again. I can’t cope if it really is him and he’s really betrayed me this time.
Keep calm! I thought furiously to myself. Someone tried this before and succeeded in driving the two of you apart. So stay calm and think!
Severus stared at me, his expression impassive as his eyes swept over me. I swallowed, trying to quell the usual feelings of hopeless warmth and giddiness I got when he looked at me, as this time the look in his eyes was quite different.
It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it can’t be him!
I stared back at him, determined not to look away, and finally managed to say, “You’re not really Severus. I know you aren’t.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Having delusions again, are we?”
Any doubts I had disappeared the moment those words came out of his mouth. I fought the urge to grin widely. Whoever this really was, they obviously hadn’t had a lot of practise mimicking Severus. Or maybe it was just the fact I was better prepared this time. Whichever, I now knew without a doubt that this wasn’t Severus. He’d called me many, often unflattering, things, but he’d never once said that I had delusions.
“You’re not Severus Snape,” I repeated calmly, digging my fingers into the duvet on either side of me.
He smirked, and the gesture was so like him that it was jarring, but I refused to waver. Too many little things weren’t adding up, too many to ignore because of one gesture that happened to be right.
“What’s in your pocket?” I asked suddenly, before he could say anything.
He blinked. “What?”
“What’s in your pocket?” I said again, and his eyebrows jutted together with an almost audible click. If he were really Severus, he’d know what I was talking about.
“My wand,” he said at last, a triumphant smile flickering across his mouth.
Severus always kept his wand in his belt.
I smiled broadly. “Wrong answer.” I closed my eyes, as memory engulfed me for a moment.
I blinked, realising Severus had moved to another armchair and was looking at something moving in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting up and looking at him curiously.
He snapped his hand back to his side, looking guilty and embarrassed at the same time. “Nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hm. Of course.” I pulled off the blanket, swinging my legs onto the floor. I felt uncomfortable after sleeping in my clothes, like sweat had dried into my clothes and skin, and I desperately needed a bath. My throat felt as dry as a desert, like a fever was rapidly approaching. Wonderful. Bloody spiffy.
Walking over, I perched onto an armrest, folded my arms, and waited. Sighing, he wordlessly handed it over. My eyes widened, as I frantically tried to stop my jaw from dropping. The tiny wolf from the Christmas cracker, the one that looked like me in my Animagus form, sat on my palm, grinning up at me as his plumed tail thumped my skin quite happily.
I glanced at him, noting the growing blush he was frantically trying to keep a leash on. I smiled. “You kept it?”
He nodded, quickly putting the wolf back into the pocket on his robes. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” My own one was in my quill jar, somehow managing to use the feather on my largest quill as a bed. Watching it prance around my desk made correcting less of a chore.
“Severus keeps his wand in his belt,” I said, opening my eyes. “He has something else in his pocket, something important that you’d know well if you were really him.” I stood up and walked slowly towards him. He watched me warily, further proof that this really wasn’t Severus.
Without warning, I grabbed the front of his robes and buried my nose in them, knowing this person’s surprise would be strong enough to keep them motionless for a few seconds. The robes smelled clean and fresh, noting strange about that. But... there was no smell of lavender or rosewood, scents Severus always had on his clothes and him. These were the scents that had been on him the last time I’d been with him. Now there were none.
Relaxing my hold on the robes slightly, I whispered into ‘Severus’s’ ear, “And the last bit of damning evidence is that you don’t smell like him. And believe me, I know exactly how he smells. So get out of here before I hurt you very, very badly. I don’t need my wand to do that.”
I released the robes and stepped back. He was white with rage, looking at me with pure loathing. He opened his mouth and I braced myself for whatever would come out — but instead he whirled around and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The wards were still intact and the door was locked again. Sighing, I walked back to the bed and climbed onto it, staring up at the ceiling. It looked like I was in for a long wait.
* * * * *
I didn’t even bother moving when the door opened; I no longer cared who it was. Part of my numbed state had returned, edged with a crackling anger from my encounter with the fake-Severus. All I really wanted to do was sleep, but even that was denied to me thanks to the thoughts tumbling around in my mind.
“Get up, Potter. I have no intention of standing around waiting for you to notice me.” The harsh voice casually ripped through my haze and caused me to unintentionally sit up. I stared at her, struggling to keep my face blank as hot fury rolled through me, making me dig my hands into the bed to keep them there.
“Veronique,” I said at last, inwardly amazed at how level and calm my voice sounded. It seemed I was getting better at controlling my emotions, after all. “Not so nice, now, are we?”
She raised an eyebrow, silently holding something out to me. It took me several moments to realise it was a teacup.
“I gather you want me to take that?”
“And drink it, if it’s not too much trouble,” she added, a hard edge to her voice. I deliberately ignored the sarcasm, shaking my head.
“I beg your pardon?” Now her voice was soft, too soft.
“If you think I’m really going to drink that, then you’re sadly mistaken,” I told her flatly. Moody’s voice suddenly bellowed in my head: “CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!” He would have had a heart attack if he’d known I was faced with drinking something with a known enemy. My head may have been wreaked from poison, illness and emotional damage, but I wasn’t that far gone yet. Besides, my experience of villains was that they were really complete lunatics, so I wasn’t exactly going to give Veronique the benefit of the doubt.
“Drink. It. Now.” Her eyes blazed as she snarled at me, clutching the cup so hard it was amazing that it hadn’t shattered yet.
I smiled mirthlessly. “No. Not until you drink it first.”
She was now clenching her teeth so hard that I dimly hoped she’d break at least one. Most unfortunately, she relaxed her jaw and hissed, “You idiot, if I’d wanted you dead you’d have been killed already!”
“Oh, I don’t think you want me dead,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not worth anything to you if I’m not alive. But I wouldn’t put it past you to drug me again. It’s fairly obvious that I’m not at usual strength and my immune system has been shot to hell. I have no defence if you slipped me another drug in that tea, so it’d be guaranteed to work.”
Veronique watched me for several moments, before grimly raising the cup to her lips and swallowing once. “Satisfied?” she asked, holding it out to me once more.
“Very,” I replied and, still smiling, threw the cup at the wall. Once the sound of exploding china had faded, there was only silence. The look in her eyes clearly told me I’d just used up the last of her limited patience.
She pulled over the chair Rose had been sitting in and sat down, facing me at eye-level. She leaned in until only inches separated us, and whispered, “I can’t wait until I can kill you. I’m going to make you scream.”
Fear thrilled inside me, but I forced my expression to remain calm and indifferent. “If that’s supposed to scare me, it’s not working. Voldemort threatened far worse to me, but then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Veronique smirked. “Rose spilled the beans on our wonderful family situation, then?” I nodded and she rolled her eyes. “She’s useful for her Potions knowledge and her odd little abilities, but not much beyond that. She never approved of me, you know, but in the end I was the only family she had left, so she was stuck with me. I never was good enough for her son, in her opinion at least.”
“What did Voldemort think of you?” I asked, seizing my opportunity for proper information, solid facts. I’d keep her talking for as long as I could; it was better than staring up at the ceiling, anyway.
She smiled, her lips curving in cruel amusement. “Oh, he approved of me. I suppose he saw in me the person his son should have been.”
“In other words, you’re just as twisted as he was,” I translated wearily.
“Believe what you like. I suppose this is going to be ten questions, yes?”
I snorted. “Do you have anything better to do? I don’t.”
“I wonder why,” Veronique drawled, settling back in the chair.
Determined to get information if it killed me (which it hopefully wouldn’t), I asked, “Why did you kidnap the boys? Why kidnap me, for that matter? The moment you took me, you risked too much attention on yourself.”
“Perhaps, except for the fact no one knows me as anything except a snotty little reporter,” she pointed out, not unreasonably, as much as it pained me to admit it. “And I’ve been gone from Hogwarts for so long... no one’s going to even give a damn about me. And the Portkey we used to get you here has protection spells on it, so no one will be able to trace it. The poor boys ran away because of the constant unfair treatment, and you... well, I think many people would just like to think you, poor dear as you are, snapped and bolted. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” she added with a sardonic smile.
I glared at her, angry that her barb had actually stung. “More people than me suspected you of being far more than just an innocent reporter. Even Callidus loathed you.”
Her smug expression faltered for a moment at that, but the change was gone so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure it had happened. “It didn’t stop him from coming to the meeting I arranged with him. The one where I offered to give him information on his parents.”
I froze. “You bitch.”
“Exactly. Callidus, unfortunately, has very little brains when it comes to the subject of his family.”
I struggled against the wave of fury rising inside me. “What about Neal?”
“That pathetic runt?” Veronique frowned in disgust. “He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s not needed, and shall be disposed of when the time comes.”
Against my will, a memory floated up for the first time in years, the voice that had haunted me for over half of my life. “Kill the spare.” I shivered.
Desperate to change the subject, I thought for several seconds, and finally asked, “Why did you attack Lavender?”
“Assuming there a bit, aren’t you?” she asked, but I merely looked at her. She sighed, shrugging. “As brain-dead as Ms Brown often appears, she’s a real, genuine Seer. The time I went to see her, asking about Sybil Trelawney — complete rubbish, of course, not very useful at all — she, unfortunately, happened to have a few visions about me that would be quite... damaging, if she happened to tell anyone. I managed to keep her under control, but I knew she’d tell once I left. So that little incident was merely another warning for her to keep her trap shut, so to speak.”
I bit my lip, cursing inwardly. I knew I should have gone with my instincts and told Dumbledore about Lavender and the possibility of her visions. It probably wouldn’t have done much good, considering his current emotional state, but the responsibility had still been mine. I growled, but the sound died as the memory of Lavender’s attack made another unpleasant incident come back to me.
“And my mother’s lily?” I asked softly, forcing myself to keep my voice level. “Was there any particular reason for destroying that, besides maliciousness on your part?”
Veronique laughed. “I may be malicious, but I don’t let it rule my judgement, Harry.”
“Don’t use my name again,” I warned with a snarl. “You have no right to use it. Just tell me why.”
She smirked. “As you wish.” Then she shook her head, saying, “Really, I’d have thought you’d know this already: for protection.”
I stared at her, momentarily taken aback. “What?”
Veronique rolled her eyes. “Merlin, help me with this bloody idiotic boy!” While the situation was rather inappropriate, I felt myself bristle at the term ‘boy’; I still had my pride. Even Severus didn’t try and call me that, unless we were having a full-blown argument, which didn’t really happen much anymore, for obvious reasons.
Severus. My chest twisted again. Damn it anyway.
“In case you’ve forgotten, and you most likely have,” she said slowly, as if talking to a sulky five-year-old (which wasn’t doing my temperament any good), “the last time you and I had a major confrontation, when I gave you the poison, your lily turned red. I knew what that meant — which only served to heighten your suspicions about me even more. Well, that and the fact I just didn’t like it. A rose would have been so much nicer.”
At this point I was struggling not to see red myself. Seeing my expression, she grinned. “You are pathetically easy to rile, Potter. It almost isn’t funny.”
“Go to Hell,” I snarled, resisting the urge to strangle her. My fingers twitched. It was only the fact that she had a wand and could do much damage to me, while I couldn’t, that kept me sitting. Although... all this talk of that occurrence between us had set me thinking. The last time I had threatened Veronique with violence, she had freaked. She could use words with an efficient violence that perhaps only Severus could match, but with actual physical violence... well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?
It was like I was moving, but not moving at the same time, as if I was watching myself from a distance. One moment I was sitting on the bed, hating her so badly I could practically feel my blood boil, and the next I’d slammed into her, toppling us both to the ground. I could feel her wand in her hand and knocked it away, dimly hearing it skitter across the stone floor. For a few precious seconds it felt like I had the upper hand, using her momentary surprise against her, but then —
Then I was flat on my back and she had a hand against my throat, pressing in, her nails digging into the sensitive skin, and I was gagging and couldn’t breathe — but that was nothing compared to the look in her eyes.
For one terrifying moment, I was certain she was going to kill me. I knew then that I was in far, far too deep.
Veronique stared down at me, her face enraged. Leaning down until her nose almost touched mine, she hissed, “I’m sick of playing games, Harry Potter. You’ve now officially pissed me off.” She tightened her grip on my throat for several seconds, smiling as I choked desperately, then ripped her hand off my neck so fast that I wheezed.
She climbed off me, her face twisted into an expression of pure disgust. “I expected you’d fall for that particular trick, but I never imagined there would be such spectacular results.”
I stared up at her, reaching up to rub my neck, almost in a trance. My head was reeling, unable to believe what had just happened. The last time I’d threatened her with violence, she’s completely freaked. But now... now...
“You pretended, didn’t you?” I managed to say at last, though it took me several attempts before proper words would actually come out of my mouth. My voice sounded like a rasp. Not good. “You acted like physical violence scared you, just so I’d believe it and try it on you later. But...”
Veronique raised an eyebrow. “Very good. Perhaps you’re not completely hopeless, after all. I needed to make you complacent, and as you’re so very young it worked completely to my advantage. What twenty-two year old doesn’t enjoy the fact that he’s a macho male?”
“Me,” I croaked out. “And you can hardly blame me for losing my temper back then.”
“No, no I suppose I can’t,” she said at last, folding her arms and staring down at me.
I crawled backwards, not taking my eyes away from her, and managed to get back to the bed again. Breathing heavily, I stared at her for several long moments. Think of something to say... anything. But it was understandably difficult, considering I’d just seen Veronique’s true colours — and they were extremely dangerous. No wonder Voldemort had approved of her.
“Why did you abandon Callidus?” I asked at last, folding my hands in an effort to stop them shaking. “I mean, he’s your son.”
“Which would mean nothing if he died,” she said coolly, still watching me with a thoughtful expression. My reaction to her violence seemed to have been interesting to her, of all things. Merlin, I knew she wasn’t insane, she was too clever for that, but there was definitely something wrong with her. Who else would have found the fact I was now scared shitless to be interesting?
Well, Voldemort would, but that said it all, if you asked me.
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Meaning I had to protect him,” she snapped. “He was Voldemort’s grandson, already exhibiting an extraordinary likeness to him. They would have killed him without a qualm, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Rose and I went into hiding, but we didn’t know if that’d be safe enough for him, so I decided to put him in an orphanage.” She shrugged. “Besides, it was oddly fitting, with his grandfather’s own upbringing.”
Oh, yes, Veronique would have just loved that. I had the feeling she had licked rather a lot of Voldemort’s metaphorical boots in her time. Bitch. Amazing how I could still curse at her, even when I was certainly wary of her; anyone who could use violence that quickly was someone to tread carefully around.
“I intended to find him again, of course, before he got his Hogwarts letter if I could manage it. That didn’t quite work out, of course, but I still found him.” Veronique smiled, the action devoid of any warmth. “I hadn’t anticipated on him turning to you as a mentor-figure, but no matter. I can purge your influence over him soon enough.”
“I still don’t understand how Dumbledore could have let you in,” I growled, shaking my head irritably. “Even I knew you weren’t really a reporter. The length of time you took to do your ‘articles’ was a mistake, a large one. Everyone began to suspect after that... but not Dumbledore.”
“He never thought to check for credentials,” she drawled with another little shrug, “but that was hardly a surprise.” The smug expression on her face made anger roll through me again. “It was too easy.” Her eyes silently taunted me.
Something clicked. “You poisoned him,” I snarled.
Veronique clapped flatly, hardly able to keep the amused smirk off her face. “Well done! Took you long enough. For someone who’s supposed to be able to use that brain of yours, you leave a lot to be desired.”
I shook my head, aware that if I spoke right now I’d say something I’d well and truly regret. She was only trying to force me to catch the bait, trying to get me to lose my temper. “How could you?” It was the only thing I could think of to say, the anger fading into a numbed sadness. Dumbledore had been there for me since I’d learned about my true heritage, what I really was. And now... now...
Veronique walked back to me and crouched until we were at eye-level with each other. I stared at her, feeling my heart thump in my throat, realising that she was really much more dangerous than Voldemort had ever been. “He deserved it,” she whispered, her face hard and completely serious. “He deserved it because of the way he treated us, for the way he never gave us a second glance when we needed him.”
I blinked. “What?” But she shook her head and returned to her seat. “And I thought Voldemort kept a grudge,” I muttered. Her eyes turned cold, and I wisely shut my mouth.
“This poison,” I said after several minutes of silence. “The one you gave Dumbledore and me. What are the effects, exactly?” I already had an idea about some of them, but I needed to be told for certain. I had absolutely no guarantee that she would even be truthful, but it wasn’t like I had that many people to turn to about it.
She regarded me for a moment, that interested, vaguely fascinated expression back again. Like before, the thought of me fascinating her made me squirm, though I tried to hide it. “Headaches,” she said at last. “Nausea. Memory loss. Constant fatigue that gradually builds up over time. Listlessness, loss of interest in topics that normally catch your interest. Irritation over little things... I think you get the idea.”
I did. It made my blood turn cold. It explained some things — a lot of things, actually — but even that didn’t make me feel any better. Now I knew why I never went after any of the leads I had about The Order, why I never acted upon my suspicions about Veronique, no matter how glaring the evidence. I clenched my shaking hands into fists, literally struggling to contain the boiling rage rising yet again inside me.
She walked over to where her wand lay and, bending down, picked it up. “I had to keep you in check, you know,” she said casually, absently rolling it between her hands. “It was nothing personal, well, to an extent.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“No,” I replied, staring at her and dearly wishing I could ram her head against the wall, “I don’t.”
Veronique shrugged again. “Do I look like I care?”
I glared at her.
“There’s something else very interesting I can do to you,” she remarked, as if this was a completely normal conversation and we were talking about the weather.
“Surprise me,” I said tartly.
She grinned, just before agony blazed in my forehead again. I yelled before I could help it, clapping a hand against my forehead. Too much time had passed since Voldemort’s death, and I’d forgotten just how much it hurt. I gritted my teeth, struggling to quell the screaming voice in my head.
The pain stopped as quickly as it began and I slumped against the bed, trying not to fall back onto it. For a long time the only sound in the room was my own harsh panting, as I tried to recover and mostly failed. But it seemed like I had one more answer.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I croaked out after several failed attempts. “In the forest, when Hagrid and I took Callidus and Neal there. You sent the pain to Callidus and me, didn’t you?”
Veronique grinned, looking vaguely impressed. “I didn’t think you’d be able to remember that so quickly,” she admitted.
It took me a minute, but I did manage to glare at her. “It wasn’t something I could easily forget, after all,” I growled sarcastically at her. She merely smiled.
“I suppose you want to know how I managed to hurt you?” she asked.
“Well, since you’re just dying to tell me...”
She seemed to be ignoring what I was saying, but I could see something throb in her forehead, or perhaps her eye twitched, I’m not sure. All I knew was that I was rapidly pushing her towards her limit again, and I definitely knew the results weren’t going to be pleasant. Maybe I hadn’t done the whole growing up thing yet. Damn.
“When I married the Dark Lord’s son,” she explained slowly, “a spell was performed which transferred some of his power into me. A more deliberate version of what happened to you when you were a child,” she added, glancing at me.
The familiar dark power I’d sensed in her — Voldemort’s power. Oh shit, this was not good.
“Now I had many of my Lord’s abilities, albeit slightly weaker. As you are linked to Voldemort through your scar, and Callidus linked to him through blood, I was linked to both of you. So I sent pain to you both.”
“Sending pain to me I can understand,” I muttered slowly, even though I was still trying to get my head around it all — it wasn’t exactly very pleasant information. “But... why send pain to Callidus? He’s your son.”
“As a lesson, a warning,” Veronique said shortly, watching me with narrowed eyes, “for trusting you. He was letting the family down, after all.”
All right. Even though I knew she wasn’t insane, worst luck, there was definitely something wrong with her in some way. If I ever remembered, I’d have to tell Callidus to send a card to the orphanage thanking them for giving him a relatively madness-free upbringing.
“I suppose you think I’m mad,” she said quietly.
I started to shake my head, then shrugged. “Pretty much.”
She smiled, and at that moment a glimmer of beauty, for some bizarre reason, appeared in her face. Right then I could see why Voldemort’s son fell for her, not realising the type of person she was inside. I could almost find it in myself to forgive him. Almost. It’s hard to forgive someone you think was a frightful idiot.
Veronique absently shook out non-existent dirt from her robes. “I’m not alarmed about telling you any of this,” she remarked, moving towards the doors. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”
And with that, she left the room, a smile on her face. I was left staring at the closed door, not sure what to think or feel at all.
* * * * *
Callidus was five when he first saw someone die.
Winter that year was exceptionally bad, and the flu was running rampant by the end of November. The orphanage hadn’t been a cruel place to live in, but it was still unable to withstand the flu when it arrived. Callidus had been the only one able to resist it completely; all the others had got various versions of it. He’d always thought it was because he’d somehow had a brilliant immune system, but the unveiling of his wizard lineage had answered many questions for him.
He remembered a girl called Sarah had been worst affected by the illness. Sarah had always been sick in some way or another, so no one was surprised when she got the flu. But she never got better, no matter how much medicine she was given or how much time she spent in bed.
After a while, Callidus saw a vague shadow follow Sarah around, but he never told anyone.
It was by pure chance that he was the one with her when she passed on. They’d all started taking it in turns to sit with her for a few hours in the evening, talking, reading, and playing cards with her. Sarah had never really liked Callidus, but a person who was ill rarely complained about the company they got; having Callidus there was better than being bored.
It was the middle of December, and everyone knew she was going to die. She’d lost too much weight, couldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. Callidus fancied that someone could count her ribs under her nightgown.
They were in the middle of playing Snap and his hand was halfway out to slap onto the cards, when Sarah let out a thin cry. He looked up at her, startled, and saw her eyes were round with fear. She was sobbing weakly, her fingers tangled in the bedcovers, coughing at the same time.
“Sarah?” Callidus asked in a hushed voice, gaping at her, but she’d merely shaken her head vigorously, still crying and coughing dryly. What was wrong, should he go and get—?
She collapsed back onto the pillows, still coughing. Callidus was partly out of his seat, tense and ready to bolt for help when the time came. But it never did.
Cold suddenly came out of nowhere, seeming to seep into the room in a physical form. Callidus wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to get warm, shivering uncontrollably, as his teeth chattered so hard he’d thought they’d break. What was going on? It hadn’t been this cold earlier! He let out a whimper. It was... so... cold...
Sarah suddenly choked, hands scrabbling against the covers desperately, her eyes rolling.
“Sarah!” Callidus yelled, feeling the first flutters of panic in his stomach. He was going to get into trouble for this... but he could move, it was so cold... so, so.. cold...
The she just... stopped.
He stared down at her, at her unnaturally pale face and her wide, open eyes. Something inside him was not happy that she’d stopped moving; something was really, really wrong... Struggling to take deep breaths, he reached out with a shaking hand and closed her eyes, an action that only served to make him feel slightly better — it couldn’t very well make her move again.
Then he realised she was still alive, still breathing, as her eyes opened again, but didn’t seem to be staring at anything...
Callidus fell back into his chair, staring blankly at her, still unable to stop shivering. Then he realised he could see the dark shape he’d seen following her around for weeks beside her bed, near him. It blurred in and out of focus, and he wasn’t able to see it properly, but he knew it was very, very dangerous. The cold was radiating from it in clammy waves that seemed to stick to him. And it was coming towards him.
He was dimly aware of the door opening, of a cheerful greeting that ended in a gasp, of running footsteps, hands shaking him... why wouldn’t they leave him alone...? He was trying to make sure the dark shape wouldn’t come any closer to him!
“Callidus? Callidus!”
He blinked, staring around vaguely to find Neal watching him with a worried expression on his face. “Neal, what’s wrong?” he asked, struggling up to a sitting position.
“You looked terrible,” Neal stammered, apparently embarrassed that there hadn’t been anything wrong after all. “I thought there was something wrong with you.”
“Oh.” Callidus looked away, the image of Sarah alive and dead at the same time, with that dreadful shape beside her, still looming in his mind. He knew now that it had, in fact, been a Dementor that had latched onto Sarah. A Dementor he’d only been able to half see, since he’d had no idea he was a wizard at the time. A rogue Dementor from the war when Professor Potter had killed his grandfather, he remembered. Callidus found he couldn’t grieve very much, considering what he’d read about him.
He looked back at Neal, just in time to see the flicker of hurt in his eyes. Inwardly cursing, Callidus closed his eyes, then said quietly, “Thanks for getting me out of my trance, anyway. I was remembering something... unpleasant.” That was an understatement.
Neal’s face brightened and he grinned. Callidus smiled back. It took so little for him to be pleased. Callidus wished he could be more like him, instead of this perfectionist who always had to be the best in everything.
“Neal,” Callidus said after a few minutes of dragging silence, “have you ever seen a Dementor?”
All he needed was to look at Neal’s expression to know this had been the last question he’d ever expected to hear. After several moments of blank gawking, Neal finally shook his head. “But my father did,” he whispered. “He said it was terrible, like he’d lost all hope that anything could ever go right for him again.”
Callidus frowned, remembering the sensations of hopelessness and fear that had swamped him that day. Guilt for being the little orphan boy no one liked or wanted. Hatred for his parents, whoever they were, for abandoning him. The shame he felt for having all these strange dreams and ideas that only came from books, that could never be true...
But it was true. All of it.
Neal looked like he was bursting to find out if he’d ever seen one, but Callidus was glad he decided to keep quiet instead. The accidental encounter with the Dementor had been his first hint that all the things he’d thought came from his imagination could be real. In its own way, it was important to him.
They lapsed into silence again, and Callidus returned to his brooding. Neal had been pacing for a lot of he day, a process made easier by the thick carpeting on the floor. The room looked like something out of an ancient manor house, which the house really was, he supposed. It certainly looked like one.
Callidus wished Neal wasn’t here. He had no part in this, really, and it had been his own bad luck that he’d come to the wrong place at definitely the wrong time. It was becoming harder to reassure him that everything was going to be okay, when he hardly believed it himself. It was also becoming harder not to blame himself for all this. It had been his own stupidity, his own foolishness, that had sent them into this situation, and when all was said and done... he only had himself to blame.
Callidus had never trusted Veronique, right from when she’d first come to Hogwarts. There had been something about her that had seemed wrong, dangerous... he’d kept away from her, especially when she’d begun to show exceptional interest in him.
She’d obviously learned much about him from afar, however, as she’d played her trump card well, weaved brilliant lies guaranteed to lure him to her.
She’d promised to tell him about his parents.
And she had, in her weird, twisted way. Only it was information he’d rather never to have learned.
Then she Stunned him, before he even realised she was planning to do anything.
From what he’d learned from Neal in their hours stuck here, she’d attempted to take him from Hogwarts by Portkey and no one would have been any the wiser. Fortunately for Callidus, Neal had happened to come round the corner at that precise moment, searching for him. But the whole thing was rather unfortunate for Neal, who found himself Stunned before he could even blink.
And to learn she was his mother, that — that — he couldn’t think of an insult strong enough for her. Callidus dragged his knees up to his chest and cradled his head on them, closing his eyes. Being an orphan had been much better than learning who his parents really were. At least then he’d felt no shame for where he’d come from.
His grandmother, however... she seemed a bit okay. A bit mad, which he suspected came from being constantly in hiding, but all right nonetheless. Definitely saner than Veronique, whose name he couldn’t believe was really real. The last thing she was was French.
He didn’t know what to feel, really. He knew who his family really were, but he couldn’t be satisfied with any of that. Not to mention the fact they were in terrible danger and no one knew where they were, probably believing they’d run away or something. Not forgetting that Neal wasn’t really needed or in the equation at all.
Callidus bit his lip, struggling not to moan. This didn’t look good at all.
“Callidus?” Neal whispered. “Are things going to be okay?”
It took him an inner battle and several long moments, but he finally whispered, “No, I don’t think so.”
Then the door opened and Veronique walked in. Callidus took one look at the expression on her face, and knew he wasn’t going to like anything that was going to happen. At all.
* * * * *
The fire had burnt itself to embers that glowed and sent soft red waves flickering over the walls. The shadows had deepened as the fire had died, however, and I knew it was starting to do weird things to my mind. The darkness hadn’t freaked me out this badly in years.
In my mind’s eye I could see scenes from the war, my memories flowing out from the barriers I’d vainly tried to build against them. Too many people, most of them gone now, and I didn’t want to remember anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut, but of course it didn’t help.
I’d been kidding myself when I’d thought the depression was going. I could feel it inside me again, waves of hopelessness and anger and hatred bubbling up, fuelled by a hatred I hadn’t felt in years, a hatred I’d hoped never to feel again.
“We’re more alike than you think, Mr. Potter. Both orphans and both angry. I know you can feel the rage inside you, the rage that makes you want to lash out and have them listen to you for a change...”
Merlin, I hated him. But there was no denying that Voldemort had known what he was talking about in that particular subject. Damn him, he better be burning in Hell right this instant.
I was not turning out like him, I couldn’t be. He was wrong, he had to be. I’d know if I was turning out like him, wouldn’t I? Hell, even Severus would have figured it out... and probably bolted at the first available opportunity.
“It makes you do strange things, the rage, doesn’t it? Makes you want to hurt, to make them feel the pain that’s always inside you. Makes you want to hear them scream; to have them crawling towards you, begging for mercy... I know I’m right, don’t try to deny it.”
NO! I could hear it in my mind, the soft whispering words that were so gentle, so cajoling that they could never be wrong... I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing there was some way I didn’t have to hear the words, a way that would somehow block them from my mind. But there was nothing I could do.
I was not a murderer, I knew I wasn’t. Any killing I’d done had been to ensure my survival, what everyone had done in the war. Even Neville’s death had been a mercy stroke for him — it would have been far worse if I’d let him die in a dragged out, agonising death. I was not a murderer, no matter what Voldemort had said.
But right now, in a small dark room that was rapidly turning cold, it was very hard to believe that. I shivered, wrapping my arms around me, wishing I was in bed with Severus beside me.
Severus... Merlin, I hoped he was all right, that he wasn’t beginning to panic. Of course he was panicking, however; I’d be exactly the same in his position. And Callidus and Neal... were they all right? Callidus would be, I supposed, since he was the reason Veronique had come to Hogwarts, not for me as we’d all thought. But Neal... she hadn’t intended for him to be there at all, and now he knew too much just to be simply let go.
Kill the spare...
I shivered, closing my eyes. I think I fell into an exhausted sleep then, but it was a light doze that was often broken. I had bad dreams that drifted into memories and caused me to jerk awake in terror, almost screaming. But that was nothing compared to what was to follow.
When it finally hit me that it was extremely unlikely I would get anymore sleep, I sat up and slowly opened my eyes, wincing at how sore they felt: had I been crying? But then my gaze fell upon a nightmare.
Voldemort stood near me, white-pale arms folded and a triumphant, vaguely amused, expression on his monstrous face. My eyes widened as I scrambled further up the bed, attempting to crouch into a protective position. “What — you — no!” I stammered, completely horrified.
“Me,” he whispered, his smile widening. “What, no greeting?”
I yanked myself further away from him if it was possible, trying to put as much distance between us as I could find. I kept on blinking, a vain attempt to convince myself that this was only a dream, a hallucination that definitely wasn’t real, as it just couldn’t be.
“You’re not real,” I panted, glaring at him. “You’re not real as I killed you, I haven’t become that mad! You’re dead.”
He laughed softly, coming closer towards me. “Wrong,” he hissed. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
I lunged off the bed, unintentionally backing into a wall, hysteria bubbling in my throat. No, it couldn’t be true, it wasn’t! Voldemort was dead; I’d killed him myself. Severus had been my witness to prove it.
As I stared at him almost blankly, my eyes simply refusing to see what was before me, my hand reached behind to fumble with the scabbard wedged into my back. I kept the movement as slow and non-intrusive as possible, keeping his gaze held with mine, somehow. His crimson eyes glowed, eerily familiar. Merlin, how I wanted to scream!
Just as the hilt settled comfortably in my palm after dragging the dagger out, I found myself launching across the room with an energy I hadn’t thought was in me, aimed directly at the one person I’d hoped never to see again. I hauled the dagger well above my head, its gleaming blade aimed directly at him, my breath labouring in my throat. For one long moment everything seemed suspended, as his terrible, terrible eyes stared straight at me and —
“What are you doing?”
I fell to the ground, hurdling through empty air. I struggled to my knees, staring around wildly. Where did he go? He couldn’t have left that fast, for all his tricks. I looked behind me to find Veronique standing in the doorway, watching me in what could clearly be called a disbelieving expression; she obviously thought I’d gone completely round the bend.
To be honest, I was starting to think that myself.
She stared down at me without saying a word, and I felt a blush stain my cheeks before I could help it. Rather amazing I could still blush, considering all that was happening.
“You’re losing your marbles, aren’t you?” Veronique asked, raising an eyebrow. I glared at her; it was the only thing I could think of to do — there was no answer for a question like that. “I take that as a yes, then.” My glare intensified.
I got to my feet slowly and sat down on the bed again, eyeing her warily. She sat down on the chair, watching me as if I fascinated her yet again. Why wouldn’t she stop that? The minutes trickled by silently.
Then she spoke out of the blue: “Do you really know why the Dark Lord wanted you dead?”
I stared hard at her. What sort of question was that? “Of course I do,” I said. “The prophecy, remember?”
Veronique snorted. “It was more than that, fool. Or have you forgotten so easily?” She sighed when I refused to answer. “Fine, I’ll inform you if you’re going to be that stubborn. You see, Harry Potter,” she continued, idly standing up and starting to pace, “even before my father-in-law gave you that idiotic scar, you were already... unusual.” She absently tapped my wand against her leg — why hadn’t I seen that the moment she’d come in? — as she walked, an action that incredibly irritated me. She snarled at my intentionally blank look. “Don’t play the fool!”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing into your hands, you know better than to expect that. Of course I know, he told me years ago.” I could still hear his voice in my head, but this time his words managed to calm me, convince me that I hadn’t fallen as far as I’d previously feared I had.
“You’re a threat, Harry Potter, a dangerous one. All that power inside you! You were a threat from the moment you were born, the reason for your parents taking you into hiding. They knew, you see, that I’d want to dispose of you, just like any other rival. I knew I’d probably never get you fully to my side — not the son of Lily and James Potter! — but I knew I had to try. All the power that could be at my disposal!
“But you were too good. Despite how dark your thoughts became; when you dreamed of your hands around my neck, tightening, tightening, tightening; when you wanted your relatives to leave you alone; when you didn't want to be The Boy Who Lived anymore... yes, I know all of them. But no matter how dangerous your thoughts became, something always kept you from turning, kept you good. Gryffindor honour, I suppose, something ridiculous like that.
“It doesn’t matter in the end because I’m going to kill you anyway.”
“He said I was a threat right from the beginning,” I whispered, staring down at my hands without really seeing them. “He said I had to be disposed of; he knew he wouldn’t really get me to his side, though he did try.” I closed my eyes as his voice whispered in my mind, familiar enough to cause me to flinch. Whispers, promises, always cajoling, logical, reasonable. The worst thing was... he almost succeeded. Almost being the key word, to my shaken pride at least.
“You’re so strong inside, Potter, and you never had any idea,” Veronique murmured, her robes swishing as she came over and stared down at me. I noticed she made sure to keep above me, to keep the illusion that she was taller than me. Veronique, insecure? Who knew? “He always knew he’d probably never survive you, but he tried anyway.”
“Rather foolish on his part, wasn’t it?” I snarled, glaring at her. “Rather fatalist of him, too. Personally, I think he should have searched for a fool-proof way to destroy me instead of blundering on in. Would have saved the both of us a hell of a lot of trouble.” The sleep deprivation and stress were starting to get to me, I think; it was the only reason to explain how irrational I was acting.
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought we’d already determined that being a smart aleck wasn’t good,” she said coldly.
“Oh, really? Mustn’t have been paying attention,” I answered sweetly, my mind actually on more important matters. Number one: getting my wand back. If I had that, at least I wouldn’t be completely at Veronique’s mercy.
She let out an exasperated sigh, turning towards the door. “You might as well come in,” she told a shadow in the doorway. I found I didn’t like the thread of amusement and triumph in her voice. Didn’t like it at all.
The shadow moved, and I couldn’t stop a gasp spilling from my throat as Callidus stepped inside. I let instinct take control for brief moments as questions literally poured from my mouth. “Callidus! Are you all right? Is Neal? They haven’t hurt you, have they?” The relief was so strong that it practically hurt.
Veronique snapped, “Shut up!” Her unnatural (real, my ass) eyes flashed.
I snorted, meeting her furious gaze directly. “Fuck off, bitch,” I replied calmly, seconds before I remembered that Callidus was in the room and wouldn’t be too impressed if he already knew Veronique was his mother. Too late now. I glanced back at Callidus.
His face was as carefully masked as always, but I swore there was something near relief in his eyes as he nodded to me. “We’re both fine,” he told me, then hesitated. “How long have you been here?” he asked at last.
The only thing I could tell him was the truth. “I have no idea.”
Callidus nodded again as his gaze flickered to Veronique. If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn it was faintly accusatory. Someone hadn’t been told everything, or so it seemed.
I wasn’t the only one who realised this. “I was going to tell you Harry was here, Callidus,” Veronique said in a tone that she apparently wanted to sound placatory, “only the right opportunity never arose. So in the end, showing you for yourself seemed the best option.”
Callidus nodded. “I see.” His tense back and narrowed eyes seemed to say otherwise.
“But,” Veronique added, “I have something here to give to you. I hope it’ll make things right between us.” Why did I think it wasn’t half of Honeydukes?
“Oh?” Despite his best efforts, Callidus couldn’t keep the interest hidden from his voice.
Veronique smiled.
My heart sank.
She reached into the folds of her robes and drew out a small faded black book. I blinked, before icy horror exploded in my stomach. A black book.
Right at that moment, we were teetering on the edge of a new Dark Lord being born.
I closed my eyes, remembering the conversation I’d had with Callidus the previous December.
“I have to know. I have to find out the truth, once and for all. I’m sick of hearing assumptions and half-maybes.”
“Sometimes half-maybes are better. Sometimes the lies are what keep us together, when the truth can only rip us apart. Sometimes we can’t handle the truth. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss and we’re better off not knowing.”
“And sometimes we have to know the truth, no matter the consequences. No matter what happens.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re like him. Blood doesn’t mean exact likeness.”
“I don’t know. I have to know. I have to know if I’m like him... if I’ll be like him.”
“A book isn’t going to show you. Nothing can show you that, only time.”
“You’ve read this book, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And what was your reaction?”
“It scared the shit out of me. There are some things we’re just not meant to know.”
“Perhaps I should wait a while, until I can deal with the consequences of what I find out. Just to be safe.”
My eyes snapped open. “You promised me you wouldn’t read that book. You promised.” It wasn’t until the words had left my mouth that I realised I’d even spoken. My gaze locked onto Callidus, as my mouth tightened. He looked at me with wide eyes and opened his mouth, but Veronique spoke before he could even draw a breath.
“Don’t tell me you actually obeyed him?” she demanded, scowling, looking rather annoyed with Callidus. Perhaps she’d trip up yet with him, momentarily forget that she had yet to fully bring him over to her side. Yeah, just as easily as she’d admit to having a dye job.
“Yes, I did. I believed him,” Callidus said, his forehead creasing as he looked at her. I had the impression that Mother Dearest hadn’t made much of an impression on him. Hope glimmered in my chest once more. Maybe things weren’t doomed yet.
“Oh? And just what did he tell you?” Veronique asked, managing to cross her arms without dropping the book. Her eyes glinted like she could see straight through him. I clenched my jaw.
Callidus blinked. “He said... he said I wasn’t ready yet to know what was in there.” He nodded at the book. “He said I was too young.”
“Yes, of course he would,” she retorted. “But you’re far more mature and intelligent than he is. Why should you wait when you’re ready now?”
Callidus frowned.
I held my breath.
“He said I was too young. I believe him,” Callidus repeated firmly. “He’s read what was inside it, after all. He’s not making it up.”
I let out my breath in a soft rush.
“And rejected it flat because he was too scared,” Veronqiue said scornfully, glowering at me out of the corner of her eye. “Very practical, I must say,” she added with a sneer.
I refused to rise to her bait, though I felt my eyebrows jut together as I frowned. “Some things are better off not being learned if it’s for the best,” I said quietly.
Veronique chuckled, her eyes hard. “So say you,” she hissed in a dangerously soft voice, before turning to Callidus and silently offering him the book. My chest twisted.
Callidus stared at it blankly, his expression literally frozen. Seconds passed. I watched him, hardly daring to hope.
Veronique frowned. “Don’t you want to learn what’s rightfully yours to know?” she asked in a deceptively gentle voice. “What he stopped you from reading?”
Callidus jerked and stared at her, his careful expression blatantly faltering. I realised then that Callidus had practically been burning to read what was in the book for him, and it had only been his promise to me that had stopped him. More than anything, I wanted to kill Veronique right then. I knew exactly what was going to happen.
Callidus’s eyes flickered towards me for a moment, before staring down at the black book again. He took a deep breath, then slowly opened it. Veronique’s lips curled in a triumphant smile. I bit my lip and struggled not to close my eyes. This couldn’t be it.
His expression changed as he scanned the lines; surprise, awe, anger, wariness, fear, and at last unmasked rage. I could feel my heart thump in my throat, and wished there was something I could say to calm him even though there was nothing. I knew exactly what he was reading. The book showed us exactly what we wanted to know, deep down in our own inner darkness, exactly what we wanted to be told. What we secretly raged and demanded for inside, but could never ask about in reality because it had no place in it.
Then – nothing. His face held absolutely nothing, as if he’d slammed invisible walls over it that shielded everything from view. In some ways, that was worse than any emotion he could have shown. My heart started to thump harder.
The book closed shut with a snap that echoed like a gunshot. Both Veronique and I jumped, though she looked guilty and I did not. All I could do was stare at Callidus, trying to decipher his blank mask. The air practically vibrated with tension, like lying suspended in the eye of the storm or in that tense moment of silence before an explosion.
I waited for him to crack and lose control completely. There was no way he could survive this.
Veronique beamed and rubbed her palms like a proud parent whose child had just achieved all that she hoped they would. But I could see the glimmer of concern under the shining triumph in her eyes, and knew she was waiting for an explosion just like me. But there was none, and now she was as uneasy as I was; no explosion at all was much worse.
Callidus handed the black book to her. Then he turned and left without saying a word.
Veronique and I glanced at each other and knew we were both terrified, regardless of the fact that we were against each other. But then, of course, she had to try and get the last word.
“By the way,” she said slowly, turning to face me, “how is your relationship with Severus going?” At my blank look, she clarified, “I mean, did it survive the war, particularly after your little… encounter with him?”
For a moment, I had no idea what she was talking about. Too much had happened since I’d first woken up here and had hit me too quickly, so it took extreme memory searching for me to realise what she was talking about. Then I finally remembered and stared… and stared. And finally realised what had almost been practically in front of me.
“You,” I whispered, as I struggled not to let the world spin. “It was you all along. You were the one who tortured me in the war as Severus. And you pretended to be him again just now.”
She smiled faintly at me and for a moment I thought she was sorry. Then her smile turned into a smirk, as she said, “Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to almost spell it out for you eventually. As you can see, Potter, I was willing to do anything for my father-in-law. But in the end, even that wasn’t enough.”
She turned in a swirl of robes and dark hair and swept out of the room, leaving me in a dreadful silence broken only by the last defying sparks from the fire.
I must have fallen, though I don’t remember it. It seemed like I blinked and suddenly found myself on the floor. The only thing I could feel was the numbing cold in my chest that was rapidly spreading outwards.
* * * *
I had no idea whether it was day or night, though perhaps I was more inclined to believe it was night because of the darkness that swirled around me, accented by the piercing cold that clung inside me. I sat on the bed, staring at the dead ashes of the fire, and finally wondered if I was going to survive this time, if maybe my luck was out at last.
“I can’t survive this,” I whispered, watching the grey ashes swirl because of the breeze that blew down the chimney. “It’s finally become too hard and I’m so tired...”
I looked up and Parvati stood in front of me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Since when did you ever care about whether your luck was in or not?” she asked, glaring at me. “You just went out and did it.”
I shook my head. “Things have changed… that was before…” I trailed off, realising that as excuses went, mine was pretty weak.
Parvati snorted. “Some hero you make.”
I blinked and she was gone.
“I mean, really, Harry,” Cedric said, suddenly appearing beside me on the bed, “it pretty much means my life and death was in vain, and that’s not good enough.” His eyes bored into mine. “You lived for a reason. Don’t you dare let it go to waste!”
I gaped at him, but I blinked again and he was gone. They were, I realised, doing this on purpose… either that, or I’d well and truly gone round the bend. I refused to think about how likely that was.
“You have to destroy her, Harry,” Neville whispered, kneeling before me, his chubby face grave. “She almost destroyed you like they destroyed me. Don’t let her win… for my sake, at least, if you can’t do it for yours.”
My chest tightened as tears started to swim in my eyes. Maybe that was why I didn’t see him disappear.
“I believe in you, Harry. I know you’re tired and you’re scared and I’m sorry for that, but I know you can do this. We’ve been through so much thanks to all of them, and this is where you can finally set everything to right.”
It took me three tries before I could lift my head to focus on him. Severus stood in front of me, hands stuffed into his robe pockets, a faint smile on his face. I stared at him, and finally plucked up the courage to ask, “Is it really you?”
He shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you now know the truth about what really happened, so if you don’t finish all of this now, then I don’t get you back home so we can finally make things work between us.” The strangest thing was that he was almost reasonable about the request.
I closed my eyes and remembered Animagus training, where my feelings for him first awoke. I remembered the brush of fur again fur and racing with him as wolf, completely and utterly adoring him because he was Pack and I loved him. I remembered the years we spent together while I was still in Hogwarts, learning about him like I’d never even imagined I would through our conversations, arguments and teasing, and falling even harder for him. I remembered lying in bed with him after the first time, stunned yet amazed at the same time as he held me and dozed. I remembered how we were there for each other during the war, when everything else was crumbling around us.
And then I remembered the last few months I’d spent with him, older and wiser and more ready for a relationship this time, and knew I could never give him up. I’d come home to him, and that meant ending this once and for all.
I sat up straighter and stared straight at him. “You’re probably just a figment of my imagination,” I informed him, “but you’re a damn good figment so it doesn’t matter. I’m coming home to you. I promise you, so that means I’m going to have to do something about my current situation.”
Severus nodded. “I knew you would anyway,” he said. “You just needed a little nudge in the right direction.” I glared at him and he grinned. “Anyway, sleep now. You’ll need it.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips, a ghost of a kiss.
I vaguely remembered lying down and going under the blankets, the darkness sucking me down the moment my head touched the pillows. And despite all that I’d feared, the darkness left me in peace during the night.
Of course, I never realised that was a bad omen until it was too late.
