Chapter Six

With the crisis at an end, Poppy pronounced the baby in good health. “She’s a little on the small side,” the matron said, folding the parchment she’d used to record the diagnostic results. “Just under five pounds.” She stuffed the page into a pocket and stood. “But that’s to be expected as the babe’s between thirty-four and thirty-five weeks gestation.” She cast a quick cleansing charm on one of the other rickety dining chairs, then transfigured it into a small bassinet complete with soft, warm bedding. “The lungs are a little weak, and that has me concerned.” Another few movements of her wand and the soft glow of monitoring charms enveloped the tiny bed. “Enough so I want you to bring her to Hogwarts for a few days.”

“Us?” Severus glided to the transfigured cot and gently lowered the bundle to the cocoon of downy blankets.

“You and Hermione, Severus.” The Healer turned her attention to the linens, carefully arranging them over and around the newborn. “Or have you forgotten that because you, Severus, are a representative of both Her Majesty’s government and the Ministry, this little girl is in your custody until such time as an appropriate placement is found? And as her guardian…”

The rest of her short tirade fell on inattentive ears. He knew perfectly well what his duties to the Crown and to the Ministry were. That, however, did not mean he had to like it.

A quick glance at his wife turned his heart in his chest. Pale cheeks underlined the determination in her chocolate-colored eyes. Although they visited the castle regularly, they rarely spent more than an hour or two in Minerva’s company before anxiety rimmed Hermione’s gaze. There was no way he would subject her to…

It took a moment for her frown to register on the fringes of his mind and shift his focus from his thoughts. A quirked eyebrow asked. A slight tilt of her head exposed the answer. I’m going, the firm set of her jaw telegraphed. No arguments, ordered her soft sigh.

But he would be risking his membership in Slytherin if he didn’t at least try. Subtly averting his gaze, he quickly laid a plan of action. “Poppy, perhaps it would be more prudent to…”

“Don’t, Severus.” The blue eyes of the mediwitch glinted in warning as she straightened. “I’m well aware of the potential difficulties.” Her frowned softened as the sweep of her gaze included Hermione. “But it is time to face the demons.” The smile twitching her lips rivaled Lucius’ in its deviousness. “Besides, Minerva will be thrilled to have you and Hermione home again, if only for a few days.” She glanced across the room at the restless young woman in the bed. Her shoulders hunched a little as she picked up her wand. “But before any of us can leave, there’s one more life to be pulled back from the brink.”

If it isn’t already too late.

Although the words never breached the gathering silence, Severus knew they blew gently through the coherent minds in the room. How could they not with the specter of death clinging to the very bedposts? Just as it had in another dingy room oh-so-many years ago.

The boil of nausea escalated to near-eruption as the spin of Apparition dropped him into the putridity of his parents’ bedroom. The air so thick, the light so dim, he clawed at the collar of his shirt to alleviate the buried-alive feeling permeating his lungs. Finding purchase against the nearest wall, he closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits.

“I need to know…” The tremble of her chin and the rush of moisture glistening in her dark eyes worked in tandem against the shields surrounding his emotions. “I just need to know, Severus.” She freed her hand and moved a fall of hair from his brow. “So tell me.”

And he had, talking the afternoon away about the research his Potions master had entrusted him with. By the time he’d left, there was a look of contented resignation in his mother’s eyes. Almost as if—

“Severus.”

There was a finality in Poppy’s voice that broke through the fog of his thoughts and turned his head toward the girl lying so deathly still on the bed. A piece of his heart broke away as he glanced at the newborn in the conjured cot. “Is it…”

He couldn’t finish the question. Not with his wife’s brown eyes searching his for the answer.

“Almost.” Although the matron’s voice was barely more than a whisper, it carried across the room like the wail of a banshee. “There’s enough time left for a few answers, though. If you hurry.”

Squaring his shoulders, he crossed the room. As much as he hated to recall a tool he’d used so loosely while in Dumbledore and Voldemort’s service, it needed to be done. For the girl’s sake. For both the girls’ sakes.

He pulled his wand from his sleeve, then settled onto the edge of the bed. “Look at me, little one,” he gently instructed, using his fingertips to encourage the young woman to turn to him. Eyes clouded by the shadows of the Veil slowly moved to meet his gaze.

Bending closer, he forced all other thoughts from his mind, concentrating only on the black spheres below and the turmoil he could see beyond them. Gently, he touched his wand to the girl’s temple and whispered, “Legilimens!”