Seventeen
He was very good at pretending. He had known that something was wrong for many months, but it was easier to blame it on poor sunlight than to admit that it could be serious. After the first month, he stopped looking in the mirror. It was too troublesome to watch the sickness slowly eat away at his features. His hair had too quickly turned to grey, a colour that matched the tone of his skin. But really, he could manage the deterioration of his appearance. How was he to know that it was simply not old age? He was not a pureblooded wizard – he could hardly expect to have the long life of someone like Dumbledore.
Things began to look worse when the tremors came. One moment, the graduated glass had been in his hand, the next it had shattered upon the floor. He could not remember actually seeing it fall, only of hearing the sound of the glass as it broke into a hundred pieces. Thankfully, no one had seen it happen. He could imagine Minerva's worried glance and Dumbledore's omniscient expression. They would not, could not, understand what it meant to him. No, he did not want anyone to know of the incident. His experiments were not yet complete, and to be hounded by a group of mother hen-ish fiends was the last thing he needed.
September arrived calmly, too calmly for him. The sun shone, the leaves were slowly beginning to change, and there had not been a drop of rain for at least three weeks. The students arrived at a glacial pace, knowing full well that events at home were far more interesting, if dangerous and, to many, fatal. Their parents, on the other hand, must have been pleased to ship their children off to a supposedly safe location. London and the south were filled with rumours of strange disappearances and gruesome crimes. The Daily Prophet only exaggerated the rumours, sending many into hysteria.
The truth behind these rumours was even more difficult to pin down. It seemed that every crime was connected with the Dark Lord, though many obviously had no connection at all. The newspapers could not be trusted, nor could the Ministry. They were the last ones who wanted mass hysteria throughout the country. Muggles were already cluing into the issues and often they were the ones found slashed in alleyways and dead in their own homes.
Yet, life at the school appeared the same as it had been for centuries. It was as though the war was in a distant country, even on a distant planet, only spoken of in hushed voices in the dead of night. Some students more than others showed too much interest in the rumours, hanging on their every word and allowing their minds to be filled with ideas of finding glory on either side of the so-called war. There were those who desired to join the Dark Lord rid the world of muggles and muggleborns, while there were also those who wished to stop the Dark Lord and his followers, putting an end to the fear and violence.
Grimm wondered which was the more dangerous.
He constantly overheard snatches of conversation in the corridors. They were some of the only safe places to talk – the staff had agreed to not allow the students to speak of the troubles in the south. It was a cause of too much grief. The students were skilled at keeping quiet, but only to a point.
"My cousin watched them crucio someone to death. Eddie said he'll never be the same now after seeing that..."
"...as soon as I'm old enough, Father will let me join..."
"...can you believe all those things? People killing each other left and right, and for what?"
"...but that's too dangerous, we couldn't."
"You worry too much, Wormtail. Just think of all the things we could do."
"And all the ways we could get killed doing it."
"Shut up, Moony. You're not helping any..."
"...said he actually wants to fight You-Know-Who! He could hardly beat a doxie..."
"...hard to leave my mum at home with her looking after my sister's new baby and all this going on. Maybe when I'm of age I'll go right home..."
"How old to you have to be for an Auror again?"
The sixth years entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, prepared for another boring class of copying notes from the textbook. Grimm usually spent his time at the front of the room, not daring to stand or perform any spells. Most of the time now he doubted that he had the strength for even the simplest of spells. It was difficult for him to climb the stairs between the dungeons and his classroom. It was as though he had aged thirty years in only a few months.
Today, however, was different. Grimm was standing at the front of the room, ashen faced, but stubbornly refusing to give in to weakness.
"I shall need two volunteers for a demonstration," he said as the students settled into their seats. "Two who have at least some control of their wands."
Sirius and James exchanged grins.
"Which, of course, excludes the two of you."
The grins fluttered, but did not fade.
Grimm's eyes passed over the students. Sometimes he would frown, while at other times there would be a small twitch in one cheek.
"Evans, Lupin, come up here please."
Remus' ears turned red, but he managed to throw a mocking smile in James' direction before he went to the front of the room. Lily's face was guarded – there was something not quite right to her about the beads of sweat resting on Grimm's forehead.
"Alright, then," Grimm said. "Stand apart as though you are going to duel. Yes, just like that, Evans. Don't look at her like that, Lupin. You won't be hurting her, only demonstrating simple spells." He stepped away from them, his back against the blackboard. Was he using it to support his weight, or merely relaxing?
Grimm continued to give instructions. "Choose any spell you'd like, within reason of course, and be prepared to use it without actually saying the incantation."
"But we still think the incantation, right professor?" Lily asked, trying not to look anxious.
He nodded in reply. "The strength of your thought should be just as strong as it would be if you spoke it aloud. It will require practice, even for the best of you. Now try it."
Remus' face took on a very serious expression as he focussed on the words of the spell in his mind. Lily stared straight ahead, lips moving without emitting any sound. They pointed their wands at each other, but nothing happened.
Sirius laughed, but was quickly stopped by James' elbow poking into his stomach.
Lily narrowed her eyes, becoming more resolute to succeed in this new task set before her. She raised her wand again, pointing it at Remus, who hardly had enough time to react before the spell hit him square in the chest. The sheer force of it lifted him off his feet and into the wall. He swore aloud, forgetting just where he was.
"Nice use of stupify, Evans," Grimm said, his lips twisted upwards. "Hopefully you haven't injured Lupin too seriously."
While Lily flushed, Peter had gone over to help Remus up. "You alright, mate?"
"Course he is," Sirius said loudly. "He was just flown into a wall by a girl!" He glanced over at James and grinned. "At least she's a pretty one." A number of students laughed at this. James' secret love for Lily Evans was widely known, as many secrets were at Hogwarts.
Grimm raised his hand for silence. "Evans has kindly shown you how it's done. Any more volunteers?" The students clammed up, looking around to see if anyone would raise their hand.
"You mean against Evans?" James asked in a quiet voice. He looked over to where Remus was rubbing his sore arm.
"Black, up here," Grimm said. Sirius hesitated for the briefest second before scrambling to the front. He winked at Lily, who scowled at him in return. "And Goldwyn too," Grimm added.
Emma looked up with wide eyes. "I'd rather –"
"No, you're not. Come here."
He never called upon her in class. She'd taken to sitting in the back of the room to keep people from thinking she was privileged. In fact, she could safely say that Defence Against the Dark Arts was her lowest grade. Strange creatures and fighting spells were not things she had much interest in. Charms and Transfiguration were far easier to manage – they contained nothing about killing or violence. Just the thought of the Dark Arts caused a shiver to run up her spine.
She stood up and went to the front of the room, never raising her eyes from the floor. Lily patted her shoulder as they passed in the aisle.
"Now think of a spell, both of you." Grimm wiped the perspiration from his brow.
Biting her lip, Emma tried to think of the best spell. There were so many to choose from...
Sirius shrugged and pointed his wand, seemingly ready to cast his spell. He stared at Emma, willing her to look up at him. Anything to make her look at him, even just once, but she continued to keep her gaze on the floor. She knew that she would lose, that she wouldn't be able to make her spell work. Her thoughts were muddled – images flashed through her mind like pieces of a puzzle that could never fit together.
She raised her wand at the same time that Grimm collapsed.
At first, no one moved. The scene was a strange tableau: the professor lying ashen faced on the floor, the two students pointing wands at each other, the rest of the class watching it all in astonishment. The first to reach the professor's side was Severus Snape. He placed two fingers against Grimm's neck.
"Emilia, the elixir!"
Emma shook her head, her wand hand falling to her side. She stared at Grimm's body, unable to move. "What?"
Snape turned his head towards her, his too-long hair flipping around. "You know which one! It's in his office. Hurry or he'll die!"
The last words hit her at a similar force to Remus' meeting with the wall. Her wand slipped from her fingertips as she flew up the short stair to Grimm's crowded office. The potions cupboard was behind his desk, a desk that he rarely ever used except to pile papers upon. Lifting the hem of her robes as she stepped over an empty doxy cage, Emma noticed signs of neglect and decay throughout the room. It was as though Grimm had stopped caring. He had never been a neat, orderly person, but nor had he been messy. The walnut potions cupboard was filled with bottles of varying shapes and sizes. It did not take more than a moment to snatch up the delicate glass vial of green liquid.
She arrived back in the classroom at the same time that Professor McGonagall ran in, closely followed by James, who had run to find her. Both Lily and Sirius were also missing.
Emma knelt beside the unconscious Grimm, struggling to lift his head to pour the content of the vial down his throat.
"The whole thing?" Severus asked, his brow furrowed.
"He'll need it," Emma replied. Her voice was calm, emotionless, but her heart beat madly within her chest. Hovering her hand over Grimm's face, she felt his breathing deepen. She looked up at Professor McGonagall, whose face was pale. "What's wrong with him?"
The professor shook her head. "I cannot say. He was always good at hiding things."
Moments later, Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, wringing her hands. She glanced over at Professor McGonagall. "He must go to the Hospital Wing at once. The Headmaster is contacting St. Mungo's." She said the last with a sniff of distain as she conjured a stretcher.
McGonagall nodded and moved aside to calm the rest of the class. "For the time being, Defence Against the Dark Arts classes will be cancelled until a substitute can be found or Professor Grimm comes back to health. Now please, go back to your desks."
Emma remained by Grimm's side, assisting Madam Pomfrey place him on the stretcher, though Severus could be said to have been more of a help as Grimm was not a small man. While the stretcher floated out of the room, closely supervised by Madam Pomfrey, Emma ran back to her desk and packed up all her belongings. Without exchanging a word or glance with anyone in the room, she left for the Hospital Wing.
She spent the night sitting in a chair by Grimm's bed. He hadn't yet woken, but at least his breath and heartbeat had remained steady. She watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin white sheet. A single candle rested on the bedside table, its flickering light casting the room into dancing shadows. Rubbing her eyes, Emma wondered if she should go up to bed. The only thought that prevented her was the fear of him waking once she had gone. What if he woke alone, without memory of his collapse? No, she had to stay.
The room was silent. There were no other patients to disturb the peace. Emma willed Grimm to wake, to somehow acknowledge that he would be alright, that he had just been working too hard and forgot to take care of his himself. She wanted him to talk to her, tell her what he had been doing. She despised his silence.
The minutes ticked past, but the only object that changed was the candle as its wax dripped into a red pool. It looked like blood. Emma had to blink more often as sleep tried to grasp hold of her consciousness. She would not leave him, even to sleep.
Her head drooped as the clock tower announced the hour with a single chime of his monstrous bells. Once the sound echoed itself into silence, a footstep alerted Emma to the presence of another. His robes swished as he came to a stop behind her. She did not move. She already knew who it was.
"Any changes?" Severus asked, his voice no more than a whisper.
"No. He just lays there," she said in reply. "I wish he'd just wake up."
"That would be easier for all of us, would it not?"
She turned to look up at him. "What d'you mean by that?"
"Will you make yourself ill by constantly remaining by his bedside?"
"Why d'you always ask so many bloody questions?" She looked away.
He hesitated for a moment, then placed his hand upon her shoulder. She stiffened at first, as though surprised, then relaxed, letting out a sigh. Tears were filling her eyes.
"There are those who would worry about you," he said, choosing his words with care.
She let out a strangled laugh. "Go on, Severus, say it. The world won't come crashing down because you said it."
He removed his hand and crossed his arms. "You need to rest, Emilia."
With some difficulty, as her legs had fallen asleep, Emma rose from the chair and faced him. It was only then that he saw the tears and the worry in the line of her mouth. He glanced towards the doorway. Anyone could be standing in the shadows, watching, waiting for the moment when Severus would reveal his weakness.
"I will stay here in your place," he said, meeting her eyes. "You mustn't over-worry yourself over Grimm."
Her gaze fell to the floor. The moment had gone.
"I can't leave him. What if–"
"He won't."
There was a sharp intake of breath. "He won't wake up? How can–"
He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look up at him. "He won't die, Emilia!" He hated the words as soon as he said them. The lie within them was all too obvious.
The tears spilled over and she moved closer to him, wanting him to hold her close and make it all go away. She didn't want to see through his lie. "What would I do without him? He's always been there to look up to, to worry about me..." She sniffed, choking on her tears. "Merlin, I've missed him so much. He's always busy, but at least he's there. But now... now..."
He pushed her face against his robes so that she could not speak. There was another way, but he would not do it, not at this moment. "You have me," he whispered into her hair. "You have me to worry about you."
When she did not move, he wondered if she had even heard.
Even if Emma had not, the figure in the doorway had. You see, Severus was not the only nighttime visitor with enough interest to come visit the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. This shadow hid himself well, but as he observed Snape gather the tearful Emilia in his arms, he shuddered with disgust and fury. How she could associate herself with the lowest of Slytherins, he never understood, yet there they were, comfortable in each other's presence and unafraid to hide their emotions. It was impossible that they should be allowed together. Sirius Black had half a mind to barge in and crucio Snape on the spot, but something kept him back. That same something made him turn and disappear into the corridor, his mind still aflame with hatred.
Emma pulled away without warning and returned to stand by Grimm's bed. Her cheeks were flushed.
"Thank you," she said. "I needed that." She pulled a yellowed handkerchief from her robes and wiped her eyes. "It's silly of me to be upset, really."
"Is it?" He watched the flurry of emotions upon her face.
"A specialist from St. Mungo's will be here in the morning. Madam Pomfrey thinks that Uncle could have come into contact with a poison."
Severus snorted. "Of course he will come into contact with poisons. He works with potions." He paused for a moment, glancing over at Grimm's prostrate form. "Has Professor Slughorn come up with any brilliant antidote?"
She smiled, but only slightly. "I doubt that he even knows."
They stood silent for a few moments, until Emma yawned, unable to conceal her fatigue.
"Go to bed, Emilia. I will stay with Professor Grimm." Severus reached down for her bookbag and held it out for her to take.
She stared at the bag, but did not take it. "I shouldn't–"
"Please?" He looked sour at saying the word. It was not a popular one in his vocabulary.
Emma gave Grimm a worried glance, biting her lip as she thought, then nodded. "Alright. I'll go." She took the bag from his offering hand and took advantage of the moment to reach her lips to his in a short, chaste kiss.
Severus froze as he felt her lips against his. The silence in the room was overpowering.
"Good night, Severus," she whispered against his face. "I'll be back in the morning."
And then she was gone.
Once events start unfolding in a negative manner, it is very likely that they will continue doing so to the sorrow and consternation of those affected by them. The healer from St. Mungo's arrived and examined the nature of Grimm's illness under the jealous supervision of Madam Pomfrey. No one was allowed in the room except for Dumbledore and the two healers. Even during the examination, Grimm did not wake, nor did he make any movement to show that he knew of anything in the world around him.
The St. Mungo's healer said something about a coma resulting from a poisonous combination of potions ingredients, then left. There was supposedly nothing he could do, not without knowing the exact combination that Grimm had ingested. Madam Pomfrey claimed that she had known as much in one glance and rushed off to concoct various medicines for her patient. Dumbledore, meanwhile, remained standing at the end of Grimm's bed. His face appeared both sympathetic and impassive all at once, as though he had foreseen this occasion, but dearly wished that he could have prevented it.
Indeed, he knew of the curse that Tom Riddle had placed upon the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Yet what had Dumbledore done about it? Nothing, nothing at all. He had not told anyone of the interview, fearful of its potential outcome. It was not widely known that the Dark Lord that threatened the Wizarding World was the same being as the popular, handsome Tom Riddle. Who would want to believe that one with so much potential for greatness could find his greatness in the evilest of things?
Until this point in time, Riddle had not harmed anyone in Dumbledore's immediate circle. The Death Eaters slowly ate away at the edges of Wizarding society, but had not yet reached its heart. This curse, this action of spite, was Riddle's first true invasion into the pillar of safety that was Hogwarts. The death of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor would be greatly detrimental to the schooling of students, and to find a suitable replacement willing to risk their well-being would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. He could temporarily teach the classes, but soon his gaze would have to fall elsewhere, outside of the school, where the world was swiftly degrading into a reign of terror. Then he would have to rely on the students' own willingness to learn and make what would become the most important decision of their lives.
His face was a mask of sadness as he looked once more at the comatose Grimm.
For some, whatever decision they made would lead to tragedy. There would be no happy endings to their stories, no fairy godmother to whisk them into safety and isolation. There would only be great suffering followed by death. They would be martyrs to a future that would try too quickly to forget a past too painful to recall. It was all a waste, an incredible waste.
"I'm sorry, Tiberius," he said, knowing that the words would go unheard. He had spoken them too late.
"He's going to die, isn't he, Headmaster?" The quiet voice came from the doorway. Dumbledore turned to see Emma standing there, a multitude of emotions upon her face.
"That seems to be the case."
She nodded. "How much longer does he have? Can you tell?"
"It is difficult to say. No one seems to understand the true nature of his illness."
"But you do."
Her hands were clenched before her, the knuckles showing white.
"As do you, Emma."
Her gaze faltered. "He broke the first rule of potions making."
She seemed so small and insignificant, standing in the doorway with her head bowed. Any pride she had was quenched, and the fiery temper within her extinguished. It would take a very long time until she would find them again.
"And what is that?" Dumbledore asked.
Emma shook her head, trying to compose herself before she managed to whisper, "He tested his own potion, one that he made up himself."
Addicted to his experiments, Grimm had gone too far, taking the step that could only lead to self-destruction. Had not that final step been all-too-painfully marked by the footsteps of illustrious Jekyll and doomed Frankenstein? An ill-timed meeting with Riddle had coincided with the drinking of a potion that had turned to poison in the body of its creator.
"Do you know anything about this potion?"
Her eyes said yes, but her voice said otherwise "No. He kept all of his work secret."
Dumbledore wondered why so many people lied to him with such guilt in their eyes.
The office of the Divination professor could be found in the room above the Divination classroom in the North Tower. Each wall contained a large window, supposedly so that the inner eye could gain more insight into the ways of the world. According to others, however, the windows were the perfect way to sit back and enjoy the view whilst pretending to divine the future. Sejanus did admit that he enjoyed the view of the crystalline lake and the mist-covered mountains, but he also did work, though many would not term it "honest" in any sort of way.
He heard the news of Grimm's illness and swept back up to his office with mixed emotions. The popular cliche "told you so" came to mind, except Grimm would never be able to acknowledge his fatal error. Sejanus' hatred for Mortimer Nero grew to its peak. Indeed, Nero was to blame for Grimm's illness and forthcoming death. The madman truly believed that the only way to save his precious daughter was to kill those she held most dear. Sejanus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If only he had never taken his invention to the Dark Lord.
The footsteps charging up the stone stairway were troublesome. He guessed whose footsteps they were before the young man came into view.
Severus Snape entered the room in a flurry of black robes, his eyes sparking with fury.
"You knew. You bloody knew and you didn't stop him."
It would be easiest to affect ignorance. "Knew what? You better be able to explain your accusations, Mr. Snape. I do not take lightly to being spoken to in such a way."
Snape gave him a glare that would have killed a weaker adversary. "I heard you tell him that he would die."
"We all die in the end." Sejanus reached for his wand under the cover of his desk.
"But when someone has the power to prevent it?"
Sejanus sighed. This boy was annoying him. "I warned him, yes. What more could I possibly do? In case you did not notice, Professor Grimm was not highly receptive of my words." At Snape's slight hesitation, Sejanus added, "You were there, were you not, Mr. Snape?"
"What does it matter, Professor?" The boy was certainly skilled in sarcasm. Sejanus could sense the acid dripping off the boy's tongue.
"I hope you know that it is impolite to eavesdrop?"
The expression on Snape's face was enough of an answer.
"Well then, Mr. Snape. What would you propose I do? Turn back the clocks so that you can save your girlfriend's adoptive father?" Snape's eyes gave too much away. He could not hide everything that passed through his brain. "Oh yes, I'm sure that such a thing would please her greatly. Quite a thanks you would get, I'm sure."
Snape's lip lifted in a snarl. "The death of a good man has nothing to do with her."
Sejanus clenched his fist. How much could he take? "It's all about her," he muttered. "All you do is moan over her, just like her damned father..."
"Her father?" Snape leaned over the desk. "Consorting with Death Eaters now, Professor?" His voice became mocking. "I'm sure that such a thing could not be good for your reputation."
"Oh really? Perhaps, Mr. Snape, you should think about your own reputation."
Snape waved the comment aside. "That does not matter."
"But it does," Sejanus persisted. "For instance, you know exactly what sort of experiments Grimm was making, yet you did nothing. You are to blame just as much as I am, Mr. Snape."
Snape made the mistake of looking away from Sejanus' piercing gaze. Memories of listening at Grimm's door, trying to comprehend the strange codes that filled the professor's notebooks, and spying on the professor as he mixed his experiments filled his consciousness. He forgot to hide these memories from Sejanus until it was too late. The doors of his mind closed, but already the information was in the hands of the enemy.
"Interesting," Sejanus said with a smile. "Bits and pieces that seem like nothing, but that hold the key to understanding." Snape shuddered, his fists clenched in anger. "Yes, Mr. Snape, you still have much to learn. You are good, I will grant you that. But you are not perfect."
Scarlet blotches now covered Snape's pasty cheeks. "I'll be watching you, Professor. If I find that you are associated with the Dark Lord..."
"I do not fear your petty threats, Mr. Snape," Sejanus replied more calmly than he felt. "It is more likely that, one day, you yourself will follow in the shadow of the Dark Lord."
A bitter laugh rose from Snape's throat. "A half-blood would have no place in the Dark Lord's army." He turned and left the room, his robes billowing around him.
Sejanus leaned back in his chair and gazed out at the sunset. The red light shone like blood upon the snow and ice. "You may be surprised," he said quietly. If only young Snape knew the things had he did. Perhaps then he would understand that fate was inevitable.
She was there beside him when he took his last breath. No tears fell from her eyes when she realised that he was gone forever, that he had slipped away to a place she could not follow him to. She had known him for half her life – a mere eight years – and for that time, he had been everything: father, idol, friend.
She could not remember the last thing she had said to him.