Where the Stairs Lead

WARNING: Evil cliffhanger ahead! If you tend to throw things at your screen or bite your nails, please take a Calming Draught and relax for a bit.

Be aware that you read this at your own risk.

You have been warned.

Chapter Thirteen – Where the Stairs Lead

"Where is he leading us?" Ron asked, puffing heavily. It was difficult for the two boys to keep up with Dumbledore as he swept from painting to tapestry to portrait without any effort. Harry and Ron were still clutching the protective Invisibility cloak, which made their progress even slower. Ron had to duck a bit to make sure his whole body remained covered.

"I have no bloody idea," said Harry's equally breathless voice.

Up another flight of stairs and around another corner they went until Dumbledore stopped in a colourful African setting. He motioned at a door to his left.

"The Trophy Room?" Ron inquired helplessly. Why would Dumbledore lead them here?

"Well, let's go in," Harry said. "It's not as if we have anything else to do."

Ron nodded and pushed the door open.

The room looked like it always had. There where numerous glass cases reflecting the light that fell through the stained-glass windows, displaying the trophies and awards won by students from the past and present. The most majestic, the Quidditch Cup, sitting on a special shelf, drew the boys into the room.

"Gods, I miss Quidditch," Harry said, throwing the cloak off. There were no portraits in the room, only an old, faded tapestry, which now hosted a twinkling Albus Dumbledore.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to work the kinks left by the stooped position out of his muscles. "I'd love to kick some Slytherin asses... Well, Hufflepuffs would do; I'm not that fussy."

That made them both break out into the first real laughter for a long time.

"Oh, boy," Harry exclaimed, still grinning, "for that alone, coming here paid off."

"I'm glad I could lighten your mood," said the smiling portrait of the former headmaster. "However, it is not the reason why I brought you here."

Harry and Ron turned towards the tapestry, the light atmosphere becoming serious within seconds.

"What is the reason?" Harry asked, his voice taking on a much more mature tone than moments before. "Are you going to tell me everything now? Or will it be bits and pieces and half-truths again?"

"You must forgive an old man's mistakes, Harry. I know that there have been occasions when I have been everything but open with you," Dumbledore ventured, holding up his right hand to stay Harry's protests before they were even voiced.

"I wanted to protect you. You were much too young for all the things that were put on your shoulders. The danger of you succumbing to fear or charging head-first into your death was much too great."

"How come I faced off with Voldemort more than once, if I was oh-so protected? How come I was abducted during the Tri Wizard Tournament? How come Quirrell could live directly under your nose, although he had Voldemort sharing his body? How come you allowed Snape to..."

"Leave Severus out of this!" Dumbledore all but screamed, startling Harry into silence. "You are still to set in your childish conceptions of black and white. The world is made up of a million shades of grey. I told you once, Harry, that I trust Severus Snape with my life, and I do not regret my association with him."

"But he killed you!" Harry bellowed with equal force, making objects rattle with the intensity of his emotions. "I saw it! I was there, remember? You can't lie to me..." His voice broke and sobs born of anger and frustration made there way to the fore.

Ron had to support his friend, so that he wouldn't fall. Carefully, he coaxed Harry into a sitting position, so that Harry could lean back against one of the glass cases.

"Looks can be deceiving," Dumbledore admonished not unkindly. "I thought you learned that much in you association with Mad-Eye's impostor. Do not let yourself be blinded by your dislike for Severus. Do not draw your conclusions before you know the whole story."

"What's the story?" asked Ron, who until then thought it better to allow Harry to handle the conversation since he had always had such a close relationship with the deceased headmaster.

"I can't tell you the whole story without endangering Severus' life. That is something I refuse to do. Suffice it to say, I would have died with or without Severus' involvement. He merely showed me mercy and ended my suffering."

"If he had helped you, you would have been able to get away from the Death Eaters," Harry reasoned. He couldn't believe that Dumbledore was protecting his murderer.

"Ah, but you do not understand. The curse that withered my hand would have weakened me more and more. It is the way of most Dark Magic; it seeps into every living cell and consumes you from within. Only Severus' potions kept me functioning. He could slow the process, but no potion in the world would have been able to stop it."

"Maybe he didn't try hard enough. There are other Potions masters; someone would have been able..." Harry tried to desperately hang on to the reality he knew.

"No, Harry. And even if there had been, the potion, or poison I should say, I ingested in the cave would have killed me sooner or later. That is all I can say right no; when Voldemort is defeated for good, I will answer all your questions. For now, please accept that Severus did what I asked him to. Please, Harry, please?"

Harry stared into the twinkling blue eyes that pleaded for understanding. Nodding slowly, the dark-haired boy decided to let it drop until he had mulled it over in his head for some time. There were more important things than blaming Severus Snape right now.

"Why are we here, Headmaster?" Ron asked. As interesting as this all was, it was getting darker, and as a result, his stomach begged for dinner. They also had to get back to the Slytherin quarters before McGonagall made her daily visit.

"Ah, of course, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, relief about the change of subject colouring his voice. "As a portrait, I'm bound to the castle. I can feel the magic pulsing through its walls. And on my wanderings, an unexplainable repulsion would overcome me whenever I went near this very room. I asked the other portraits and even the ghosts for answers." The former headmaster paused in his tale, searching for the right words to make the boys understand.

"All but one of the former headmasters and mistresses shared my experience. Phineas was the only one who told me that he feels compelled to come here often. That gave me an even greater puzzle to solve. It was the Bloody Baron who brought me on the right track. Nigellus, he told me, was always drawn to the dark."

"But it isn't dark in here," Ron said. Ironically the last red of the sun was gone from the sky now, and the room was cast into darkness. "Well, you know what I mean," the redhead mumbled, lighting his wand with the only non-verbal spell he had really mastered.

Dumbledore smiled. "I had the same thought at first. The solution, I think, is that he is drawn to some lingering dark powers in this room. You see, for a portrait day and night, light and dark, are inconsequential."

"Why do the portraits sleep at night then," Ron asked, completely off-topic.

"Force of habit, I think," Dumbledore replied before going on as if there had been no interruption. "Dark Magic was my only explanation. People who are attuned to their environment, as the portraits are to Hogwarts, are able to feel traces of magic long after the spell and its effects have vanished..."

"You mean there is something in here?" Ron sounded stunned and slightly panicky. He turned left and right, seemingly expecting a Dementor to leap out of a shadowed corner.

"Yes, but don't worry, it is quite faint," Dumbledore assured the two young men. "That's why I need you; I can't do any magic, so I can't locate it."

"Is there a spell?" Harry asked, his interest was certainly peaked again. "I do not know if I learned one. Hermione would know, but she is..." Here he broke off, looking to Ron for help.

"Eh, I can't remember either," Ron agreed.

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore smiled. "There is a book in the Restricted Section called 'Discovering the Hidden' by Elias Hommet."

~o~o~o~

"What do you do here?" Severus shouted at the young woman in front of him. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, trying to make his emotions known, verbally as well as physically. The little package she had been carrying tumbled to the floor.

Hermione didn't know what to say. She was totally taken aback by Severus' physical attack. "I wanted to bring the new ingredients," Hermione explained as calmly as she could.

The reaction in the dark wizard was immediate. His eyes widened, and his arms wrapped around the curly-haired witch. He drew her into his body, nuzzling her hair with his nose. He mumbled sweet nothings, and his lips began to travel over her neck.

Confused by his sudden change of behaviour, Hermione didn't draw away, although she did not feel all too comfortable. "Eh, Severus," Hermione ventured carefully, "would you let me go, please? We should put the ingredients into the lab before we step on them and..." Hermione never finished because Severus let out an anguished curse that had her silenced.

"It's dangerous," he whispered, clutching her even closer, though the amorous edge was completely gone. Fear emanated from his body, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and backed away from the lab door.

He carried Hermione up the first flight of stairs, bypassed the sitting room sofa, and went up a second. Only when they reached the bedroom they used to share did he set her down.

Hermione scrambled onto the bed in a strange mix of fear and anticipation. Severus' reactions were strange. There was no obvious reason for the fast changes of behaviour. He had not been subject to any curse or spell; they used almost no magic in this house. The only thing that could explain it was...

"The potion!" Hermione exclaimed. It had all started with the potion... the kisses... the screaming she could hear when he prowled the house at night... and today.

Severus felt his emotions settle again. He felt calmed and composed, if slightly confused. "Of course," he agreed with his former student, having gone through the same thoughts in his head. "It makes all sense now. It's the bloody fumes that affect me. And the other day when we...," Realization hit him; she had not been herself when she kissed him. "Hermione, I'm so sorry."

Silence descended in the room. Both felt guilty, although for different reasons. Hermione decided not to tell Severus about the letter right now. Tomorrow, she thought, would be soon enough.

"Now that we know," Severus concluded, "we have to make sure we do not inhale the fumes. The moment the potion starts whistling, we leave the room."

Hermione was startled about the 'we' since she had not helped him much anyway. However, she decided not to probe. "It's late," she said instead. "Maybe we could have some dinner, and then you could show me how far you have gotten?"

"Sounds like a plan."

~o~o~o~

Idly, Percy Weasley played with the small buttons of his new, dark green shirt. It was a colour that suited his red hair quite nicely, or so his new girlfriend Daphne always told him. She was from a good background with good connections within the Ministry. She had helped his career along quite nicely already.

A tapping noise startled him out of his daydreams. A small, slightly familiar eagle owl sat on the low windowsill. In two big strides, the bespectacled man crossed to the window to admit the bird. It fluttered onto the table and immediately attacked the cookies Molly had baked in the morning.

Frowning, Percy sat back down and untied the note, trying not to disturb the bird. He unfolded the little piece of parchment and scanned the note quickly. He was completely nonplussed, but soon a wide grin broke out on his face. Hermione was alive, and he could earn his family's trust again. He needed to tell his mother of this interesting turn of events.

~o~o~o~

"Where the hell are they?" It was a rare sound, indeed, to hear Remus Lupin shout. He and Arthur Weasley had finally managed to identify the blood inside of Slytherin's locket. After their first series of testing had not given them any results, they had nearly given up.

A spell to break down poisons into their ingredients finally got them on the right track. The blood in the locket was a mixture of blood from two different people. One could be identified as Tom Riddle's, the other was yet unknown.

That Riddle's blood-sample was ninety-nine percent similar to the blood in the locket, gave them a lot of information. The Horcrux was created very early in Riddle's life before he started the transformation of his body via Dark Magic and long before his first downfall.

The two men had come down to inform the boys of their success, only to find them missing. "I guess they were bored," Arthur explained. He knew his son and his best friend all too well. "We should just wait until they come back."

"No," came the stern voice of the Headmistress, who had been standing in the door long enough to know what Remus was angry about. "We should go and bring them back here, as fast as possible. There is something they should know."

Without asking for explanations, they left the common room to search for Harry and Ron. It was past midnight already, and McGonagall was noticeably worried, although she didn't give the two men any reasons.

~o~o~o~

A stair creaked loudly, and the young man stayed frozen in the same spot for a moment or two, listening for any sign of waking. Assured that the residents of number twelve, Grimmauld Place were still deep in slumber, he crept down the stairs without making any further noise.

There was no light in the basement, and there was no need for a guard to stay awake all through the night. He snorted quietly. They had made it so easy for him.

The newly oiled door opened quickly and without any problem. No wards kept him from leaving; no alarm sounded when he slipped through the heavy wooden door and closed it soundlessly behind himself.

Cautiously he took one step after the other until he stood in the middle of the dirty street. He turned one last time to look at the house that, for the last few months, had been both his haven and prison alike.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and Apparated to Knockturn Alley. He needed a new, unregistered wand. Then he would go to the manor to see the destruction with his own eyes.

"I'm going to find them, Mother," he promised. "They will pay."

The soft 'pop' of Apparition was the last thing heard of Draco Malfoy for a long, long time.

~o~o~o~

It was almost two in the morning now, but neither Severus nor Hermione felt like going to bed. After a drawn out dinner, they had gone down to the lab. They shelved the new ingredients and cleaned up the floor and workspaces with a few quick swishes and flicks. The motions were so practiced that it didn't take much concentration or time to leave the room impeccably clean.

They were sitting on the couch in front of the fire like old friends, the events that had driven them temporarily apart quite forgotten, now that the source was found.

They traded jokes and argued like they had in the weeks preceding 'the incident.'

A sudden loud noise in the street had them both focusing their attention on the door.

Moments later, somebody was pounding hard against the front door, and a deep, familiar voice was clearly heard through the thick wood. "Snape! We know you are there. Open the door, or we'll be forced to take drastic action."

A/N: Sorry you had to wait so long, but my beta was really stressed out. I think everyone can understand that.

On another note: mugglegirl0908 has started a Yahoo community for the exchange of SS/HG fiction and art. If you like to join, or want to know more take a look at http://community.livejournal.com/sshg_exchange/