Muggle Mythology

Harry ignored Snape’s comment—along with Hermione’s astonished look, when he didn’t rise to the bait—and went on, ‘I assume the attacks on Muggle-born wizards and the destruction and desecration of Dumbledore’s tomb are linked. Does anyone have any idea of what could be behind this? The Office and the SSS haven’t come up with anything useful.’

Everyone looked at Harry. Then everyone looked away.

Silence spread. Lengthened. Grew heavy.

Finally Snape spoke again, ‘Are you at all familiar with Muggle mythology, Potter? How about a random quote to test your proficiency? ‘At the worst our Enemy knows that we have it not, and that it still is lost. But what was lost may yet be found…’ —Does that ring a bell? Does anything about that situation sound…vaguely…familiar?”

Harry stared at Snape. The words of the quote did indeed sound eerily familiar. Oh, right. The Lord of the Rings. Hermione had given that book to him for Christmas. To his surprise he’d actually liked it. But what had that do to with…

…how he’d barely managed to stand there…
…how he’d just been able to stuff the Invisibility Cloak and his wand out of reach…
…how the Resurrection Stone had slipped from between his numb fingers…
…to lie on the ground of the Forbidden Forest for all eternity…

…or until…

‘Oh SHIT!’ he exclaimed.

Heads swivelled, eyes stared. If things had been different, the reaction of the other Order members would have been amusing. As it was, Harry merely felt tired; very, very tired. With everyone gaping at him, he realised he had to say something. He forced himself to meet Snape’s gaze. But what was supposed to be a smile of acknowledgement slipped and turned into painful parody.

‘Maybe we’re going to get lucky, too,’ Harry muttered, ‘and a friendly Hobbit will find that damn stone?’

‘Wit, Potter? When did that happen?’

oooOooo

‘So you really believe that someone found the Resurrection Stone?’ Hermione asked.

They had returned to Hogwarts right after the meeting. Hermione had barely managed to hurry down to the kitchen for a quick ‘hello and goodbye’ chat with Draco. She hadn’t even had a chance to exclaim about how Teddy had grown since she’d seen him last, or at how happy the toddler looked in Draco’s arms. She suppressed a sigh; she would have to Owl Draco later on.

Snape turned away from the window. The darkness of the night mercifully hid the site of the explosion. Just as it concealed his expression. The hearthfire had all but died down in the library, filling the room with flickering shadows.

‘I don’t believe in coincidence,’ he admitted.

He sounded so unbearably weary. Hermione winced, then she rose to her feet and went to stand next to him, peering up at his face in the twilight.

‘So someone has been helping the Death Eaters that are still on the loose? Or has even…taken over the remains of V— Voldemort’s organisation? And now…they—whoever they are—may have the Elder Wand in their possession?’

He sighed and nodded. ‘Of that, at least, I am fairly certain.’

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to follow his train of thoughts. ‘And since Harry lost the Resurrection Stone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, it might…resurface, it could be found again?’

Snape inhaled deeply. ‘Unfortunately, that is a possibility. However, as you are probably aware of, I do tend to think the worst, so maybe Minerva and the others are right, and my fears are merely the excrescences of an overwrought subconscious.’ He sneered slightly.

Hermione sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip.

‘I’m not so sure,’ she said, her voice sounding rather small and scared. ‘Evil things seem to have an awkward tendency to end up in just the wrong hands at just the wrong time.

‘However, if I recall correctly what Harry told us about the stone, it was cracked. So maybe it wouldn’t work anymore? And at the moment Harry is still the rightful owner of the Elder Wand, so unless he lost to someone in a duel or something, the thief couldn’t do much with it, right?’

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with two stiffened fingers. ‘As I said before, I always think the worst.’

Carefully, Hermione stepped closer to her master.

‘For good reason,’ she said softly. ‘And there are too many conditional clauses in the questions I asked for me to sleep well at night.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered, as a sudden chill made her shudder. ‘Why can’t it end?’

‘I don’t know, Hermione,’ he murmured. ‘I wish I did.’

Silence settled around them, only now and again the dying fire in the hearth snapped and popped. The waxing moon sent pale slivers of light into the room, just enough for Hermione to discern the bony contours of his face, his dark eyes, proud nose, thin, sensitive lips. Once more she grew aware of his personal scent. When she inhaled, she shivered again. The tiny hairs on her arms and neck rose up and her nipples prickled.

Black eyes bored into her. Then, barely discernible in the dim light, his stern expression seemed to soften. Somehow they stood even closer than before. His robes almost enfolded her, surrounding her with his fragrance and his warmth. She tilted her head back, mesmerized by his fathomless gaze. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse vibrated in her throat. Her stomach quivered with longing.

Suddenly his lips met hers.

They were soft, dry and warm. Somehow one hand slipped around her waist and the other to the back of her neck. She flowed against him. Somehow her hands clung to him, drawing him closer still.

Tentatively, she returned his kiss. His embrace tightened around her. At first very lightly, then more and more languidly, his lips caressed hers, until she was dizzy with the tenderness of the moment.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10