A Living Secret ~ COMPLETED

Chapter 4 ~ A Funeral, a Thought and a Journey

The next morning, Severus was once again eating a solitary breakfast in his reproduced rooms when suddenly he stiffened and spasmed, his fork falling out of his hand as he fell back into his armchair, his body shuddering powerfully. His eyes rolled up into his head and the wizard fell still.

Suddenly, he was looking down on a scene. It was by the lake at Hogwarts, hundreds of chairs were set out in rows, an aisle running down the center of them: The chairs all faced a marble table set out in front. It was a bright, beautiful day.

The chairs were half full. Severus recognized many of the people he saw. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Remus Lupin, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill sup-ported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George and Madame Maxime, to name a few.

He could barely make out the castle ghosts because of the sunshine and watched as Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny took up seats at the end of a row. Cornelius Fudge walked towards the front rows, and Rita Skeeter was sitting attentively, a notebook in her hands. Even Delores Umbridge was there, an exaggerated look of grief on her toadish face. Firenze was standing by the lake’s edge as if a guardian. Prime Minister Scrimgeour sat in the front row next to Minerva.

Severus realized he was witnessing Albus’ funeral. But how?

Hidden by foliage, Fawkes observed the ceremony, linked to Severus by the binding Albus had performed before his death, thus allowing the dark wizard to attend the Headmaster funeral vicariously.

A strange, melancholy song rose up and the mourners all looked around. The merpeople were singing, just below the surface of the water.

A sobbing Hagrid walked up the center aisle, carrying Dumbledore’s body which was wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars. He placed the body carefully upon the table and walked back down the aisle and sat next to a rather small giant dressed in a jacket and trousers who sympathetically patted him on the head hard enough to sink Hagrid’s chair into the ground.

A little man in plain black robes began to speak about Albus, the merpeople breaking the lake’s surface to listen to the eulogy. Severus saw even the centaurs came to pay their respects, situated among the trees.

When the wizard finished the eulogy, bright white flames erupted and seemed to consume Dumbledore’s body, white smoke undulating in the air and forming strange, unearthly shapes. A phoenix seemed to soar away into the blue and the fire vanished, leaving a white marble tomb.

A bevy of arrows landed in front of the tomb, a final tribute from the centaurs, who then disappeared into the trees.

Severus shuddered again, and he was in the study once more, his link to Fawkes broken. He blinked several times, then covered his face with one pale hand, once again despairing the loss of Albus Dumbledore.

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Hermione returned home for the summer, but her parents found her different now, not so willing to talk about all the wonderful things she had learned throughout the year, or how good her grades were. Of course, they knew she was grieving. The Headmaster of the school had been killed, apparently by one of his own teachers.

Her parents were tempted to try and talk Hermione out of returning to Hogwarts. She had told them enough for them to know Harry Potter was not going to return. He was her friend. If Harry was smart enough to stay away from the school, surely Hermione could follow his example. Stay in the nice, safe, normal world where people didn’t die from the blast of a wand.

Hermione was grieving, but she was thinking too. No one really knew what motivated Snape to do what he did, but Hermione found it hard to believe that after being tormented by Voldemort year after year that the wizard was actually loyal to him. It made no sense to her. Dumbledore had always treated the Potions Master well and did his best for him. Yes, he spied for the Headmaster, but had been willing to do so. He wasn’t forced.

Could it have all been staged? The broken condition the wizard returned to Hogwarts in just a ruse to throw everyone off while he planned on killing the Headmaster the entire time? How could he allow himself to be treated in such a manner? Sometimes when he returned he was at the brink of death. No. No that couldn’t have been an act.

Hermione’s mind returned to the last time she saw the Headmaster privately. He had called her into his office and made some very complimentary statements about her marks, then reached out and took her hand.

“Miss Granger, you are the brightest witch to come through Hogwarts in many years. Your intelligence and dedication are marvelous assets, assets that may well be needed in the near future. Always remember to think, Miss Granger, and to do so in a logical manner. One thing we can always count on in this life is that things are not always as they appear, my dear,” Albus said.

Then Hermione felt a surge of power rush from the wizard’s hand and up her arm. She had gasped and pulled her hand away from the Headmaster’s soft grip.

”What…what happened?” she asked him, rubbing her arm, “I felt a sudden surge of magic from you, Headmaster.”

”Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Granger. When a wizard or witch gets up in years, sometimes they have magical spasms. It’s a part of the aging process. I hope it didn’t cause you any pain,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“No…it just startled me, sir,” Hermione replied, relaxing.

Hermione now thought about Albus’ words.

“…things are not always as they appear...”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. Was the Headmaster giving her some warning when he told her that? On the surface, it just sounded like sound, generalized advice…but he had also said her intelligence and dedication might be needed in the near future.

Hermione’s eyes began to shift back and forth as she went over the Headmaster’s last days at Hogwarts and the strange surges of magic she felt over those final days, including the night he and Harry had left Hogwarts. She had several sensations of great power being expended while they were absent and a great influx around the time the wizard was killed. And then there was the time where she was studying with Harry and Ron in the library. The sensations of magic felt very similar to the surge of power that passed between her and Dumbledore, except she couldn’t physically feel them, only sense them.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

Had Dumbledore done something to her that day? Something he didn’t tell her but trusted her to figure out? Had he in some way connected her to himself? She knew from Harry that Dumbledore used powerful magic several times that night. She had been in Snape’s office attending Professor Flitwick with Luna Lovegood when she felt the last powerful surge.

That had coincided with when the old wizard died.

Suddenly, Hermione knew she had to return to Hogwarts if it remained open. She wasn’t sure why, but perhaps she could find out…see if she experienced any other surges of magic while within its walls. She could maintain contact with Harry in some way, she was sure of it. Maybe she could even help him in some manner while still at the school. Harry had moved back to Godric’s Hollow and was in the process of repairing his parent’s house. It had been made unplottable, the area appearing to be a ruin much like Hogwarts appeared when stumbled upon.

Hermione didn’t like the idea, saying Voldemort or his minions might still be able to find him despite the disinformation spread by the Order stating that Harry had returned to the muggle world for a time because of his grief at the loss of Dumbledore. Rita Skeeter helped spread this disinformation, writing an article that basically claimed the great Harry Potter had cut and run for his life, abandoning the wizarding world willing to save his own life at the cost of thousands.

Harry didn’t like being publicly branded a coward, but had made up his mind. Before he left for Godric’s Hollow he attended Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Ron used this occasion to ask his parents if he could leave Hogwarts to help Harry on a secret mission. He was swiftly shot down, and Mrs. Weasley spent most of the reception trying to convince Harry to return to Hogwarts where he would be safe.

“I’m not your mother, Harry, but I love you like a son. I don’t want anything to happen to you in these dark times,” she said, trying to change his mind.

”Dumbledore gave me something to do, and I have to do it,” Harry said stubbornly, though he was glad Ron’s parents wouldn’t let him accompany him. It was too dangerous. If anything happened to Ron, it would be another death on his hands.

Molly then tried to get Harry to tell her what he had to do, but he wouldn’t tell her. For a week afterward, Molly stayed on Ron's back, trying to get him to tell her Harry's mission, which he wouldn’t. Arthur told her to leave it alone, that it was between Harry and Dumbledore, but Molly was determined to find out the secret. While Arthur was at work, she slipped a bit of veritaserum into Ron’s pumpkin juice and questioned him when it took effect.

She found out to her dismay Ron had taken a wizarding oath not to reveal Harry’s secret. Veritaserum could not override an oath.

“Oh fudge,” she said, frowning as Ron slowly came out from under the serum's influence. Unfortunately, this particular type of veritaserum left the user with memories of being questioned and Ron lit into his mother right away.

“I can’t believe it. My own mother slipping me veritaserum! What’s the world coming to?” he exclaimed at her. Of course he told his father, who was furious with Molly and didn’t speak to her for over a week.

Ron made a big show of sniffing everything his mother served him after that, acting as if he could smell veritaserum. Of course, he couldn’t, but he still drove his mother wild by doing it and then scrunching up his face, saying, “I’m not sure I should eat this, mum. I might spill my guts.”

Molly would put her hands on her hips.

“Ronald Weasley, there is nothing wrong with that food. It’s fine!” she’d snap at him.

Ron would then look down at his plate or drink skeptically.

“I don’t know,” he’d say, then thrust the food or drink at either Fred or George, “One of you try it!”

Arthur never said a word about Ron’s taunting of his mother, she deserved it after all. It had been a very dirty trick giving Ron truth elixir. She was going to have to rebuild his trust.

It took her weeks to do.

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Voldemort gave Severus his final instructions.

“Whatever you do, Severus…do not set foot in or touch the water with any part of your person, am I understood?” the Dark Lord said to him, “Just draw the boat up with the chain, go to the island and check the locket. I have given you the spell so you don’t have to drink the contents of the basin. All you must do to check if the fragment is present, is to do a simple medi-witch health spell. It will glow blue as if you are examining a healthy body. Then return and report to me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing.

”And do not attempt to apparate to the bottom of the cliff. You will splinch. You must climb down,” the Dark Lord continued. “Then swim for a bit.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus replied again. Voldemort had been going over this with him for the past week. He knew what to do. But the Dark Lord was a bit of a nag.

“And don’t forget you need blood to enter the inner sanctum,” Voldemort reminded him.

“Yes my Lord,” Severus said again.

Voldemort stared at him for several moments, then said, “Go, my most faithful servant,” and flicked his wand at him.

Severus felt disoriented for a moment as if traveling by port key. Suddenly he dropped hard to the ground, and sat up, looking around. He got to his feet.

The wizard could smell salt and hear the crash of waves. A cool breeze lifted his lank hair as he looked out over the sea, which was illuminated by moonlight. Thousands of stars filled the sky. Severus was standing on an outcrop of black rock, water rushing and breaking below him. Behind him was a huge cliff with a sheer drop, broken pieces of the rock face strewn beneath it. There were no trees, grass or sand.

He looked over the outcrop, down at the face of rock leading down below. There were crags and jutting pieces sticking out of the stone. He could climb down. Carefully he lowered himself over the edge and cautiously chose his handholds. The wall became more slippery the closer he got to the bottom. He slipped and fell about five feet, but landed in a crouch, sliding slightly on the wet boulder. He straightened and looked at the stone before him.

There was a fissure.

He climbed through.

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A/N: Another chappie. Again, I referred to the HBP text for this chapter concerning the funeral, paraphrasing it slightly. Thanks for reading.