Chapter Twenty-Five: Preoccupation

Chapter Twenty-Five: Preoccupation

Saturday, 21 November 1998

Filius Flitwick heaved a great sigh.

"It will be perfectly adequate in the Great Hall," Severus said.

They were standing at the window in Filius's sitting room in Ravenclaw Tower, watching the rain come pouring down, a cold, heavy, miserable rain that November could bring with it. The skies had opened that morning, and it seemed all the water in the heavens was determined to drown the Hogwarts grounds. The water level in the loch was rising, no doubt, though they could barely discern its grey presence through the deluge.

"Adequate," Filius said miserably. "I wanted . . . spectacular . . . splendid . . . fabulous . . . heart-stopping . . . riveting."

"It's to be expected that we will need to adjust to the weather on occasion," Severus replied. "Particularly in November . . . and December. And, I suppose, January through March, as well. Then April can be unpredictable..."

"All right, all right!" Filius said with a chuckle. "Flexibility. We shall be flexible!"

"I am certain it will still be the success you hope for," Severus said, turning away from the window. "And it may stop raining before the duel."

"Even if it does, desiccating spells wouldn't be sufficient to dry out the Quidditch pitch in time for the duel. Not enough for my satisfaction. No, the Great Hall it must be. I'll speak with Swelka about setting up tiered seating so that everyone can see well."

"I will do that," Severus said. "Unless you have specific requirements..."

"That would be fine, thank you, Severus! Some brightly coloured benches would be nice. Something cheerful!"

Severus nodded. If Flitwick wanted cheerful benches, he would get cheerful benches. He smiled slightly to himself. Flitwick did tend to make people want to do things for him, and do them gladly. Even down to getting the black bat of the dungeons to order up cheerfully coloured benches in the Great Hall. Filius had a way about him. It was almost a surprise that the weather wouldn't cooperate with him.

Severus wasn't sure how he'd managed it, but Filius had roped Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, into participating in the first duel. He and Potter together were bound to attract a good-sized audience, though with the rain, probably not as many outsiders would attend as they might if it were a fine day. That was just as well, in Severus's opinion: not only was the Great Hall a good deal smaller than the Quidditch stadium and would seat fewer people, even with tiered seating, but it was less of a security risk if there were fewer outsiders. Minerva wasn't concerned...not that she wasn't being cautious, but Severus thought that she and everyone else had become lax over the months since the Dark Lord had been killed there on the Hogwarts grounds.

In the last few weeks, Severus had developed a fascination, almost a morbid obsession, with the Dark Lord's death. Now that Slytherin had its own House ghost again, and one who had opposed the Dark Lord...though not very vocally, still fatally for the poor wizard...Severus was less worried that the ghost of Tom Riddle would return to haunt Slytherin House. He had, in fact, given Flint strict orders that if he encountered the ghost of any known Death Eater, he was to inform him immediately, and he was to try to keep Slytherin House Death-Eater-ghost-free. Severus did not explicitly mention the Dark Lord himself, but he presumed that Flint understood that he did not want even the whisper of that wizard's ghost near Hogwarts.

Severus's preoccupation with the Dark wizard's death extended itself to an anxiety that he wasn't really dead. Intellectually, he knew that the Dark Lord's Horcruxes had been destroyed. Hermione herself had killed Nagini, and then Albus had burned her body and ignited the Shrieking Shack, burning it to the ground. The final Horcrux, the one contained in Harry Potter, had been destroyed by Voldemort himself. There was little evidence of that except for Potter's own description of the event...and the fact that the Avada Kedavra had hit him with an explosion of green light, and yet Potter still lived. Impossible unless Riddle had drawn out his own bit of soul and separated it from Potter's body. Potter's scar was less evident than it had been, as well, though that was no proof positive.

Still, Severus believed that there had been no remaining Horcruxes by the time of the battle, that during that final battlefield confrontation, only the shell of Tom Riddle's own reconstituted body held any of Riddle's soul, whatever that might be. That meant only one thing: if Riddle's body was dead, the Dark Lord himself was gone. And dozens of witnesses had seen Riddle die...or had seen him dying, being killed by Potter with the assistance of Minerva and Dumbledore. Gareth McGonagall had once told Severus that he himself hadn't seen the entire process, though he believed that by the time he again had to fight off Death Eaters, Riddle was already dead, or very near to it.

Severus had recently asked Albus to show him the spot in the Forbidden Forest where he and Potter had burned the Dark Lord's remains, but Albus had stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and turned and left without saying anything else. Severus didn't know why he had the need to see that spot, just that he did, and it was becoming an itch he couldn't scratch and couldn't ignore. Over the last several days, he had walked in the Forest, hoping to find the location himself, thinking it must be obvious. Surely nothing would grow on the ground where such evil had burned.

He had questioned Madam Pomfrey closely about how long Dumbledore had been gone from Minerva's side when he had left to go with Potter and cremate the remains, but without knowing what method they had used to burn him, or how much of a body was left to burn, it was difficult even to use that as a measure of how far into the Forest they had gone. He knew only that they likely hadn't gone to the far side of the Forest, but had done it somewhere in the centre of the Forest...or perhaps even closer to the Hogwarts grounds...but beyond that, he couldn't tell.

It bothered Severus that Albus hadn't trusted him with the information. He wouldn't tell anyone, surely Albus knew that. He simply needed . . . needed something tangible, needed to know that the Dark Lord was really gone, obliterated, nothing left of him, nothing left of that Dark creature Tom Riddle had become. A couple weeks before, he had asked Minerva, in an off-hand sort of way, whether Albus had told her where in the Forest they'd burned the body, and she had raised an eyebrow, said, "No, why would he?" and then turned back to her reading.

Severus dug out the newspapers that Hermione had brought him when he was recovering from the initial effects of Nagini's bite, seeking photographs of the actual battle, then he went to the library and found additional newspapers. Unfortunately, they all reprinted the same seven battle photographs. Colin Creevey had taken a few from the windows of the Great Hall, it seemed, before returning to the Hospital Wing and taking more. The three early photographs that the newspapers published showed the initial defence of the castle, the Death Eaters arrayed with Voldemort near the front, projectiles landing amongst them and the Gryffindor defenders emerging from the castle and beginning their attack. One of them showed Arthur Weasley falling to the Dark Lord's curse, and Alastor Moody moving to stand over his body to keep all other Death Eaters at bay. Whatever else Severus might think of him, Moody was no coward, and no shirker.

The other four photographs were actually better in some ways, the elevated perspective from the Hospital Wing offering a greater swath of the battlefield to view and allowing Creevey to snap pictures of different areas at different times. The two photographs that interested Severus, however, were those that showed Potter confronting the Dark Lord, Albus and Minerva on either side of him, and Zabini and Gamp beside them. For the first time, Severus noticed Gareth McGonagall in one of the pictures, lying on the ground, raising up on one elbow, looking toward Voldemort and toward Potter, Minerva, Dumbledore, and the Slytherins.

Unfortunately, although there were two of the final confrontation, none of the photos showed what Severus would judge to be the Dark Lord's actual demise. Not that he really would have been able to tell; between the distance from which the photographs had been taken and the other witches and wizards moving about, casting and dodging curses, it was difficult to say precisely what was happening to the Dark Lord...to Tom Riddle...even the one for which Creevey had zoomed the lens was not very detailed.

Severus considered his recent preoccupation as he walked down to the kitchens to find the head house-elf, Swelka, and he decided it was just as well that it was a rainy day. His walks in the Forbidden Forest were likely an unhealthy obsession, not to mention that they were somewhat dangerous, despite his own substantial skills at defence and handling magical creatures...or at least, at evading them. The rain would keep him on the straight and narrow for that day, and perhaps if he could go a week without looking for the cremation site, he might be able to rid himself altogether of the desire to find it. He had spent years wanting to escape his enslavement to the Dark tyrant, but now he was seeking him. It made no sense at all.

He didn't want to find him, though, he reminded himself as he tickled the pear and opened the entrance to the kitchens. He wanted to be certain the bastard was dead. Completely, irrevocably, never-coming-back dead, dead as a doornail, or deader.

Swelka was happy to accommodate the request for bright, colourful tiered seating in the Great Hall, and immediately assigned four house-elves to the task of preparing the space for the duel. Severus said that he would complete the duelling platform himself, and gave her the specifications for the area they should leave empty in the centre of the Hall. Several years ago, Lockhart had orchestrated the pathetic...though ultimately instructional...demonstration for the students, and the conceited fop had used the entirely wrong measurements. The initial portion of the duel required a narrowly delineated paseo, but the actual duelling space for an indoor duel was much wider than the platform that Lockhart had used. Severus had read Flitwick's books carefully, and he would reproduce both the indoor and outdoor arenas as the classic rules required. He would have to ask Flitwick which of the two standard outdoor configurations he preferred, ovoid or rectangular.

As soon as lunch was over, Severus shut the doors to the Great Hall and watched as the house-elves efficiently cleared the room and then raised tiered benches on either side of the Hall. The benches were plain wood to begin with, but once they were erected, one section at a time glimmered and changed colour. One corner of Severus's mouth turned up. They would please Filius, he was sure: they were every colour of the rainbow, red right through violet. Finally, the elves raised a black platform of the proper size in the centre of the Hall.

Gervo, the house-elf in charge of the transformation, popped over to Severus and asked whether there was anything else required. Severus shook his head.

"Thank you. I will complete the work." Not that there was much remaining to do, but he would measure everything off and place the markings himself, and make certain everything was correct. He pulled the small rule book from the pocket of his teaching robe.

He was consulting the page on indoor arenas when one of the doors opened. He looked up, annoyed, but it was Albus.

"Dumbledore. I thought it was one of the students." He turned back to the diagram again.

"Preparing the space, I see," Albus remarked.

"Mm. When I'm finished, could you check it for accuracy? The colours, measurements, and so on?"

"Of course."

Albus waited until Severus was finished casting the white, red, and yellow lines that demarcated the various portions of the platform.

"The colours are in the correct places," Albus said. "I'll just take a few measurements." He cast some spells, measuring the lengths of the straight lines and the placement and curvature of the curved lines, then he nodded. "Perfect."

"Good. Flitwick will be pleased," Severus said. He gestured toward the multicoloured benches. "I also believe he will approve of the seating. He was disappointed about not being able to hold the duel in the Quidditch stadium, but this should help."

"Indeed." Albus looked around him, but his gaze quickly returned to Severus. "I did not come here to discuss today's duelling demonstration, however."

"No?" Severus replaced the rule book in his pocket. "Do you require something?" he asked, reminding himself that Albus was one of his teaching staff, not the Headmaster, and that as the Defence teacher, he might have a request of some sort...although it also might be something more personal, perhaps to do with his playroom or some plans he had in mind for Minerva.

"Are you planning on taking a walk in the Forbidden Forest today?" Albus asked.

Severus scowled at the introduction of that topic. "It is raining."

"Yes, it is. But . . . I have noticed that you have been making regular excursions into the Forest. Have you been gathering potions ingredients, by any chance?"

"Do you require something from there? I am sure you could gather it yourself, once the rain lets up. I have no intention of going out in the Forest in the wet in order to pick something for you to do some hobby brewing." He paused. "You are welcome to look through my personal potions cupboard, if you wish, however, and see if I have what you need."

"No, it's not potions I'm interested in," Albus said. "It's you. It is worrisome to see your frequent trips into the Forest. I want to request that you desist from these expeditions into the Forest."

Severus stared at him, feeling his irritation mount to anger, and his anger increase to fury, but he bit back the words at the tip of his tongue before he could say them. Instead, he turned away from Albus and paced off one of the long white lines along the centre of the platform. At the end of the line where a short yellow line intersected it, Severus turned on his heel and stared across the long room at Albus.

"Professor Dumbledore. I am the Deputy Headmaster and Head of Slytherin House. I have not forgotten that you were once the Headmaster here. But you are no longer." His voice shook slightly. Severus swallowed and tried to gain control of his breathing. "If I wish to take walks in the Forbidden Forest or anywhere else in Hogwarts, the grounds, or its environs, you have no say in the matter."

"I could speak with Minerva..." Albus began.

"Oh, so now you're willing to play the husband-of-the-Headmistress card, when it comes to interfering with me and my private activities."

"That is not it, Severus. I would be going to her as a concerned member of the staff, and as your friend. You need to cease your search for your former master's cremains. You won't find them, in any case."

Severus felt like saying something rude and cutting, but all he could think of at that moment were insults from his childhood, and none of them would do more than make Dumbledore laugh, he was certain. "It is none of your business, Professor Dumbledore, what I do with my time. And I will speak to the Headmistress for you. Save you the trouble. Good day!"

Severus stalked the length of the platform, picking up speed as he went, then he stepped off the platform and flew across to the doors of the Great Hall, where he landed lightly. He turned once more to face Albus. "You are not the only one with rights here...and not the only one with power, either. And I am not the only one with secrets still hidden."

"Severus..." The heavy door shut with a low thunk, and any words that Albus may have uttered were closed into the Great Hall with him.

Severus practically ran up the stairs to the second floor and the Headmistress's gargoyle, ignoring the students whom he swept past in a flurry of black.

"Sétanta."

The gargoyle winked at him and moved aside, opening the door to the spiral stairway.

Severus stepped up onto the first step, and as the door scraped closed behind him and the stairs began to corkscrew higher, Severus blinked back the tears of hurt and anger that had been threatening to rise since Albus had spoken to him as he had. Still a bastard, he was. Both of them were. He'd thought they'd become closer, but this just proved to him that Albus didn't really trust him, didn't really understand him. To think that Albus believed that he wanted to find his "former master"...it wasn't like that at all, but Albus hadn't bothered to ask why he was seeking the incineration site. Albus never did. Oh, no, the all-knowing Albus Dumbledore already knew, so why bother asking? Misjudged and maligned again, as always, Severus thought bitterly.

Severus took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose when he reached the top landing. He was not going to be Snivellus. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

More collected, he opened the door to the Headmistress's office. She wasn't behind her desk, but a moment after he had stepped in, she emerged from the Headmistress's Library. She smiled at him.

"Everything set for the demonstration this afternoon, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmistress," Severus replied with a nod. "It is prepared. But that is not why I am here."

"You don't look well," Minerva said as she drew closer and noted his overall pallor and the contrasting bright pink spots on his cheeks. "Are you all right?" He looked almost feverish.

He nodded stiffly. "However, I have an issue with one of the teaching staff."

Her eyebrows rose. "Let's sit then. Tea?" She gestured toward the armchairs by the fireplace.

"No, thank you." He took in a long, slow breath and let it out as he took his seat. "To be frank, it is a problem with Professor Dumbledore."

"I see." Her brow furrowed. "Or rather, I don't see, but I am sure you can clarify what your difficulty is with Dumbledore."

Briefly and tonelessly, Severus gave a verbatim account of their exchange in the Great Hall.

"Ah." She didn't say anything for a few moments, then she got up and looked out the window towards the Forbidden Forest. It had stopped raining, but it was grey and a cold fog cloaked the grounds. "First, I will say that you were right in what you said to Dumbledore. You are the Deputy Headmaster. It is not his place any longer to make any official requests of this nature. And it was a bit unfair of him to say that he would speak to me about it, at least in the way that you reported he said it..."

"I did not embroider, Minerva. Nor did I omit anything."

"I trust that. But as right as you were and as . . . maladroit as Dumbledore perhaps was in his approach to you and his choice of words, he also was right. And I do not think that he was asking you as Headmaster or something of that sort. I think that he was asking you as a friend and as the former leader of the Order of the Phoenix, the wizard who had the responsibility for disposing of Riddle's remains, but primarily as your friend. If Dumbledore had wished to make it an official Hogwarts request, he likely would have spoken to me about having a word with you myself right from the start. When it comes to Hogwarts business, he understands my role and his own." Minerva stepped away from the window and returned to her chair across from Severus. "In fact, Severus, I had been considering having a word with you about it, myself, but thought I would wait first and see if you came to me, or if you might simply give the search up on your own."

"You, too." Severus looked away.

"No, not that way." Minerva reached over and placed her hand on his arm. "Severus, I care about you. You know that I do. I don't think it's healthy for you to be looking for the spot where Riddle's body was burned. It's becoming obsessive."

"Do you think I don't realise that? I wanted to deal with it on my own. I did not need Dumbledore coming to me about it, particularly not with his insinuations...as though I somehow..." Severus grimaced. "The thought makes me ill, actually, but he seems to believe that I want to . . . to pay my respects or . . . or god only knows what."

"Tell me about it, Severus. What do you want?"

"I worry, I worry that he is not dead. That there is something of him remaining. I dream of it, nightmares. I got the notion in my head that if I could find where he had been burned, witness it for myself, it would . . . lay it to rest for me. I hated him," Severus said vehemently. "I wanted him destroyed. I want to see where he finally was incinerated, done away with completely. It's just that I . . . since I couldn't see him die, I thought that it might help if I saw where he'd been burned. I thought it might make it more real for me. But Dumbledore didn't trust me enough to tell me where they brought his body, and he doesn't understand. He acts like . . . like I am asking something I am not. He called him my former master, as though there might be some lingering allegiance." Severus raised his lip in disgust.

Minerva looked at her clock, a tall grandfather clock she had brought from her childhood home that autumn. "We have to go now. Guests will begin to arrive for the demonstration, and Kingsley will be here in fifteen minutes. But I think I can help you, Severus. Come see me tonight at . . . ten. Meet me in the library here." She nodded and stood. "I will do what I can to help. And I will have a word with Albus."

Severus rose from his chair. "You know, I didn't want to find the site. I just felt that I had to. Do you understand?"

"I think so. And don't be too hard on Albus. He really is simply worried about you." Minerva rubbed Severus's upper arm. "He wants you to turn toward the life you have now, not become obsessed by the past and by the toe-rag's death."

"You think that I don't want that? Do you believe that I would rather wallow in the painful, miserable past? I don't know how to live this life I have now, and still having the past dragging so heavily behind me makes it no easier for me. I thought that by doing this, finding the site, I could cut away some of the chains of the past."

"I will do what I can to help you with that." She looked up at him seriously. "I promise, Severus."

Shacklebolt had stayed for dinner, and he had sat between Minerva and her Deputy, so they had no opportunity to speak of the subject again. It didn't bother Severus, however, since it also meant that Albus was one chair further away than usual. He wasn't ready yet to speak with his true "former master" again; his hurt still festered.

The duel had been a success, Severus thought, and Filius had been very pleased. Flitwick and Shacklebolt had done a demonstration first in order to explain some of the rules and to display a few of the standard duelling spells, although there were a good many more that could be used. Sporting duel spells were defined more by what was forbidden than by what was permitted.

After the fifteen minute demonstration, Potter had stepped up onto the platform and the duel commenced, the two wizards bowing to each other and then pacing off the twelve steps each that were required by the indoor duelling rules. Severus had not paid as close attention to the duel as he had anticipated, his attention continuing to be drawn back to Dumbledore and the insinuation he had made earlier that afternoon.

In the end, neither wizard was clearly defeated by the other, but Filius had scored the duel, and Shacklebolt had won by three points, which, from the reading Severus had done, was a very close score. Severus didn't know whether duelling scores could bear any relation to a wizard's or witch's actual defensive skills in battle. There were no rules in battle aside from those one imposed on oneself, such as Dumbledore's own policy of never casting a curse intended to kill.

It must be nice to be able to be so self-righteous, Severus thought to himself as he returned to his rooms after dinner. Must be a pleasant thing to be so powerful and so lucky that one could make such a rule and survive when others with less power or less luck would be killed. Severus didn't think it was because Albus was not ruthless enough to kill; his willingness to do what he had to during the war...allowing people to die in Death Eater attacks even when he had advance notice of them; cutting himself off from Potter when he believed it prudent, even if it was painful to them both; demanding a loyalty that included demanding his own murder; sending his spy off with orders to do whatever was necessary to maintain his position, right down to killing innocents if it was "unavoidable." All of that showed ruthlessness. Such ruthlessness might have been necessary during the war...in fact, Severus believed that it had been necessary in order to defeat the Dark Lord, and certainly in order to assure his own survival...but he still resented having been required to perform such deeds whilst Dumbledore had been able to escape doing such things himself and then been celebrated in the Daily Prophet because of his ability to avoid killing directly, even on the battlefield.

Severus sank into his favourite chair, feeling broody and injured. It wasn't as though he believed that Dumbledore had emerged unscathed from what he'd been required to do, and what sacrifices he had required of himself, but Severus's hurt was still present and so he wasn't feeling generous toward him. He didn't know how Albus could possibly believe that he still held any loyalty for the Dark Lord. He had none, he hadn't for years, and he had never had any affection for him. It hurt that Albus could believe such a thing of him.

Sighing, Severus thought that perhaps Minerva might be right, that Albus hadn't intended to imply that he had some kind of loyalty toward Ridde, but that was how it had felt, and it felt to him as though Albus had thought he was in danger of falling into the Dark Arts again. Albus had no faith in him any longer, it seemed, and it made him wish he had died in the Shrieking Shack.

Needing distraction until his meeting with Minerva later that night, Severus pulled out a book that Gareth had given him a few days before when he'd stopped by the castle. Severus didn't know how the other wizard had managed it, but he'd got hold of an advance copy of the latest Nero Newcastle novel, Potions with No Peril is No Play Time. There hadn't been a new Newcastle novel in almost two years, but since he had never had any time or energy to read anything of that sort in the last two years, anyway, Severus had hardly noticed.

It was with reluctance that Severus put down his book, only two chapters remaining, and got ready to meet Minerva. Maximilian Powers seemed to get better with every new novel he wrote, Severus thought, and this was the best Nero Newcastle novel yet, even if it was a bit romantic for his taste, as they often were. But it looked as though Newcastle might actually get to keep the witch at the end. Usually the Newcastle novels ended with him losing the witch for some tragic reason...sometimes she would turn out to be on the wrong side, and Newcastle would have to sadly surrender her to the Ministry authorities; other times, she would tragically die, often in Newcastle's arms. Perhaps this novel might have a happier ending, though. Newcastle had gone through a lot already, after all. Despite his preference for the love-'em-and-leave-'em Trajan Tyne character, Severus thought it might be nice for Newcastle to get his witch this time.

He wondered whether McGonagall knew when the next Trajan Tyne novel was going to be published, and whether he could get an advanced copy of that one, too. The Trajan Tyne novels were darker, grittier, and, although Tyne always achieved his objective in the end, there was always a melancholy note to the finale. Severus was glad that it appeared the author had survived the war. He presumed that Maximilian Powers was just a nom de plume for whatever wizard actually wrote the novels.

In a better mood when he left his sitting room than he had been in after dinner, Severus walked up the long flights of stairs to the gargoyle once more, and then rode the spiral stairs up to the Headmistress's office. Perhaps he had over-reacted that afternoon with Albus, he considered, but whether he had or not, that fact didn't do anything to mute his preoccupation with Riddle's death.

He stepped through the office door, and Minerva rose from behind her desk.

"Oh, Severus!" She came around and crossed the room to him. It looked as though she had been crying.

"Minerva? What's the matter?" He let her put her arms around him and hold him tightly, responding by embracing her gently and patting her shoulder. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Minerva let out a long shaky breath and let him go, blinking back more tears and wiping her eyes. "Nothing. It's just . . . you'll see in a moment. Come." She took his hand and led him into the Headmistress's library.

There on the long table sat Dumbledore's Pensieve and three vials containing silvery memories.

"These are for you to view, Severus. The first one I borrowed from Albus." Her voice cracked. "That is one I hadn't seen before. I viewed it just now before you arrived. You'll see . . . you'll see why it disturbed me. The other two are ones I drew out myself for you to see. I hope that they help you to put Riddle to rest in your own mind, banish him from your thoughts, or at least banish the fear that he might return."

Severus nodded. "Thank you, Minerva."

"I will stay here with you as you view them, but I'd rather not see them again unless you need me with you."

"That's all right. I can view them alone," Severus replied.

"You can leave any of them early if you need to," Minerva reminded him. "And remember that I will be right here."

She poured the first memory into the Pensieve. Severus took a breath, then entered the memory, the memory that Dumbledore had loaned them.

NEXT

Chapter Twenty-Six: Laid to Rest

Saturday, 21 – Sunday, 22 November 1998

Severus has some of his fears addressed and a worry laid to rest.

Characters: Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, others