Early Saturday morning Harry and Hermione stood before the iron door to Snape's office and looked at one another with a dawning sense of foreboding.
Since receiving the summons in their dorm rooms, they had walked sleepy-eyed and yawning down the many stairways and deserted corridors, careless of what the summons might mean for them. But now, facing the prospects of possible trouble for some misbehavior, they were tense and questioning.
With a shrug, Hermione tapped on the door with the ring-pull.
"Come in."
Snape frowned at the sight of Harry as the two stepped inside his dim candlelit office.
"I don't recall requesting the presence of Mr Potter," he said to Hermione.
She cleared her throat nervously. "I sent your summons round to him," she said in an apologetic tone. "There are rumors about vampires, and I thought it best to have someone come with me, since it's still quite early and--"
"I know what time it is, Miss Granger. And if it's security you're concerned about, why didn't you also invite Weasley? Is he not up to your standards? Or is there a schism among the Holy Trinity?"
Hermione glanced at Harry. He was looking at Snape with his usual displeasure.
Snape picked up an old moldy book, opened to the marked page, and sat back in his desk chair. "You may wait outside in the corridor, Potter," he said, "and close the door."
"Gladly, sir," Harry replied tersely, and went out.
"Miss Granger, come forward, and keep your voice down," Snape said in his low quiet manner. When she came up to his desk he continued.
"Do you remember the ounce of blood you provided for a potion of mine, in your second year?"
The question surprised her. "Yes, sir," she said anxiously. "Was something wrong with it?"
"I wouldn't say 'wrong,' but I was not aware at the time that you have a Slytherin ancestor. You know of this?"
She fidgeted slightly. "Yes."
"And is his name Hellington Nestor?"
"I believe so. I was quite young when I met him. And I haven't seen him since, Professor."
"You needn't be defensive about it, Miss Granger."
Snape set the open book face up on his desk. It showed the illustration of an avian dragonette. "Do you recognize this creature?" he asked.
Hermione bent forward over the desk to scrutinize the drawing. "No, I can't say that I do, sir. But its wing feathers look quite a lot like the Bloodwort leaves of the Bird-of-Hades plant we studied in Herbology the other day." She straightened up with a puzzled expression.
"I may be mistaken," Snape began, wincing as his right arm made contact with the desk, "but this creature derives from the plant you mentioned. I believe that the seeds of this plant develope into a vampiric, feathered reptillian, known in mythology as a Roc." He spelled it for her. "My investigation into the darker side of necromancy leads me to conclude that the blood of Slytherin type wizards and witches is of special interest to the Roc, and that the blood of the Gryffindor type, and especially the Hufflepuff type, is an antidote to the vampiric condition caused by the bite of a Roc."
Hermione's puzzlement grew. She shook her head. "Professor, I don't understand what my blood donation has to do with any of this. Are you saying that the potion you made from my blood is a cure for vampirism? That sounds rather astonishing."
"I am saying that the little bit of Slytherin in your genealogy prevents your blood from being a vampiric cure-all, but that it could arrest the condition in the early stages so that the blood thirst does not arise."
In his mind's eye Snape saw himself applying the flesh tone to Hummerhorn's portrait of Lily, the paint crafted from a sample of her remains and the blood provided by Hermione. It had worked almost instantly. The image of Lily became invitalized. She had at once recognized him, backing away from him into the scene of the painting, a look of fear and revulsion on her lovely, youthful face.
The intense sorrow of that moment lived again in his memory, so much so that the pain in his arm was forgotten. He pushed the thought of Lily from his mind and focused on the girl standing before him, who asked him, "You want another ounce of my blood? Is it for Boris Vlaud's father?"
Snape smiled grimly. "I see now where the rumors of a lurking vampire came from," he said. "Yes, your blood is requested, and a half ounce will do. Its use is confidential. First, however, there is something else I need to discuss with you. It concerns Professor Vector."
This did not help to clear up Hermione's puzzled state. "My Arithmancy teacher?"
"The very same. She gave you an assignment yesterday that involved a small wicker cage. She provided a set of numbers with which to determine if the purpose of the cage would result in a success or a failure. No details of the purpose were given. What was the result?"
Hermione blinked, amused as much as puzzled. "It indicated success," she said. Then her expression became solemn and pensive. "Oh, I think I see the connection. I sensed that the cage was for a kind of half-bird, half-snake, or... dragon, a small one of some weird sort."
Snape nodded. "A fledgling avian dragon. It grows into a very large and ferocious creature that is capable of shape-changing into a peculiar tree. A carnivorous tree, rather like a monstrous version of a Venus Fly-Trap. We have one such monstrosity in the Forbidden Forest. A Roc that is certainly not a myth."
"Is it to be gotten rid of?" asked Hermione. "Was that the reason for my assignment in Arithmancy, to see if the hunt will be successful?"
"We may suppose so," Snape said indifferently. "Tonight after dinner, at eight o'clock sharp, you will meet with me here. Bring Potter if you wish. In any case, the edict from the Headmaster is that students are to go in groups of at least four when outside the castle. We will be venturing forth. The group will include myself, Charlie Weasley, Giselle McGonagall, and yourself, along with whoever you wish to bring."
"Giselle?"
"She is a Hufflepuff, the significance of which I have explained, regarding blood types. Also she has, shall we say, a vested interest in this endeavor."
"Which is what, sir? Where are we going? Is it... is it dangerous?"
"Life is dangerous, Miss Granger," Snape replied and turned his head to stare at the wall between his bookshelves and potion cabinet, to wonder if a complex of caves and passages existed within the walls, and to hope that somewhere within was the portrait of Lily, or the ghostly essence of her, waiting to be found.... waiting to be rescued?
Earlier that morning, an hour before dawn, Moody arrived at the east lawn of the castle, gazing around impatiently until his bulging magical eye found what he was looking for.
"Wormtail?" he whispered gruffly.
"Over here, Crouch."
Moody gritted his teeth. "Don't call me Crouch, you mangy imbecile! Stay where you are." He hobbled over to the clump of lilac trees where Pettigrew stood hunched over, fingering his face as if making sure his rat whiskers had vanished.
"You met with Carrow?" asked Moody. "Give me the news."
"Everything is ready. It is all but certain that Potter will win the Tournament. Carrow has confidence in you and in Karkaroff. When Potter lays hands on the Winner's Cup--"
"I know all that, you idiot! What did he say about Hexaba LeStrange? Has he any idea what she's up to?"
Pettigrew, shrinking back, said tensely, "Alright, alright. He don't know what she's planning, only that she supports the Malfoy faction. He thinks it might have to do with Vector, you know, a teacher at the school. Vector has always been keen for Lucius, ever since their torrid affair some years back. She wants him to be Headmaster. But Hexaba, he don't know exactly how she plays into this. He says Vector and Hexaba don't like each other none. Jealousy, he figures."
"What does Bellatrix think of this? You spoke with her?"
"No, she wasn't there. She's busy sowing mistrust about Snape among the Loyalists. Who knows? She may be right about him. Carrow doesn't want you confiding with Snape."
"As if I would," Moody grunted. "Hold it! What's that?" He motioned to Pettigrew to make himself scarce. "Someone's coming. Lay low. I'll check it out."
Moody stood looking out from behind a lilac tree as a rat scurried off into a nearby hedge. A caped figure, indistinct in the pre-dawn darkness, approached the wall of a tower not far from the lilac grove.
The figure put its hands on the wall and was about to press a foot against it when Moody pointed his wand, flourished it in an up and down pattern, and intoned, "Stasis!"
The figure immediately stiffened.
Going up to it, Moody peered at the young face shadowed by the hood of the cape. He grunted a mirthless laugh.
"Boris Vlaud. Out for a morning constitutional, are you? Or could it be..." He wiped a wet red spot from the boy's chin. "Ah, it could indeed. Out to quench your thirst, I see."
The boy's eyes stared at Moody in a fearful worry. The eccentric teacher stood considering how best to take advantage of this fortuitous event. After a minute he smiled slyly, stepped back, and cast upon Boris the Imperius curse.
Boris turned to face Moody like a soldier at attention. His expression was calm and expectant.
"Very good, boy," Moody said. He considered another minute. "You and your father have a confederate here in the school?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Professor Vector," Boris replied. He spoke smartly, eager to please his master.
"Anyone else?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Sanguino of Toledo."
Moody frowned. "He's been dead for hundreds of years. Is he a ghost haunting the castle?"
"A living portrait, sir. He is able to transcend the painting and walk about like a ghost. He derived this power from absorbing the vitality of other living portraits. It is a vampiric power."
"Well, well, one learns something new every day. And this Sanguino, is he subject to orders from Vector?"
"Yes."
"For what purpose?"
"To generate disillusion with Dumbledore, so that he will be replaced by Lucius Malfoy."
Moody thought that over for a moment. "Dumbledore is no fool. He must know about Vector's love affair with Lucius awhile back. He has his own reasons for having her on the faculty, no doubt." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Who bit your father?"
"I do not know, sir."
Moody grunted. "But Vector knows, surely she does. Boy, you will speak privately with Vector the first chance you get. You will keep your correspondence with me a secret from everyone. What you learn from Vector, you will reveal to me. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
Moody patted Boris on the shoulder. "Don't forget to ask Vector about Hexaba LeStrange."
"What do you wish to know about her?"
"Ah! So you know what Hexaba is up to? Inform me, boy."
"She has been offered a large sum if she kills Charlie Weasley."
Moody scowled. "No, we can't have that. If Charlie's killed the Tournament might be cancelled, and that would ruin everything for us. Learn what you can about Hexaba but don't let on that you oppose her plans. D'ya hear?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Very well," said Moody. He eyed Boris a moment, nodding his head at some hopeful thought. "You are dismissed. See that you do what I've ordered. Above all, don't let your father know that you are my slave."
"Right, sir."
Charlie Weasley slapped his hands down on the table in Hagrid's hut. "You've wiped me out," he said, grinning at Giselle. "Remind me not to play gobstones with you again."
She laughed. "Oh I was just lucky! If you had skip-rolled instead of hop-shot, I think you would've won the last round."
"I'll remember that next time."
They glanced at the back window when Hagrid walked past the garden in the noon sun, carrying a huge pumpkin.
"For Professor Vector, I bet," said Charlie musingly. "Her pumpkin pies are famous. She'll want to impress the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students at Halloween."
He noticed Giselle's troubled expression. "Something wrong?"
She smiled brightly. "No, nothing! I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you awfully. I had such fun at the Burrows last summer. How long will you be here at Hogwarts?"
"Another month or so," he said, scooping up the gobstones and pouring them into the pouch. "I spoke with your Aunt Minerva after breakfast. She wants us to assist Professor Snape tonight in an experiment. It's about the living portraits that have lost their vitality. Snape believes he knows something about the cause, and that our help is needed. Dumbledore has okay'd it. It seems safe enough. Something about the interior walls of the castle. Anyway, it should be interesting."
Giselle was intrigued. "Snape needs our help?"
"Hermione Granger will be along, too, and your Auntie thinks Harry Potter might join us. Some strange thing about traits and necromancy. That's not my expertise. I guess we'll be learning as we go about the experiment, whatever exactly it involves."
"Have you decided what to do about the giant Roc?"
Charlie smiled, and, leaning back in the oversized chair, he stretched out his arms. He wasn't used to sitting for any length of time, Giselle thought.
"My boss, Crankspit, will have to decide about that," Charlie said. "For now the Roc is subdued in the main cave of its lair, a sort of forced hibernation. I'm just glad that we have it under control."
They heard the dull thrum of a bell.
"Lunch," Charlie said. "Shall we see what the elves have cooked up?"
On the walk back to the castle Giselle made up her mind. Heart pounding, she shyly slipped her hand into Charlie's.
He gave hers a squeeze.
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