Chapter 8

Author's note: This story may not please everyone as it is not the usual fluffy Christmas story. The scenes depicted in this story may be offensive and objectionable to some readers for their explicit violence and gore. This story deviates from my usual writing. Emphases are in italics and titles of books &ca are underlined. Some readers may find my characterisation OOC, but I assure you, this is how I see them in the dark distant future. I assume that Dumbledore's death in Book 6 was staged and that's why he's still alive in this story.

Christmas Presents Undisguised

Chapter 8

The Unspeakable Unspeakables raised their hoods over their heads as they silently trudged through the steadily falling snow. The inhabitants and frequenters of this wizarding area of London, one Mortuary by name, darted through the place here and there, scurrying in and out of doorways like shadows – a contrast against the purity of the white snow. As the afternoon had turned bitter cold, it was unsurprising to find the people at the city hurrying their footsteps. Mortuary, though the ancient wizarding London's capital, was no different from its sister districts in Alkane, Discedes and Alkane. Unlike the present-day capital of wizarding London proper at Diagon Alley, across the river, Christmas cheer was sorely lacking in the air and spirit. Despite the desolation that seemed to pervade the area, Severus was thankful that there was no frenzied buying and selling so common in the weeks preceding Christmases, nor laughter, nor joyous greetings. If it were not for the fact that they were going to confront a killer, the area would have been somewhat tolerable. As it was, his knowledge weighed heavily on him and kept him quiet.

Hermione too said nothing, content to be in companionable silence with her colleague. She fervently hoped that their surmises were wrong and that their deductions had been miscalculations. However, she was acquainted with Severus's mind and methods long enough to know that his resolutions were almost always accurate and were meant to be taken with all gravity. While she had no doubt that the identity of the Morosia-side murderer would be revealed, she could not help but wonder if Severus had contacted any other agencies for assistance for it seemed nearly impossible that the two of them could manage to survive an encounter with the killer. As they approached the edifice of the Shrine, Hermione looked up at the stone gargoyles and their various expressions of horror. Ironic, she thought, these stone gargoyles with their evil countenances were allowed to remain while the statutes of the Sainted Few were defaced.

Severus only turned back once on entering the compound of the Shrine to see whether his colleague was following him. Noting that she had looked back as if startled by something she had seen or heard, he curled his lips into a faint smirk, and gestured for her to stay close to him.

Strangely enough, the inside of the Shrine was colder than the outside and looking up one could see the criss-cross of the December light playing in through the broken windows and torn doors. The two Unspeakable Unspeakables treaded in the sanctuary carefully as there was a thin film of ice on the stone floor and its assortment of broken tiles and smashed woodwork – an occurrence that was most likely due to the snow tumbling down from the gaps in the roof. On hearing the last crunch of Severus's footsteps die away, Hermione too stopped and looked expectantly at him, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

'Do you recall what we spoke on earlier today?' Severus asked aloud, his voice echoing throughout the high vaults

'Which theory are you referring to? The show-executions and the killer, or this church and the murderer?' she responded, her hand tightly wrapped around the wand in her pocket.

'When we came here last, Dr Granger, we conceptualised a theory that the murders had something to do with the statues in this Shrine,' he continued, gesturing towards the carved and chiselled images of the Sainted Few. 'Look at these once magnificent works of art – though they were once glorious effigies, they now bear the disfiguring marks of the axe, mace and what-have-you. These effigies, like your victims, were made to suffer. They could have been obliterated or blown up with a simple spell, but our man wouldn't have that.'

Severus strolled leisurely past the other statues noting the damage that had been wrought on each of them before finally arriving at the image of St Lucy. Although she had been attacked most savagely, her lips were still kind and the plate on which she carried her eyes was alone untouched. The eyes were still visible and seemed to defiantly stare a challenge at the aggressor who dared to mutilate her body and deface her countenance. The killer, who clearly used each of the effigies as target practice to hone his skill, must have been appalled by St Lucy's eyes forever resting on her plate, following him all around the Shrine, silently watching his every move. 'Our beloved wizarding Saint of Foresight, the Muggle patron saint of blindness, was a lady as fair as she was wise. Though she saw, she did not really see; and when she did see, she was rudely punished for it, as these staring globes from her plate evince. More to the point, Dr Granger, this statute holds the key to the final proof of our theory.'

'I recall that we were arguing on coincidences when we first came to the Shrine,' admitted Hermione shyly, valiantly suppressing the colour that rose to her cheeks. 'I had pointed out that it could be coincidence that the murders and the Saints' Days corresponded. After you so dramatically disabused me of my view, I considered the matter in all seriousness. The interview with Dumbledore left me dissatisfied and I mulled over the matter. You were right to say that Feast Days did not necessarily reflect holy days and I took that into consideration in my calculations. It put my coincidence theory out-of-sync when I saw that several important feast and holy days passed without any killings. St Callistus was clear on October 14th, St Martin was clear on November 11th and St Nicholas's day on December 6th was strangely quiet. Then, as our conversation earlier today showed, there is a connection between this Shrine and the murders. St Lucy is depicted here and today is her day. All the other murders were all done on the feast days of the Saints depicted here.'

'Precisely – there were only murders on the feast-days of the Sainted Few represented here, the centre of the spider's web.'

Catching the note of self-reproach in his voice, Hermione kindly said, 'We did not know what to think when we first came here. We saw the connection between the murders and this Shrine, without seeing the true nature of the killer's psyche. It was not your fault, Professor Snape. It was an unavoidable occurrence. Dumbledore demanded an updated report and wanted a name. We gave him one. We even warned him that we were not absolutely sure. We did what we could.'

'Which wasn't enough!' he hissed through his teeth, balling his hands into angry fists. 'We, no, I, jumped to the wrong conclusion, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and that demented old man ended up issuing a carte blanche to whoever found a mad Death Eater on the loose. An innocent wizard, eager to repent and forget his past but unable to do so, surrendered himself, appealing to the system to exercise justice and drop the accusation. My thoughts and speculations led to Antonin being tortured in Azkaban. It's my fault and I shan't forgive myself for it – not for a very long time.'

'Hush now,' whispered Hermione gently, her heart lurching suddenly at his angry knotted brows and the pain and regret in his eyes. 'It was not your fault. I am as much to blame as you are. We agreed on the suspect, we made the same line of enquiries and so forth. It is not fair to shoulder the blame yourself. Just think rationally, as I know you frequently do – if you could have done it all over again, you would do exactly the same` thing. The ancient thinkers knew that too, why else did you think Machiavelli's motto was, "It is better to act and repent than not to act and regret"? Do not regret anything!'

He scowled at her, roughly grabbing her hand with a great show of a certain undefined emotion before turning away from her softly imploring eyes. 'Look at it this way – if Dolohov had not surrendered himself, we would not have known he was innocent, we would not have arrived at our final conclusion. We would not be here waiting for our spider in the middle of his web. We were not that far off in our original surmises, you realise?'

'How so?' he demanded wearily, his eyes momentarily hollow.

'We thought we were looking for a fanatical Death Eater, an insane one. But as it turns out, we are still looking for an unassuming person with a tenuous Death Eater link whom no one suspects. No one suspected him because he is civil servant and a former member of the Order of the Phoenix.'

Severus laughed thinly. 'There's nothing quite like an unassuming civil servant, especially one so well established with Potter and the old goat.'

'One thing still puzzles me though,' added Hermione thoughtfully. 'What reason would a former Order of the Phoenix member have to commit such heinous atrocities?'

'Could it be,' spat a cold voice in angry emotion, 'because he keenly felt the injustices done to him by the Order were far worse than the injustices done unto him by the Death Eaters who captured and tortured him, put him through intensive re-education and induced him to destroy all the traditions he once held dear?'

The two Unspeakable Unspeakables exchanged grim looks and heavy sighs – their spider had finally arrived. Hermione and Severus turned slowly to face the owner of the voice, the Chief Custodian of Azkaban, Neville Longbottom, who was sauntering towards them from the passage to the sacristy. Hermione arched a brow in perturbed interest when she saw that he seemed ready to do battle with his wand withdrawn in one hand and the long slender knife used in the disembowelments during the show-executions in the other. Recalling that she had also asked for Davey Gudgeon to accompany Neville, she looked about her to determine whether the well-built old man was in attendance. A cursory glance around, however, did not yield the presence of the longest serving jailer of Azkaban.

'Mr Longbottom,' drawled Severus with forced casualness. 'Could it be because he is a dangerous and unstable fellow?'

Neville pursed his lips into an ugly smile. 'No, it is more likely that he was abandoned by those whom he thought were his comrades. You have to make allowances when you consider he was made to destroy effigies on his capture by the Voldemort administration. The time he spent there was most informative.'

'The next logical step would be to move from the despoiling of holy wizarding sanctuaries to defacing the sainted few and from thence to the defiling their holy days,' Severus said dismissively.

'What better way to do so than with real flesh and blood as the ancient rituals demanded!' laughed Neville hysterically. 'If you look at it objectively, you would know that combining the reasons for hatred with the rituals from the old days was a fitting tribute to the traditional ways.'

Hermione licked her dry lips in trepidation. How were they going to remedy the situation they were presently in? Neville was clearly unhinged and it did not look like any Aurors were about to charge in and arrest him. The best solution was to keep him talking and in so doing, hope that he would drop his guard and listen to her reason. With this thought in mind, Hermione gingerly asked, 'Did the jailers then teach you what it was like and what it meant, Neville? If you had but considered the reasons the Order couldn't go after you, you would have saved yourself much grief.'

'Gods, Hermione!' laughed Neville with a faint trace of his boyish self in his eyes. 'You sound exactly like Professor Snape. You've been around him for too long I suspect. I can easily remedy that by killing one of you.'

'With your wand?' mocked Severus provocatively, grimly reflecting that Dumbledore, Potter and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be shocked on learning the identity of the perpetrator. 'You did not deem it fit to use it in your other blood and flesh rituals.'

'How like you to be judgemental!' Neville spat violently. 'You know nothing of the ancient ways in which our ancestors paid homage to the Sainted Few. It demanded blood and flesh. Spells do not inspire as much fear as doing things the Muggle way.'

'Neville,' begged Hermione. 'I need you to stay calm. We can all discuss this like civilised people.'

He laughed nervously. 'Civilised, Hermione? That greasy bastard has never managed to keep a civil tongue in his head! Why do you think Dumbledore tolerates his impudence as an Unspeakable Unspeakable?'

'That is beside the point!' Hermione stressed, her hand trembling slightly as she made a step forward toward her friend. 'You have killed a great many people, Neville. I advise you to give yourself up.'

'Give up! Do you know what I went through?' scoffed the Chief Custodian of Azkaban. 'Everyone I sacrificed deserved what they received! They were all linked some way or the other to that dysfunctional unit of the Order. I went along with the Order of the Phoenix, believing that it was a way of avenging my parents' conditions. Dumbledore allowed me into your exalted ranks and what was I used as? A reconnaissance scout! I had no active role in the planning of the attacks or plotting strategies. All I ever was to the Order was poor bumbling clumsy Neville Longbottom! My opinions were never sought and never wanted! I did not mind that – I could tolerate that minor injustice. That as nothing compared to the suffering I endured! When the Order, especially Shacklebolt, suggested that I allow myself to be captured by the Death Eaters, everyone agreed to the plan. I would be rescued, Marietta Edgecombe said. All I had to do as to distract them and obtain information. Colin Creevey even said that I was ideal for the position because no one would suspect me of being a decoy. The Death Eaters looked on me as a failure even among wizards! But that wasn't how they viewed me when I was captured. That was how the Order viewed me! That was why I was exploited by the Order! And I was stupid enough to allow myself to be used! Even when I followed orders and allowed myself to be captured, was I rescued? No! Dean Thomas and Terry Boot were waiting in the shadows when I was caught and they did not bother to raise the alarm and send the others after me. Oh no, I was to get the Death Eaters to talk, to tell me Voldemort's latest plans. Later when Aurors and the small division of the Order came, the Death Eaters were attacked, but no attempt was made to retrieve me by any of them – not Zacharias Smith, not Tonks, not Susan Bones, not the Patil twins, not Sarah Fawcett or Cuthbert Mockridge. Why? Was I so unimportant to the Order that I could be sacrificed? Even Gran did not lift a finger to help me. She could have moved heaven and earth to remove me from Death Eater clutches, but she didn't. What do you expect from a domineering old woman who wouldn't see anyone else's view but her own! I had to kill her when she found out I was the murderer. She was visiting some down and out schoolfellow of hers and saw me at it... I should have known – the old termagant has eyes like a hawk She wanted to turn me in to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and I told her that I would take her out to dinner first. Foolish old dame! I particularly enjoyed pulling her apart, both Gran and Tonks – when they both touched too close to my truth. After all the years of living in Gran's shadow and that of the Order and all you other heroes with your fancy promotions and successes, I would come into my own. You will all one day learn that I am not to be laughed at or disregarded!'

'That is all very well, Neville. But it does not change the fact that you are to be arrested for these wanton and senseless murders,' Hermione reasoned.

'I don't think so,' Neville laughed hollowly.

'We can't arrest Mr Longbottom without his faithful aide-de-camp, Gudgeon, Dr Granger,' purred Severus warily.

'But Gudgeon isn't here!' she protested.

'No, he is,' he cautioned, 'Hold your ground. Thought you were clever, weren't you, Mr Longbottom? The woman who was found today, whom you killed this morning, Hannah Abbott, was flung three and a half metres over the mud-flat either by a man of great physical strength, which you lack, or by two men.'

'Figured it out, didn't ye?' cackled a voice to the investigators' rear. Despite the unpleasant situation, Hermione wondered how an old man of his well-built proportions could walk up behind them so quietly. Though he was but a short distance away from them, he already had his wand and dagger withdrawn as warning signs.

'Are you two so united in hatred that you formed a club for murderers?' ridiculed Severus. 'How quaint! The effects of damaged minds never cease to amuse me.'

'Not as amused as we will be when we damage your persons!' rejoined Neville bitterly. 'Gudgeon, it's time!'

The scene that followed seemed to occur all at once. The two killers from the bowels of Azkaban charged forward from the left and right, Neville moving warily towards the Unspeakable Unspeakables and Gudgeon with certain desperation in his eyes. Hermione had only managed to cast a quick protective spell on herself when Gudgeon charged at her. As she braced herself for the mild tremor of a spell on her, she was startled to see Severus coolly shooting a modified Cruciatus at Gudgeon, which whizzed past her ear and crashed directly on the gaoler's chest. The impact from the spell caused Gudgeon to reel backwards, stunned, wounded and severely trembling. Gudgeon, she noticed, could only look at the wound on his chest, and clutch at it in utter disbelief.

Neville, circling them like a cat, was likewise stunned by the display of Severus's power and moved to cast a spell to immobilise the investigators. However, his attempt was neatly arrested by Hermione who called out 'Expelliarmus' and soon brought his wand into her possession. The slender disembowelling knife was all he had now and seeing that it rested on his shoulders to silence the two Unspeakable Unspeakables, he gave a brief cry of frustration and charged at Severus, who deftly threw him back, knocking him into the outstretched arms of St Peter. Hermione, on the other hand, seeing that Severus had the situation with Neville in perfect control, went over to examine the fallen Gudgeon who was by then bleeding. He rose staggeringly and sought to reach for her throat but stumbled over her foot. That did not stop him and he rose again with a feral cry, lunging forward with his bare hands. Seeing that there was no way she could contain him until he was rendered unconscious. Hermione promptly pointed her wand at the rafts above Gudgeon and muttered a spell that sent brick, mortar, wood and stone tumbling down over his ears, effectively pushing him down to the ground with a loud crash. Judging from the gasps, moans and gargling sounds drifting over from the pile of roof fragments over Gudgeon, Hermione rightly supposed that her enterprise in rendering him insentient was successful.

As soon as Neville saw that he was left without his trusted assistant, he knew that the game was almost over. Deciding that flight was the best course of action, he savagely dived at Severus, catching him off guard and pushing him back before fleeing the scene. Severus, though momentarily stunned, gestured for Hermione to follow Neville and soon followed behind her. They hurried along a dark passage, which led to the graveyard of the Shrine, and they both noticed evening was already upon them, so low was the sun in the sky. Despite the dying light, Neville's footprints were still visible to the Unspeakable Unspeakables. With a finger across his lips, Severus cautioned Hermione against any sudden moves, for in the shadows of the numerous tombstones, crypts and sarcophagi, Neville might be lurking, waiting to pounce on them.

However, as they followed his trail of footprints, they saw that poor Neville Longbottom, the Chief Custodian of the prison of Azkaban was no longer capable of pouncing on anyone. He was lying prostrate in the shadow of a large ornate tomb, which was grossly desecrated and broken up. A large stain grew and slowly spread in the pristine snow around his head as a steady trickle of blood sprung forth from a battered fraction of his skull. A large moving shadow emerged from behind the tomb and the Unspeakable Unspeakables saw that the figure slowly rose to its full height, dropped a large fragment of a tombstone and slung a heavy sack forward. The figure grinned on seeing them and tossed the heavy sack containing his day's pickings over his shoulders.

'I got him,' said the dirty figure of Mundungus Fletche,r giving a warm salute.

'About time you came,' said Severus without emotion, pulling a memory from his forehead and storing it in a bottle.

'Your intervention was most timely,' Hermione added quickly. 'Thank you, 'Dung, we couldn't have done it without you.'

'So, it was young Nev Longbottom and that gaoler fellow of his who was walloped by the Whomping Willow, eh? Never thought it could be him,' said Mundungus, kicking the body.

'They never are anything remarkable,' owned Severus, pocketing his wand. 'Do you think you can manage or do you need a cart to carry him?'

'Don't bother,' said Hermione before either man could answer and transfigured a nearby rock into a cart.

'Good,' snorted Mundungus with a wink at the Arithmancer. 'I'll take him to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office. Hopefully, young Ron Weasley will be pleased to see me.'

'Just to be safe, bind him up and make sure you get Dumbledore in attendance.' Severus handed Mundungus two letters and the bottle. "Give one to Dumbledore and the other to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Commissioner. It will fully explain everything. If the letters fail to convince them, the memory in the bottle should knock some sense into them.'

After dumping the body of the unfortunate Neville Longbottom into the cart, Mundungus readily took the letters. 'You're sure I'll get the reward?' he asked, his eyes avariciously glinting.

'It's all yours, you rogue – all 1000 galleons,' Severus insisted. 'Dr Granger and I are officers of the British Wizarding Criminal Prosecution Ministry, apprehending the killer is good enough for us. Now, go!'

Hermione, nonplussed by the exchange, whispered to Severus. 'Are you sure about this, giving him that much money? Mundungus is a scoundrel!'

Though Severus said nothing, he was silently considering Hermione's words. Watching Mundungus tie the lifeless limbs of Neville before securing him the cart, a thought dawned on him and he smirked knowingly. 'I know.'

Hermione watched Mundungus push the cart past the gravestones and out the gate. 'You do realise you would have saved us a great deal of trouble if you had only the foresight to call Ron and the Aurors down. That would have saved Dumbledore and Harry their 1000 galleons.'

'Do you really think so?' Severus questioned with a sardonic smirk. 'It is better this way, I think. It is our revenge.'

'How so?' she asked, taking his proffered arm with alacrity. 'I know you and I get to leave the service of the Unspeakable Unspeakables. But beyond that?'

'Oh, you're leaving too?' He arched a brow in faint interest. 'Then the revenge would be even sweeter. Come, Hermione, let us follow friend Mundungus and watch Dumbledore's face when he gives him the 1000 galleons.'

She laughed and as he patted her hand matter-of-factly, he continued. 'As soon as that is done, let me take you to dinner where I want to run a proposal by you.'

'Oh?'

'I've been thinking that perhaps we should write a paper together something about the interdisciplinary fields of Arithmantic and Alchemical theories. What say you?' he quizzed, the faintest fear that she would reject him flitting before his eyes.

As if she could understand the words that he had left unsaid, she smiled at him. 'Of course, I would. I've been meaning to ask you the same. Merry Christmas, Professor Snape.'

'I believe it will be, Dr Granger. Now, what do you say to eating with your hands?'

On hearing his droll suggestion, Hermione glared at him in repugnance. However, the arched brow and light curling of his lips assured her that it was a joke. So she laughed aloud, thinking that it would be a merry Christmas after all.

~Finis~

Footnotes:

The title of this tale is a pun. 'Presents' is a double entendre. It means (1) gifts and (2) shows. If you take its latter meaning and dissect it, you will realise that I mean it as a masque or pageant (in the 17th century understanding of the term). Think about it. I'll leave you to figure out it fits with the story.

Acknowledgements

Peri, my beta, should be thanked for her kindness and forbearance in proofreading this little work. Her insights into historical terms, historical events, factual evidence, Christianity and current affairs have always been sensible. The emails we exchanged and debates on the finer points of my convoluted language in early drafts are greatly appreciated. She has put up with a lot of nonsense from me and has never complained about my unreasonableness. Her just, useful and insightful comments have inspired me through the weeks of continual rereading and rewriting. Her friendship as well as her daughter's shall be dearly treasured.

The indulgence of my readers in remaining steadfast to this story has overwhelmed me. All your reviews and comments are very much appreciated. I hope that you have enjoyed this little short novel. It was a challenge to write and a challenge to edit. However, if you like it and can understand it, I am thankful.

I am, yours &ca,

Lady Strange