Back From the Dead

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. The original plot and story belong to Velvet Song. Any resemblance to anything living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Note: This is a continuation of Velvet Song's story "Damsels & Dragons", which she has graciously allowed me to adopt. You will find the first thirteen chapters of her story here: http: //www. thepetulantpoetess.com /viewstory.php?sid =18337 (remove the spaces first). I might suggest you read her story first in order to understand what has been happening.

Virtual hugs to Fizzabella and writermerrin for the beta of this chapter. The story is complete and will be posted as each chapter is beta'd. Thank you for all the lovely reviews. The stroking is much appreciated.

Back From the Dead

"Is he going to be okay?" Hermione whispered as they watched an Obliviated Scrimgeour leave the castle just after dawn, walking unsteadily towards the gates and the Apparition point.

"Perfectly," Lucius said with a grin. "At least he will, once his headache eases up. Right now, he believes he spent the night on our sitting room sofa because he and I drank that entire bottle of firewhisky." He rubbed his hands together with ill-disguised glee. "Now, where is that box?"

"I believe you are enjoying this far too much, Lucius," Minerva said with a teasing smile. "That's so unlike you."

"I really think you need to work on your sarcasm, Minerva." Narcissa looked at the Headmistress through narrowed eyes. "I would gladly give you lessons, once we have Severus back hale and hearty."

"I might take you up on that, Narcissa dear. Winky?"

"I is here, Headmistress." Winky popped in, a box larger than she was bobbing along behind her. "I has taken all bad spells away so box is safe. But..." The little house-elf laid her largish ears flat against her head. "I is also bringing something else back."

"Something else?" Lucius growled. "We sent you for the box and the box only. What else did you collect?"

"Lucius, that's enough," Minerva scolded as a cringing Winky hid behind her robes. "There's no need to shout at her."

"I wasn't shouting."

Minerva ignored him and turned to the cowering house-elf. "Winky, what else did you bring back? Is it something dangerous?"

"Not dangerous, Headmistress," the little creature wailed. "Only lonely and hungry. Winky bring back to Hogwarts and feed."

"What, Winky?" Minerva pressed on. "What did you bring back?"

"Ahem!"

The group of three witches and one wizard turned towards the doorway of the staff room. Standing there was an emaciated wizard. His age was difficult to determine as his beard and hair fell long and lank over his shoulders and down his chest, and his robes were old and needed patching. He shuffled forward into the room and took hold of the back of a chair. Weakly pulling it out from the table, he lowered himself down and sat there, watching them watch him.

"Please, don't punish your little house-elf," he finally said in a quavery voice. "She probably saved my life, and I am extremely grateful."

"Who are you?" Minerva asked in astonishment. "Better yet, where did you come from?"

"The kitchens, I believe?" He looked at Winky, who nodded vigorously. "As to who I am..."

"Good heavens! It's Coombs!" Phelps paled as he walked into the staff room and saw their newest visitor. "Good gods, man! We thought you died almost nine years ago! Had a funeral and everything!"

"Not dead," the wizard identified as Coombs said. "Kidnapped and kept locked up in the smallest room I've ever been in until this little house-elf freed me last night." He smiled gratefully at Winky.

Minerva cleared her throat and looked meaningfully at both wizards. "I take it you two know one another?"

"Coombs is a tolerable scholar of Gothic," Phelps said. "We've worked on translations together."

"Tolerable? Tolerable?" the other wizard sputtered. "Who was it that recognized the umlaut didn't belong in that translation of..."

Phelps waved the objections away. "I'll give you that one," he said with a grin. "Good gods, man. I was only teasing."

Coombs ran his hands through his waist-length hair and leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Sorry. Hit a sore point there, old boy. Whatever are you doing here?"

"Mr Phelps is helping us with a spot of translation," Lucius purred. "Am I to understand that you were kidnapped nine years ago?"

"What year is it?"

"Two thousand and six," Hermione answered from her place by the window. She leaned back against the wall next to the window and crossed her arms over her chest. "The eighth anniversary of the Final Battle is next month."

"Since you're here, I would be guessing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated?"

Hermione drew herself up in outrage, but Coombs waved her down. "Sorry, didn't mean that like it sounded. The house-elf brought me here, fed me some excellent soup, and bedded me down in a corner of the kitchen. Other than her and the other house-elves, I hadn't seen a soul in some time."

"I take it Riddle kidnapped you," Minerva stated bluntly.

"Not him," Coombs said. "Some red-headed, slightly older gent. Showed me an Auror's badge and whisked me away before I could ask questions. Probably on...Riddle, did you call him?" Minerva nodded. "Probably on his orders because he was waiting for me. Wanted me to translate this spell into Gothic." He shuddered. "Horrible spell. Turns someone into a dragon. Had me translate the counter-curse, as well, among other things."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill you," Lucius said as some of the other current human inhabitants of the castle wandered into the staff room. "Unless he had other plans..." He sat down on a chair near the other wizard and stared at him. "Did the Dark Lord test those spells he had you translate?"

He'd be a fool if he didn't, and we all know the Dark Lord was no fool. A megalomaniac, yes. But not a fool.

Hermione smiled faintly at Severus' comment, but made no comments of her own.

"On me, no less," Coombs protested. "Then he had the kidnapper lock me up. Heard 'em say he'd check back later to see how I was doing. Told the fellow to make sure I got fed." He humphed. "About all the fellow did, too. Eight...no, nine you said...long years of it, and not very much at that. No wand and I'm useless at wandless magic, so I had to stay locked up." He licked his lips hungrily. "If there's any more breakfast being offered, I wouldn't say no."

Minerva smiled. "We certainly wouldn't turn you away," she said. "Winky?"

The house-elf pointed her finger at the hovering box and set it down on the table. "Winky tell kitchen. Breakfast in Hall?"

"I believe so," Minerva said agreeably. "Take the box with you. I'm sure it will be safer there in the kitchens until we're ready to look at it." She held up a hand to stop Hermione's protests. "Whatever is in there can wait another hour, dear. We really do need to eat first."

Hermione smiled ruefully and nodded. "I guess I can wait. I'm just eager to see if the counter-curse is part of the contents. Severus..."

"Yes, I know," Minerva said soothingly. "We're all anxious to save Severus. But we also don't want to rush into this. He's waited almost eight years, another hour isn't going to hurt. Now, shall we adjourn to the Great Hall and have breakfast?" She collected everyone with her eyes and shepherded them across the entryway and into the Great Hall while Winky levitated the box once more and popped down to the kitchens, presumably to tell the cooks to start serving the staff their breakfasts.

***

"Right then," Minerva said as everyone gathered in the staff room after breakfast. "We need to discuss Scrimgeour..."

"Can we help Severus first?" Hermione asked. "If Scrimgeour's been Obliviated, then he's not a threat at the moment, is he?"

"At the moment, no," Lucius agreed. "But if he goes to Cornwall and realizes the box and the prisoner are missing, he will realize someone knows about his secret life. We can't afford to have him run."

"There's also the very real chance he'll see the Dark Mark on his arm at some point and begin to worry," Minerva said with real disgust. "Seeing that thing on his arm when it wasn't there before would certainly shake him up."

"So we turn him in," Harry said matter-of-factly. "He's a Death Eater. Let the Wizengamot deal with him."

"How?" Draco asked snidely.

"Huh?"

"How do we turn him in? There'll be questions asked about how we knew he was a Death Eater." Draco looked over at his parents. "I, for one, do not want to go through the questioning we went through seven years ago."

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "I didn't think of that. What about Coombs?"

"What about me?" The wizard in question stepped through the doorway just in front of Phelps. He stopped short and stared at Harry. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What did you want from me?"

"Harry was thinking maybe you could help us identify your kidnapper," Draco said, deftly stepping in. "We think we know who it is, but aren't sure."

Coombs pulled out a chair and sat down. "I heard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named call him Rufus once," he said. "The man himself never talked to me. He had what little food I was given delivered by a house-elf who was too frightened to do more than pop in and drop the bowl of food once a day, then pop out again."

"But you did see him, right?" Harry was persistent. "You could identify him?"

"There is a problem with that," Phelps said quietly. "Coombs was supposedly killed. We had a memorial service for him and everything. What will people say?"

"We tell the Wizengamot the truth," Lucius said. The chatter in the room went silent. "What?"

"The truth?" Minerva asked. "Or your version of the truth?"

"Oh, our version, definitely."

"Which is?"

"Er... let me think on that."

Outside in the forest, Severus roared, the sound rich with laughter.

Hermione just smiled.