Chapter XXXIII: Losing Touch

She felt as if she were falling, as if someone had opened the window and pushed her out. She heard the blood rushing in her ears and saw the ground speeding towards her with lethal velocity. The impact would kill her, quickly and painlessly. And Morgaine did not even care.

But she wasn’t falling to her death. She was standing firmly on the wooden floor in the big room on the first floor, and the window was still closed. In the glass, she could see the reflection of her own face, deadly pale and worn, and the face of Lucius Malfoy, who was standing at her side, his left hand resting ever so gently on her right shoulder. They could have been posing for a family portrait.

‘The ring,’ Morgaine started tentatively. Every syllable seemed to demand more strength than she possessed, but to her own surprise, her voice was firm and clear. ‘You said Demeter called you with her ring. How?’

‘I knew you’d be curious,’ Lucius purred, holding out the rings once more. ‘As you can see, Melvin’s ring is smaller than Demeter’s. He is a boy, older than her, and consequently, his fingers are thicker. So while Demeter wore her ring in her thumb, Melvin wore his on his little finger.’

‘They exchanged rings.’ Morgaine did not even have to think about this. It was clearer than Veritaserum.

Lucius nodded. ‘Childish naivety. When they realised that Demeter was wearing a ring that was too big for her and Melvin one that was too little for him, they simply swapped, never even questioning why they owned identical rings. And by exchanging the rings ...’

‘They activated the charm.’ Again, crystal clear.

‘Ingenious, isn’t it?’

‘How did you know, Lucius?’ Morgaine felt herself grow weaker by the second. Had she been alone, she would have let herself sink to the floor like a lifeless puppet. Whether she would have the strength to ever get up again, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t alone, and she was not going to give Lucius the satisfaction of seeing her break. So she carried herself tall and spoke in a calm tone.

‘How did you know that Demeter and Melvin would exchange those rings? You did not just hope that they would fall for each other one day, did you?’

‘Of course not.’ Lucius smirked. ‘I had it all planned from the very day I learnt of Demeter’s existence. When you brought her to London last summer, for example, I was very well aware of the fact that the little princess didn’t know anyone in our world. And as I had to make sure that she wouldn’t make friends with the wrong kind, I sent Melvin to the Weasley store, strongly encouraging him to purchase a Skiving Snackbox. You know that he hates History of Magic.’

‘You knew we were at the store that morning?’

‘Of course I knew.’

‘You spied on us.’

‘Spied?’ Lucius laughed and gave a theatrical shudder. ‘Such a common word. No, Morgaine, I merely kept an eye on you. As I have told you before, we members of old, pureblood families have to stick together and look out for each other. I knew you were in contact with Weasley. Just as I know that you still spend at least one Saturday afternoon a month with him.’

After looking at Morgaine intensely for some moments without getting a reaction from her, Lucius craned his neck to get a better view of Melvin and Demeter. They had abandoned their ice skates and lit a fire and were now toasting magical marshmallows that doubled in size once they had reached a certain temperature.

‘I observed the two well at King’s Cross,’ Lucius continued, nodding towards the two children. ‘It was already quite obvious that they would become friends. I was, of course, hoping that Demeter would end up in Slytherin House, the House where she belongs, and was consequently a little worried when she was Sorted into Gryffindor. But, thanks to the mythical Gryffindor courage, Demeter visited the Slytherin table the very next morning and was welcomed with open arms. Birds of a feather, Morgaine. Birds of a feather.’ He smiled. ‘Now, I think I will have to go and tell those two not to eat too many sweets. It would be shame if they spoiled their appetites. Aleksandra is slaving away in the kitchen like a woman gone mad. Silly little thing. I told her to stay in bed and let my elf do the cooking, but she insisted.’

He took hold of Morgaine’s right hand, bowed and brushed her knuckles ever so slightly with his lips.

‘You will, of course, join us for dinner, Morgaine. I will send my elf to fetch you in due time. However, I hope you understand that I cannot let you wander around the house until then. It would be a shame if you … got lost. And, if you please,’ he added, extending his free hand. ‘Your wand?’

It wasn’t like she had a choice. If she didn’t give it up voluntarily, Lucius had the means to take her wand from her. And fighting him was not an option, Morgaine knew that all but too well. So she handed over the slender piece of birch, and Lucius smirked maliciously as he pocketed it. He bowed once more and left, locking the door behind him, and all Morgaine could do was watch helplessly as he strode through the grounds a few minutes later, approaching the two children.

What was Lucius’ plan, Morgaine wondered. Why had he gone through all the trouble of trapping Demeter and herself? What was it he wanted? And what made him think that Melvin and Demeter were the heirs of Slytherin?

‘Be careful, little one,’ Morgaine whispered to herself as Lucius guided the children inside the house. ‘Don’t let him fool you.’

But what chance did Demeter have? Lucius was friendly and charming. Surely he would shower her with gifts or treat her and Melvin to something special that afternoon. And he would certainly have a very plausible explanation in store should Demeter wonder why her mother was absent. Lucius always did his homework thoroughly. He was bound to know about Morgaine’s health problems, and all he had to do was tell Demeter that her mother wasn’t feeling well and that she was resting. And Demeter would believe him. The child had no reason not to.

The moment Lucius and the children disappeared from sight, Morgaine turned from the window. A very rational sounding voice inside her head was telling her that there was no point in even trying to find an escape route, but she couldn’t just resign. Somewhere, there had to be a way out.

The door was locked, of course. Warded, most probably, and Morgaine doubted that she would be able to open it even if she still had her wand. Surely, both the door and the windows were sealed with magic just as powerful as the one that guarded the front door. But still she tried, again and again, using every spell she had ever attempted casting without a wand, everything from Alohamora to Bombarda. But the door didn’t budge, and the windows stayed equally shut. In her desperation, Morgaine even tried asking nicely, a trick which sometimes worked on stubborn doors at Hogwarts, but nothing happened.

Not that it mattered, really. What would she have done if a window or the door had suddenly sprung open? Trying to send a message seemed out of the question. Surely the fireplaces were monitored, and Morgaine doubted that she would make it all the way up to the owlery without being seen. And Lucius had made it very clear the she wouldn’t be able to leave the house. So even if she were able to leave her room, she would still be trapped.

She could try to find Demeter, Morgaine told herself, desperately searching for a reason to continue trying to open the door. If she were with Demeter, she could at least keep Lucius from wriggling his way into the girl’s head with lies and false promises. But surely, Lucius would manage to get her out of the way somehow.

She kept trying for another hour. Or maybe two or three, Morgaine did not know. Outside the sky had turned grey, and once more it had started to snow. It was growing darker, but there was no way to tell if the lack of light was due to the clouds or the falling of the night.

Wind, snow and shadows formed bizarre phantoms in the twilight, giants and colossal riders, hooded figures with flapping cloaks. They fought each other, fell and rose again, and Morgaine watched through the frozen windows, hypnotised and appalled at the same time, trying to focus but finding herself unable to. There was an icy chill creeping through her veins, a chill that had nothing to do with either the wind or the snow or the gathering darkness. It was a deadly chill, a chill of pure desperation that seemed to be penetrating her very bones. It seemed to steal her energy and her determination. She was losing hope. She was losing herself.

~ ~ ~
It had been a frustrating afternoon. Severus had tried to brew a potion, but had found it unusually hard to concentrate. The ingredients he levitated frequently soared into the wrong directions, he had troubles controlling the heat under the cauldron, and when the potion finally turned into a disgusting looking greyish brown instead of a deep mahogany colour, Severus declared himself defeated. It was just not his day. But it was annoying beyond reason.

Huffing indignantly, he Vanished the potion and the leftover ingredients and was just about to clean his cauldron and knives when the flames in the fireplace turned green and a woman’s voice echoed through the dungeon.

‘Severus, are you there?’

He spun around. It was unusual enough for Morgaine’s grandmother to contact him, but what caused him to respond immediately was the worried tone of her voice. As he looked at her, he realised that the anxiety he had heard was even reflecting on her face.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked without ado, already drifting towards the fireplace.

Margaret attempted a smile but failed. ‘I’m sure I’m overreacting, Severus, but I am worried. It’s Morgaine ...’

Severus’ ghostly face grew, if possible, even paler, and he felt an uncanny feeling of fear rise in his chest. Was Morgaine ill? Had she hurt herself?

‘She and Demeter were supposed to be here by lunch,’ Margaret explained. ‘But they still haven’t arrived. It’s dinner time now.’

Severus frowned. Morgaine was never late. Never! Even when she had still been a student, she had always been five minutes early. Being late was against her nature, and it couldn’t mean anything good.

‘I assume Morgaine has not been in contact,’ he pointed out, fighting hard to keep his calm. Margaret seemed worried enough. She didn’t need him to lose his composure as well. And after all, losing his composure was something Severus Snape didn’t do anyway.

Margaret shook her head. ‘I haven’t heard a word,’ she whispered. ‘So you don’t know anything either?’

The disappointed tone in the elderly woman’s voice suggested that she had been hoping for Severus to calm her and that he would be able to tell her where Morgaine was and why she hadn’t arrived in Iceland yet, and the tears that were now glittering in Margaret’s eyes added to the feeling of panic that was building up in Severus’ chest. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

He called for the Headmistress, and by the time Minerva arrived in the dungeon, Dumbledore had also appeared in his frame. They discussed the matter, dispatched owls and took up contact by Floo to talk to people at the Ministry whom they knew could be trusted. But they met dead ends everywhere, and their last hope was shattered two hours later as they received a note from their contact at the Department of Magical Transportation.

‘It says that no one has applied for a Portkey from Estonia for today,’ Minerva announced, frowning at the parchment in front of her. ‘And there is no record of Morgaine having applied for any Portkey either.’

‘But she must have,’ Margaret exclaimed from the fire. ‘Morgaine always uses the same Portkey. A small, Icelandic puppet. It was the last present her mother ever gave her.’

‘I watched her pack it,’ Severus confirmed. He hadn’t known that the puppet had been a present from Morgaine’s mother, but he had seen her handle it with uttermost care.

But the knowledge of Morgaine having packed her Portkey didn’t calm anyone. If anything, it opened up to new questions: Had the spell failed? Had Morgaine chosen not to use the Portkey? Or had something or somebody prevented her from doing so?

‘We need to get hold of Alek Riverbed,’ Dumbeldore suggested. ‘He will know whether Morgaine and Demeter have departed in time.’

‘I have already tried to contact him, Albus,’ Minerva interrupted, shaking her head. ‘He is not answering the Floo at his flat in London. Not that I expected him to. He is, after all, supposed to be in Estonia.’

‘Is there a way to contact Alek there?’ Margaret asked.

‘No,’ Severus interjected curtly, feeling the helplessness washing over him like a tidal wave, and thoroughly despising the feeling. ‘The estate is Unplottable.’

‘How do you know?’ Minerva enquired.

‘Riverbed provided Morgaine and Demeter with a Portkey for that very reason,’ Severus explained, omitting the fact that he had been eavesdropping on Morgaine and Alek’s conversation at the end of term feast, all the while considering shoving a spoon down the man’s throat. Now he wished he had. ‘As far as I know, one of Riverbed’s ancestors used the place to escape from his dragon of a wife now and then.’

And to entertain his mistresses, piped up a tiny voice inside Severus’ head. And now Alek is following in his great-great-grandfather’s footsteps.

Severus clenched his back teeth and scowled, but the voice went on:

Alek Riverbed is a handsome man. A handsome man who can offer warm embraces and tender kisses. A man who is alive.

‘I am going to contact Kingsley,’ Minerva suggested, ripping Severus out of his bitter thoughts. ‘Maybe he will be able to pull some strings. Margaret, get some rest. I will contact you the moment I hear something.’

The fire died down, and Minerva returned to her own office, leaving Severus behind in his study. But he wasn’t alone. Dumbledore was still there.

‘A Knut for your thoughts, dear boy,’ he said.

‘My thoughts are none of your business, Dumbledore,’ Severus hissed, glaring at the portrait behind his desk. ‘The times when you had access to my mind are long gone.’

‘I do not need to use Legilimency to read your face, Severus.’ The old man was keeping his calm tone, although the ghost in front of him looked as if he were about to explode. ‘I have known you long enough to know that your worries are very different from Margaret’s or Minerva’s.’

‘What are you insinuating?’

‘I am thinking,’ Dumbledore said calmly, ‘that your worries are not as much about where Morgaine is, but about whom she is with.’

‘You shouldn’t think that much, Dumbledore,’ Severus snarled. ‘It is bad for your mental health.’

Dumbledore merely chuckled. ‘Am I wrong then assuming that the thoughts you were having over the last five minutes have been solely about Morgaine and not about your daughter, who also seems to have vanished?’

‘How dare you?’

‘I can’t blame you, Severus,’ Dumbledore continued, either not noticing or blatantly ignoring the murderous expression on Severus’ face. ‘I know how much Morgaine means to you. The thought of her being with Alek ...’

‘Not another word, old man.’ Severus’ voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, but like the hissing of a snake, it was threatening.

‘Am I right, then?’ Dumbledore asked.

He never received an answer. The phial of acid that Severus was levitating smashed against Dumbledore’s portrait with such a force that it broke into a hundred tiny pieces on impact, drenching the canvas and dissolving it quickly. Soon all that was left were some burnt looking pieces of fabric that were hanging from the frame. Dumbledore would never again enter this study.

Momentarily, Severus was triumphant, but then the little voice spoke once more:

The truth hurts, doesn’t it? And Dumbledore is right. You’re selfish, Severus Snape. All you care about is your happiness. You want Morgaine to come back to you. No matter what you are trying to tell her and yourself, you do not want her to move on. You’re possessive. You want her to be yours and yours alone. You do not want to share her with anyone. Even the child she bore you is in your way.

Had anyone passed the study at that moment, they would have heard an agonising wail, a scream of desperation from a tormented soul. And had anyone dared to look inside the study, they would have seen a ghost crouching on the floor, shaking with dry sobs.

Severus had never felt so desperate, either alive or as a ghost, not even the night the Dark Lord had gone for the Potters. It was a desperation that seemed to rip his very soul apart. He didn’t want Dumbledore or the voice in his head to be right. He didn’t want their accusations to be true. But deep inside, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were.