Chapters 111-120

Bells and Kneazles

Severus’ right hand was rubbing absently over the ragged scars on his left forearm.

‘Ranna you already know,’ he said. ‘The other bells are Dyrim—the speaker; it can return the faculty of speech to those who lost it, either to death or other misfortune—and Belgaer—keeper of memory. A tricksome bell. It can restore thought and memory to the dead. But slipping in a careless hand it will erase them.’

Hermione approached the table with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. In the end, curiosity won out. She stretched out her hand, letting it hover over the handles. Belatedly it occurred to her that they might not be safe for her to touch. She glanced up at her husband. ‘Can—May I?’

He nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. That slight change of expression was enough to distract her. She loved his mouth. And his eyes. Heat flushed her cheeks and she quickly turned back to the bells.

They were made of silver and of supreme craftsmanship. Strange symbols and ancient runes twisted half-glimpsed all over the body of the bells, inside and out, as well as over the mahogany handles. They were beautiful. When she touched Dyrim, the small hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and she shivered with a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

She nearly dropped the bell. But almost before she could move, Severus’ hand closed over her, and he put the bell back on the table safely.

Hermione swallowed hard. Severus Snape did nothing without a purpose. ‘Why…why are you telling me all that?’

His black eyes regarded her calmly. ‘You should not have been able to accompany Alina. You were not born a Necromancer.’

Each of his words seemed to be echoed by heavy heartbeats. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘At this point all I have is a carefully considered conjecture…or if you will, an educated guess.’ His nostrils flared with distaste. ‘Necromancy is essentially blood magic. When you saved me from Nagini, your blood came into…close contact with mine. And my blood was still infused with Necromantic magic—’

‘Your memories!’

He inclined his head. ‘Quite so. It seems that…my blood imparted an echo of my own talents to you.’ Severus stood absolutely rigid, arms crossed in front of him. Hermione felt her forehead crease. She knew that she ought to be shocked, and she was, but her first thought was if he blamed himself. The lines around his mouth creased deeper than before. She almost sighed. Of course he did.

Hermione stepped in front of him, until her breasts came to rest just above his crossed arms. She raised her head and firmly banished the panic that was beginning to seep into her mind. She met his gaze and thrust out her chin. ‘I’m only glad I could come to you.’

His eyes closed with a sigh of relief. She could barely hear his familiar mantra, as he murmured: ‘You foolish, foolish woman.’

oooOooo

Alina ran smack into Barret as she fled from the dungeons to spend the last hour before curfew where no one would see her puffed eyes and red nose. She blinked and took in Crudass’ appearance. He looked about the same as she did, eyes red, nose runny. And his hands sported many thin scratches.

She suppressed the urge to say ‘I’m so sorry’ and hug him that she always seemed to feel when she saw Barret lately. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose your parents and your baby-sister all at once. The mere thought made her stomach constrict and caused her nausea. But Crudass didn’t seem to want any comfort. His temper was nastier than ever.

So Alina merely frowned at him with what she hoped was aloof detachment, let her gaze drop to his hands and asked with raised eyebrows, ‘Whatever have you been up to? That looks as if you’ve used your hands to practice how to skin a Shrivelfig—unsuccessfully.’

Crudass snorted, but the wary gaze in his eyes faded a little. ‘They allow me to visit the kittens.’

‘OH!’ Alina was instantly distracted. ‘You’ve been to Filch’s office? You’ve actually touched the kittens? Ohmygosh! What do they look like? Why did they do that to you?’

The corner’s of Crudass’ rather broad mouth twitched at her enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I’ve been to Filch’s office. My mother is—was—a kneazle-breeder. They—they think I can help Filch with the kittens. And that this maybe will help me,’ he added sourly. ‘To deal with things, you know.’

Alina nodded. That made sense. ‘So what are they like? And why do they scratch you?’

‘Did someone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the bum, Alina?’

She shrugged. ‘Sure. My mother. Ron. Charlie. Hermione. My Head of House uses fancier words, though. But that would be the gist of it.’

Crudass just shook his head. But then he did answer her question. ‘There are five of them, three ginger ones, all toms. And two dust-coloured girls. And they scratch because they’re playful, but they are still too dumb to know that you don’t use your claws when you’re playing with a human.’ He gave Alina a faint grin. ‘I’m sure you’ll get to see them soon yourself.’

Alina blinked at him in surprise. ‘But…how? Filch isn’t letting them out, and he only lets Headmistress McGonagall IN. And you.’

Crudass raked his fingers through his sand-coloured hair. ‘Filch doesn’t know the first thing about kneazles. The kittens are getting adventuresome. And they don’t know yet that walls are supposed to be solid. Or that it’s bad manners to simply go POOF! They’ll just walk right through the walls. I guess they’ll be all over the school any day now.’

‘Oh my GOSH!’ Alina giggled. ‘I can’t wait. Filch’s going to blow a gasket!’