Chapters 231-240

Brave and Loyal Slytherins

Namegiver stirred. Woodstock was over at her side in a fraction of a wing beat. The phoenix knew at once that something was wrong. The girl was throwing her head frantically from side to side, her mouth opened and closed in helpless, silent screams.

Tears didn’t help. Crooning didn’t help. Agitated, Woodstock flapped her wings, feathers ruffled, tail swishing sparks.

Suddenly the grumpy house-elf was at Woodstock’s side. ‘Silly hen must not set fire to Master Professor Sir’s library. She not can hear you, stupid bird. Make more noise.’

Chirrup?

Woodstock stroked Namegiver’s cheek with her beak. But the girl only moaned. A strange feeling welled up inside the phoenix. The way she’d felt about her shell—it had been a part of her and then it had broken. Was this human broken?

Woodstock lifted her head. She wanted to cry. Only she couldn’t. So she sang instead. For the first time in her life, the young phoenix sang. She sang of the warm darkness of her egg, the horrifying darkness of the box her egg had been in. Of Spicyscent and Curlyhair, who’d saved her. Of Grumpy-Elf who wanted to roast her. And Namegiver, who’d looked at her and seen her soul. Of Stoneman.

Of Death and Life. Of Darkness and Fire.

Woodstock sang. She sang of everything she knew about Life and Death and Love. It wasn’t very much. She wasn’t a very old phoenix. But she gave her all. She sang away her life. Only when she felt too weak to lift her wings enough to hop back onto her bird stand, she fell silent, almost astonished at the strange weakness of death.

But when she peered at Namegiver, she noticed with amazement that the girl was sleeping peacefully.

‘Great,’ Grumpy-Elf grumbled. ‘But don’t fancy yourself a nanny-elf. Your lullaby is no better than mine.’

Woodstock wanted to peck at Grumpy-Elf for that. As if she’d ever want to be a nanny-elf! But she never got around to it. Before her beak could even touch the elf, fire flared up inside of her, hotter than anything she’d experienced so far.

The flames consumed her, golden, red, beautiful, the spark of Life, the fire of Death. Suddenly Woodstock felt incredibly light, as if she was floating…

oooOooo

‘Silly fowl. Annoying chicken. Damn busy-bird.’ Winky muttered as she swept the ashes into the dustpan. For a moment she contemplated scattering the whole mess in the garden. See how that flaming nuisance of a phoenix manages her rebirth if she’s worked into the rose-beds as fertilizer. But then Winky gave a long suffering sigh and carefully built up a mound of ashes on the platform attached to the bird stand.

oooOooo

‘Alina is not in her dormitory!’ Minerva McGonagall hurried into the hospital wing. White-faced and tight-lipped, the Headmistress of Hogwarts was closing the last buttons of her robes with shaking, bony hands even as she turned to the Weasleys.

‘What?!’ Ginny and Molly shot up from their respective seats. Professor Weasley and Arthur Weasley turned to each other with nearly identical expressions of dismay.

‘I sent a house-elf to check on her, to see if she’s all right —’ Minerva took a deep breath. ‘The elf returned and said that Alina is not at Hogwarts.’

‘WHAT?!’ all Weasleys chorused, stunned.

‘Oh no,’ Professor Weasley muttered. ‘That is all my fault. I shouldn’t have answered her questions last night. She must have sneaked off, thinking she can do something…’ He shook his head. ‘I thought she’d have more sense than that. She’s a Slytherin, after all!’

Minerva sank down on a chair. ‘Oh Bill. Slytherins are just as loyal as Hufflepuffs. And just as full of bravado as any Gryffindor who ever put on the Sorting Hat.’

‘But apparently not as smart as Ravenclaws,’ Ginny commented sourly, though her stomach felt queasy and she was wondering how they’d break the news to Lois, who was still asleep thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s sleeping draught. ‘What are we going to do now? How can we ever explain that to Lois?’

At a loss for words, they stared at each other, when suddenly the Floo turned green and Healer Mugwort’s face looked up at them. ‘You had better come over to St. Mungo’s at once. Professor Snape, Harry Potter and Alina Petrel are here—in the Isolation Ward.’

oooOooo

Minerva McGonagall steeled herself before she opened the door to Severus’ room. She was determined not to show any shock, no matter how he had changed. But oh, how she hated to be the one to tell him about Hermione…No more dithering, she reprimanded herself sternly. She entered the room.

Severus lay on his back, the blankets pulled up high as if he was cold. And maybe he was—he was deathly pale. He’d never had much colour, but now he was as white as the sheets of the bed he was lying in. Thinner than ever, he looked positively cadaverous now, his cheeks sunken in, eyes deep in their sockets with circles around them that were dark like bruises.

Minerva barely had the presence of mind to summon the visitor’s chair. Sinking down, she sighed. ‘Oh, Severus.’

He didn’t turn his head, but his black eyes focused on her, the faintest glittering in their depths. The merest hint of a familiar scowl.

‘Oh, Minerva,’ he whispered mockingly.

Relief flooded her. Even if it was not much of a snarl, this was very much the Severus Snape she knew. ‘How?’ she asked. ‘How did you escape?’

He exhaled and closed his eyes. After a long moment of silence, he swallowed convulsively, as if his throat was painfully raw. ‘Alina,’ he muttered at last, his voice hoarse and so low she could barely hear him. ‘And the phoenix.’

Another long silence, then the question Minerva had dreaded.

‘Hermione?’

‘Oh, Severus, I am so sorry. We don’t know where she is.’ Minerva took a deep breath. ‘Or even if she is still alive at all.’