Coming Together

The cawing woke him. It had been a while since they'd made such a racket. Puzzled and wary, he tried to lift himself up, but some weight prevented him. Looking down, he saw a black blanket covering him... A blanket with dozens of eyes and sharp beaks. His breath caught in his throat and then sped from his lips in a shocked gasp. The ravens had lain upon him and kept him warm. At his sigh, the birds began to scramble over each other as they hopped and flapped out of his way. With their absence, he felt the cold bite at him once more.

Following his friends, he saw what had caused the birds' outcry: a patch of blue in the sky. It wasn't very big and wouldn't have inspired much in the other place, but here, it was like gazing upon the portal to heaven. Stepping clumsily out of his cave, he stumbled through the gorse, as if he could get a better look at it if he walked that bit closer. The ravens flocked to the bushes and roosted on the spiky tops, their heads turning from Snape to sky and back again, as if gauging his response to the strange thing.

Snape was utterly amazed. He had no idea what it meant, but he hoped that it was some sign that the harsh conditions were abating. Perhaps the sun would break through the clouds and warm the land. His skin suddenly tingled, and he inhaled sharply. The patch of sky seemed to offer more than just illumination for the land. Maybe this is the far north? The idea started as the small clatter of shifting pebbles, but it gathered momentum. Soon, it was the thundering terror of a rockslide...one capable of changing a landscape.

"Yes! Maybe this place is somewhere in the arctic and not some purgatory...it would explain the lack of night and the unchanging scenery!" He paced between the bushes, ignoring the sharp sting of the thorns as his mind worked through the idea. "The days can last for months." He silently berated himself for his chronic stupidity. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

The ravens looked up at the sky and then back at him; they seemed unconvinced.

"No, it just may be," he persisted, nodding and lifting a hand to plead his case. "I know such places can be so harsh that very few potion ingredients flourish, and look at it...it is barren here." He paused and looked around; it was so similar to the pictures he'd seen in books and the odd snippets he'd caught on his father's television. "I must have Disapparated and misjudged the location."

Slowly, the ramifications of his reassessment sank home.

"Bugger," he muttered. He was no better off than when he had thought himself in some form of hell! In fact, he was slightly worse off; here, he could die! How on earth can I get back to civilisation...Muggle or wizard?

"Don't suppose you lot know the way to nearest pub?"

But it did instil a sense of hope. If he was displaced, then maybe someone was looking for him? Armed with the wonder of magic, locating an errant wizard who wanted to be found should be an easy enough task. His heart picked up the pace, and he felt a thrill deep in his guts. At this point in time, he'd relish seeing Aurors on the horizon. But what to do? Would it be wiser to stay put and wait, or should he find a direction and walk?

He knew hunger would raise its ugly head before long, and he doubted that his friends would be that generous as to fling themselves at his feet. If only the patch of blue would widen and give him a clue as to which direction to travel. He stared hopefully at it, but it didn't change.

Feeling some of his enthusiasm wither, he folded his arms across his chest and watched the gorse ripple in the wind. It was just a patch of blue...it meant nothing! He was still stuck here. A few of the ravens were wading in the shallow stream; the wind ruffled their black feathers. At least they were enjoying themselves. Adding to his misery and sense of isolation, the gap in the clouds was shrinking.

"That's it," he yelled out, pointing an angry finger at the diminishing blue. "You run away too; you're just like the rest!"

He couldn't quite understand his sudden fury. The disappearing patch of clear sky seemed offensive, almost as if it had come out just to torment him, promising things that it had no intention of giving. How many in his life had promised so much only to rip out his heart or leave him black and blue. It was just another taunt; just another slap in the face! Nothing sought to care for him. If he couldn't offer something, then they weren't interested. Even Lucius had been close to him solely for selfish reasons.

That's not true. whispered the wind.

"It is!" Snape snarled out. "He assured me that his days with the Dark Lord were done, yet he was one of the first at His side when he called us all together." Breathing hard, he wiped the wind-swept hair from his eyes and glared at everything. "He used me to gain favour with our master; he saw me as a means to an end."

No. He begged to help you; don't you recall how he cleaved to you and wept on your shoulder?

"He was always a fine actor," he snapped out while marching back and forth, crushing the furze beneath his vengeful feet.

Even when his daughter died in Narcissa's womb?

Snape staggered to a halt; his stomach dropped and bile burnt a path to his mouth. The wind increased in strength and snatched tears from his eyes before the sudden grief made him slam them closed. He felt bits of grit and wind-borne debris strike his face and hands. It tugged at his clothes, as if drilling home its point.

"No," Snape conceded to the wind. "He was a broken man; no one could have feigned such despair."

Such was the sudden strength of the wind that Snape was pushed back, and he had to lift his arm to shield his face. Through his squint, he saw the clouds roiling in the sky; it looked as though a war raged up there. Dark clouds were gathering for some huge offensive, and the pale, sickly yellow clouds were resisting as they tried to engulf the aggressors. It was to no avail. The black, heavy clouds were relentless.

Lucius asked you to help; he trusted you in a way that no other has. Despite the raging wind, the soft voice was still audible.

"Means to an end," Snape countered as he tried to walk back to the cave. The wind was phenomenal, and it pressed against him as a crowd would. The cave mouth was mere feet away, but he was being pushed sideways and deeper into the gorse.

"Lucius knew that I needed an ally; he knew that I would agree." The words were snatched from his throat, but he knew that he had been heard. Gritting his teeth, he used the hem of his coat to cover his hands and gripped the furze, using it to pull himself closer to the sanctuary of the cave. "He trusted the situation and not me."

His clothes flapped around, and his eyes and skin stung from the projectiles the wind was hurling at him. It was a nightmare. The spikes speared through the material and into his fingers and palms. He felt as though he was holding hot irons. Hauling himself through the plants and against the wind was exhausting. With his hands burning and his mind shutting down from the cold, he wondered if his raven friends would eat him when he died. He glanced across at them, and through tear-filled eyes, he saw them perched on the offending bushes.

"How?" he exclaimed weakly, his mouth dropping open and his feet slipping on the dirt. They barely moved. Their feathers were no more ruffled than if a breeze was caressing them! They watched him with something akin to pity. He quickly snapped his mouth closed: the wind had tried to plunge down his throat.

While pondering the mystery, he felt something hard hit him on the back. At first, he thought that it was one of the birds, but then he felt it again and again. The birds scattered and dived under the gorse. Hail was hurtling down to punish the earth. From the warring clouds, hail thundered down, striking everything with brutal force. Moaning, Snape worked harder while the hail battered at him.

Finally, he fell into the cave. Heart pounding and lungs burning, he crawled further in and collapsed. His clothes were wet and sapped what little heat he had; shivering and miserable, he curled up into a tight ball. His body ached and trembled. Outside, the hail was like a dragon's roar, and the dark clouds had ousted the weaker ones, turning the perpetual overcast day into night.

Yet Lucius trusted you with his future.

"L... leave m... me be," he stammered out through chattering teeth. "L... Lucius knew that I c... couldn't s... say no."

And if he trusted you because he valued you?

Snape ignored the question. He had neither the energy nor the wit to respond. He just wanted to be left alone. He hurt and was exhausted. The voice either heard him or realised that its efforts would be fruitless because it fell silent. But Snape would have no peace.

Light exploded in the cave, blinding him and making him gasp at the intensity of it. Within seconds, the thunder introduced itself. Merlin! It hurt his ears. He not only heard it but felt it. Nothing he could think of was louder than Nature venting her wrath. The thunder seemed to resonate in his bones. Clutching at ears he was sure should be bleeding, he squeezed his eyes shut and tightened into a terrified ball. No storm had ever been like this! Whimpering, all he could do was wait until Nature needed to take a breath. Merlin! he thought as a bout of hysterical laughter burst from his numb lips. If she's anything like Molly, she'll bring the cave down upon my head.

oooXooo

"You're no fun, Meadowes," she said grumpily, dropping the piece of chocolate in disgust. "Your taste buds just aren't as good as they should be."

Meadowes had been quiet for several hours. In the hours since she had occupied him, he had ranted and railed deep inside. She had felt him scurrying around like a mouse behind a wall, but since her threat, he had been quiet and ever so still. Somehow, that made her feel lonely; she wanted to share in his anguish. The Healer had been very accommodating and shared everything with her. Granted, Meadowes knew what she was, whereas the Healer had thought her a boost of self-esteem, but that didn't really excuse his bad manners. Perhaps if she delved a little deeper...No! That's what drove the Healer mad. She couldn't risk that with Meadowes; the man knew too much.

The room was a temporary measure. It had been a hidey-hole in the Death Eater's heyday: a place to recover from the night's excesses before rejoining so-called normal society. Many revelling wizards had been dumped by their amused colleagues and left to sleep it off within these dingy walls. When things had started to go wrong, they had used it as a means to hide away for a while, or a place to store incriminating items. It had been an ideal place. Who would have thought that Death Eaters would have hidden away in the heart of a Muggle city?

Bella had no intention of spending more time than necessary in this place. She had planned quite a bit while trapped in her body, and now that she had the means to put her plans into action, she didn't want to waste anymore time. First, she had to use Meadowes and find another more suitable host. The murder and escape had not been mentioned in the Daily Prophet, which was hardly surprising given the secrecy surrounding the ward, but they'd not yet contrived some story to warn the public about him. It was almost perfect! She should have a few days at least while the matter was being dealt with internally.

Movement from outside the window caught her eye, and she leant forwards to get a better look. To her surprise, an owl landed on her windowsill. That got Meadowes' attention too. So, the owls still see me as Meadowes...this should be fun.

Forcing her stiff joints to work, she stood and opened the window. Smokey, city-polluted air blasted in, bringing the owl with it. The dark bird extended its leg, and she hastily snatched up the disappointing chocolate and offered it to the delivery owl. Pecking at it dubiously, the owl finally took it, and Bella snatched up the letter.

Inside, she felt Meadowes stir. Oh, this is just yummy!

Unfurling the letter, she eagerly read the note, her grin widening and Meadowes' disquiet growing with every line. By the end of it, she was laughing and Meadowes was screaming.

Dear Meadowes,

Hermione

"Well, we don't want to hold them up, do we?" she said with malicious glee.

She smoothed the paper flat and Conjured a quill. Meadowes was really battering at her grip, and she gloried in his futile efforts... She now knew how to bend him to her will, and if he didn't, then she had Hermione, who seemed quite wonderfully willing to help. She wrote a time and place on the letter and sealed it.

The owl gulped down the last bit of the sickly treat and waited patiently while she inserted the letter into the pouch. With the scrape of talons against table, the bird turned and glided out the window.

It was all working out very nicely.