Severus hated being so despondent. His mind was here, but his body had taken a leave of absence. Weak as a kitten, he wouldn’t be able to sustain a single attack. Worse than that, he couldn’t Occlude while he was magically depleted. Nor could he hide from his sister’s probing gaze.

Saturnine.

At least she hadn’t tried to dig too deep. She could have if she’d wanted to, he knew. But she’d kept her distance and remained oddly respectful. He was thankful for that small mercy. Thankful for many other things, too. She had been nothing but patient and gentle. And he couldn’t remember when someone had last been kind to him. When was the last time that someone had cared? Probably the last time he’d seen her—well, a little before that, when they’d still been friends, befo—No! He wouldn’t go there. Some things were better left untouched, and he wasn’t about to go poke at that dragon’s nest.

He didn’t know why Saturnine was so intent on helping him or how long she would stay, but he’d take it. He wouldn’t let himself get attached, though; he’d keep some distance of his own. That way, he wouldn’t be surprised when she invariably left again. There, she was just some round-the-clock Mediwitch—that happened to be related to him. Nothing more.

Who was he kidding?

Looking at the door past the foot of his bed, he steeled himself. Ten feet, not even that with his large stride. Well, it might be more if he took smaller steps, but still—he could make it.

Pushing the covers aside, he held onto his injured side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Slowly, he sat upright. The motion, simple as it was, set his entire midsection aflame. Severus clenched his teeth, stifling a moan. He could do it. The world swam around him at the change of stance. He closed his eyes and willed the dizziness to go away. Taking some deep breaths, clenching his fists, he was determined to succeed. He pushed on his legs until he was vertical.

He’d done it. Merciful Merlin, he’d done it.

Getting up was the hard part. Now, he could do the rest. It was just a case of putting one foot in front of the other. He’d been doing that his all life, and he could do it again. Right foot first, and then the left—rinse and repeat. He could do this.

Severus took a step, swayed, and took another. Beads of sweat pearled on his brow. He could feel his strength waning with each movement—his long-sleeved jumper sticking to his back as more sweat ran down his aching muscles. But he kept going. He took another step, and then another. He only had eyes for the target in his sight: the blasted door that seemed to have moved further away. Merlin, he couldn’t have looked at anything else even if he’d wanted to—the world had blurred around the edges.

He took another step and another. His eyes settled on the door handle, his right hand itching to reach for it. Harsh breaths heaved in and out of his chest, setting his poor lungs aflame. His legs shook as his muscles protested further action. But he refused to stop. He could do this.

He was Severus Snape, youngest Potions Master in Britain, Master Occlumen. He was the Order of the Phoenix’s spy and the only wizard who had ever managed to deceive the Dark Lord. And this was but a door—he’d vanquished worse. It was only four steps left. He could do it.

It felt like his feet were made of lead, but he forced the right one to lift again, and he inched it forward. Before he had time to set it down again, his left knee buckled. With nothing to hold onto to stop the descent, Severus watched himself fall as his body betrayed him. His legs had liquefied and would do nothing to keep him upright. He let out a scream of pain and rage as the floor rushed up to meet him.

Then, a strong pair of hands was on him, and his fall was arrested before impact. A familiar, comfortable smell engulfed him as he found himself pressed into a warm chest. His hands reached out in reflex, grabbing fistfuls of Saturnine’s cotton hoodie as he held onto the only thing that stood between him and the cold, unforgiving floor.

Pain flared in his side and he let out a moan, ashamed of the admission of weakness. He’d failed, for his body had failed him. Severus Snape was nothing anymore. Magic-less, he was no more a potioneer than a spy. Rendered useless to the extreme, he couldn’t even make it to the bathroom on his own when he wanted to relieve himself.

He couldn’t hold back the tears of pain and frustration that leaked from his eyes as he fought to get his breathing back under control. He was shaking like a leaf in his sister’s arms.

“It’s all right; I’ve got you,” Saturnine said in that same tone she used to employ when they were kids, and he wasn’t feeling well. A tone that was all kindness and comfort. A tone that didn’t seek to belittle but to lift him up, one that indicated she wanted to help. And that was what she did in her actions and her words—sneaking an arm under his shoulder and taking all his weight as she assured him that it would be okay. She helped him the rest of the way, waited right outside the bathroom’s door until he was done, then helped him make it back to the bed. If she noticed the treacherous tears that had made it down his cheeks, she didn’t let on.

“I know this must be hard for you, Sev,” she said as she helped him lie down again. “A form of torture, even.” Kneeling by the bed, she pushed his crumpled black jumper up to inspect the damage. “But you can’t keep doing that.”

Her hands were at his side, fingers busy unwrapping the bandage and removing the gauze to reveal the ugly cut below. It was still ghastly red and oozing blood. She checked every stitch, frowning in concentration. Once she’d ascertained that he was still in one piece, she reached for the healing Muggle cream and applied a fresh layer. “You could have torn your stitches open. You would have if I hadn’t walked in when I did,” she said. There was no reproach to her tone; she was merely stating a fact. “That would have set you back days—and you know it.”

She applied a fresh bandage, secured it, and pulled his jumper back down over his still heaving chest. She pulled the blanket up before coming to sit by his side, perched on the edge of the mattress next to his torso in what seemed to have become her spot whenever she dropped by. “I understand that you want to get better. I understand the need to push yourself, to challenge yourself. I won’t stop you from doing that, but you need to be smart about it.” She sought his gaze and held it. “If I hadn’t walked in the room when I did, you’d have hurt yourself. So—no more heroics. Not unless I’m here. You understand?” she asked, her eyes boring down into his. “For your own sake, brother—not unless I’m here.”

Severus was awed by the strong determination he found in her azure gaze. She had meant every word; she was on his side. At long last, he wasn’t alone. Someone wanted to help him. After everything, she wanted to help. His hand sought hers on impulse. Weak, cold, clammy fingers sneaked around strong warm ones, and he held on, needing the touch, needing the strength. And Saturnine let him, closing her fingers around his without a word.

He nodded his agreement, his promise to do as she’d asked. He would let her help.

“Dumbledore was here earlier,” his sister told him after a moment, and he peered up at her.

“Two Death Eaters are confirmed dead—a young wizard named Yanton Lavasky and Bellatrix Lestrange,” she continued. “Avery, Dolohov, and the Lestranges are in custody at the Ministry. The Aurors are trying to squeeze everything they can out of them, but it’s not easy.”

His fingers went limp in her hand, and they slipped from her grasp. He’d never met Lavasky, but his death was on him—his Sectumsempra had killed him. “Avery doesn’t know much, but Dolohov will sing,” he said to mask his uneasiness. “Don’t expect anything out of Rabastan and Rodolphus. They’re devoted to the cause.”

Saturnine nodded. “Yeah, I figured as much.” She looked down at her empty hand, closing it into a fist. “The Dark Lord was already gone by the time they got here. They have no idea which new rock he crawled under. Things have been quiet since—” She looked away. “Too quiet.”

“You fear something coming up?” he guessed. “Something big?”

She snorted. “He likes to grandstand, doesn’t he?”

Severus nodded. Of course he did. “He won’t let that kind of insult stand. There will be some form of retaliation, and it will be significant—in equal measure to his displeasure.”

“I asked Dumbledore to tell the Aurors to increase security, but that’s too much ground to cover.” She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what he’ll go for?”

“No.” Severus knew there weren’t enough Aurors in Britain to cover all possible targets. Without a clue, it was a lost cause. “It could be anything.”

Regardless of the target, he knew there would be victims—innocent bystanders, most likely. And he couldn’t help but feel responsible. If he still had the Dark Lord’s trust, he might have been able to do something. He couldn’t have reasoned with him—there was no controlling a loose Basilisk—but he might have been able to warn the others in time.

As it was, he felt powerless, and the feeling unsettled him. “Voldemort’s crazy—consumed with madness.” Severus felt the words tumble from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop them. Those were thoughts he’d long-held but never been at liberty to speak aloud before. He shook a little under the weight of their truth. “All that power, all that darkness—there’s barely anything human left inside of him. He needs to be stopped, Saturnine. He can’t win—he can’t.”

She gave him a heartfelt nod. “I know, brother. I know.” She paused, then seemed to conclude that she had more to tell him. “Dumbledore has me working on something—a way to weaken the Dark Lord so that we’ll have a chance to kill him when the time comes.”

Severus had a feeling he knew where this was going. “The Horcruxes…”

Saturnine heaved in a surprised breath. “Dumbledore told you about those?”

He nodded. “The headmaster asked me to research the Hallows. I’m the one who found the connection to the Pervell family and located the ring.”

“Good for you!” she muttered with a dark sneer that wouldn’t have been out of place on his own face. Then she seemed to catch herself and muttered, “Sorry.” She heaved a sigh, all malice gone. “A part of me wishes you hadn’t. It’s pure hubris to want to hold onto those artefacts. We know the Dark Lord’s looking for them. He had the ring, and now he seeks the Elder Wand. How long do you think until he figures out that Harry has the cloak?” She didn’t wait for him to offer an answer. “What happens then, Severus? What happens when he gets his hand on the most powerful wand that was ever created?”

“Dumbledore has it,” Severus replied.

“I know that,” she huffed out an exasperated breath. “Wherever he’s hidden it, I fear that won’t be hard enough to find once Voldemort figures out it’s in Britain.”

Severus chuckled at her.

“What?”

“When I said that he has it, I was being quite literal,” he explained, catching her gaze so the full meaning of his words would sink in.

The Knut dropped quickly. “His wand? His bloody wand is the Elder Wand?” Severus nodded. “Sweet Circe—does the old codger’s foolishness knows no bound?”

Severus shrugged. “I think his idea was to ‘hide it in plain sight’ or something.”

“He should have destroyed it the day he found it—same as the cloak and the ring.”

There was a certain familiarity to her indignation that amused him; he’d had an identical discussion with Albus Dumbledore on the subject only months before. “The headmaster told me he was trying to locate the Horcruxes, but he never mentioned having someone helping him along.”

Saturnine snorted. “I’ve done little else but pore over old books and newspaper clippings for the past year.” She brought a hand up to rub the back of her neck as if it was still sore from the long hours of research. “Horcruxes—can you imagine something so vile, so wrong? It turns my stomach just to think of magic getting so perverted.”

Severus could see what she meant; it didn’t get much darker than that. “Fitting for someone like him, I suppose.”

“We need to find the missing ones, however many there are.”

“Four,” he said. “It’s my belief that the Dark Lord’s made six.”

Surprise showed on her face again. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“What do you know?” Saturnine’s blue eyes narrowed at him like a raven on a hunt. “Has the Dark Lord confided in you on the subject? Do you know where the others are?”

Severus shook his head. “He hasn’t told anyone about this. I found out another way.” He paused, remembering the arduous, endless meetings he’d been forced to have with his predecessor. “Dumbledore had me questioning our old Potions professor.”

“Slughorn? That old bumbling fool—he’s still alive, then?”

“Yes, and he hasn’t improved,” he sighed. “He still looks down at me; would you believe it?”

Saturnine gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’re a much better potioneer than he ever was—honest.” Then her smiled turned a tad more amused. “But then, so am I. So, that’s not saying much.” Severus felt the corners of his lips lift at the barb. “What’s the old leech got to do with this, anyway?”

“Tom Riddle was his student once,” Severus explained. “Slughorn was his Head of House when he started looking into the Horcruxes, and he needed answers to his questions.”

“And he went to Slughorn about it,” she said as understanding dawned. “And the old fool kept that to himself? Even knowing who Riddle had become, he said nothing?”

“It wasn’t easy to get him to confide in me. He denied knowing anything at first.” Severus paused, reminiscing his numerous failed attempts. “It took time to find the right—leverage. But I guess that sometimes a word is all it takes.”

She snorted. “Oh, don’t tell me the magic word was please.”

Severus felt himself pale at the memory. It had taken much more than please. It had taken him tearing a piece of his heart out.

Suddenly, Saturnine’s fingers were on his again, and she caught his eyes briefly in hers. “Lily,” she murmured in understanding. “Slughorn always did like Lily.” He nodded, incapable of speaking over the lump in his throat.

“Six,” he said, once he found his voice again. “He told Slughorn he’d make six, and we’ve only found two.”

“Three,” Saturnine corrected. “The snake, Nagini, is another one. We know that from one of Harry’s visions. And I have a theory for number four—and a long list of possibilities for the other ones.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Oh, you know the saying. Once a Ravenclaw…”

“Nose stuck to a book like an idiot,” he replied with a mocking smile of his own. It was petty, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

His sister poked him in the arm in return, and he felt himself smile—a proper smile, the likes of which he hadn’t let out in years. How incongruous that he would remember how to smile in the middle of a discussion about Horcruxes. But then, he was discussing it with Saturnine, and she’d always managed to bring the best out of him.

“By the way,” she said, easily drifting back into seriousness, “as the Head of Slytherin House, how familiar are you with Salazar Slytherin’s story?”

“More than Pomona and Filius, I would say. What are you looking for?”

“Salazar’s old locket. A tacky thing made of heavy gold with a serpentine ‘S’ in glittering green stone that inlay on the front.”

That sounded familiar, but—tacky? Severus was certain his sister would never have dared label Rowena Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem in such a disrespectful manner. “I think I have seen that locket on some old paintings. Salazar wore it often. I would assume it became a family heirloom after his death. What have you been able to find so far?”

“After descending from Slytherin, it came into the possession of the Gaunt family, and Marvolo Gaunt.”

“Small world.”

She nodded. “After Marvolo and his son Morfin were sent to Azkaban, the locket was stolen by Marvolo’s daughter, Merope, who ended by selling it to Caractacus Burke—of Borgin and Burkes.

“The locket was bought from the shop by Hepzibah Smith, a wealthy witch with an affinity for rare and valuable items. Sometime in 1961, Smith showed it to a young Tom Riddle, an employee of Borgin and Burkes at the time. She was found dead not long after.”

Severus took all that in stride, glad to see his brain was still quick as a broomstick, even if his body wasn’t. “Which leads you to assume her death was the catalyst to create another Horcrux.”

“Yes. We know Riddle was obsessed with all things Slytherin, and that death does sound pretty ominous. I haven’t been able to get much further than that. He hid the locket, but I have no idea where.” She paused. “Can you think of anything else of Salazar Slytherin that may have survived the ages? I found an ornate dagger, but it’s innocuous. Have you heard of anything other than that?”

“No, but I’ll look into it. For all their popularity, very little of the founders remains in evidence these days—save for Hogwarts, of course.”

Saturnine got up then and went to her bed to retrieve a large folder. Sitting back down on the edge of his mattress, she opened it on her lap, revealing sheet upon sheet of parchment covered in her neat handwriting. Where his was small and spidery, hers was larger and more flowery, her letters more rounded. She’d always had beautiful penmanship, which was odd considering he had taught her how to write.

A few pages had someone else’s scribbled words on them, but he couldn’t identify the author of the slanted lines. He refrained from commenting on it, but made a note of the fact that someone had helped her along.

“It’s all I have,” she said. “Look over it; see if I’ve missed something. Write down any idea you get. I’m looking into the locket right now, but I’m also compiling a list of heirlooms that belonged to the founders.”

Severus raised a curious eyebrow.

“Think about it; it’s always been about Hogwarts. The Dark Lord hates the place as much as he loves it. That’s where he was born—Voldemort. Tom Riddle entered it at age eleven, but something else came out seven years later—Hogwarts was his chrysalis. An insignificant worm slithered inside, and a dark-winged creature flew out.”

Severus felt she had a point. “The Dark Lord’s always wanted to prove that he was the best, better than Salazar himself. And the old snake always thought he was above the other three…

“It took the four greatest wizards of their time to create Hogwarts. A beacon of light for our entire society. Think how powerful Voldemort would feel if he could bring it to its knees on his own.”

Severus shuddered to think about that. “We need to find all the heirlooms that are left.”

“I started making a list, and we can spend the summer adding to it. Once term starts again, we’ll be able to ransack the castle to our heart’s content.”

That gave him pause. “You’re going back?”

She looked at him as if he’d grown a pair of bunny ears. “Of course, I am.”

Severus felt an insidious fear grow inside him. She couldn’t be thinking of going back. It was impossible. The Defence Against the Dark Arts position was cursed; everybody knew that. No one had lasted more than a year since Riddle had been denied the position. And Saturnine had already had hers.

“You can’t,” he said, surprised to discover his voice sounded weaker than he’d intended. “You mustn’t try. The curse won’t let you.”

Looking up, he saw in his sister’s eyes that she had considered it and decided to try anyway. Typical Snape narrowmindedness, he thought bitterly. He wasn’t the only one who liked to push himself. “The curse will try to stop you, Saturnine, and it will succeed.”

She huffed out a breath, seeming to concede to defeat for an instant. Then her eyes were on his again, determination burning bright in her azure gaze. “I’ll think of something.” Her eyes shifted to the papers in her lap again. “Now, help me with those.”

And he would. He’d do anything to bring the Dark Lord down, to finish what he’d started all those years ago. Reaching for the first sheet of parchment, he flipped it over and started reading. Everything else disappeared from his awareness as he took in his sister’s methodical research. It was organised in the extreme in typical Ravenclaw fashion. Every lead was carefully explained and followed through.

He might not be able to get to the bathroom on his own, but he could do this. He could help with this portion of the fight—and for now, it would have to be enough.