A Matter of Malevolence, Part Three
" -did you SEE the look - "
" -on his clothes, I've never seen so much dust - "
" -in the hall and then there was this SOUND - "
Severus stuffed his pillow over his head and tried to ignore them.
" -saved his mother's life last year - "
" -when the ministry started fighting the rise of the Dark Lord - "
" -coming from Potter, and HE says that he didn't even hesitate - "
Severus gathered his books and left the library, avoiding the infuriating whispers.
" -so strong for his age - "
" -so quick they're talking about Quidditch in the next couple of years - "
" -to do something like that, I tell you, that is brave!"
"Ugh!" That word, which was Severus' opinion on the whole debacle, punctuated his next action: moving stiffly and with his teeth slightly bared, he stuffed as many books into his bag as he could and stormed outside the school toward the lake. Perhaps there he could get some peace.
It just went on and on. Around every corner, at every mealtime, throughout the dorms, the infamous James Potter and his Selfless Acts of Heroism were apparently all anybody could talk about. By day two, Severus was already tired of it. By day three, he was ready to start cursing people. Oh, he could admit that there were pros and cons to this problem. The good side was that nobody was talking about him, which meant Black and Potter had not blabbed. The bad side was that nobody was talking about him, which meant Black and Potter had a truly terrible revenge planned.
Frowning, Severus sat underneath one of the few trees growing close to the water and took out his textbooks. Black and Potter had not done anything to him at all since Friday. They'd given quiet, baleful glares that promised hours of torment in the future, but so far neither one had so much as ruined his homework. This abrupt good behavior seemed more broodingly dangerous than outright threats. Scowling at his useless potions textbook, Severus picked up A History of Magic instead and tried to concentrate.
What were they up to? What? Would they wait until the fervor died down so no one would see them do it, or were they waiting for it to peak so that when they did, they'd have approval? He didn't want to give too much credit to the Gryffindor mind; prowess of planning was clearly not their forte. Yet there was a sort of keen animal instinct combined with luck that seemed time and time again to provide them with JUST the angle they needed to -
"Hello there."
Severus jumped. He'd been lost in thought for far too long; standing over him with hands in his pockets and a maddening smirk stood Lucius Malfoy.
"Oh," said Severus. "It's you."
Malfoy smiled. "It is, indeed. Do you have a moment?"
"No. Go away." Severus turned back to his reading. History of Magic? Why had he picked that up? Putting it aside, he picked up One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi instead.
Softly, Malfoy chuckled and scissored gracefully down into the grass. "Are you ready to talk yet? Or do you still dislike me for no apparent reason?"
Severus glared and ignored the loaded question. "I loathe you. Let me be."
Malfoy laughed outright. "Well, I like you, Severus Snape," he said as he lay back and propped himself on one elbow. "You're very amusing. And you're bright, too; do you know, I heard some of the professors talking about you yesterday. You're puzzling them. It seems you have an uneven - "
"They were talking about me?" interrupted Severus, sounding horrified.
Malfoy arched one perfect eyebrow. "Hush. Don't interrupt." He tossed his hair and looked over the lake. "As I was saying: they're puzzled because you seem to be an uneven sort of individual. Anything that's just brain work, you've got; anything with wand work, you've sort of got. Potions, you're top of your class; but put you on a broom and you fall flat on your face."
Oh, gods. They HAD been talking about him. For a sharp, miserable moment, Severus felt as though he'd been betrayed.
Sidelong, Malfoy watched. His voice was warm, conversational - but his eyes were cold. "Why does that bother you?" he finally said.
"Because it's not their affair," Severus, replied very quietly.
"Seems like it is to me. They are your teachers," Malfoy drawled pleasantly.
"It isn't."
Malfoy looked very amused. "It is. And, because I'm your prefect, it's mine, too. So - what are we going to do to fix your little problem?"
"What little problem? Leave me alone and I'll fix it myself," snapped Severus. Then, because he was feeling defensive, he shifted around the tree trunk so his back was facing Malfoy. This put him directly in the sunlight, which he did not like, but it was better than facing the prat.
There was a long moment of silence.
"Did that really help?" Malfoy finally asked.
Severus could feel those grey eyes on his back. "No. You're still there," he admitted, squinting as the sun turned the book's pages a blinding white.
"That's right, Severus," Malfoy confirmed, and stood up, dusting himself off. "And I'll continue to be. Right behind you. Whether you think you need it or not. And as soon as you've made up your mind to stop being stupid, I'll help you; but for now, I have better things to do than listen to a child vent his anger at me for no reason other than offense at my attempt to be friendly. Have a good day." With that, he left. Severus said nothing in his wake; somehow, the older boy's words had shamed him.
Severus was late to dinner on purpose. When he finally arrived, everyone else was already in the Great Hall, as he'd hoped; they were all talking at once, and the noise was abominable. Moving quickly and keeping his head down, Severus slipped into the last seat at his house table just as Dumbledore stood.
"Everyone, if I could please have your attention!" the headmaster said, both hands raised as he smiled. He waited until the cacophony died down before continuing. "There are a few changes coming your way, and we, the staff, feel that you should be made aware." He smiled cheerfully. "Of course you know the basics; stay away from the Forbidden Forest because it will kill you. Don't go wandering off school grounds if you value your lives. And now, something new: stay away from the Whomping Willow or it will smash you into jam!"
Students gaped at him.
"The Whomping Willow is going to be freshly planted down by the lake some time tomorrow, so consider yourselves warned," Dumbledore continued happily, as if describing dessert. "And that is enough morbidity for now. Enjoy your feast!" He clapped his hands once, and food made its appearance.
The entire hall burst into wild speculation.
Severus continued to stare at the High Table, thinking what many others were saying out loud. Whomping Willow? What the hell was a Whomping Willow, and why, if the thing was so dangerous, were they planting it on the grounds? "This place is insane," he informed his Cornish hen, but the hen had no reply. Distracted, he cut into it. So now there were Whomping Willows and guileful Gryffindors and homework to deal with, too. For a while, Severus ate in silence, and ignored the entire world. Eventually, he looked up and found that the world was ignoring him back.
Malfoy wasn't looking at him anymore; since their conversation down by the lake, the older boy had apparently decided to eschew Severus' existence. Similarly, the rest of his house diligently spoke and joked in any direction except the one he occupied. All of them had come together in pairs or small groups, talking, laughing, and sharing, and in the midst of this, it seemed that Severus had managed in one week to accomplish exactly one thing: all of them had learned to leave him alone.
So why wasn't he happy?
Soon, his chicken was gone. Poking at his green beans, Severus listened to the snippets of conversation around him, as usual waiting to see if his name cropped up; as usual, it did not. Potter's did, but thinking about that made him feel like sending the chicken back. No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. No one even tried. Before dessert came, Severus grabbed his bags and left the table, knowing no one would care he was gone. He didn't want dessert, anyway. He was going to the library. Severus wanted to be alone, truly alone.
That kind of alone was better than watching other people being happy.
The library held a kind of quiet comfort for him. Usually, the only other people there were people like him: quiet, unassuming, and wishing to learn without disturbances. It was a silent communion, but the only one Severus really had, and he valued it.
The fact that the others were mostly Ravenclaws only bothered him a little.
Finding a chair with nobody near, he settled into it and opened his books. Two hours passed; here in peace and quiet, he sped through Magical Drafts and Potions (not that that book was EVER difficult), completed his History of Magic assginment, and had driven his way through fully half his Herbology homework when a voice from the shelf in front of him grabbed his attention.
"We found the grimoire."
Well, what was this now? Severus knew all about grimoires, although he'd never seen one. Old, valuable books, usually of extremely dubious origin, grimoires contained dark and powerful magicks, and Severus knew for a fact that no student could possibly dream of laying hands on one. Perhaps he'd misheard. He turned back to his homework, determined to focus.
"Where?"
"Well... okay, we haven't found IT, exactly. But we did find out where it is."
"Where, where?" There were three voices, it seemed, one with information and two with questions. Severus frowned, beginning to wonder if he'd heard correctly after all.
"Somewhere near that picture of the fellow with the hawk nose and the potions."
What? What?
"Ah, yes! Power to Hold the World. Ground floor, third corridor. Right? "
Severus felt the color drain from his face. His mind split evenly into two. Analytically, he noted the students' cockiness and attention to detail; they were Ravenclaws, he was sure of it. Emotionally, he felt half thrilled and half sick. What did THEY have to do with a portrait of HIS ancestor?
"Right! So what do we do?"
A very good question. Severus put his book down.
"I don't know. That's all I've been able to get out of the Grey Lady so far; but she said there are more clues to come, and she'll keep giving them to us once we've figured out the last puzzle."
"All right." There were sounds of bookbags being opened, quills being taken out, parchment rustling. "Let's see, let's see... okay, the first thing we're going to do is review. Ready?" There was murmured assent, and then the speaker read.
"It bears thee many a mile away,
And yet its place it
changes ne'er;
It has no pinions to display,
And yet conducts
thee through the air.
"It is the bark of swiftest motion
That every weary
wanderer bore;
With speed of thought the greatest ocean
It
carries thee in safety o'er;
One moment wafts thee to the shore."
...what the hell?
The book with an energetic fap. "Okay, troops. And that one is?" said the voice Severus thought of as their leader, and altogether, the others chimed in: "A telescope!"
"Good!" exclaimed the leader, and apparently put that aside.
A telescope? What? How the blazes did they get "telescope" out of that?
The leader read on.
"Once I was water, full of scaly fish;
But, by a new
decision, Fate has changed
My nature: having suffered fiery
pangs,
I now gleam white, like ashes or bright snow."
"Salt!" answered the students with one voice again, and now they were chuckling, caught up in the pure joy of solving these riddles.
Severus was baffled. There weren't enough clues in the poem itself to answer the question it posed; ridiculous. How were they figuring it out?
"Okay, troops," said the leader once more. "This is the latest one.
"We are little airy Creatures,
All of diff'rent Voice
and Features,
One of us in Glass is set,
One of us you'll find
in Jet,
T'other you may see in Tin,
And the fourth a Box
within,
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from
You."
There was silence.
"Anybody found anything yet?" prompted the leader.
Variations of "no," met this query, the students sounding fairly despondent. Severus was nearly pulling his hair out in fistfulls. What on earth...
The leader sighed. "Well, bother it all," he said, and Severus quite agreed. Curiosity was getting the better of his good sense; standing and moving as quietly as he could, he shifted over to the bookshelf and peeked between the volumes.
Six children sat before him.
The oldest seemed about fifteen or sixteen; the youngest looked his own age, although in this case, it was a little hard to tell. All of them were a bit undersize. There were three girls and three boys; four of them wore glasses, and all of them had bookbags far larger and more used than Severus' were. They leaned together, huddled.
"So where do we start looking?"
The 'leader' - the oldest boy - pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Well, let's look at it logically. The first one - Frederich von Schiller - was a Muggle playwright from the sixteenth century. St. Aldhelm of Malmesbury, on the other hand, was a wizard from about 600 A.D. There's no logical connection, except that they're both male. I don't like it."
"It was a lucky chance we found the 'salt' solution, anyway," said a girl who looked about thirteen. "And I don't want to have to go back to reading Muggle-written things anymore."
"We'll do it if that's what the Grey Lady wants," proclaimed the leader, glaring at her over his glasses, and Severus felt himself recoiling slightly. They were reading Muggle works?
The youngest girl - who looked familiar - smiled as she piped up. "I don't mind reading the Muggle things, if you have a problem with them," she squeaked cheerfully, and the others looked at her uncomfortably.
"I guess you wouldn't, would you, Evans," the leader said with a slightly strained casual tone, then changed the subject. "All right then. The rest of you split up and see what you can find. Okay? Ready? Let's go!" With that, all six of them began packing away their parchments and preparing to leave.
Severus was horrified. Quickly, he scrambled back into his chair. He recognized that girl, Evans; he had seen her in his class. She wasn't in Slytherin, but she WAS in Gryffindor. She came from Muggles? He was a half-blood. He understood the shame that came with it. What on earth was that fool girl doing letting people know she came from Muggle stock? For that matter, what was some Mudblood Gryffindor doing with a bunch of questing Ravenclaws?
His mind buzzed with questions. What was this task the Grey Lady had given? What point was there to answering obscure literary riddles? What prize REALLY lay at the end of their journey? Was it really a grimoire?
Severus was determined to find out.
The Grey Lady was the official ghost of the Ravenclaw house, but that was the extent of Severus' knowledge about her. What exactly these ghosts did, he was not entirely sure; the Bloody Baron seemed absolutely useless except for the purpose of scaring people at ungodly hours of the morning. However, the Bloody Baron also did not talk; it seemed that the Grey Lady did.
It was getting late, but Severus had a mission now. Keeping his bookbag tight over his shoulders, he hurried to the empty second floor. He'd seen her here more than once; she seemed to like sitting at various desks and speaking with various professors. So what if curfew was near? He'd have time for a little investigation, and he'd noted enough Ravenclaws coming from this direction to deduce their house was close. Surely the house ghost would be by the house itself.
Briefly, he wondered if any of his textbooks had a spell for summoning ghosts; somehow, he doubted it.
Peeking into a classroom he didn't know, Severus looked curiously at the strange herbs hanging from the ceiling and arcane symbols on the chalkboard. There was power in those symbols, he could see it, feel it. What classroom was this? Shivering, he stared for a moment longer as though staring could tell him they were, and that's when Peeves caught up with him.
"There's the little baby-snake, crawling so late at night!" cackled the rotund spirit right in Severus' ear, and the boy jumped so badly that his bookbag hit the floor and spilled.
"Peeves!" he squawked.
Peeves cackled and turned a somersault. "And what is the baby snakelet doing so very far from home, hmmmm? I want to know, I do, I do!"
"None of your business," muttered Severus, stuffing his books back into his bag. His heart was still pounding.
"Oh, but I want to KNOW," insisted Peeves, hovering over him. "And so will the caretaker, once he finds you out of bed! Such a naughty little snake," he added, and laughed very coldly.
Severus frowned. "I'm allowed out of bed. It not curfew yet, so go bother someone else."
"Oooh, rude with forked tongue," said Peeves in a terrible, vaguely Asian accent. Severus shook his head in disgust and walked on. Naturally, Peeves followed him.
"Shouldn't be here, no he shouldn't," the poltergeist sang at him, and Severus hunched down. "Shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wandering, shouldn't be walking the halls on his own..."
"I said shut UP," shouted Severus. Hunching down further (it felt for all the world as if his bookbag were the only thing standing between him and that crazy spirit), he turned the corner, and was surprised to find himself facing the portrait of the severe and powerful Veneficus Princeps.
Severus froze. How had he ended up here?
"Shouldn't be here, shouldn't be here!" scream-sang Peeves joyfully, delighted with having gotten a reaction out of the first-year; but this time, Severus ignored him.
How could this be here? He was nowhere near the hospital wing. What had that student said? "Ground floor, third corridor." He was on the second floor, in the sixth corridor. Severus felt a chill run down his spine. Portraits did not move; this thing was huge, lifesized. No student had levitated it here for foolish amusement. There had to be two. Had to be -
Severus suddenly yelped. Something wet, cold, and slimy cascaded down his back, over his clothes, and into his bag. Peeves cackled like a mad thing as he shook the bucket over Severus' head, and it was only as the boy looked up that he realized there had been something besides water in that container.
A single leech fell to the floor in front of Severus and popped like an overfilled water balloon.
Peeves was laughing. "Blood for the hungry, trouble for the student! Everybody gets what they need tonight!"
There were leeches on his skin. Severus shouted in terror, ripping his robes off his body and dancing away from the spilled slime and leech and water. Horrified, he tried to feel where they were attached, but he could not. He ran his hands all over himself, waiting at any moment to encounter the cold, slippery bodies sucking on him, draining him, drinking him like some sort of demon -
"PEEVES!"
Peeves stopped laughing and spun in the air. Across from him, carrying a book and looking very severe, was exactly the person Severus had been looking for: the ghost called Grey Lady. Looking very annoyed, she floated up to the poltergeist and surveyed the mess. Liquid had spilled all over the floor; the bucket had rolled into the corner, leaving a trail, and the bloody remains of the exploded leech were staining the stone. Also, there was a shivering, half-naked first year student huddled against the wall.
"Disgusting," she said in summation. Frowning at Peeves, she added, "This behavior is reprehensible. Do you know what you're making the rest of us look like? Pixies with pitchforks, that's what. Now out! Out of here, immediately, or I shall send the Baron down to show you what true fear is about!"
Peeves spun upside down in the air and blew a raspberry; but apparently knew she did not warn idly. Making rude noises the whole way, he corkscrewed down the hall like a deflating balloon until he was out of sight and could no longer be heard.
The Grey Ghost looked down at Severus. "You aren't one of mine," she said airily, surveying the damage. "And you don't have any leeches on you. It was a crude joke. I suggest you take your things and go home. This is most undignified." She turned to go.
"Wait!" cried Severus. He was soaking wet; terror of things being on him still had him shaking, and he was humiliated at being caught like this, but it was not enough to make him quit. There was a grimoire - he couldn't turn back now.
"Yes?" said the Grey Lady, looking at him over her shoulder.
"I... I have a question. About the grimoire," ad-libbed Severus, clutching his wet robe in front of his pale skin.
"Oh," said the Grey Lady, and, looking a little more friendly, turned back to him. "You must be one of the young Questers. Tell me, little one, what is your question?"
Questers? Heh; Severus saw no reason to disabuse her notion. "Your latest clue. We're having a lot of trouble finding the answer."
The Grey Lady turned again, suddenly and visibly bored. "You know the rules. You must find answers all by yourself. I cannot help you."
"Wait, wait! I'm not asking about the riddle," insisted Severus, still making it up as he went along. "I want to ask about the painting."
The Grey Lady turned back, pleased again. Her interest seemed to wax and wane as easily as the moon. "What about it?"
"I'm..." related to the subject of the portrait? No, he couldn't tell her that. Better she not know who he was. "I think I noticed something. Something that's very important, and... I want to know if I'm right." He was going on instinct and logic; the clues so far given were nonsense, and if they weren't, then whatever was the key to understanding them had not yet been given. Suddenly, Severus knew what he was going to ask.
The Grey Lady's attention was waning again. "Yes, child?" she prodded, not out of gentleness so much as boredom.
"The portrait. There are two of them, aren't there?" said Severus, and to his surprise, she smiled.
"Very good. Yes, there are; how did you happen to notice?"
Because he's my blasted ancestor, Severus wanted to say, but did not. "They're the key to all your riddles, aren't they? Or maybe they're even the real clue itself. Those puzzles you keep giving us have nothing to do with anything."
She laughed.
It was a cold, high-pitched sound, one that wasn't entirely sane, and Severus' shivering abruptly had nothing to do with his wet clothes. "You think like a Slytherin, child," she accused lightly, still smiling, and her milky eyes were gleaming just a bit. "In conspiracies and tricks. The answer is yes and no. The puzzles give you the pieces you need to form the key, but the keyhole IS within those paintings. I will give you only one more clue." Her smile grew cool. "Within the portraits lies the key; within the key is hid a door, but no true pathway will you see until your thoughts a hole can bore. Good luck, young Quester mine." Without so much as a second look, she turned and glided away.
Severus let her go. His mind was spinning.
Riddles, riddles, the riddles were ASININE, but now he was getting somewhere. He alone held a clue that the others did not. On the other hand, the others perhaps had the answer to the last question by now, which was information he didn't have. So what should he do?
He could go back to the library and try to find the answer, but it had been a lucky circumstance that brought him the riddle in the first place, and he could not possibly hope to have that luck again. Besides, curfew was right around the corner. He could try to find the clue in the portraits themselves, but that would require running back and forth between them, or at least taking copious notes; and even assuming he found out what that key was, he still lacked the answer to that third crazy riddle.
He wanted to look now. He wanted to do something, to act, to solve this puzzle before anyone else could, before anyone else had the chance. If he went now, however, he would surely fail; he did not have the knowledge he required. That meant the only option he had was patience. Patience! Ugh; patience was horrible and took so long, but what else could he do?
He could at least begin to gather information on the paintings tonight, couldn't he? Curfew wasn't that close. Pulling on his clothes, he took out some slightly damp parchment from his back and started taking notes.
