Special Delivery

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Eleven : Special Delivery

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Dialogue marked with an asterisk is quoted from the original HP stories.

LAxo and WriterMerrin rock my world. Seriously.

"Enough, Alecto," sneered Severus, forcing up the Muggle Studies teacher's wand with a languorous wave of his own. "Evidently the boy's dearest wish is to follow in the footsteps of his far-from-illustrious parents; you would punish him more acutely by denying him the opportunity."

From where he lay, sprawled on the floor, Neville Longbottom gave Severus Snape a glare of unadulterated hatred.

"What?" squawked Alecto. "Not punish him at all?"

"I suggest you give him lines," replied Severus dryly. "It's hard to feel like a hero writing lines."

"Not as much fun for me, but," grumbled Alecto sourly.

"Nor for him...which is, I believe, the point." Severus punctuated his sentence with a raised eyebrow. Stepping over Longbottom's still prone-body, he swept away. "You'd best send him to the Hospital Wing, first," he called back over his shoulder. "Otherwise he'll leave bloodstains on the pages."

Severus was counting the hours until the Hogwarts Express left for Christmas, and he glanced at his watch: eighteen hours, forty-three minutes and fifteen seconds. It wouldn't come a moment too soon.

Predictably enough, the Dark Lord summoned Severus the evening that the students left. And while Severus held out little hope of a festive, enjoyable encounter, the meeting proved worse than anticipated.

To begin with, Lucius waylaid him moments after he entered the manor.

"A word, Severus," he remarked from a shadowed doorway, beckoning autocratically.

"Lucius," responded Severus, stepping through into what proved to be a narrow passage.

Lucius shut the door firmly behind them, cutting off all source of light. In the darkness, he stood very close to Severus and reached out to grip his upper arm tightly.

Severus sighed through his nose and pulled out his wand. "Lumos," he said softly.

In the shadowy light of his wandbeam, Lucius' white-blond hair gleamed eerily, and his scowl carved dark lines down his face.

"How did you know she was mine?"

Jocelyn. Severus' stomach clenched. "She's not," he replied curtly.

"What in Salazar's sweet name are you up to, Severus?"

"Slytherins," replied Severus in an apparent non sequitur, "look out for their own."

"That is not much of an explanation."

"Last year a blonde, Muggle-born witch was sorted into Slytherin. Before the Muggle-born legislation took effect, I decided she needed a new identity. She also needed a new wand, and Runcorn needed convincing." Severus shrugged.

"So, you told him she was my bastard."

"Lucius, I merely commented on the colour of her hair."

"She looks like me." It was a statement, not a question. Severus realised that Jocelyn's arrival that afternoon on the Hogwarts Express was the first time Lucius had met her.

"She is blonde, Lucius, nothing more."

"She could be mine." Lucius sounded unexpectedly belligerent. "What's the mother like?" he queried urgently. "Did you meet the supposed father? I'm serious, Severus, she could be mine."

The back of Severus' throat was dry. What had he done? He should have sent her off to Krum with the other Muggle-borns. He was a fool.

"I want to take a paternity test," insisted Lucius.

"If you do," replied Severus, "the results will be automatically sent to the Ministry. If she's not yours . . ." He let the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

She's not yours! She couldn't be Lucius' daughter; it wouldn't be fair.

"Afterwards," responded Lucius after a long moment, conceding he would wait.

Would Draco be as spoilt were he not an only child? wondered Severus. Unwillingly, he nodded his agreement to Lucius' suggestion. After what, though? That was the question.

"I will take care of her, Severus," promised Lucius, but the words provided Severus with no comfort.

"Where is she now?"

"In the nursery, with several house-elves. I didn't want her to attract the Dark Lord's attention."

"Very good."

After several seconds of Lucius' careful scrutiny, Severus was permitted to leave. He walked away feeling unexpectedly bereft; despite his intentions, he felt as if he'd just betrayed Jocelyn.

When he swept into the drawing room where the Dark Lord waited, the bound figure of Luna Lovegood hit him like a sharp slap. With a mild sneer, he lifted his robes fastidiously and stepped over her, walking directly towards Voldemort and dropping to one knee.

"Good evening, my Lord," he said, ignoring not only Lovegood but also the handful of Death Eaters in attendance.

"Ah, Severuss, my dear boy. How lovely to see you . . . No need to introduce you to our guest, of course. Bellatrix was just trying to decide which piece of the poor girl to send as a warning to Lovegood senior."

Bellatrix giggled nastily. "And such a pleasant decision! Perhaps a finger?"

Severus rolled his eyes as he rose to his full height. "You never did have a grasp of subtleties, Bella. A handful of hair would be far more effective."

"You're soft, Snape," snarled Bellatrix, jabbing her wand viciously to punctuate her sentence. Green sparks flew from the end, missing Severus by mere millimetres.

Severus raised a disparaging eyebrow. "If you maintain the illusion that he might receive the girl back unharmed, he's far more likely to comply with good grace. Push him to the point where he fears her dead already, you run the risk of outright defiance."

Voldemort laughed at the spasm of rage that marred Bellatrix's once pretty face. "Sseverusss is the consssumate Ssslytherin," he hissed. "Hair it shhhall be."

"Please, my Lord," remarked Severus, affecting a look of faint distaste and waving one hand in the vague direction of the trussed Ravenclaw, "I see enough of the little blighters during term time . . . I had hoped to be spared this evening."

Voldemort laughed a second time. "Draco!" he ordered. "Put her in with the other one. Tonight," he continued, turning to the assembled crowd, "we have much to celebrate: the New Year beckons, and this year, this year victory will be mine!"

"Headmaster!" cried Phineas, skidding into his portrait. "They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood..."*

"Do not use that word!"* snarled Severus, interrupting Phineas even as he pushed up from his chair in response to the information the portrait had delivered.

"...the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!"*

Good work, Granger.

"Good. Very good!" exclaimed Dumbledore excitedly. He, too, was up out of his chair. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valour...and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him..."*

"I know,"* responded Severus irritably, silencing Dumbledore by grasping hold of the frame of his portrait and swinging it open. Reaching inside the hidden cavity, he pulled out the sword of Gryffindor and hefted it in his hand. He pushed Dumbledore's portrait back into place with an audible click.

"And, Severus, be very careful,"...Dumbledore continued to shower Severus with instructions as he collected his broom and crossed the room towards the door..."they may not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley's mishap..."*

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," he replied from the threshold. "I have a plan . . ."*

One that doesn't involve showing myself to Potter, he added irritably as he ran down the stairs.

The Forest of Dean covers 110 square kilometres of Crown land in the western part of Gloucestershire, a circumstance that makes stumbling upon a small, magically concealed tent rather difficult. Luckily for Severus, he did, indeed, have a plan...although how exactly Dumbledore had imagined he might find the fugitives was to remain a mystery.

Broomstick and sword in hand, Severus Apparated as close to the middle of the forest as possible. He arrived, Disillusioned himself, cast a quick Homenum Revelio to ensure he was alone, then put his broom to immediate use, sweeping a small patch of ground free of snow. With a carefully controlled Gouging Spell, he scraped a small amount of dirt from the frozen earth.

That done, Severus took great care to extract two pieces of paper from an inside pocket: a photograph, torn neatly along one edge, and a short, handwritten note on a piece of folded parchment. Severus put the photograph of Hermione Granger and the note...signed with her own name and in her own hand...on the ground, one either side of the small pile of dirt. Had he also owned a piece of her hair or a drop of her saliva, Severus could have tracked her anywhere. With only two of the three necessary ingredients, the spell would be far less effective, but hopefully still strong enough that the entire forest would fit within its geographical limits.

Severus leant over the odd arrangement of things and let a long string of saliva drop from his mouth onto the small pile of dirt, stirring the two together into a thick paste with the tip of his wand. After all, he'd kissed her...once...and that might be enough to tip the magic in his favour. Once the mud he'd made was smooth, he used it to trace the rune for protection on the ground above her photo, and the rune for questing above her note. In the middle, he wrote the rune for answer.

"Ostendo mihi via," he declaimed. He felt the tug on his wand almost immediately. Scooping up his photograph and letter, he tucked them back inside his robes. Conjuring a broad leather belt, he buckled it on and hooked the blade of the sword through it, supported by the crosspiece. Then he mounted his broom.

The night air was crisp and clear, and above the treetops the stars shone brightly. Severus let his wand steer, holding it pressed flat against the handle of his broom so that the tug it felt towards Granger pulled him in the right direction.

This year, his opportunities to fly had been few and far between, and Severus revelled in the clean air that filled his lungs, the rush of wind through his hair, the joyful rightness of acting against Voldemort.

After twenty minutes or so, his speed dropped slightly before his broom settled into a tight, looping circle over a small clearing. Looking down, Severus saw no sign of the tent, but that was only to be expected. Pulling his wand free from the handle of his broom, he turned away, landing at a distance of around 400 metres, where the unavoidable noises of his arrival would pass unnoticed.

Granger's presence continued to register as a compulsive tug on the end of his wand, and Severus let it guide his footsteps, creeping back towards the tiny clearing. With his senses on high alert, Severus felt the wards before he triggered them. Gently, ever so gently, he pressed a hand flat against the defensive magical barrier. The familiar sizzle of Granger's magic swept over him; he felt like an addict under the first rush of a long-denied drug.

Only with great effort did he manage to wrench his eyelids open and to pull his hand away. Don't be a fool, Snivellus, he rebuked himself. Resolutely turning his back, Snape set to work searching for a place to hide the sword.

A short distance from the tent, he found the perfect set up: a deep pond, covered in a thin layer of ice, and several positions from which he could keep an eye on unfolding events without being seen. It took very little time to stash his broomstick behind a tree, to crack the icy surface of the pond with the sword of Gryffindor, and to let the heavy sword slip below the ice. He charmed the pond to repel all attempts to retrieve the sword by magic and then removed all traces of his footprints. Taking up his position behind the tree, he cast his Patronus.

The silver doe burst from his wand with a flourish. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, blinking her large eyes. Then, she was gone, bounding away through the trees. Severus shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against the nearest tree. The silver glow of his Patronus lingered on his retina. Please, he urged the universe, let Granger be the one who gets the message.

It was a good ten minutes before the silver glow of the doe's return was visible between the trees, and by then, Severus was tense with anticipation. Her delicate movements became closer and clearer, but still the luminescence of her form blocked the figure who followed behind. Only when she reached the pool and turned around could Severus make out Potter's pale face and his shock of unruly hair.

Disappointment tasted like dirt in his mouth, and his glowing, hopeful Patronus flickered and disappeared.

"Lumos!"* shouted Potter suddenly, fear evident in his voice.

Severus bit back the caustic comment that rose unbidden to his lips. The boy would have done better to Disillusion himself silently, rather than broadcast his position to whomever was watching. Will the boy ever learn?

Potter lifted his wand, peering around him nervously. As he caught sight of the sword, glimmering in the light of his wand, he twitched visibly and turned back for a better look. He peered down at the sword, then dropped to his knees beside the pool. For a long moment he hovered there, seemingly frozen, before raking the light from his wand around the perimeter of trees. Severus narrowed his eyes against the glare, unconcerned by the possibility that Potter would see through his Disillusionment charm.

"Accio Sword!"* muttered Potter. When he had no luck with the Summoning Charm, he pushed himself to his feet and began to pace around the lake.

How much longer? wondered Severus, allowing himself the luxury of rolling his eyes. A noise behind him caught at his attention, and he twisted his neck suddenly. After the bright light of Potter's wand, the darkness was impenetrable. Severus pressed his eyes closed and forced himself to count to fifteen, opening them only once his pupils had adjusted. The was someone else wandering around the forest, and a sudden panic gripped his stomach with an icy hand. Granger?

Severus glanced back towards Potter, who had stripped down to his underpants and was shivering indecisively on the edge of the pool. Briefs...who knew? noted Severus, smirking automatically. Visibly steeling himself, the boy jumped.

"NO! Wait!"

The shout...in a man's voice...came from about fifty metres away, and Severus' wand was pointed at the source within seconds. He wouldn't be responsible for Potter's death at this late stage of the game.

The shock of the cold water seemed to have diverted Potter's attention. For several seconds, his head was visible above the water, desperately gasping air. Though the shrubbery to his right was shaking as something or someone moved within it, Potter failed to notice. Instead, he ducked his head below the water.

Moments later, Ronald Weasley appeared, shouldering his way through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth with some difficulty. "You don't jump into a pool, you idiot!" he continued, clearly oblivious to the fact that Harry was in no state to hear him. "You could have broken your back!"

Severus could only assume that the Deluminator's mysterious secondary function had led the idiot boy here at such an opportune moment.

Weasley jogged across the clearing as he spoke. "Harry?" He was leaning over the pool. "Harry?" he asked more urgently. "What the hell are you doing?" By the time he'd asked his last question, he'd dropped his rucksack. "You're a complete nutcase!" he declared loudly as he stepped down on his own heel and levered his foot out of his boot. The second boot went the same way. Squatting first on the edge of the pool and placing his weight on his arms, Ronald Weasley lowered himself into the water.

Grudgingly, Severus tabled the possibility that Ronald Weasley was not as stupid as he had always believed.

For ten seconds, the clearing was eerily silent.

With an enormous splash and a gasping breath, Weasley broke through the surface of the pond. Grunting and spluttering, he levered Potter's body over the side. Sucking in another breath, Weasley disappeared once more. The second time was shorter, and within moments he was tossing the sword of Gryffindor onto the bank and pulling himself up behind it. Still on his knees, he shook Potter's shoulder. The boy-who-had-lived-once-before seemed to be choking.

"Come on, mate," Weasley urged through chattering teeth. Grabbing the sword, he levered the blade up awkwardly, sawing at whatever it was that Potter had managed to catch around his neck.

Severus held his breath.

"Thank fuck," swore Weasley as the sword did its job. Pushing himself to his feet, Weasley pulled on his boots, stamping and coughing in an attempt to warm himself. A severed piece of chain and a locket swung from one hand, the sword dangled from the other.

Hasn't he ever heard of Warming Charms? wondered Severus, studiously ignoring his own relief, as Potter retched into the snow.

Noting Potter's return to full consciousness, Weasley jabbed viciously at an offending piece of snow with the point of the sword.

"Are...you...mental?"* he demanded aggressively.

Time to make my move, decided Severus. Potter was alive, he had the sword, and Weasley had returned. The gruesome twosome would probably take longer than most to get over the shock of their reunion and search for their mystery benefactor, but it still behoved Severus to move now. Besides, with those two accounted for . . .

As Severus mounted his broom and pushed off, a crazy, foolish idea blossomed. Against all logic, against his better judgement, he flew back towards the tent. Soaring over the trees, he calculated that he had at least ten minutes' lead on the two boys.

He found the clearing easily. Pulling up his broom, he landed gently on a patch of exposed dirt and picked his way along a tree root to the edge of the wards, careful not to leave footprints. Then he leant up against the wards, letting the force of them hum gently against his skin.

You couldn't teach a person for six years, including one year of intensive private lessons, without knowing their magical signature intimately. He felt his way through the different layers of protection she'd used: none would stop a friend, though cumulatively, they hid the tent from view. Moving carefully, he grasped hold of the wards and slipped through.

One long stride was enough to move him from the root on which he had balanced to a trampled patch of earth near the door. There was no need to conceal his footprints here. At the door of the tent, Severus Snape hesitated: he was about to do something very stupid and very selfish. If Potter came back and caught him . . . Pushing aside the whisperings of his conscious...which sounded suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore...Severus ducked his head into the tent.

"Granger?" he asked softly. There was no response.

Severus shot a cautious glance back over his shoulder in the direction from which he'd come. No sign yet of Potter and Weasley. Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped inside.

The inside of the tent was deliciously warm and lit by a small basin of flickering blue-tinted flames. Severus spotted Granger almost immediately...fast asleep on a bunk bed against the far wall...and crossed soundlessly to her side. Setting his broom to hover in the air, he squatted near her head, lowering his face to her level.

Hermione Granger slept on. Her hair was loose, covering the pillow with a riot of curls. Her lips were slightly parted, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, visible even in sleep. Severus flared his nostrils, taking in the sleepy, heady scent of her.

She looked so fragile, and it suddenly felt desperately important not to wake her. Severus didn't want to see her peaceful expression replaced with alarm. Reaching out...with infinite care...he brushed the fingers of one hand along her hair.

She didn't stir.

Emboldened, Severus pushed his fingers into the soft mass of curls, wrapping one around his finger and savouring the soft spring and slippery smoothness...so different from the feel of his own locks.

Her hair.

The idea caught in his throat. Dare he? Yes. Moving more quickly now, but still careful not to wake her, he extricated one curl from the cloud of its companions, choosing from the centre, where she wouldn't notice the loss. With a non verbal charm, it severed cleanly, and he tucked the abruptly shortened strands back in among the others. He rocked back on his heels.

I have to go. Still he crouched there, unwilling to leave. Severus, he warned himself. Reluctantly, he stood. His hand closed around the handle of his broom, Granger's curl cradled to his chest with his other hand. Now, Severus, now!

He left.

Once out of the tent, he took to the sky, careful to put enough distance between himself and all three Gryffindors such that the sound of his Apparation was heard only by the wild creatures of the Forest of Dean.

A / N : I know, I know!! So close, and yet so far! You can be sure to leave me a nice, long review telling me exactly how cruel that was. :)

Let me note that in this chapter I have deliberately and wilfully deviated from the letter of canon for the first and hopefully only time. This is what I've ignored (two lines of dialogue, from p.690 of the US edition of DH):

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the sword?" said Snape as he swung a travelling cloak over his robes.

"No, I don't think so," said Dumbledore's portrait. "He will know what to do with it."

I am off to post a long diatribe on my livejournal account as to why; there's no need for me to put that all here. (username: grrangerous, with a double 'r')

On another, and equally important note, next week I begin a new job, and I really don't know how much free time I'm going to have. :( I should be set to keep the next couple of chapters coming weekly, but things might get tricky. I can only suggest that you leave me lots of encouraging reviews so that I feel obliged to satiate my readers rather than my employers. ;)

Have a great week!