But within a few minutes we could hear the babble and shuffle of a large group approaching; Harry Potter was herding Firsts and Seconds down the corridor toward me -- the rest of the Forms, I think.
"Mr Potter, what --"
"Headmistress said you're to take them to Merlin and Nimue, whatever that means," he told me.
His eyes were grim and frightened, and held the faintest tinge of anticipation.
"There is a hidden chamber in the 3rd floor corridor behind the mural of Merlin and Nimue...."
I'd forgotten about that in the intervening year; Albus' little post-script had seemed so innocuous at the time. I shoved aside the question of how Minerva knew of it, and knew that I knew.
"It's a mural in the Third-floor corridor, Harry, but I don't know where --"
"A man and woman? I think I do," he said.
"Lead us there, then, and I'll take the rear and shoo along the stragglers."
He nodded purposefully and headed for the staircases.
The mural was deep in the centre of the castle; like many of the paintings, tapestries and murals elsewhere, its occupants moved.
Merlin was not pleased to have company -- he had something of Severus' dour look about him -- but an obviously harrassed Nimue was pleased to see us. Not knowing what else to to, and remembering that Albus had said he'd warded the room to me, I placed my palm against the mural's surface.
The wall glowed under my hand, briefly, and a little shock ran down my arm, up my shoulder and neck, and tickled at my tongue, making me taste lemons.
Oh, come on, Albus --
The mural slid aside and Harry slipped through the doorway, ushering in the Firsts -- some jabbering excitedly, others in tears -- and I kept the rest in check until there was room for all and then stepped through myself.
The wall slid shut with a decisive thud.
"What --" Harry gasped, and turned to beat against the wall, trying to get out.
"Looks like we're here for the duration," I said grimly when even my own touch wouldn't open it.
"But I've got to get out," he panted desperately, and pulled out his wand to try Alohamora. "I've got to be there --"
Gasps from the Firsts drew our attention to the far end of the chamber.
There was a great mirror there, set into the rough stone wall in a band of highly-polished silver, and it was showing us other parts of the castle -- first the Great Hall, where we could see the rest of the school gathering; then the Quad, empty now of all life -- and, ironically, we could see that the rain had stopped and the was sun peeking out; then, briefly, the Hogwarts gates, where a group of Death Eaters had broken the wards.
They can't have. The wards are --
I stopped the thought. Of course they weren't unbreakable: Delia Barrett had proven that last year. And I knew Voldemort and his supporters had been dabbling in advanced Arithmancy -- it was how they'd taken Gringotts'.
The Death Eaters were pouring onto the grounds. A small group had already reached the doors that led into the Entrance Hall.
"A Foe-Glass?" I asked Harry.
"No, the image is too clear. It's more like a scrying glass," Harry said. "But it's showing us the present..."
Harry and I pushed our way through the huddled Firsts and watched in horror as a tall, attentuated figure drifted through their ranks. It -- he -- held his wand at the ready, and he watched greedily as the Death Eaters broke through the doors. He stepped through, wand poised to curse any defenders, and his red eyes searched for them -- and found none.
Voldemort.
If I hadn't already taken Severus' word for Voldemort's inhumanity and evil, I should have now. This was one case where appearance was not deceiving.
Not that he looked like a monster, which is what I'd expected from Severus' description. Despite the red eyes he was most definitely human, though there was something... off about him. Dark hair, nearly Severus' shade, and smooth, unblemished skin tightly stretched over an aristocratic bone structure that might once have been attractive; perhaps as a boy he'd had that angelic, pure look. Lucifer before the fall. The Elixir must have restored his more human physical attributes.
"It's him," Harry tightly confirmed for me, "but he looks... different. Human."
He might have looked it, but his head swung in a decidedly reptilian fashion as he scanned the Entrance Hall, and I saw his lips move.
"Quiet," I ordered the panicking Firsts, and Harry and I leaned closer to the mirror. We could, ever so faintly, make out his words.
"They're in the Great Hall," Voldemort said. "How appropriate." A smile curved his thin lips. "And how short-sighted of them. This should be disappointingly easy, Lucius."
Lucius Malfoy -- sans mask -- stepped up behind Voldemort, and nodded to three of the masked Death Eaters, who slipped away from the main group -- probably headed for the outside door to the Anteroom, to outflank the defenders in the Great Hall.
Harry drew in a sharp breath.
"The inscription," he muttered. "Look at the inscription."
I puzzled over it for a moment; I'd thought it some archaic language at first. And then the silliness of it hit me.
It was a mirror-image. Like practically everything else in this whimsical, ancient castle, you had to have just enough of a skewed sense of view to get the point.
The text, properly reversed, read:
Harry gingerly extended one hand toward the mirror's surface and pressed against it; the glass parted for him, enveloping his hand like a liquid.
I grabbed his arm and jerked his hand back out.
"Professor --"
"Wait, Harry," I commanded.
"But I have to --"
"Just wait a minute. There's something you don't know." I took a deep breath. "Voldemort's taken the Elixir of the Gods. Supposedly it gives him immunity to hexes and the Unforgivables, and his power may be far greater than the last time you faced him --"
"How do you --"
"Never mind how I know, just listen. The Elixir was tainted, so he may be vulnerable; we don't know for certain. Watch him for a while."
"What good will that do?" he demanded. "I've known since Fifth Year that I have to defeat him -- it's my responsibility. Headmaster said."
"Did he say you had to do it alone? Or by confronting him before you're ready?" I countered. "Defeating him you have to do yourself, perhaps, but no one does anything like this entirely alone -- and trying to do so before looking for his weaknesses is foolish. Watch and listen, and pick your moment well."
He sullenly stepped back -- but he heeded me, and fixed his eyes on Voldemort.
Three Death Eaters had stepped forward and were preparing to throw spells at the doors of the Great Hall, when, without warning, they slowly swung open of their own accord. Our viewpoint in the mirror changed -- like an editing cut in a film -- and we could see into the Hall, as if from Voldemort's vantage.
Up at the dais end of the Hall were clustered the faculty and students. Minerva, Severus, Arabella Figg and Alastor were in front, backed up by some Sevenths; Vector and two of her prize pupils were slightly off to the side by the Anteroom door, evidently intent on holding some wards they'd placed on it; the rest of the Faculty and Sevenths surrounded the other students.
Voldemort moved into our view, entering the Great Hall, and the mirror pulled back so we could see all the participants.
"So." His voice dripped acid. "I take it you won't relinquish Hogwarts willingly, McGonagall."
"Not to you, Tom Riddle, or what you represent," she spat out feistily, eyes blazing.
Voldemort is Tom Riddle? What the bloody hell --
"Still loyal to the old fool, despite the hopelessness of it all? Not like you at all, Min. Not like the practical girl I remember from school."
Cripes. I'd no idea.
"Some of us grow, Tom," she said, more steadily. "Some of us learn our weaknesses and responsibilities, and admit them. And some of us," she said, rapidly working herself up to her most shrill, chiding tones, "grow to be bloody great berks with not a jot of conscience or sense of responsibility to save our souls."
He laughed. (It wasn't pleasant.)
"Your vocabulary hasn't changed in fifty years, Min -- not surprising." He grinned outright now, displaying a row of crooked, fang-like teeth. The Elixir hadn't fixed everything, it seems. "It didn't bother me then, and it doesn't now. Although I should teach you some respect."
He quite deliberately pocketed his wand and raised his arm toward her.
"Crucio."
Shite. Wandless.
I hoped to God the Elixir hadn't been a miscalculation.
Miscalculation, hell. Try bloody great cock-up.
Alastor, Figg and Severus stood firm, wands ready but not fully raised, while the Sevenths tended to Minerva.
"Why don't they defend her?" Harry hissed. "They're just standing there!"
"They're doing what you ought to be," I said tersely. "They're sussing him out. They're trying to determine how he's going to play this, so perhaps they can anticipate his next move."
"But she's --"
I swung 'round to face him.
"Think, Harry. Professor McGonagall has a temper, but she's not stupid. That was a deliberate provocation -- and he walked right into it. Keep watching."
In the meantime, Voldemort had verbally dispensed with Alastor -- who hadn't, surprisingly, risen to the bait. And he was ready for more.
"-- And you," he said, turning to Severus, who watched him with unwavering eyes, "from you I expected better, far better. I understood your inability to provide me the Elixir -- I know, now, that there was information you couldn't possibly have found, at the time. As I can see you've guessed, someone else has." He smiled maliciously. "Gerhardt, to be precise. He finally accomplished what you could not. Of course he's no longer alive to enjoy the honour of having produced such a fabled potion.... But everything you've done since, Severus, everything since Godric's Hollow...." He tssked.
Potter stiffened beside me, and I grabbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"You don't know the whole story, Harry," I said softly, never taking my eyes from the mirror. "Don't jump to any conclusions. Get through this, and then ask Severus yourself."
"-- very disappointing," Voldemort continued. "You see, now, what you could have had? The glory that could have been yours if only you'd been patient and loyal? And instead you've brought yourself to this. Teaching mediocre potions to idiot children for the rest of your long life -- or however much you have left, after today. That's why I let you live, you know. So you would realise this, and regret it."
Severus said not a single word. His eyes were undeniably angry, but not in the least ashamed or demeaned; glittering, but with canny purpose, not malice.
Gregory Goyle, standing behind Severus, had had enough of the taunts thrown at his Head of House. He started in anger and suddenly lifted his wand -- but Severus, without ever taking his eyes from Voldemort, grasped Goyle's arm and halted him.
"Gregory, my boy," Voldemort crooned, and the young man froze, "Do you understand how badly you've disappointed your father? Your mates? They're here, you know," he said with a jerk of his head, and Draco Malfoy and Crabbe -- I think, as they were masked -- stepped forward. "It's not too late, you know, you can still join them. I will forgive your lack of judgement, just this once. Come down, and at our celebrations tonight you may receive the Mark."
Goyle was conflicted: his eyes darted back and forth between Draco and Crabbe and another Death Eater -- probably his father -- with longing, for an agonising moment.
And then he resolved himself, lowered his wand, and didn't budge.
Severus turned his head to Goyle ever so slightly and I saw, rather than heard, him murmur, "Good lad," and saw Goyle blush with pride in response.
Voldemort was not well pleased. I suppose he'd expected a donnybrook and defectors from Slytherin House, and instead he was faced with a silent group of people -- which vastly outnumbered his Death Eaters, even if most of them were too young to successfully cast the most effective curses -- who just weren't playing.
He'd run out of patience.
"Where," he hissed, "is Potter?"
No one moved or spoke. Not a single sound -- except for Minerva, who was still gasping and writhing in agony.
"If," he continued slowly, "Potter is brought to me now -- this instant -- or his whereabouts made known to me, I shall let the rest of the students go. That's a reasonable compromise, isn't it? One life in exchange for many? I'll even let the mudbloods go, if that will persuade you."
Silence.
"If not," Voldemort added, becoming more and more angry, "I shall allow my men to kill every living being in this room. Is that perfectly clear?"
Severus finally spoke.
"Potter is missing," he said.
"Really, Severus? Or have you hidden him away?" Voldemort retorted.
"I've no idea where he is," Severus said calmly.
He probably didn't -- but then, it had been Minerva who'd hidden Harry. I'd bet they'd had this planned: Minerva to send Harry Potter to me and the safe room without Severus' knowledge -- and then to put her in such a position that she couldn't divulge it.
"Tell me, Severus, why should I believe you? For two years you played me the fool -- I've no reason to believe you now, have I?" He smiled again, viciously. "I do believe -- since McGonagall's predicament hasn't impressed anyone much -- that another example is required." Lucius Malfoy hurried forward and whispered in his ear, and Voldemort laughed.
"Yes," he said contentedly to Malfoy, "yes, we have time for a little sport. By all means, Lucius, you've done well. Proceed."
Malfoy -- looking particularly smug -- stepped well away from Voldemort and the other Death Eaters cleared to the sides of the room.
"He's challenging Snape to a duel," Harry said.
Oh, shite.
Not that I thought Severus wouldn't win -- I'd heard what happened between him and Lockhart, and I knew Severus was unusually adept at curses and hexes. But Lucius Malfoy probably was, too.
Severus calmly stepped off the dais and quietly stood as Malfoy took his dueling stance. He didn't respond, didn't flinch; his wand remained pointed downward.
And then I knew what he was going to do.
"Oh, my G-- Severus, raise your wand," I muttered in panic. "Please, please, oh, don't do this to me --"
Malfoy knew, too -- or thought he did -- and laughed, and then threw Crucio. Severus gasped and struggled to remain standing; but eventually the pain pulled him over and he dropped to his knees, wand still lowered.
"Why isn't he --" Harry said in my ear, bewildered -- and I realised I'd sunk to my knees, and Harry, thinking I was fainting, had moved behind me to support me.
"I don't know. Please, Severus, just raise the damned wand --"
"You --" Harry's voice went strange. "You l-- you care for him, don't you?"
"Of course I do, he's my husband," I said impatiently, trying desperately to focus on the one-sided duel.
I couldn't see Harry's face, but he was undoubtedly shocked, as were the closest Firsts -- they began to murmur and whisper, and I hushed them sharply.
"Raise your wand, damn you," Malfoy spat out.
Severus painfully straightened but remained on his knees, and shook his head to toss away the hair that had fallen in his eyes. He stared at Malfoy and smiled -- and refused to comply.
Which, of course, enraged Malfoy even more. He wasn't getting any sport out of this, and by dueling rules cursing an opponent who refused to fight after the first salvo was the equivalent of taking a shot at an unarmed wizard. It wasn't done: it violated those aristocratic pureblood standards that were so important to the Malfoys. Albus Dumbledore was the notable exception, but then presumably Malfoy hadn't directly sullied his honour in that conflict
"Bastard," Malfoy hissed, and raised his wand arm. And I could only watch, terrified, as he began to invoke his next curse.
"Avada Ke--"
He never finished it, and Severus' help came from a most unlikely source.
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