A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 44 – Waiting

Albus was staring at the younger man with an almost angry air and the young man was looking decidedly uneasy.

Sabine had never met the fellow before; he was medium height, medium build, scarred and ragged looking, but entirely unfamiliar.

He had come in rather sheepishly to see Albus, his tweed jacket hanging open and his hands restlessly smoothing an errant lock of hair back across his forehead.

“What have you done, Remus,” Albus asked in tone that worried Sabine.

“I’ve been cured, thought you might be happy about it,” he replied, his uncertainty showing clearly through. Albus took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

“I am happy for you, Remus, the timing is just rather problematic, that’s all.” Albus looked so very torn to her. She wasn’t certain what young Remus had been cured of, but it obviously posed a problem for her husband. She shifted slightly in her chair to draw Albus’ attention back to her. “Ah, Remus Lupin, may I introduce my wife, Sabine Dumbledore.” The introduction was late and rather ungraciously made, but Sabine merely smiled sweetly at the distressed young man and shook his hand.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Congratulations,” the man mumbled back and it occurred to her to wonder if he was without a spine on all occasions or merely robbed of one at this particular moment.

“Remus was my only spy among the werewolves, before he was miraculously cured,” Albus explained to her in a dry tone.

Sabine grasped his dilemma at once. Her mind raced through certain pieces of obscure lore and popped out a name.

“I hope my grandson performed the Rivening ceremony with all due precautions,” she returned and Mr. Lupin flinched visibly. Sabine was pleased that her guess had been correct, as she had two other less likely culprits as back up theories. Albus, obviously past his initial irritation, merely shrugged.

“Severus has long ago proven to me that his usefulness far outweighs the little irritations one must inevitably suffer as a consequence of knowing him,” came Albus’ rather rueful commentary as he waved tea into existence and then summoned forth biscuits from the kitchen.

“Yes, well one has to wonder why he would risk Azkaban at such a moment, but he undoubtedly had his reasons,” Sabine quipped with a sardonic expression.

Mr. Lupin shrugged, with a self-effacing air, but Sabine caught a glimmer of anger in his eyes before he dropped them. So, the ex-werewolf had a spine, he just kept it carefully hidden. Undoubtedly, it was safer for a werewolf to be submissive, rather than aggressive in Wizarding Society, she thought, as she studied him covertly from behind her teacup.

“What’s done is done,” Albus waved the whole thing away. “I am glad to have you cured, Remus, really I am,” he assured the younger man, who nodded back with a small smile. “It’s just that Fenris has been very quiet of late and I am concerned as to what he might be up to,” Albus finished.

Blue eyes solemn, Lupin sipped his tea and thought. After a moment, he looked up.

“When last we had spoken, he seemed particularly paranoid. He seemed to think that Voldemort would eventually betray him. I encouraged that belief, of course,” he informed them with a soft voice.

“Yes, well only a complete idiot wouldn’t know that Voldemort is about as trustworthy as a politician’s campaign promises,” Sabine snorted contemptuously. “If you had to do much convincing then Fenris has lost far more than just his sanity.”

“Sabine, do you know Fenris?” Albus jumped on her comment with alacrity and she raised a leisurely eyebrow while she tried to formulate an answer.

“No. I knew Glenn Harrow; Fenris is a stranger to me,” she answered with a small sigh.

“Glenn Harrow?” Lupin asked into the ensuing silence.

“Fenris’ name before he was turned,” Albus explained.

“He was a friend of my son’s; they were very close at one time.” She fell silent then, wondering if she had said too much.

“Your son? When was this?” Remus asked with a sharp tone and a predator’s eyes. You can take the wolf out of the man, but can you really make him human again, Sabine wondered.

“Oh it must have been fifty years ago now,” she sighed.

“Wait, Fenris is over fifty years old?” he sounded incredulous and Sabine was puzzled.

“Is that odd?” she asked.

“Extremely! He still looks fit and healthy! Being a werewolf eats away at you, it consumes the flesh, wears you down; the transformations, the agony, it should have killed him about a decade ago!” Lupin sounded outraged and looking at his scarred face and wasted flesh, she thought she understood his anger.

“There are things that one can do to extend life, if one has no conscience,” Sabine reminded him and the young man looked at her with dawning horror.

“That’s disgusting!” he shot back and she could see in his eyes that he had been tempted to use those methods himself at one time. It took a strong man to choose a long, lingering death over a chance at life and health, whatever the cost.

“For a moral person, yes it is,” Albus gently replied. “For someone like Fenris, perhaps it was an easier choice.”

“Even as a mere human, Glen was not a very nice person. He and my son were well suited in that regard,” Sabine murmured with a feeling of weary bitterness. She was old and tired and the past was a very heavy burden sometimes.

“That’s not your fault, Sabine,” Albus soothed, but she merely glared at him.

“Then whose it is, Albus?” she retorted sharply. “I birthed him, I raised him, and I know only too well, how poorly I did by him.” She bit down hard on her lip to keep from spilling out her sorrow and regrets in front of this young man, who was, after all, a total stranger and nothing to do with her.

However, the brown eyes swiveled towards her with a look of intense perception that made her feel rather young and naive.

“He’s a man grown by now, Ma’am; don’t you think he might have had some responsibility there as well?” The voice was mild and gentle, but the reproof hit her hard and she winced.

“You don’t understand all the particulars, Mr. Lupin,” she told him rather stiffly, feeling uncomfortable for reasons that she couldn’t quite name.

“I know that he was laboring under a curse,” he informed her and her eyes widened in surprise. “As someone who has suffered under one as well, I can say with some assurance that being under a curse is no excuse to go about behaving like a melodramatic diva and making everyone else’s life a misery!” The last bit came out with a sharpness and venom that caught her quite off guard.

“Did I not mention that Remus went to school with James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, your grandson Severus, and Georgian Tamarind?” Albus murmured with a roll of his eyes and Sabine let out a bark of laughter that surprised everyone, including her.

“Touché, Mr. Lupin,” she replied, with a wave of one slender hand.

“You are far too prone to take the blame for everything and none of the credit. If you would just open up a bit and give people more of the story, you might get a bit more help, you know,” Albus added for good measure. Now it was Sabine’s turn to roll her eyes.

“I am a devious old hag, is what you mean,” she shot back with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Well, I don’t intend to stop, so we might as well get on with your murder and be done with it.” Her comment made young Lupin gasp in surprise, but Albus’ jolly laugh washed away the look immediately.

“I am so glad that you’re on my side,” Albus wheezed out between guffaws.

“Who said I am?” she challenged, but there was no heat in it. Truth be told, she was having the time of her life.

It was so good to be doing things again.

Severus swept into the Midwife’s domain and shut the door behind him. Moira was pale and sweating, damp stains marring the white sheets. He had seen enough death in his life to know that she wasn't far from it. Her red hair was spread out on the pillow, soaked and limp, her eyes were dull and flat, and she was panting in shallow gasps.

Above her floated a weakly beating telltale that showed how poorly the baby was faring. He ignored it and concentrated on Potter's young wife.

He had enough of Merlin's Elixir to save her life, though with the child still within the womb, there was nothing that he could do for the Potter child. The potion took immediate affect, but would not cross the placental barrier and he doubted that the child would survive long enough for him to pour the second vial down its throat. He stepped forwards with one of the gleaming bottles, but Moira raised a hand to forestall him. He paused in surprise, wondering if she thought that he was coming to poison her.

“No, save the baby,” she gasped out. She had been a fairly good Potion's student, but he surprised that she had recognized the Elixir, as very few could brew it and the ingredients were exceedingly rare.

“The baby is unborn and too weak, there is nothing I can do,” he shot back, surprised and rather taken aback by her request.

“You can use both bottles on the baby,” she wheezed and he stared at her in horror. There were things that even he would not do and cutting open a woman to save her child, while letting her die was one of them.

“You'll die,” he informed her in an icy tone, thinking that she didn't grasp the situation.

“I know,” she replied, to his consternation. “Harry needs the baby.” Her voice was fading and she was close to the end. She was watching him with pleading in her eyes, begging him to understand. Severus looked down at the teenaged girl and he did understand her intentions. Her love for Potter was such that even at the expense of her own life she was willing to do what she thought was best for him.

However, Severus didn't give a damn.

“Imperio!” he cast with a wand wave and her eyes glazed over. “Drink this,” he commanded and she obeyed, too weakened to resist. They could have more children, he reasoned to himself. However, he knew full well that for him at least, in a choice between Hermione and some unborn offspring, there was simply no choice at all. He strongly suspected that Potter would agree.

A glance at Madame Tamarind's face was enlightening. She looked torn between approval of his actions and disapproval of his methods. Poor woman, she was in for an interesting time of it with Georgian. Madame Pomfrey was too much the old warhorse to even blink at him, merely continuing her work over the laboring girl.

Light seemed to fill Moira's body, illuminating her from within. She raised a protesting hand as her strength returned and then let it fall back as the baby's telltales faded into stillness.

Madame Tamarind carefully birthed the little corpse of a small girl. Too thin and underweight, the child had lost the fight before it had begun. Moira turned her face to the pillow and began to sob.

“No, no, no...” she wailed and he turned away from her. Severus was disappointed in Moira. Suicide was always the coward's way out. Something must have shown in his face, because Madame Tamarind gave him a head shake.

“She wasn't in her right mind, Professor Snape,” she whispered to him. “She's had months of illness and pain and she is so very young.”

He nodded back at the woman in understanding and cursed Fudge once more in his mind. They were scarcely more than children and this law was unforgivably cruel. He was really going to have to track the little worm down and make him suffer one of these days.

“I'll take this to St. Mungo's,” Madame Pomfrey murmured and took the second, unused, vial away, neatly escaping the room and its misery.

“I have to go tell the father,” Madame Tamarind sighed and looked down at the tiny, thin body of the infant with real grief on her face.

“Stay with her, I'll go,” he replied. He would rather deal with Potter than stay in this room with the dead reminder of his own powerlessness.

Hermione looked up as Severus came out of the room.

“Moira?” Harry asked immediately, leaping from his chair.

“Alive and well,” her husband replied, but his face was still and mask-like. Hermione braced herself.

“The baby?” came the softer question from her best friend.

“I am sorry, Potter; she died before she was ever born.” He looked helpless, Hermione realized. She had seen him in so many different lights, but not like this, never like this.

“I had to make a choice, Potter.” He looked suddenly anguished, the expression gone as quickly as it appeared. Hermione was on her feet and waddling towards him as quickly as her belly would allow.

Harry Potter nodded slowly, his face filled with sorrow and loss, but also with a strange peacefulness.

“You made the right choice,” he answered and Severus relaxed slightly and nodded. She slipped her arms around him and he patted her absently.

“I hope your wife agrees with you on that subject, Potter.” He didn't sound as though he thought that she would and Hermione wondered what exactly had happened in that room.

Harry gave her a look of uncertainty and she shrugged, uncertain as well, and then he went to his wife. Over his shoulder his words drifted back to them.

“Thank you for saving her life, Professor.”

“Manners?” Severus mumbled almost to himself. “Definitely something he got from his mother's side of the family.” Hermione pinched him lightly and he looked down at her with eyes gone very dark. “And no nonsense out of you, Madame, either. Your life is vastly more important than the baby's, understand?” he growled, disengaged from her side and swept from the room.

Hermione was left wondering quite what he meant by that. Vastly more important to whom, exactly? To one Severus Snape? Surely not, she thought...and yet...
She felt trully hopeful about her marriage for the first time. It was sad that it took a death to give her hope.

Bill Weasley wandered into his parent's home with mixed feelings. He was happy to be home, he always was, but he was also reminded anew at how poor and shabby his childhood home was.

Fleur had never said a word, of course, which was one of the reasons that he adored her. In fact she had gone out of her way to find everything “tres charmante” and to appear delighted.

His own flat was much nicer. He had a good salary from Gringott's and his other curse breaking jobs and could afford the nicer things in life.

His parents refused to accept a penny from him though. He was certain that they suspected him of having funded George and Fred's business, but he was innocent of that. He did funnel money to Charlie in Romania for his research, but the others were as proud as their parents and wouldn't take money from him either.

It was frustrating because part of the reason he had taken the job was the hope of bettering his family's lives.

Avram and Yonaton, used to living in luxurious surroundings were staring around the front room in open curiosity. Bill was feeling extremely self-conscious, but the two boys breathed out in unison.

“This is wonderful, Yafe m'ode!” They informed him with all the assurance of two young men who had seen something of the world.

“So much better than home!” Avram confided.

“Much friendlier!” Yonaton added and Bill looked at the house again through their eyes.

Warmth, love and care gleamed from every object, no matter how worn it was. Delicious smells came from the kitchen and a fire burned merrily in the grate.

In comparison to the sterile perfection of their Nazarene home, this must be heaven to them.

“Bill!” His mother burst into the room, trailing knitting and the smells of the kitchen and enfolded him in her embrace. The two boys peeped around Bill with wide eyes and Molly Weasley beamed at them. “You must be the friends Bill wrote to me about!” she called out to them and they were hugged in turn, looking bewildered but pleased. “I am so happy to meet you both!”

“We are pleased to meet you as well,” Yonaton replied politely, though with some pink to his cheeks. Avram just grinned at her and tucked his hand in hers as they headed into the kitchen.

Bill realized that the two boys had just been summarily adopted and hearing his mother exclaiming over their thinness and getting a plate of cookies for them washed away the last of his embarrassment.

Sarit and the other arrived a moment later and were quickly made welcome and comfortable. His parents bustled about and soon had everyone fed and feeling completely at home. Sarit Yidoni was even smiling a little by the end of it.

He was never prouder to be a Weasley than he was just then. No wealth in the world could ever compare.