A thick, pewter cauldron hissed angrily from its perch near the bedroom door, and Severus, with practiced ease, removed the potion from the flame, and returned to the bed.

The pale, feverish red-haired female lying prone on the down feather mattress didn’t stir as he re-wet the cooling cloth and applied it to her forehead, and Severus was not pleased. He had been working to remove the hideous, magic draining rune from the child for the better part of two hours. His meeting with the Slytherins had been momentarily postponed, and there was a charm on his quarters to remind anyone seeking him of some other important task that needed to be done. He needed all of his concentration and expertise in the Dark Arts for this, and still it was proving far too difficult by half.

Gathering his magic, he stuck out at the ugly marking again, denying himself even a sigh of relief as it uncoiled itself from the girl’s magic just a little bit more. Stretching his neck, Severus allowed himself a moment to reassess the situation once more. No matter how he thought of it, the simple fact of the matter was that Muriel Weasley was an unmitigated cold-blooded monster. Not only had this rune latched onto and stifled the girl’s magic, but somehow, and this was the bit that enraged him to no end, that evil little cretin had linked the rune’s destructive magic to the girl’s fertility.

Standing, he prepared to attack the rune again. His fury acted as a major catalyst for his Dark magic, and though he spent years suppressing it, when he opened himself to his Dark taint it slipped on like a well loved glove. He was hard-pressed not to swoop out of the dungeons and back to Weasley Manor. Truthfully, only one thought kept him from doing it.

Albus.

No matter how angry he was at the man, or how confused the man made him, no part of Severus could bear disappointing him, in any way, shape, form or fashion. He could handle being disappointed by the old geezer, certainly; it was how he ended up in this situation, was it not? But he could not bear to do anything to soil the image his redemption held of him. Or, at least, the image he thought the old man should hold of him. Albus had always remained steadfast in saying that he had given Severus a new slate, while Severus, well, Severus just couldn’t believe it.

So Severus tamped down on the natural inclination to rip Muriel Weasley (oh, the name!) to shreds, and channeled all that energy into removing the twisted bit of magic from the slight teenager in his charge. Four more hours he worked, until finally, finally, with one final tug the rune’s magic dispersed and the black marking disappeared from the girl’s skin. He barely had chance to think with satisfaction that the rune was about to attach itself to its caster before Ginny began waking up.

Severus’ brow furrowed. The potion he gave her should have kept her out for at least another hour…

Slightly glazed brown eyes opened on the world, shifting from side to side drunkenly before the settled and cleared on the Potions master.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hoping against hope that all those bedside manner lessons Poppy forced him into would come in handy now.

The girl opened her mouth with some difficulty, but the effort to keep both it and her eyes open were too much, and so they slid closed. After a minute of trying to regain her voice, Ginny managed “Like crap,” and Severus suppressed a smile.

“That is to be expected. Any ailments in particular?”

Ginny slowly shook her head, before opening her moth to speak. “Don’t blame Mum.”

Severus was not amused. What was it with ridiculous children defending their less than competent adults? He had just prepared himself to ask just that when the child’s weak voice stopped him short.

“She couldn’t get to me.”

“She didn’t try,” he snarled, forgetting for a moment that Ginny was a weak, sick child recovering from a terrible ordeal.

Sharp brown eyes flew open then, full of fire and anger. “She did.” The flames on the candles scattered about the room all flickered as if moved by some intangible breeze, and Severus neck prickled. Ginny, though, was not done.
“She was…at the gates, banging and fighting the wards forever.’ Her eyes slid closed, and a tear glistened in one corner. “She couldn’t get in, no matter what she tried, and Aunt Muriel was just laughing at her. I begged her to stop, to let Mum in, but she wouldn’t. She just laughed and laughed, and said she was so glad the wards finally had some magic to feed off, since she was afraid they might have fallen any day.”

Severus reeled. Vacuum wards were ancient, and outside of the Egyptian tombs, the only documented use of them in modern times were by the goblins who first built Gringotts, using them as part of a massive protective shell for the building and again on select vaults. That Molly Weasley had fought them….

“And then she passed out.” Ginny’s hoarse voice was thick with tears, and, Severus, forgetting his lessons, reached with his handkerchief to wipe her eyes. “She stood out there, throwing spell after spell and magic, trying to break down the wards, and then she didn’t have anything left.” A soft sob sounded, and Severus cursed his melting heart as it tugged within his chest. “She was out there for hours. Hours. I was so scared she was going to die out there.” Somehow the girl had ended up sitting, and was leaning against his arm. “It felt like weeks, but it was only a few hours till Dad showed up with Bill. They took Mum home, and I don’t even know if she’s ok.” The crying began anew, and Severus found he didn’t have to pray for patience.

“There, there, child. Hush your tears, your mother is fine. I spoke with her just this morning,” he murmured comfortingly. It only seemed to make Ginny cry harder, out of relief, he supposed, and Severus found he could do nothing to stem the flow.

Soon enough though, Ginny relaxed and slipped into slumber. Using every ounce of self control he possessed, Severus gently lowered the girl to the bed and stepped away, barely refraining from shaking himself in disgust. ‘Blasted girls and their blasted tears and blasted CRYING ALL OVER HIM!’

Regaining his composure, Severus collected his brewing paraphernalia and departed the room, thinking to himself he had just enough time to make one last trip to the Burrow before dinner, and still have time for his house meeting afterwards.

It was a very grim Severus Snape that picked up the Floo powder that afternoon. He had quite a few things to say to one Molly Weasley.

~&~

Sirius started, blinking blearily and sitting up in Remus’ armchair. For a minute, he was confused. What had woken him up? And then he heard it.

A giggle.

“Draco?” He turned in the chair, looking around the room for the blonde teenager. After making absolutely certain the boy wasn’t there, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping his new charge was only doing something remotely dangerous on full moons.

Draco wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the small pantry. Something thick and suffocating started to creep into Sirius’ veins, and before he knew it he was calling for the boy at the top of him lungs.

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

Sirius spun around wildly, just in time to see Draco emerge from a closet, ratty notebook in hand. “You wanted me, sir?”

The panic subsided, and Sirius scowled. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense, you, or I’ll hit you with a tickling charm.”

Draco paled, and Sirius swore under his breath, rushing towards the boy anxiously. I didn’t mean it, Draco, honest,” he reassured, wile Draco hid his face in the broad shoulder in front of him. “It was just a really bad joke.”

“I don’t like tickling charms,” the boy mumbled, the notebook he had been reading dangling from his fingertips.

“Ok, no tickling charms, got it.” Sirius, for all his slightly calm demeanor, was calling himself every foul name he could think of. Of course, using magic of any kind on one’s child was bad form, and he should have known that the boy might have experienced some unpleasantness from even the mildest spells out there. After all, hadn’t he?

Draco had been of the opinion, one heavily supported by his father, that hugging was a sign of weakness, and as such was never allowed to hug either of his parents, not like his mother would have wanted to, anyway. But now, he figured he’d have to reassess that opinion. Hugging Sirius seemed to be …very nice…. Plus, he didn’t have to fear the man had any ulterior motives for offering comfort like this. Experienced prankster he may be, but Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, and cunning and ulterior motives were not their forte.

“What were you doing, anyway?” came a question over his head.

The book!

“I found this,” he began, slipping out of Sirius’ embrace and holding the book up for inspection. “I don’t know who these guys were, but they sound awesome,” Draco said, grinning.

Sirius frowned in thought. What was this old thing? And then the names of the ‘guys’ as Draco called them came into view, and he gave long, heavy groan.

Draco had just discovered the Myriad Brilliant Works of the Purveyors of Mischief, Messer’s Padfoot, Wormtail, Moony and Prongs.