All That We Hold Dear

OOPS! Here’s the disclaimer: I own nothing Harry Potter, Hogwarts etc are the property of JKR, Warner Bros, Raincoast and Scholastic Books et al. There is no money being made on this fic. Mia Marvolo is my invention as are the American Marvolos and the British, except for Tom M. Riddle, who is JKR’s.

All That We Hold Dear

Chapter One
A Meeting Interrupted


“Lemon Drop, Severus?” Albus Dumbledore asked the dark robed man who sat before him. Severus Snape was seated in his traditional seat when visiting his friend and mentor’s office. Even though chintz was not a personal preference of his, it suited the Headmaster quite well and the chair was most comfortable. He felt safe and at ease when he sat there, perhaps because Dumbledore had charmed the chair to make the person seated in it feel at ease and safe. Severus Snape really didn’t care whether it was charmed or not, as long as no one else dared sit in it while he was in the room.

“No, thank you Albus,” he sighed as he stretched slightly, allowing the fire that burned in the fireplace to warm him. This was also his usual answer, as for the most part. He abhorred sweets. Albus’ offer, however was part of the ritual, repeated every meeting and comfortable in its regularity.

“Tea, perhaps then Severus?”

“Tea would be acceptable. Thank you.”

Severus Snape reached for and took a cup from a tray hovering in front of him. It would be Earl Gray, no sugar, no milk as usual, and it would be perfectly brewed and just the right temperature. He looked out of the window, as always and watched the Sun rise over the grounds, painting the world in the watercolor shades ranging from pink to red, bleeding into light blue. The day would be a beautiful day, clear and bright, inviting one to wander out of doors. It was a deceptive beauty, for the day was also bitterly cold, as January in Scotland usually is.

Not that he wouldn’t have gone outside anyway. He was too tired. He had never been more grateful that today was a Saturday. All he wanted to do was sleep, but first he had a report to make. He repressed a sign and sipped his tea, allowing the warmth tvivevive him while he waited for Dumbledore to speak.

Albus Dumbledore regarded his dark friend with a concerned eye. He did not look well this morning, not that he ever looked well when he returned from his meetings with Voldemort, but this morning he looked rather worse than usual.

The war was wearing everyone down these days, but my friend is suffering more in his role, he thought. His eyes had lost their glitter, and the circles beneath them were getting darker and darker with each passing day. He was becoming more and more withdrawn as well, rarely now did he take house points or hand out detentions. He still showed up in the Great Hall for his meals, he still taught class, he still maintained his usual office hours and nightly patrols. Albus had offered to remove or reduce his schedule of rounds, but the man had merely sneered at him and walked away. Albus didn’t bother to order his Potions master to curtail his school schedule, for he knew such orders would be disregarded. Severus Snape had too much pride, lived with too much guilt.

Albus let out a weary sigh and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the glare of the sunrise reflecting off of his various knick knacks. The warm golden tones cast about the room were suddenly discomfiting. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he had often seen Severus do, trying to ward off the headache that had suddenly flared to life. It was time to continue their familiar dance.

“Well Severus, what news have you for me this morning?” he asked quietly as he returned the familiar half moon frames to his face. Snape shifted slightly in his seat and drew a breath, but as he opened his mouth to speak the door to the office burst open revealing the pale countenance of Argus Filch.

“Headmaster, there has been an attack on the grounds!” he panted disregarding their startled looks.

“What?” barked Snape hopping up from his chair.

“A lady by the looks of her, sir, “he continued “and bleedin about the head. You’d best come Dumbledore. I didn’t want to move her and she is fairly frozen.”

Dumbledore had risen and was making his way to the door. “Where is she Argus?”

“Just inside the front gates.”

“Severus, floo Poppy then meet us at the gates!” Dumbledore exclaimed over his shoulder as he followed Filch out of the door.


After alerting Poppy Pomprey to an impending arrival, he strode through the castle and out of the heavy front doors.
It was as he thought in the office, just s few minutes before, deceptively beautiful outside. The air was bracingly cold and the snowfall of the night before had blanketed the grounds in a pristine white powder. In spite of the fact that the sunlight reflecting off of the sheer white of the snow was nearly blinding and his feet sank in the fresh blankets of white with every step, he made good time to the front gates where Dumbledore already had the intruder in a Mobilicorpus. Severus fell into step with Dumbledore. He used his wand to clear a path in the snow before them, while he mentally cursed himself for not thinking of using the spell when he was struggling through the snow on the way to Dumbledore.

“We must hurry Severus,” the urgent tone in Dumbledore’s voice brhis his reverie and he took a closer look at the unconscious intruder. She looked like she wouldn’t survive much longer if quick action wasn’t taken.

“Damn it!” he hissed as he scooped the lady into his arms and threw her over one of his already sore shoulders. He didn’t care if he were making her injuries any worse, Poppy couldn’t heal a dead person a cra cracked open skull she could. Using his free wand hand, he cleared a path before him as he ran toward Hogwarts and the sanctuary of the infirmary.

“Well Poppy, how is our guest fairing?” Albus asked the mediwitch when she finally emerged from behind the screen that she had summoned once the lady had been placed onto the bed.

“The better question is, who is she?” Snape asked, ignoring the mediwitch’s glare. She turned to Dumbledore and answered,

“She is in a coma, Albus. She has blunt force trauma to her head, broken ribs and a fractured wrist. I managed to repair all of her injuries, but the coma cannot be helped. She was also suffering from exposure, no surprise there, and is dehydrated.” She turned to Severus and extended her hand and tartly said, “I found this in her coat pocket. Perhaps you could go through it to find out who she is.”

He took the small black leather envelope from Pomphrey’s outstretched hand and opened it, dumping an astonishingly large amount of contents on the nearest bed. Well, she certainly doesn’t travel ligh he he thought as he picked his way through various tubes and bottles until he came across a thin navy blue book. He turned to Albus, with a questioning glance. “Sir?” he asked handing the book to the Headmaster. It was only right that he be the one to check the contents.

“Thank you Severus,” he said taking the book and opening it. “It appears to be a Muggle passport. Ah yes, American,” he continued as he flicked through the pages. “She is well traveled, judging by all of these stamps. Oh dear.”

“What?” Snape asked when he heard the Headmaster’s worried tone. “Who is she?”

“Our new guest, Severus. Our new guest. Oh, this is very interesting. I had heard about that branch, but I never thought-“

“What branch?” Snape interrupted in a tone bordering on alarm. “What are you on about Albus? Who is she?”

Dumbledore merely turned on his heel and walked around the screen. Severus followed and stood beside him, both contemplating the pale woman lying on the cot.

He could see that, when not pale from severe injuries, her skin was tanned. Not overly so, but enough to tell him that she liked the out doors. She looked as if she were just sleeping, instead of in a comatose state. Her dark lashes lay in stark contrast to her skin, as did her lips which were full and naturally pink. Her nose gave her heritage as Italian, more than likely of Roman descent for it resembled his, only it wasn’t as sharp nor was it hooked. Then again his nose had been broken a few times. Her hair was splayed over her pillow, its dark black curls in contrast to the starchy white case. She looked refined, even in her present state. Refined or not, Albus still hadn’t told him who she was and why her name had apparently fascinated him so.

“Sir, who is she?” he asked again.

Albus looked at his friend and smiled. “Her name, according to her passport is Mia. Mia Marvolo.”