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[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2024-11-11 18:58:35 +0000 UTC“Why did you do that?” Marina Nikolaevna asked softly while Black rushed around the house, looking for the perfect place for his trophy. “He could have died.”
“He wanted that,” Snape replied just as quietly. He was hunched over his cooling tea, tracing the edge of the cup with his fingertip—a habit of his. “Even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.”
“Why?”
“Think for yourself, Dolores, you’re an intelligent woman!” he smirked as usual.
Marina Nikolaevna fell silent.
“He can’t just stay locked up doing nothing?”
“Exactly. And everyone keeps rubbing it in, from the tactful Molly Weasley to, I admit, myself. Whether it’s Azkaban or this house—there’s no difference…” He sighed heavily. “And the godson turned out to be not a sweet boy resembling his old friend James, but a teenager at the worst possible age, full of problems and a nasty temper.”
“And the family boat crashed against the domestic shores...” she muttered.
“Something like that. And if Potter had dashed off to the Ministry then, Black would have followed him. Dumbledore sounded the alarm for the Order, but only the Aurors got there first. Luckily, Moody was with the Order members, otherwise, they could have been taken down…”
“And he could have died there with far more certainty, right?”
“Exactly. And that duel with Bellatrix... Hopefully, the burst of emotions will last him at least a month. Then, of course, the euphoria will wear off.”
“And if she had killed him?”
“He would have died in battle, happy,” Snape said seriously. “But he didn’t, did he?”
Marina Nikolaevna nodded and wrapped her robe tighter around herself.
“Why are you shivering? Are you cold?”
“No, I’m scared,” she admitted honestly, her teeth chattering audibly.
“Dolores, you astonish me!” Snape said sincerely. “You managed to get me involved in an utterly suicidal operation, which, mind you, went off without a hitch, then witnessed Black's cheerful battle to the death with his cousin without flinching, and now what’s gotten into you?”
“It’s the aftermath…”
“Ah, that’s easily treated,” he said, standing up and rummaging through the cupboards. “If I remember correctly, Black’s stash of firewhiskey is around here somewhere. Aha! I understand it’s not cognac, but it will do in a pinch. So, here you go… A couple of sips, and it will pass.”
Marina Nikolaevna held her breath and drank in one gulp.
“What, starting the celebration without me?” Black burst into the kitchen.
“It’s for therapeutic purposes,” Snape explained, “I’ll reimburse you. Dolores, how do you feel?”
“Thank you, much better,” she sighed and finished her tea in one go. The trembling had stopped, and a light buzz filled her head, but she pulled herself together. “You know, I am a desk worker, after all, and... this is a bit too much for me. Severus, we still have business, haven’t we?”
“Like I’d forget. Black, where can we find some privacy here?”
“What, do you think this is some sort of love nest?” Black blurted out.
“Haven’t you had enough dueling for one day?” Snape narrowed his eyes, and Black involuntarily stepped back. “We need an empty room. Any will do. You and your house-elf shouldn’t be there either. Consider it a Dumbledore assignment.”
“Severus, and he shouldn’t talk about today either,” Marina Nikolaevna reminded. “Or even that he saw us at all…”
“Yes, Black,” Snape nodded. “For the pleasure provided, you’ll pay up!”
“Alright,” Black agreed. “I’ll vow to keep silent about everything that happened today…”
“Yesterday and today,” Snape corrected. “It’s past midnight already.”
“I knew you couldn’t be caught slipping…” Black chuckled and then grew serious again. “I’ll agree to your terms, but only if you explain what’s going on and what you intend to do. And what it has to do with Harry. Deal?”
Marina Nikolaevna glanced at Snape. He paused, then said:
“Black, neither I nor Dolores know the whole truth. But we can tell you what we intend to do. Dolores?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “But the vow comes first.”
The story about the Horcruxes took only a short time, and Black ran both hands through his thick, graying hair.
“But why not tell anyone?” he said helplessly. “The more people looking for them, the better, right?”
“Black, Dumbledore’s logic is unfathomable,” Snape replied calmly. “Accept it. Be grateful that something has already been found… even if Dumbledore doesn’t know about it. And he won’t find out, because I’ve tied your tongue in a knot.”
He placed a golden cup on the table, and Marina Nikolaevna set a locket beside it.
“Wait, I’ve seen that somewhere before,” Black frowned and reached for the locket, only to be smacked on the fingers.
“Don’t touch it. It’s dangerous.”
“I took it from Fletcher,” Marina Nikolaevna explained. “By complete chance. He had a lot of items with your family crest, mostly silver, and I thought he might have taken the locket from this house too.”
“Easily,” Black considered. “Exactly! That locket was in a cabinet on the second floor, and when we were cleaning up, we tried to open it, but couldn’t… so I threw it out.”
“Black…” Snape groaned, clutching his head. “I remember the hell you created with that cleanup, but what were you thinking, throwing away obviously dark magical items?”
“Well, it looked ordinary…”
“I’m not talking about that! There was plenty of other dangerous stuff! Did you just dump it all out? Hopefully not in a Muggle trash bin? Right?! Oh, God…”
“And then poor Arthur Weasley runs around on calls, puzzled by biting poisonous wallets and sleep-inducing music boxes,” Marina Nikolaevna said acidly, patting Snape’s shoulder reassuringly. “All because his dear wife cleaned up the Black family estate... I suspect you threw away books too?”
“I’d kill for the books,” Snape muttered, lowering his head onto his folded arms. “If I didn’t need them myself, I’d have taken them…”
“Well, books… yes, Molly managed to throw out a few,” Black said quickly, “but she didn’t touch the library. And what was scattered around the rooms, Kreacher took to the attic; there are piles of that junk up there. If you want to look, be my guest.”
“I’ll take you at your word,” Snape perked up immediately. “What I find is mine.”
“Take it all if you want; I won’t be using it anyway,” Black muttered and started rocking on the chair.
“You amaze me,” Marina Nikolaevna sighed. “Well, alright, the artifacts… though for improper disposal of things that should be handed over to the Department of Mysteries, you deserve a warning. And fine for you, but Mrs. Weasley! She, the wife of a Ministry employee, and not aware?”
“Dolores, she doesn’t work there herself,” Snape sighed. “But in general… Black, you could have thought a bit more: allowing minors to clean in this… museum! I wouldn’t risk touching certain things myself, and those little troublemakers probably grabbed whatever they could…”
“And the twins probably sneaked off with something interesting,” Marina Nikolaevna added. “No doubt about it!”
“Oh, come on…” Black muttered.
“Really, throwing away gold and silver—is that normal for purebloods?” she asked. “Fletcher, I see, doesn’t mind picking up your forks and spoons and selling them! And doesn’t the Order need funding? If these things are a thorn in your side, at least sell them as scrap… though museums would take them. Any support helps…”
“How do we know it wasn’t just Kreacher going through those bags?” Snape said with a venomous smile. “The Weasleys are hard up for money…”
“Do you mean the parents?” she clarified. “The older children are doing quite well for themselves, even the twins.”
“Listen, enough,” Black grimaced. “Weren’t we talking about Horcruxes? And whether this locket is probably… that?”
“Yes. But we won’t know for sure until we check,” Snape straightened up, and Marina Nikolaevna’s hand brushed against his back. Black turned sharply: standing in the doorway was the ancient house-elf. He was staring at the locket, tears streaming from his large eyes.
“What’s wrong, Kreacher?” Black asked in confusion. “Wait… Tell me, did you take that locket when I threw it out?”
“Yes…,” he wailed, banging his head against the doorframe. “And the foul thief Fletcher stole it all, Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and — and — and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!”
“Regulus?” Snape frowned. “Your brother?”
“Yes,” Black said, stunned. “But he… Wait. He was a Death Eater. That’s how the locket ended up here… Kreacher! Stop howling, I command you! Tell us everything, from the beginning. Where did this thing come from? How did Regulus get it?”
The elf whimpered and began to explain. Yes, Regulus Black became a Death Eater, and one day Voldemort needed a house-elf, so Regulus lent Kreacher to him, considering it an honor. Voldemort took Kreacher to a cave by the sea and forced him to drink an unknown potion from a stone basin in which he placed the locket. The potion caused unbearable thirst, but any attempt to touch the water—there was a whole lake in the cave, and the basin stood on an island—summoned Inferi. Kreacher was saved only because Regulus called him back.
And then—Marina Nikolaevna shivered involuntarily—Regulus Black ordered the elf to take him to that cave and drank the potion himself to leave a fake locket in the basin, commanding Kreacher to destroy the real one… and perished.
“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work. . . . So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open. . . . Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave. . . .”
“Re… Regulus did that?” Black stammered, gripping his unshaven cheek with his nails without noticing. “He… died there? Not even Voldemort killed him, he… did it himself… because of that thing?”
“He believed it was the only Horcrux,” Snape said quietly. “And he didn’t realize the elf wouldn’t be able to destroy it. But Kreacher kept the locket, which means…”
“Give it to me,” Black said, leaning over the table and clearly reaching for Snape’s collar, but Snape managed to pull back. “Give it to me, I’ll finish this thing! Because… because Regulus was a Slytherin like you both, we didn’t understand each other, but… he was my brother! My… brother…”
“Of course, Black,” Snape said seriously, exchanging glances with Marina Nikolaevna, “it’s your right. But you won’t be able to open it, though we do have an expert.”
“And how will we know if the Horcrux is destroyed?” she asked.
“The vessel should break apart,” Snape replied quickly, averting his eyes.
“Severus, you’re not telling us everything!”
“Not at all. I saw the diary pierced by a basilisk fang; it literally fell apart.”
“What?”
“It broke apart,” he repeated firmly and reached into his bottomless pockets again. “Here. And take the gloves, Black, this is no joke. Without Dumbledore’s phoenix here, one slip and it’s over.”
“Severus, aren’t you worried about carrying this around?” Marina Nikolaevna couldn’t help but ask. “What if you fall, or catch yourself on something and impale yourself?”
“Dolores, don’t make me out to be a careless fool; I’m not a childlike Gryffindor,” he asked earnestly. “It’s well-protected, even if I fell off the Astronomy Tower, I wouldn’t be impaled.”
“Sorry…”
“Don’t be. Now, open the locket.”
She nodded, focused, and tried to reproduce the sequence of sounds that opened the passage to the Chamber of Secrets. It didn’t work at first, but finally, the golden clasps clicked open. Behind each of the glass windows, a living eye, dark and beautiful, blinked, sending a shiver down her spine so sharp that she gripped the edge of the table.
“Black, don’t hesitate!” Snape urged.
With a trembling hand, Black raised the basilisk fang; its tip hovered over the frantically darting eyes. Suddenly, a voice sounded, hissing, low and warped like an old worn-out record, but Marina Nikolaevna didn’t listen.
“Strike!” she barked at Black’s face, and he, startled, drove the fang into the locket with such force that he pinned it to the table.
A long, dying moan echoed, and the eyes in the locket vanished. A thin wisp of smoke rose from it.
“Is that it?” Black whispered.
“Yes,” Snape withdrew the fang with his wand from the remains of the locket. “Hmph. Look, fine craftsmanship! The insides are shattered, but the cover is almost intact, apart from the hole…”
“Yeah…” Black answered dully. “Kreacher… come here.”
“Yes, master?” Kreacher whispered, stepping closer on tiptoes.
“Take this, carefully,” Black instructed, nodding at the locket. “Put it where it always was. Guard it. And know that you fulfilled Regulus’s command. You did everything in your power.”
“Master…” Kreacher began to weep again, then tenderly picked up the shattered locket and carried it away in his hands as if it were a wounded bird, his lamentations trailing up to the second floor.
Marina Nikolaevna glanced at the seemingly harmless cup.
“Who will… finish it off?” she asked quietly.
“Let me,” Snape said, taking the dragon-hide gloves from Black. “I fetched it from Gringotts, after all. I have the right!”
The cup didn’t produce any dramatic effects—it simply cracked in half and melted where the basilisk fang struck it. The sound, however, was the same: a dying wail…
“Do what you like,” Black said, holding his head, “but I’m getting drunk. Stay if you want—there’s room—or leave, but just don’t bother me, alright?”
“Of course, Black,” Snape replied. “I’ll leave you a hangover remedy. Don’t worry, it’s not poison, I made it for myself—top quality! Just remember where you put it in the morning…”
“Severus, maybe we really should stay? I’m worried about leaving him alone like this,” Marina Nikolaevna whispered as they stepped into the hall.
“He’s been through worse,” Snape replied darkly. “Fine. If you wish. Let’s find some decent rooms. Your Letty can whip up something to eat, I hope?”
“Of course. And a snack for Black; he’s going to end up face-first on the table soon…”
“Damn it, the table!” Snape swore. “Go upstairs, I’ll be right there!”
She watched him leave and went up to the second floor. The rooms here were all the same: gloomy, neglected... Except for a few: this one belonged to Sirius, plastered with posters, and that one to Regulus, with a nameplate on the door. And here, it seemed, people had slept in a heap: blankets and pillows were scattered across the floor in complete disarray.
Marina Nikolaevna finally found something like a small living room (she couldn’t imagine what such a room might be called), called Letty, told her to start a fire in the fireplace and bring some tea — she wasn’t hungry — and settled on a small cozy sofa.
Snape arrived half an hour later, warmed his hands by the fire, and said:
"I sent Black to bed. Kreacher practically worships the ground he walks on now, so he’ll keep an eye on him. Everything’s in order; we can head home."
"And what happened with the table?"
"That fang nicked it," Snape reminded her. "If someone with a scratched or splintered hand runs it over the surface... well, the table needed a bit of fixing."
"I see..." Marina Nikolaevna stretched with satisfaction. "Well then, it’s time to go home; I’m so tired I could die... But first, tell me what’s happening with Draco’s task? And it seemed you left something out when you talked to Black about the Horcruxes..."
"Alright, but just briefly, because I’m falling asleep myself," he said, sitting down beside her. "It’s connected. Dumbledore won’t live for more than a year."
"Why?!" she exclaimed.
"He also found a Horcrux," Snape said, "and even destroyed it. But it was so intricately cursed that... I can only delay the effects, not stop them entirely. Dumbledore knows this. He’s also aware of the Dark Lord’s plans regarding Draco. And..."
"And he plans to twist everything to get maximum advantage, even out of his own death?"
"Yes, most likely. I’ve said it before: understanding Dumbledore’s exact plans is almost impossible."
"I really don’t like such schemers..." Marina Nikolaevna muttered. "And how did he destroy the Horcrux?"
"Smashed it with Gryffindor’s sword. It’s tasted basilisk venom, so..."
"And what was the object?"
"A ring. A family ring from an ancient, extinct line that the Dark Lord likely belonged to."
"So the theory about significant, meaningful items, relics, is only confirmed... If only we could find the diadem!" Marina Nikolaevna sighed. "By the way, Severus, why not send Pettigrew under an Imperius Curse to the Dark Lord? Let him scratch the snake with a poisoned knife!"
"I thought about that," he said with a restrained yawn. "It won’t work. The Dark Lord doesn’t let Wormtail near him every day, and the curse would inevitably weaken. Plus, if he senses anything amiss, he’ll turn Pettigrew inside out, and then we’ll be in trouble... And before you ask, no, I’m not going to try something like that myself. I have no desire to die early, especially not in such a long and painful way..."
"And Bellatrix wouldn’t work either?"
"Of course not. She’d shake off Imperius in an instant, and then..." Snape sighed heavily. "But it doesn’t matter now. May Black’s mantelpiece rest in peace!"
"Severus," Marina Nikolaevna said thoughtfully, "so the curse struck Dumbledore when he put the ring on?"
"Yes."
"On his hand?"
"Not his heel, obviously! If he’d called me right away, I could have done more, bought him more time, but... the curse had already spread to his elbow. I can keep it at bay for now, but not forever."
"How about cutting off the headmaster’s arm?" she suggested brightly. "I mean, amputate it! Would that help?"
Snape fell silent for a long time.
"I don’t know," he finally admitted. "Possibly... But would he agree?"
"Well, it’s certainly better to be alive, even without an arm, than completely dead," Marina Nikolaevna sighed.
"And if an elbow amputation doesn’t work?"
"Then we’ll have to go up to the shoulder."
"So we’ll just keep chopping bit by bit?" Snape snorted.
"What else can we do? By the way, Pettigrew doesn’t have a hand either, but look at that prosthetic! Don’t you want to study it?"
"I’d love to!" he smiled darkly. "Hmm... I like this idea. Dumbledore is unlikely to agree willingly; he’s already set himself up to die heroically... But one can always misfire with a cutting curse during an unfortunate assassination attempt!"
He fell silent, looking at the shadows on the ceiling, clearly calculating possible scenarios.
"Enough, I’m going home," said Marina Nikolaevna decisively. "Um... you can’t Apparate from here, right?"
"No, only from the porch."
"Then I’m off. Don’t forget Pettigrew and your cauldron," she added, pulling a pocket knife from her pocket. "Here it is; you’ll have to turn it back yourself. You won’t pawn it off on me — I can’t stand rats!"
"I’ll find a place to keep him so he can’t transform or escape..." Snape took the knife and stood up. "Yes, time to go. It’ll be dawn soon. Should I escort you?"
"It’s just a short walk," Marina Nikolaevna replied. "Well... see you at school? Why are you laughing?"
"I just imagined our conspiratorial glances during the headmaster’s speech: ‘When do we start cutting?’"
"Immediately, without waiting for peritonitis!" she sighed.
"What does that have to do with it?" Snape frowned.
"A silly joke, never mind. But we should ask Ingeborg more about the curse; she’s knowledgeable about them."
"Well, we have a preliminary plan," he said seriously. "Let’s go. Or rather, you go; I’m staying. I intend to take advantage of Black’s carelessness and have a good rummage through his library..."
"But you were just falling asleep a moment ago, weren’t you?"
"I’ll sleep for a couple of hours, that’s enough, and then..." Snape smiled in anticipation. "While Black’s sleeping it off, I’ll have time to walk off with half his book collection... And note, I’ll do it with his permission! If I find something light for reading," he added, "I’ll set it aside for you."
Marina Nikolaevna couldn’t tell if this was a joke, a veiled insult, or something else.
