Aftershocks

Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse; it belongs to JKR. I'm not making any money from this.

**A special thanks to Larilee for her work beta reading this story.

Chapter 16: Aftershocks

"Down here! They went to this level," Tonks shouted over her shoulder as she plunged down the narrow steps. Reaching the ground level at last, she grabbed the door frame, halting her forward motion. After a cautious peek into the silent corridor, she moved quickly toward the still forms lying on the floor. She saw a dark face. "Kingsley!" she blurted, running the last few steps to kneel by the big man's side. "Finite Incantatem," she intoned softly, flicking her wand at his rigid form.

Kingsley's body went lax, and he shook his head groggily with a groan. As Tonks helped him sit up, she heard the clomping of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Dawlish emerged from the stairwell a moment later. "Dawlish! Check him out," she called, pointing to the bloody form sprawled face up a few feet down the corridor. It's Macnair, she realized as she focused on the man's profile in the dim light. "Come on, up you get," she urged Kingsley, throwing his arm over her shoulder and hefting him to his feet.

"Thanks, Tonks," he replied in his deep voice. He was slightly unsteady, but appeared unharmed otherwise.

She saw that Dawlish was kneeling next to Macnair, checking for a pulse. With clinical precision, he lifted one of the man's eyelids. After a moment of consideration, he ran his wand slowly along the gash across Macnair's chest, closing the wound. He moved quickly to Macnair's head, tilted it back and breathed into his mouth a couple of times. He checked for a pulse, then with a grimace, placed his hands on Macnair's bloody chest and began pumping it.

"What are you doing?" Tonks asked

"His pupils aren't dilated yet. He can still be resuscitated," Dawlish answered shortly.

"Why bother with scum like that?" Tonks asked incredulously. "We're better off with the likes of him six feet under!"

"Death is too easy for him!" Dawlish spat. "I want to see him pay for his crimes!" His voice was savage. After a moment, he glanced up, catching Tonk's eyes. "Are you going to help me, Tonks, or just watch?" Dawlish inquired, never pausing as he pumped the Death Eater's chest.

Tonks sighed. "Fine, but I'm not putting my mouth on him! You do the breathing part."

Dawlish nodded once and moved to comply. After two additional cycles, Macnair gave a weak cough and gasped in a lungful of air on his own. His breathing was shallow and irregular, but he was alive. Dawlish sat back on his heels, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face. "I'm going to enjoy watching your trial," he whispered to the unconscious Death Eater.

"Bind him," Kingsley directed. "Then we need to check these cells to see if any prisoners are still here." He turned to the door across the hall. "I'll do this side."

Within ten minutes, they had ascertained that no prisoners remained within the cellblock. This was hardly a surprise, considering the cell doors appeared to have been blasted off their hinges in most cases. They did, however, revive a Stunned prison guard in the anteroom to the solitary confinement cells. A minute later, Kingsley found their fellow Auror, Cecelia Moore, inside one of the cells. She was weak from blood loss but still very much alive.

Dawlish narrowed his eyes at the sight of the woman's shattered leg. "That's the result of a Dark Curse if I ever saw one," he remarked. "I'll Apparate her to St. Mungo's." He picked her up gently, his actions belying his usual brusque manner.

Tonks watched as he carried the woman out. Dawlish may be an arrogant berk sometimes, she thought, but he's all right, really. Not to mention good to have around during a fight!

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Snape materialized in the back garden of the Riddle House. He noted several black-clad forms heading through the shrubs, slinking toward the back of the old manor house. How many of us were injured? he wondered. How many didn't make it back? The Dark Lord would be displeased to learn that their 'surprise attack' had been betrayed. Livid was more like it. He would spare no effort to discover who had squealed to the Ministry. Snape grimaced, knowing that, when discovered, the traitor's punishment would be gruesome. At least I have nothing to hide in regards to that! he reassured himself. Hearing a soft crack off to the left, he saw a tall figure approaching.

"Severus," Rabastan greeted him with a dip of the head. "Where's Walden?"

"Dead," Snape answered flatly.

Rabastan's eyes widened in surprise. "What happened?"

"Fucking idiot!" Snape spat. "He charged an Auror with nothing but that chain, blocking me from getting a spell off in the meanwhile. The Ministry dog took him down without a hitch," he added in disgust. "I got him then, but it was too late for Macnair."

"The Dark Lord won't be pleased," Rabastan observed bleakly.

"Don't you think I know that?" Snape replied angrily. He didn't even want to think about his master's reaction to the news of Macnair's demise, although he knew fairly well what it was likely to be. Bastard! he thought savagely. Couldn't even die without mucking things up for me!

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Harry unfolded the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, flattening the parchment against the kitchen table so that he and Ron could read it simultaneously.

AZKABAN FORTRESS ATTACKED BY DEATH EATERS!

Early this morning Mr. Robert Ogden, III, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, confirmed that Azkaban Prison had been breached by forces loyal to the Dark Lord. "Last night, approximately thirty-five to forty Death Eaters attacked the prison walls, using explosives and ward-destroying spells," Mr. Ogden told reporters. "Although they caused a great deal of damage to the structure and indiscriminately released numerous prisoners, we would like to reassure the Wizarding public that we are back in control of the facility. We have recaptured nearly all of the escaped convicts and are confident that we will have the rest of them back in custody very soon." Although Mr. Ogden declined to name the prisoners that remain at large, sources in the prison's administration have hinted that they are all Death Eaters. "It would seem," said an anonymous Ministry employee, "that the main objective of the assault on Azkaban was to free the followers of You-Know-Who."

"Well, duh!" Ron commented with a roll of the eyes.

Harry gave a mirthless smirk in return. "What a stupid git! Do you think that was Percy?"

"Nah. Percy's a real prat, but he's not stupid," Ron replied. "It was probably someone in the Public Relations Office. They always say the most moronic things as if they were profound revelations!" He turned his eyes back to the article, as did Harry.

Public records have revealed that, as of yesterday, nine confirmed followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were incarcerated in Azkaban. They are:

It can be assumed that any or all of these dangerous individuals are now free. Suspected Death Eaters, Gaspard Goyle and Stan Shunpike, were also being held in Azkaban, awaiting trial, at the time of the raid. It is not known whether either suspect escaped during the attack.

"Yeah, indefinitely awaiting trial in Stan's case," Harry commented with a sour look. "That seems to be the Ministry's euphemism for 'we don't have enough evidence to convict him, but we're not going to admit it'. It really ticks me off!" he finished angrily.

"Too right, mate," Ron agreed.

Ogden has appealed to the Wizarding community to remain calm and stay on the lookout for any suspicious individuals. "We will follow all substantiated leads in order to recapture these dangerous criminals," Ogden told reporters. "I, personally, will lead this effort!" Until then, the public is advised not to travel alone and to remain alert to their surroundings at all times. Further details on the events at Azkaban will be published as they are made available by official Ministry sources.

"That was almost useless!" Ron scoffed. "They didn't tell us anything we didn't already know. What a rag!" As Harry nodded his agreement, Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the kitchen. "Mum, did anyone in the Order get any details about what happened last night?" he asked hopefully.

Molly motioned to the clock where the hand labeled 'Dad', was pointing to the words 'At Work'. "As a matter of fact, your father will probably have quite a lot to tell when he comes home. I expect we'll see him by lunch. He went to the Ministry in the wee hours after Kingsley Flooed to say that he and Tonks were back. They're both safe, thank Merlin!"

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Snape stumbled through the cottage door just as the late winter sun cleared the horizon. Grasping the back of the closest chair for support, he took a few unsteady breaths before staggering to the sofa and falling forward onto it. The loud pop of an arriving house-elf failed to rouse him.

The tiny elf scrutinized the man uncertainly. He knew quite well that it was only common sense to be wary around some wizards; this one in particular had a nasty temper. Even though his ire had never been directed toward the cottage's servants, there was always the possibility of a first time. "Sir?" the elf squeaked tentatively. "Is you all right?"

The wizard didn't move. Cautiously, the creature crept closer, a worried frown across his features. He noticed that the man's breathing was ragged. He is hurting! the elf concluded. I must get Miss; she will know what to do! he decided, disappearing with another pop.

A minute later, hurried footsteps were heard descending the stairs. Hermione rushed to the couch, kneeling beside the unconscious man. Strong pulse. No visible blood, she noted. Knowing it was probably a useless effort, she pointed her wand at him and said firmly, "Rennervate." Nothing happened. It was like trying to change the channel on the telly without batteries in the remote control. Damn wand! I wonder if I can perform a diagnostic spell? Holding her wand a few inches above Snape's prone form, she muttered the charm, passing her wand over him. No broken bones. No internal injuries. Good. But then why is he unconscious? she wondered. Abruptly, a strong tremor shook his frame, clenching the muscles in a wave down his lean body. It left him gasping for breath, but still insensible. Cruciatus. And probably exhaustion on top of that, she deduced. She sighed in relief. This I can manage. A few potions to reduce the pain and minimize nerve damage should do the trick. And some rest. A sleeping draught as well, then. "Can you get him upstairs and into bed?" she asked the elf. The creature complied wordlessly, levitating Snape with a snap of his bony fingers. She made a detour to the lab and grabbed the necessary potions, then hurried into their bedroom via the connecting door.

With the help of both elves, Hermione managed to get the three potions she had chosen into Snape. Immediately, his labored breathing slowed. The lines on his forehead smoothed as his muscles unclenched, relaxing into a deep, calm sleep.

Hermione watched in relief; she was certain that he would be okay after a good, long rest. She yawned. She had slept poorly last night herself, waking again and again to imperfectly recall the random, nonsensical dreams lurking in the back of her mind. I think I'll have a lie down too, she decided, unclasping her robe and slipping under the covers. Snape's body radiated heat, and she snuggled close to him, drawn in like a moth to a candle flame. As she drifted off, it occurred to her that it was a good thing they had prepared extra doses of the medicinal potions earlier that week. She was glad, now, that she had agreed to help him with them.

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Lunch at the Burrow turned out to be a very enlightening meal for Harry, Ron and Ginny. Arthur Weasley did, in fact, know much more about last night's events than the Daily Prophet. What's more, Tonks had accompanied him home for lunch and promised to give the teens a first-hand account of the attack after she had finished eating.

"Is it true, Arthur?" Molly inquired as he and Tonks seated themselves at the kitchen table. "Are all the Death Eaters listed in the Prophet on the loose again?"

He shook his head. "Not all, but most of them are free. Specifically, of those who are confirmed Death Eaters, only Amycus Carrow and Walden Macnair didn't escape."

"So they're back in prison?" Ron asked.

"No. They were killed by Aurors," his father clarified.

Harry exchanged a meaningful look with Ron. They had not forgotten Mr. Ollivander's advice. "So," Harry said softly. "Macnair's dead."

"No, he's not," Tonks denied.

"What?"Arthur yelped. "What are you talking about, Tonks?"

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. "You weren't briefed about this at the Ministry, Arthur, because it's been designated as a strict need-to-know item. Only the Aurors who saw the incident, a very few, top department heads and the Minister, himself, know the truth. But the Order needs to know as well, in my opinion. Kingsley agrees."

"Well?" Arthur prompted quietly, directing an expectant look at the spikey-haired witch.

"I'll give you the short-and-not-so-sweet version," she said grimly. "Kingsley was paired with Davidson, but they got separated. He ran into a squad of Death Eaters apparently on their way out with Macnair. Macnair tried to attack him with a foot manacle he had picked up as a weapon, and Kingsley had to use deadly force to stop the maniac! A Slicing Hex to puncture the diaphragm – stop the lungs – you know?"

Molly made an indistinct noise of disgust.

"Sorry," Tonks apologized contritely. "Anyway, Kingsley said that two of the Death Eaters fled during the fight, but one stayed behind and managed to get him with a full Body-Bind. But when he discovered Macnair was dead, he bolted too. That's where I came in. I found them and released Kingsley. Dawlish checked out Macnair and decided that he could be revived. He sealed the diaphragm and used CPR to get him breathing again."

"CPR?" Arthur queried, puzzlement evident on his face.

"It's a Muggle technique that doctors use to get the heart and lungs started again," Harry offered.

Arthur nodded vaguely, but, thankfully, let it drop.

"But why'd he do it?" Ron asked, incredulous. "I mean, why would an Auror want to save a Death Eater?"

Tonks shrugged. "He claimed that death was the easy way out for Voldemort's followers. Said he wants to see Macnair pay for his crimes."

"It sounds as if he has a personal vendetta against him," Molly observed.

"Maybe," Tonks agreed. "I don't know him all that well to say whether that's true or not. Anyway, Macnair is in St. Mungo's, in the high security ward they maintain for injured criminals."

The room lapsed into thoughtful silence as they resumed eating.

After a minute, Arthur returned to the topic of the escapees. "According to my briefing, every confirmed Death Eater not killed in the attack was Apparated off of the island by their fellows. All the other prisoners were left to their own devices."

Tonks dipped her head in agreement. "That's right," she confirmed. "Aurors saw some of them Disapparate. And later, we caught several dozen convicts loose on the island. As well as..." Her voice trailed off into silence.

"What?" Ginny piped.

Tonks pressed her lips together tightly, apparently steeling herself for an unpleasant communication. "As well as eleven bodies in the North Sea," she finished flatly.

"They tried to swim!" Molly said, sounding horrified.

"That's not the worst of it," Arthur voiced quietly. Molly's eyes met his, waiting. "Sturgis Podmore was one of those who drowned."

Molly burst into tears. Arthur rose at once to embrace his weeping wife. "He... he was in my year at Hogwarts," she cried, her voice breaking. Arthur began to lead her out to the sitting room. "We were friends...."

The others were silent for a full five minutes, each busy with their own thoughts. At last Tonks broke the quiet. "Harry, there's something else you should know." He gave her a questioning look. "If you read the Prophet's article then you know that Stan Shunpike and Gaspard Goyle were in Azkaban for suspected Death Eater activities."

Harry shook his head in disgust. "Tonks," he began, "you know as well as I do that Stan Shunpike is no more a Death Eater than we are! He's just a Ministry scapegoat!"

She held up a hand to stop his tirade. "I'm not so sure about that anymore," she retorted. Harry opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Listen to me, Harry! Stan Shunpike escaped Azkaban last night. He had to have been Apparated off the island by one of the Death Eaters. I'm afraid he really is one of them...."

"He wasn't among the drowned prisoners?" Ginny asked quietly. Tonks shook her head.

"But what if he made it across alive? Sirius did it!" Ron objected.

Tonks looked dubious. "I suppose there's an outside chance," she conceded, "but the Ministry now considers him a confirmed follower of Voldemort."

"What... what happened to Gaspard Goyle?" Harry asked haltingly.

"He was recaptured within the fortress."

"Is he really a Death Eater?" Ron inquired.

"I don't know," Tonks answered. "I doubt it though. There's no real evidence against him. He's your classmate's cousin, you know – about eight years older than you lot," Tonks said. "As far as I can see, his only crime is being related to the Manchester Goyles. That and being at his cousin's place for a visit when the Aurors caught Garrick Goyle."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing. The others were silent as well, apparently digesting Tonks' revelations.

After a few minutes Harry looked up from his soup. "Well," he said slowly, glancing at Ron and then Ginny, in turn, "at least there's a chance to speed up our search now."

"Your search?" Tonks queried, giving him a quizzical look. "Is this the same thing that Remus is helping you with?"

"Sort of," Harry replied. "Tonks, if Remus were to accompany me, is there a chance that you or Kingsley could get me into St. Mungo's to interrogate Macnair?"

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When Snape roused on New Year's Day, the afternoon was already fading, casting grey shadows throughout the bedroom of the little cottage. The first thing he noticed was the warmth and weight of a body nestled firmly against his back. Hermione, his half-conscious mind registered. He became aware of a bitter, metallic taste in the back of his throat. From a pain-relieving potion, he surmised. A vague thought of getting a drink of water crossed his mind, but he felt too sleepy and comfortable to move. At that moment, Hermione sighed in her sleep, nuzzling her forehead against his upper back. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the contented feeling he was beginning to associate with her presence. Within a minute, he had drifted back to sleep.

They woke simultaneously, responding, no doubt, to the greedy crackling of flames in the hearth. Apparently, the elves had cleaned the fireplace and started a fresh blaze to reheat the room. Hermione rolled a bit, attempting to extend her legs, but was hindered by Snape's leg and arm, which were thrown over her body. Realizing she was awake, he withdrew slightly, propping himself up on an elbow as he watched her. A small groan escaped her throat as she stretched out her muscles and joints. He had seen her do this nearly every morning for months, but found it much more intimate now that they were in the same bed.

When she was finished, she turned to him with a slight smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

"Better than when I arrived this morning," he retorted in his customary sardonic tone.

"You were unconscious. One of the house-elves fetched me."

He nodded. "You gave me something for the pain."

"Yes. A general pain-reducing elixir," she clarified. "As well as a nerve regenerative and a sleeping draught." She waved toward the nightstand where the empty vials still stood.

He gazed at them silently, an inscrutable façade masking his thoughts. Hermione waited, hoping he wasn't irritated that she had treated him without his consent. She knew she had done the right thing, seeing as he was fully recovered at this point, but she still couldn't predict his reactions.

"How did you know I had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse?" he asked at last.

"You had pretty extensive muscle spasms: your whole body was clenched and you were having trouble breathing. I recognized the symptoms from The Dark Arts Outsmarted," she explained promptly. When he raised an eyebrow in surprise, she added, "I did some extra reading on the Unforgivables. After all, it never hurts to be prepared."

The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a momentary smile. "Always the know-it-all," he commented under his breath. "You did well," he said aloud, a note of approval in his voice. "I feel immeasurably better."

Hermione smiled broadly, her expression changing from tense to joyful in a single moment.

She's so willing to be happy – so readily affected by my praise, he mused. A Slytherin would be looking for the hidden motive behind my words, careful not to reveal anything that could be used to manipulate them. But not her. She's just pleased that I approve her actions, happy that I've recovered. Suddenly, his inner monologue was interrupted by the realization that he had the ability to make another person happy. His mind ground to a halt; this was unfamiliar territory.

"Severus?" Hermione tentatively touched his arm, bringing his attention back to their conversation. "Will you tell me what happened last night? Did... did Draco's plan work? Who cursed you? Did it happen during the attack?"

He was relieved by her change in topic. This I can deal with. He briefly considered telling her that he couldn't discuss it or that it was none of her business, but he knew that was untrue. She had been genuinely concerned for him, it seemed – not just her 'protector'. Looking into her guileless face, he thought, Why not tell her what happened? Her knowing won't put anything at risk. He took a deep breath and began recounting the events of the attack. When he began describing the fight in the corridor, Hermione drew a sharp breath.

"The Aurors – did you know either of them?" she inquired with trepidation.

"Yes," he informed her flatly. "The Auror that took down Macnair was Shacklebolt. And before you ask, I merely immobilized him. When I saw Macnair was dead, I got out quickly."

"Oh, that's good, then," she breathed softly. "But how did you get in the state you were in this morning?"

"An expression of the Dark Lord's displeasure over Macnair's death," he replied.

"He cursed you?" she cried incredulously.

"He did," Snape confirmed with a mirthless smile. Her indignation amused him; she was so naïve when it came to Dark Wizards and what they were capable of. "He often disciplines his followers with torture. However, I was far from the only recipient of his attentions last night." When she raised her eyebrows questioningly, he elaborated, describing what had happened to the team that had left Amycus Carrow to face two Aurors alone.

She shuddered. Why would people follow such a monster? she wondered.

Snape summarized the major outcomes of the attack: all the Dark Lord's followers had been liberated (except the two who were killed), Draco had redeemed his family name (at least to a sufficient degree that he had avoided summary execution), and the Ministry had suffered a demoralizing blow. "In truth," Snape informed her, "the Dark Lord was furious that the Ministry had somehow got wind of the assault, but he acknowledged that the planning and execution of the operation was, essentially, successful. Draco and his aides were commended, but were also charged with finding the traitor who divulged the information."

To Hermione's great surprise, Snape continued to answer her questions, conversing casually about events as they lay comfortably in bed. It occurred to her that she had previously only seen him this relaxed in the company of Rabastan Lestrange. It seemed that she was now part of the exclusive set of individuals called 'friend' by Severus Snape. Do I want to be his friend? she wondered. That's a stupid question, she answered herself immediately. I know I do. If she were truthful with herself, she had wanted it for many weeks. And, at the very least, she recognized that dealing with a 'guardian' that was friendly was much more pleasant than dealing with the nasty, arrogant man who had been her professor.

Her curiosity satisfied, Hermione became conscious of her growling stomach. But when she suggested that they go downstairs for dinner, Snape forestalled her, summoning a house-elf with two sharp claps. "Bring our meal upstairs!" he ordered. "We are staying in bed this evening."

Aside from trips to the loo, they did, indeed, stay in bed the entire evening. When the elf arrived several minutes later, a large tray of food balanced on its hands, they had a most welcome dinner in bed. Afterwards, they spent several hours reading in bed with occasional breaks for quiet conversation. And much later, they did something else in bed, eventually falling asleep in a tangle of limbs and tussled covers.

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Author's Notes:

1. I supplied first names for several Death Eaters that are unknown in canon. Garrick Goyle, Eric Jugson, Douglas Mulciber, and Theodore Nott, Sr. are entirely my own fabrications. I have assumed (perhaps incorrectly) that the Carrows, who were mentioned in GoF, are one-in-the-same as the brother and sister Death Eaters, Alecto and Amycus seen in HBP. JKR may set the record straight on these some day.

2. Now they think poor Stan is a real Death Eater! He just can't get a break! (I honestly don't have anything against his character – it just seemed the logical outcome of his escape.)