A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

Thank you loyal readers! I am going to be updating quite a bit in the next 2 weeks. I've decided to try and catch up with where I am written in the story and make adjustments along the way so it is fresh in my mind when I begin writing more again. Stay tuned for frequent updates. I have about 30 more written chapters so there's a lot of action packed in there. I'll have a total of 120 to 140 altogether. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review. I live for those and my muse is hungry!!

Chapter 33- Direction and Survival

“Thank sweet Merlin you’re alright!” Molly squeezed back tears of joy at the sight of the slightly ragged Hermione being handed over by Hagrid.

Molly drew back to sweep her over with a critical eye. “I see you are none the worse for wear. Did Remus-“

“No.” Hermione shushed her with a finger to the older witch’s lips. “He was beside himself with grief. I don’t really think he understood what he was doing. He- he seemed to be drifting in and out of reality.”

“Did he threaten you?”

Hermione paused. “Yes.”

“Oh, no!”

Hagrid interjected. “Now don’t go jumping to conclusions, Molly. Our Remus just needs a bit ‘o time to calm himself down is all. Ole’ McGonagall will be makin’ sure he gets a proper rest. Yes, a proper rest,” he nodded as if to reassure himself.

“Who is going to cover his classes?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“Oh, er, well that Professor Fishwick is a pretty competent fell’er. He’s had some trainin’ done back in the States. I’m sure the Headmistress’ll be takin’ o’er some of his classes so he can cover for our Professor Lupin if they be needin’ coverin’.”

“Thanks for letting me stay over, Hagrid. It was nice to see Fang again, even if he did chew up my shoes.” Hermione ruefully held up the dog-eaten, tattered remains of bits of leather and sole.

“Oh dear. Well ah, I did tell ye not to leave your bits out, didn’t I then.”

“Yes, you did Hagrid, but I suppose I wasn’t paying any attention.”

Molly pulled Hermione into the house by the arm. “Now you’d best be getting along Hagrid, and do let us know how things are going with our dear friend. He’s given everyone quite the scare.”

Hermione waved out the door to Hagrid as he turned to leave. “Thank Rabastan for me, Hagrid. I owe him one for finding me so quickly.”

“I will, ‘ermione, I will.” He waved as he jaunted out of sight.

“Right, first things first, Hermione. Bath, food and rest.” The matriarch of the Weasley household took over and marched Hermione up the stairs to draw her bath, tutting about the state of her shoes, and making plans to fill the rest of Hermione’s day with good food and good books.

Hermione knew better than to argue with her.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude, Rabastan, for so expediently finding our Hermione and helping bring Professor Lupin back to us.”

Rabastan Lestrange stood in front of the Headmistress’s desk; chest pushed out and head held high, arms behind his back.

Professor Fishwick clapped him on the back heartily. “Hear hear! A toast!”

McGonagall, Fishwick, Vector and Lestrange all raised their goblets of aged red wine together.

“A toast to our Deputy Headmaster, huzzah!”

Minerva rolled her eyes at the corny Transfiguration Professor’s sentiment, but they all drained their cups from the toast.

“Well, now then. We will need to cover Professor Lupin’s classes while he is gone. You will find his lesson plans in his quarters, Colin. I trust you are familiar with the end of year exams in the Defense classes, as well as those in your
Transfigurations class?”

“Yep. I got it down Minerva. I’m good at juggling.” The American Professor Colin Fishwick winked at the older woman.

“Very well then. I will cover your fourth through sixth year classes in Transfiguration if you are able to handle the first through third years of the same class. I think Professor Lupin is going to be away on extended holiday for awhile.”

“Where did you send him, Minerva?” piped up the Arithmancy teacher.

“That, my friend, is ‘none of your beeswax’, as our American colleague so eloquently puts it.”

“Fair enough,” the chagrined Vector replied.

Rabastan stayed with Minerva when the other two left.

“Please stay close to Miss Granger as duties permit. I fear for her safety with the abduction of Severus and Teddy so close to the Burrow. Even though it is Secret Kept, its location is well known. I should have anticipated the Weasley’s
would be under observation after all this time. I have been a foolish woman.”

“Not everyone can be expected to anticipate every contingency, Headmistress,” he replied calmly.

He was right, of course. Even Albus wasn’t able to control every outcome. He had simply given the appearance of always being in control.

“From now on, you may Floo from my office or your quarters directly to the Weasley’s Library. Arthur is aware of these arrangements and is prepared to expect you at any time.”

“Very good, ma’am. Will that be all?”

“Yes, and Rabastan?

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

He studied her concerned expression and his scar twisted into his unique, grotesque smile at her motherly concern.

“I will.”

McGonagall lowered her head to her desk as if it weighed a ton. She didn’t know who to trust anymore and felt as if she
was cracking under the strain, yet she swore to herself not to let it show.

A concerned Albus looked on discreetly from his portrait while twirling the end of his beard thoughtfully. With a nod, he and three other former Headmaster paintings hurried from their frames and disappeared from the room.

Lucius was entirely inventive with his humiliation of his former Death Eater colleague. He relished seeing the beaten, robed man on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, polishing the Kingsley family silver, and shining all of the shoes. Snape was set to work on Polyjuice Potion. Malfoy’s previous attempts at setting Yaxley to the task had failed miserably. The east wing of the Shacklebolt Estate had caught fire, causing such a panic among the neighbors that their presence in Kingsley’s home had almost been discovered. Almost.

Severus observed, in silent servitude, the unfolding terror Lucius kept the Shacklebolt family subjected to. Kingsley’s wife kept to herself, usually sat at the kitchen table with her head in a knitting project, eyes locked to the task, dead to the world. Their children were like ghosts, whisking between the upstairs bedrooms, never coming down the stairs for fear of inducing Lucius’s wrath.

Kingsley himself was obviously under the Imperius Curse. He woodenly obeyed every command. Snape didn’t bother to try interacting with any of them. His only focus was on finding a chink in the Malfoy’s armor and getting Teddy out alive. Lucius must not be allowed to discover the boy’s talent.

The healing of his burn injuries had raised immediate suspicion. Lucius had demanded an explanation for the miraculous healing that had occurred overnight. Snape had lied, telling Malfoy that his body had the residual ability to heal itself. This seemed to quell his captor’s thirst for an answer somewhat, and unexpectedly played into his favor. Lucius seemed to think this was the reason Snape had lasted so long under the terrible punishments the Dark Lord had meted out on more than one occasion. Of course, Severus wasn’t going to argue with that train of logic, if that is what the tow-headed git wanted to believe.

Punishing Snape simply for being who he was, Lucius had let Yaxley take out his frustrations on him to break his will. The newly-formed lash marks on his back were barely concealed by the tattered travelling cloak. They bled freely, absorbed by the black fabric that already stank from sweat and body odor. Malfoy also figured that if Snape’s body was healing itself, the punishments could be that much more severe. What a rotten circumstance that turned out to be.

Conversations were kept at a minimum when he was upstairs working. Brewing Polyjuice Potion was time-consuming and tricky for most Potion makers. Severus could do it in his sleep. Goddess only knew what Lucius needed it for. He really didn’t care to know, as long as it kept the boy alive. The work area was crude at best with a long rusted table and an ancient cauldron. Work materials barely sufficed. He was afraid the rust on the stirring rod would ruin the potion. Much to his relief, it did not. Why a rich bastard like Malfoy lived in this shithole, with substandard surroundings, was beyond him.

The start and end of each day was greeted with a beating or torture of some type. Yaxley reveled in flaying the newly healed skin from his back, making Severus eat the dog’s food from a dish on the floor, kicking his ribs until they cracked, and even breaking his arms and nose on one occasion. The whole while, he took great pleasure in exploiting the weak spot on his body- his bum leg. Despite Teddy’s best efforts, the Muggle wound refused to heal. Maybe the boy’s power only extended to magical injuries? It was another mystery.

Most of the time, Snape had to half-drag it behind him to walk, gripping the wall to pull himself along. Floor-scrubbing was done braced on one arm and his good leg. Of course, he was additionally punished for being slow as well.

The ration of one person’s slop for the day equated to two half-rotted cabbages, hard, uncooked dinner rolls that had suffered freezer burn, and a dirty flask of river water. It wasn’t much to subsist on. Fortunately, the small boy didn’t seem to need much sustenance. Severus marveled at the brat’s endurance. He was reminded a lot of, well, himself at that age. Perhaps the death of Teddy’s mother, the horrors of war, and having a werewolf for a father had hardened him. Perhaps it was an inborn survival instinct.

In either case, it became a challenge to see how long they were able to hang on. Lack of proper nourishment forced Snape’s body to begin eating what little weight he had re-gained in the two weeks prior to being taken prisoner. He was sure that if he lost anymore weight, the skin was going next. Passing his reflection in the mirror one day made him recoil at the sight. He truly was a walking skeleton.