The Butterfly Freed

EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF LUCIUS MALFOY

It was on a wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against the windows, that my old friend Severus Snape, to my amazement, knocked at the door of the Manor, threw himself down into my best armchair before the fire and laughed heartily.

'What a splendid night it is!' he exclaimed.

I stared at him in bewilderment. 'You like this weather?'

'It suits my purpose, Lucius. I mean to break into the Ministry tonight.'

'For Heaven's sake!' I expostulated. 'Whatever for?'

He stretched his long legs out in front of the fire, and clasped his hands behind his head. 'You remember the Daily Prophet article a few days ago about the termination of Oliver Wood's engagement? He stated he had been sent his fiancée's letters anonymously. I have every reason to believe the blackmailer works at the Ministry and is hiding more such correspondence from unfortunate women in his office.'

It was my turn to laugh heartily now. 'Think, Severus! How could he possibly keep that hidden?'

My friend was unperturbed by my mockery. 'He is an Unspeakable, Lucius, and as such virtually untouchable. The worst man in London. He works in the most secretive department of the Ministry. It is the perfect place to hide the tools of his vile trade; it has the highest security. I have tried all other avenues of admission without success. That is why I shall require your help tonight: you got into the Department of Mysteries five years ago; you can gain me access tonight.'

'Think what you are doing,' I cried.

'You will admit that the cause is morally justifiable?'

'Yes. Technically criminal.'

'No more than casting the Dark Mark, an action in which you were prepared to aid me.'

'I didn't actually cast the Mark!' I protested. 'I only spoke the words.'

Snape merely regarded me with his fathomless black eyes.

'Think!' I said desperately. 'If you're caught – an honoured career ending in failure and public disgrace.'

He waved a hand dismissively. 'What are failure and disgrace against the peace of mind of a young woman? THE woman, Lucius!'

I sighed. Hermione Granger-Weasley was back in the country, then.

Snape regarded me sternly. 'Miss Parvati Patil was The Prophet's star reporter, engaged to one of the Wizarding world's premier sportsmen. She is now ruined, disgraced, writing for The Quibbler. I don't know what The Quibbler pays, Lucius, but it will not be enough for her to survive. In a year's time, she will be on the streets. I will not allow him to ruin anyone else!'

I turned it over in my mind. 'Well, I don't like it; but I suppose it must be,' said I. 'When do we start?'

*

The passwords and counter charms had changed, of course, from my last break-in five years ago, but I am still a frequent visitor to the Ministry, (very old family, donations to excellent causes) and hear things others do not. It took a little time, but soon there was that shimmer in the air which occurs when wards are breached, I closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. In the black-silk face masks Severus had insisted we wear, I was uncomfortably reminded of my Death Eater days – a thing which seems to occur regularly when assisting my old friend in one of these escapades. At least all Death Eaters had remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark.

We met no one in the corridors, and I supposed that the wards were considered enough, and watch wizards not necessary here. To my amazement, however, Malvetis's door was neither locked nor bolted! I touched Snape on the arm and he turned his masked face in that direction.

'I don't like it,' he whispered. 'Anyhow, we have no time to lose.'

Malvetis's private safe was in a small ante-room to his office, little more than a cupboard. We stole in and shut the – thankfully windowless – door behind us. I lit my wand to give our night-vision a rest.

Snape darted to the safe and, under his breath, muttered 'Alohamora!' At the lack of answering click from the lock, I became alarmed, but Severus re-aimed his wand with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. For half an hour he worked with concentrated energy, murmuring ever more complex spells, and sighing with satisfaction when they yielded the desired results. Finally I heard a click, the door swung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied, sealed and inscribed.

I picked up the nearest letter, glanced at it, then turned to Snape in amazement. 'Look at this, Severus!' I exclaimed. 'We thought he wanted Krum to pay his terms, but it appears there is more to this than money.' I handed him a sheet of parchment addressed to Rodulphus Lestrange, and beginning "My dearest cousin". 'It seems our master blackmailer was a cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange, and his true motive was to revenge himself for Bellatrix's death by publicly humiliating the Weasley family.'

My friend's face had turned stark white. 'And if it ruined the Ministry's new prodigy, that was all to the good,' he growled. 'He knew Hermione would never be able to pay.'

My first feeling of fear had passed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed as a Death Eater. The high object of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of our adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in our dangers.

Until, that is, I heard movement in the outer office. It was evident we had entirely miscalculated. Malvetis had been working in some farther wing of the Department. I pressed my eye to the keyhole of our little sanctuary. He was leaning far back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched. There was no promise of a speedy departure in his comfortable attitude.

Several times I observed that Malvetis looked at his watch. The idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until there came a gentle tap at the door. Malvetis rose and opened it.

So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal vigil of Malvetis. In front of him there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face.

'Well,' said Malvetis, 'you've made me lose a good night's rest, my dear. You couldn't come at any other time – eh?'

'Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. You say you have letters which compromise Rita Skeeter. Well, my dear, I should be interested to see those, most interested – Merlin's beard, is it you?'

The woman without a word had raised her veil but as she had her back to us, all I could make out was a sheet of shining dark hair falling down her back like silk.

'It is I,' she said – the woman whose life you have ruined. Well, Claude Malvetis, what do you have to say?'

It was clear to me that Malvetis would try to brazen the encounter out. After his initial astonishment, he hitched his frozen smile back into place, only he was a coward, and he could not keep his lips from twitching. He laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice.

'You were so very obstinate,' said he. 'Every man has his business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means – well, your fiancé's means. You would not pay.'

From the woman's movements, I surmised she had drawn her wand.

'You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You will wring no more hearts as you have wrung mine,' she said.

There was no more warning than that.

'Avada Kedavra!' the woman cried.

Malvetis fell forward upon the table, then rolled upon the floor.

The woman looked at him intently and left the office, crushing his spectacles underfoot as she did so.

I turned to Snape, horrified by what I had just witnessed, but his whole attention was focused on the contents of the safe. At first, he examined each bundle before Vanishing it, but the longer he worked, the more his agitation increased. It was clear he was searching for something very particular, something which was not forthcoming. My friend was now glancing cursorily at each packet before flinging it aside in irritation. I endeavoured to assist him by using Evanesco on the discarded papers.

At last he had emptied the safe of incriminating material, but it was evident he had not found that for which he had come here tonight, and he turned on me such a look of despair as I have never before seen on my friend's face. I believe he would have proceeded to turn Malvetis's entire office upside-down, but I was anxious to be gone and took his hand, fairly pulling him out of the room.

In the corridor outside, however, Snape stooped and plucked from the floor a woman's trinket: a hair-clip in the shape of a butterfly. 'Miss Patil,' he said softly, 'you are free.'

Then we slipped out of the Ministry and were safe.

He has since told me he remembered her being reprimanded by Minerva McGonagall for wearing it during the Triwizard Tournament, and that that was how he identified her. Apart from that one mistake, she had done well. She had Vanished her footprints, worn gloves, and even managed to eliminate any traces of magic in the air which could have identified her wand. No-one will ever be able to link her to Malvetis's death. Even so, I will encrypt this diary with spells of my own devising to protect the identity of one whose courage freed the world from a poisonous thing.

********

The next morning, Snape woke with a pounding head, as though he'd drunk a bottle of Firewhisky in one sitting. Fragments of the night before floated into his mind – he and Lucius breaking into the Ministry, Parvati Patil, Malvetis dead. Severus was surprised to find that he didn't care. All those times when he had been a party to murder in the name of Voldemort, he had had to pretend not to care, whilst all the time feeling sick to his stomach. This time, however, justice had overtaken a villain.

But Hermione. How was he going to face her? He'd failed her. Everything that happened last night had been about retrieving the photographs, and he did not have them.

And if he were honest, it wasn't just about the photographs. It was about that kiss. He was going to have to go to her today and admit his failure, and he didn't know how he was going to face her knowing he had kissed her on her office floor yesterday. Even though she had no idea it was he who had done it.

Severus was in love – he had never admitted it, but that was why he had kept her photograph, why he had never able to refer to her by name – at least to Lucius Malfoy. He was afraid that if he said her name, his feelings would show in his voice. Occlumency wouldn't have been the least help – he couldn't stop thinking about her. She had proved herself his intellectual equal last year, and during the past few days... well, he meant what he had said: she'd touched his heart.

His eye fell on the novel he had been attempting to read last night: The Sign of Four. Sherlock Holmes was of the opinion that 'It is of the first importance not to allow your judgement to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. Love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things.'

In that case, Severus was glad had failed if the alternative was never to love. Even if it was selfish of him. Even if she could never be his. Even if she hated him for failing her.

There was a knock on the door. As if his thoughts had conjured her up, Hermione stood on the threshold, veiled as she had been that first evening, but considerably calmer.

Before he could frame an apology, she brushed past him, sat on the edge of an armchair, lifted her veil and picked up his copy of The Daily Prophet from the side table. The front page was dominated by a photograph of Malvetis wearing his usual fixed smile, and the headline 'Murder at the Ministry'.

'The whole place is in uproar, you know,' she told him. 'They can't work out who did it – no traces at all, apparently.' She shot a significant look at Snape, which he returned impassively.

She held his gaze. 'You didn't find the photographs, did you?'

Mutely, he shook his head, still unable to speak.

Hermione looked down at her hands, then said in a steady voice, 'He'd already sent them. They arrived this morning. Ron's divorcing me.'

Snape took a breath. This was the moment to apologise: he had to say something, even if whatever he said was inadequate. But before he could get a word out, she spoke again.

'I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me.'

Snape looked up at her incredulously. How could she be taking this so calmly? 'Everything I've done?' he cried. 'I did nothing! I failed you!'

'No. You made everything much easier to bear.' Suddenly, astonishingly, Hermione collapsed back into the chair, giggling helplessly. 'We Plumb the Depths. Honestly!'

Snape sprang to his feet. 'You knew?'

She sat up straight again and, with an effort, stopped laughing. 'Brett Escott would never have said computers are more trouble than they're worth! He's a bit of a techno geek on the side, apparently. Always trying to get magic and machinery to work together. Plus, you left my office once an hour as regular as clockwork. I knew you were taking Polyjuice Potion. And your accent slipped. At certain times.' She sounded almost arch.

He couldn't take it in. 'You knew all the time, and yet you... all those times in your office... ' He flushed. 'Yesterday...'

'Oh, Severus.' Hermione rose from her chair and placed her hand on his chest. 'You've touched my heart.'

Looking down at her small, white hand, then up at her hopeful face, Severus made his decision. Dr Watson had described his friend and colleague as 'a mind without a heart'. Sherlock Holmes seemed quite happy to sacrifice love for the sake of his career, but Severus was not, nor did he have any desire to be, a consulting detective. He had taken this case on for the woman he loved, and now, however inexplicable he found it, she was offering her love in return.

Pulling her into his arms, Severus smiled at hearing his own words quoted back at him. Two could play at that game. 'Give me a kiss,' he demanded. 'Now that I know how.'

THE END