A/N: Octavius Malfoy and Alexander Constantovitch belong to me. For other disclaimers, see the first two chapters You will notice I've altered the title slightly...Thankyou to the reviewer who pointed it out. Remember, don't hesitate to review, as I like to hear what you think of what I'm writing.....
Chapter 2- St. Petersburg
"That'll be 13 dashovs, Mr Snape."
The Russian Knight Bus conductor, a short, wimpy fellow with an oversized nose and wearing a uniform obviously a size or two too big for him waited patiently while Severus produced the money. After helping him with his trunk, the bus left him, in front of Demidova House, his temporary home.
Looking up at the gothic mansion, a part of him felt homesick for Hogwarts. Snap out of it, the voice in the back of his mind chided him. This is a new beginning, a new purpose....you should not be clinging to your past.
As the words echoed through his mind, he picked up his bags and made his way up the steps. After pausing to savour the moment, his new beginning, he reached forward and knocked upon the tall doors to the mansion.
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"He's here! Nerissa, make the tea, please. Nicholas, answer the door, would you?"
From her position at the top of the staircase, Ianthe could hear her Mother's footsteps across the wooden floorboards, her voice ringing through the halls. Then, her Father's voice in answer to it. More footsteps, and the sound of the front doors to the house opening. Yet more footsteps, and then a different voice. A voice strange to her ears.
"Ianthe!"
Her Father was calling her. Calling her down to meet their guest, the Professor. Not wishing to keep them waiting, she hurried down the staircase, to the front room.
As she moved down the flight of stairs, the scene below her became visible. Her parents, standing close enough to touch, and the dark figure at the doorway. Her parents looked up as she crossed the room to where they stood.
"Ianthe, I'd like you to meet Professor Severus Snape, our guest for a few days. Severus, this is my daughter, Ianthe."
Severus nodded in acknowledgement, and extended a hand to her.
As she shook his hand, Ianthe took the opportunity to examine him. He was surprisingly tall, certainly taller than her Father, by at least a head or two. Keeping in line with his height, he was, like her father, slender. She wouldn't even by surprised if he was a year or two younger than Vladimir. The face certainly looked it. Her eyes carefully examined the lines and contours on the pale skin, that suggested years of hard work, or maybe something else? His hair was inky black, brushing his shoulders, and unfortunately, rather greasy-looking. And his nose was a little too hooked, like the vampires that lived in the forests surrounding Durmstrang. But his eyes.....they redeemed the rest of his features. Dark and intelligent, and so obviously hiding a few secrets. Clearly, she thought, as she released his hand, there was more to this wizard than what the eyes and ears saw and heard. Not that she'd probably find out anything, though.....
************************
As she took his hand in a light handshake, he couldn't help but sweep his eyes over the girl's features. Nearly twenty years teaching at Hogwarts had done that to him. He needed to know the distinguishing features, something that would remind him of who the student was. He did not know her from Hogwarts, he guessed her to be a Durmstrang student considering where she lived. The first thing he noticed was her face. There was nothing terribly remarkable. Greyish blue eyes......long dark brown hair, neatly pinned up. The structure of her face was clearly a trait of her mother. It was decidedly angular and very delicate looking, almost like a porcelain doll, and with a similar complexion. He thought she looked rather intelligent, and made mental note to question her on her Potions-making abilities. This one could show potential, he thought, as they broke the handshake.
************************
"It is a pleasure, Miss Demidova." he said, a ghost of a smile fleeting across his features. She silently took heed of the voice. Deep and soft.....almost like velvet .
"Yes, Professor." she replied, all of a sudden feeling slightly breathless.
"Ianthe will be starting her final year at Durmstrang after the summer holidays. She was particularly interested in your essays." her father was saying.
"Is that so?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers for the second time that day. "Well, I shall have to ask what you thought at dinner tonight, shan't I?"
Ianthe nodded, trying to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
That afternoon, Ianthe read his essays. There were four essays in the manuscript. Not only famous for his cure for lycanthropy, which included, Professor Snape had also come up with what seemed to be antidotes for the Imperius and Cruciatus curses....ways in which the subject of the curse would not suffer the effects. And one known as the illusion potion...almost like the polyjuice. A potion that, when a sampling of human tissue was added, it could be poured out into the form of whoever's tissue was added. It was astonishing work. The style of writing was suitably formal, and he said little of who was involved. In the case of the lycanthropy, it was a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin. With the counters to the curses, there was an assistant, Hermione Granger, a member of the class of nineteen-ninety-seven. The account of coming up with them was fascinating.....like a journal, it accounted the failures, frustrations, successes...... it gave depth and invaluable insight into his work.
Seeing how much he knew about his work, Ianthe looked forward to the conversation that night.
************************
There would be other guests with them that weekend, the few acquaintances that her parents had. Alexander Constantovitch, the owner of a chain of bookstores in the Wizarding districts across Eastern Europe. And a writer on holiday by the name of Octavius Malfoy....she had heard the name Malfoy before, in social circles, and knew that theirs was a well-respected old wizarding family in Britain. That didn't stop her from hating his writing though. He obviously wrote for lovestruck witches...it was saccharine,woeful and not to her liking at all.
But discretion was in order for that night. Dinner was served in the smaller of the two dining rooms, and Ianthe's favourite. She loved the intimacy of the smaller room, and the beautiful mirrored walls to give the impression of space. She looks around her, at the guests. Constantovitch, a short, heavily-built man with pure white whiskers and looking every inch an old bachelor in maroon robes with white pinstripes. Malfoy, unbelievably handsome with pale, almost silvery blonde hair and perfect, white teeth and the eyes...they almost looked violet. He must be incredibly vain, she mused. Beside him, her mother, in pale blue robes and an azalea in her hair chatted animatedly with Snape, slightly unusual behaviour for her.
As the evening passed, Ianthe began to form opinions on the guests. Malfoy, whom she knew was here tonight to try and get her father to give his newest novel a good review, was clearly trying to compliment and please her father with his gestures, expressions and words. Grovelling fool, she thought. Quite the opposite was Constantovitch, who was remarkably gruff in what he said, undoubtedly witty in some cases, and unapologetic for what he said. Her Father obviously was enjoying his company.
Her Father would occasionally look at her Mother in concern, touching her hand, whispering in her ear....she knew that she would retire early, such was her condition. These things were noticed by the mirrored walls. And it was then, in those mirrors, that she noticed that Severus Snape was not looking at her mother, or at any of the other guests for that matter, but at her. The look upon his face was indecipherable, almost of casual interest, or maybe curiosity.....she did not know. Under his constant gaze, Ianthe began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
She looked down at her plate and proceeded to play with the lamb on her plate. She sipped at the wine glass in front of her. And when she looked in the mirrors again, he was still looking at her, the face still fixed in the previous expression.
"I have given Ianthe Severus' manuscript to read." stated her Father, who had noticed the unsettling attention that he was giving her.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the guests and her parents looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something of it.
Vladimir spoke again. "Have you looked at the manuscript yet, Ianthe?" he asked, a very faint note of urgency in his voice.
She looked towards her parents and Snape. Daring to look each of them in the eyes.
"I have read them, Professor, and I must say I enjoyed them to a great extent." she said finally, making her appreciation apparent.
There was further silence, before the Professor spoke up.
"Would you like to be a little specific, Miss Demidova?" he asked, eyes still firmly fixed upon her.
"Your writing is very simple and formal, Professor, and yet you have included every struggle, frustration and achievement within it. It's emotional, without being so."
"That's very observant of you." stated Constantovitch, looking at her appraisingly.
"Yes, her tuition has been exceptional." noted Vladimir, pushing his empty plate away.
"And where does she go?" asked Malfoy, deciding to put his bit in.
"Durmstrang...."
"Ah, my cousin graduated from there, four years ago. Perhaps you would know him, Professor? Draco Malfoy?"
It was the first time that Ianthe had ever seen Snape look remotely sour.
"Yes, I do recall him well." he murmured.
Malfoy must not have noticed, as he continued speaking. "So, Professor, you start work at St. Gregori's on Monday?"
"Yes. They want me to continue some work I've begun..."
"Well, since Ianthe enjoyed your accounts of your potion-making so, would it be too much to allow her to accompany you once you're settled in?" asked Vladimir.
"If the hospital permits it, I will oblige her." he replied, delicately running his index finger around the rim of his wine glass.
Conversation continued on a few moments more, and Ianthe could only half-listen to her Mother and Father prattling on about trivial matters.
"....photographers are coming tomorrow for our family portrait..."
".....you gentlemen would like a glass of firewhiskey...shall we go out onto the balcony?"
Ianthe sighed. The air was starting to feel a bit warm for her, so she decided to venture out for a short walk in the gardens.
Night-time walks were one of Ianthe's favourite things to do. It allowed her to escape the veritable stuffiness of the household. As many friends she had at Durmstrang, she really felt the need to be alone on the Summer holidays, to attain some degree of peace. Particularly tonight. She could hear the noises from the mansion, despite the fact that all had retired now. The servants, cleaning with their wands, muttering charms.
Indeed, she was so absorbed in her thoughts, that she did not feel the drop of water on her head. Or the next. Or the one after that. It wasn't until thunder sounded from above, and a downpour ensued that she realized she was in the midst of it. Already soaked, she ran up towards the back stairs of the balcony, only to find someone was sitting up there, waiting for her. Cold dread began to creep through her. Her Father had seen her! Slowly, she began to make her way up the stairs towards the tall figure, lit up from behind by the dim lights. As she neared the top, relief flooded her as she realized it was not her Father. Perhaps one of the guests...she paused and squinted in the dimness, trying to identify who was there.
With practiced elegance, Severus Snape rose from his seat, and stood at the top of the stairs, holding his hand out. Ianthe reached forward and took it, as he guided her up the remainder of stairs and into the chair he was sitting in previously.
"Your cloak is dripping." he stated.
Ianthe looked down at the droplets coming from the heavy black material. She undid the clasp, and hung it over the back of the chair.
"I told your Father that I thought you'd gone to bed......obviously I was mistaken. It is late, Miss Demidova. You should best be retiring."
"Yes," she replied, finally feeling the cold wetness of the evening.
"You're pale.....perhaps you should have something warm to drink?"
"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I will just sit here a moment, and then I shall be fine."
It was too late though, he'd already conjured up a warm cup of tea for her. She watched as he reached into his robes, and produced a small vial of dark red liquid. He poured a few drops of it into the tea, at which point it began steaming quite nicely.
"Humour me, Miss Demidova. Take a sip."
Tentatively, she took a sip. The warm liquid surged down her throat, and she immediately felt warmth creeping through every vein and bone in her body.
"Why were you up?"
"I like to walk in the gardens, Professor. It allows me to gather my thoughts."
"Ah," came the soft reply. "You were very kind in your comments tonight, Miss Demidova. Perhaps too kind."
"You most certainly deserved it, Professor. My Father tells me you're one of Europe's finest Alchemists."
"The question is whether the wizarding public will accept it," he said, doubt tinging his words. "There is too little study of Potions in the modern wizarding world....it is fast growing into a rare art. More people must be willing to take it up. This journal of mine is my attempt to enlighten witches and wizards alike on it."
"I see...." she said in return, permitting a small smile to him. "Well, as you say Professor, it is late. I must be retiring."
She rose out of her chair, and in doing so, the clip holding her hair up slipped out, hitting the balcony with a small clatter. Snape bent to retrieve it, and handed it to her without much ceremony.
"Thankyou." she said softly, taking it from him.
"You are remarkably poised, Miss Demidova. You know, it is a rare thing for a witch your age."
She looked at him, somewhat speechless for a moment, and then turned to go through the doors to the house. His voice stopped her again.
"I saw you that evening, on the beach......I was there."
She turned back to look at him, and yet once again lost for words, exited swiftly into the house, his words ringing in her mind.
Chapter 2- St. Petersburg
"That'll be 13 dashovs, Mr Snape."
The Russian Knight Bus conductor, a short, wimpy fellow with an oversized nose and wearing a uniform obviously a size or two too big for him waited patiently while Severus produced the money. After helping him with his trunk, the bus left him, in front of Demidova House, his temporary home.
Looking up at the gothic mansion, a part of him felt homesick for Hogwarts. Snap out of it, the voice in the back of his mind chided him. This is a new beginning, a new purpose....you should not be clinging to your past.
As the words echoed through his mind, he picked up his bags and made his way up the steps. After pausing to savour the moment, his new beginning, he reached forward and knocked upon the tall doors to the mansion.
************************
"He's here! Nerissa, make the tea, please. Nicholas, answer the door, would you?"
From her position at the top of the staircase, Ianthe could hear her Mother's footsteps across the wooden floorboards, her voice ringing through the halls. Then, her Father's voice in answer to it. More footsteps, and the sound of the front doors to the house opening. Yet more footsteps, and then a different voice. A voice strange to her ears.
"Ianthe!"
Her Father was calling her. Calling her down to meet their guest, the Professor. Not wishing to keep them waiting, she hurried down the staircase, to the front room.
As she moved down the flight of stairs, the scene below her became visible. Her parents, standing close enough to touch, and the dark figure at the doorway. Her parents looked up as she crossed the room to where they stood.
"Ianthe, I'd like you to meet Professor Severus Snape, our guest for a few days. Severus, this is my daughter, Ianthe."
Severus nodded in acknowledgement, and extended a hand to her.
As she shook his hand, Ianthe took the opportunity to examine him. He was surprisingly tall, certainly taller than her Father, by at least a head or two. Keeping in line with his height, he was, like her father, slender. She wouldn't even by surprised if he was a year or two younger than Vladimir. The face certainly looked it. Her eyes carefully examined the lines and contours on the pale skin, that suggested years of hard work, or maybe something else? His hair was inky black, brushing his shoulders, and unfortunately, rather greasy-looking. And his nose was a little too hooked, like the vampires that lived in the forests surrounding Durmstrang. But his eyes.....they redeemed the rest of his features. Dark and intelligent, and so obviously hiding a few secrets. Clearly, she thought, as she released his hand, there was more to this wizard than what the eyes and ears saw and heard. Not that she'd probably find out anything, though.....
************************
As she took his hand in a light handshake, he couldn't help but sweep his eyes over the girl's features. Nearly twenty years teaching at Hogwarts had done that to him. He needed to know the distinguishing features, something that would remind him of who the student was. He did not know her from Hogwarts, he guessed her to be a Durmstrang student considering where she lived. The first thing he noticed was her face. There was nothing terribly remarkable. Greyish blue eyes......long dark brown hair, neatly pinned up. The structure of her face was clearly a trait of her mother. It was decidedly angular and very delicate looking, almost like a porcelain doll, and with a similar complexion. He thought she looked rather intelligent, and made mental note to question her on her Potions-making abilities. This one could show potential, he thought, as they broke the handshake.
************************
"It is a pleasure, Miss Demidova." he said, a ghost of a smile fleeting across his features. She silently took heed of the voice. Deep and soft.....almost like velvet .
"Yes, Professor." she replied, all of a sudden feeling slightly breathless.
"Ianthe will be starting her final year at Durmstrang after the summer holidays. She was particularly interested in your essays." her father was saying.
"Is that so?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers for the second time that day. "Well, I shall have to ask what you thought at dinner tonight, shan't I?"
Ianthe nodded, trying to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
That afternoon, Ianthe read his essays. There were four essays in the manuscript. Not only famous for his cure for lycanthropy, which included, Professor Snape had also come up with what seemed to be antidotes for the Imperius and Cruciatus curses....ways in which the subject of the curse would not suffer the effects. And one known as the illusion potion...almost like the polyjuice. A potion that, when a sampling of human tissue was added, it could be poured out into the form of whoever's tissue was added. It was astonishing work. The style of writing was suitably formal, and he said little of who was involved. In the case of the lycanthropy, it was a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin. With the counters to the curses, there was an assistant, Hermione Granger, a member of the class of nineteen-ninety-seven. The account of coming up with them was fascinating.....like a journal, it accounted the failures, frustrations, successes...... it gave depth and invaluable insight into his work.
Seeing how much he knew about his work, Ianthe looked forward to the conversation that night.
************************
There would be other guests with them that weekend, the few acquaintances that her parents had. Alexander Constantovitch, the owner of a chain of bookstores in the Wizarding districts across Eastern Europe. And a writer on holiday by the name of Octavius Malfoy....she had heard the name Malfoy before, in social circles, and knew that theirs was a well-respected old wizarding family in Britain. That didn't stop her from hating his writing though. He obviously wrote for lovestruck witches...it was saccharine,woeful and not to her liking at all.
But discretion was in order for that night. Dinner was served in the smaller of the two dining rooms, and Ianthe's favourite. She loved the intimacy of the smaller room, and the beautiful mirrored walls to give the impression of space. She looks around her, at the guests. Constantovitch, a short, heavily-built man with pure white whiskers and looking every inch an old bachelor in maroon robes with white pinstripes. Malfoy, unbelievably handsome with pale, almost silvery blonde hair and perfect, white teeth and the eyes...they almost looked violet. He must be incredibly vain, she mused. Beside him, her mother, in pale blue robes and an azalea in her hair chatted animatedly with Snape, slightly unusual behaviour for her.
As the evening passed, Ianthe began to form opinions on the guests. Malfoy, whom she knew was here tonight to try and get her father to give his newest novel a good review, was clearly trying to compliment and please her father with his gestures, expressions and words. Grovelling fool, she thought. Quite the opposite was Constantovitch, who was remarkably gruff in what he said, undoubtedly witty in some cases, and unapologetic for what he said. Her Father obviously was enjoying his company.
Her Father would occasionally look at her Mother in concern, touching her hand, whispering in her ear....she knew that she would retire early, such was her condition. These things were noticed by the mirrored walls. And it was then, in those mirrors, that she noticed that Severus Snape was not looking at her mother, or at any of the other guests for that matter, but at her. The look upon his face was indecipherable, almost of casual interest, or maybe curiosity.....she did not know. Under his constant gaze, Ianthe began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
She looked down at her plate and proceeded to play with the lamb on her plate. She sipped at the wine glass in front of her. And when she looked in the mirrors again, he was still looking at her, the face still fixed in the previous expression.
"I have given Ianthe Severus' manuscript to read." stated her Father, who had noticed the unsettling attention that he was giving her.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the guests and her parents looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something of it.
Vladimir spoke again. "Have you looked at the manuscript yet, Ianthe?" he asked, a very faint note of urgency in his voice.
She looked towards her parents and Snape. Daring to look each of them in the eyes.
"I have read them, Professor, and I must say I enjoyed them to a great extent." she said finally, making her appreciation apparent.
There was further silence, before the Professor spoke up.
"Would you like to be a little specific, Miss Demidova?" he asked, eyes still firmly fixed upon her.
"Your writing is very simple and formal, Professor, and yet you have included every struggle, frustration and achievement within it. It's emotional, without being so."
"That's very observant of you." stated Constantovitch, looking at her appraisingly.
"Yes, her tuition has been exceptional." noted Vladimir, pushing his empty plate away.
"And where does she go?" asked Malfoy, deciding to put his bit in.
"Durmstrang...."
"Ah, my cousin graduated from there, four years ago. Perhaps you would know him, Professor? Draco Malfoy?"
It was the first time that Ianthe had ever seen Snape look remotely sour.
"Yes, I do recall him well." he murmured.
Malfoy must not have noticed, as he continued speaking. "So, Professor, you start work at St. Gregori's on Monday?"
"Yes. They want me to continue some work I've begun..."
"Well, since Ianthe enjoyed your accounts of your potion-making so, would it be too much to allow her to accompany you once you're settled in?" asked Vladimir.
"If the hospital permits it, I will oblige her." he replied, delicately running his index finger around the rim of his wine glass.
Conversation continued on a few moments more, and Ianthe could only half-listen to her Mother and Father prattling on about trivial matters.
"....photographers are coming tomorrow for our family portrait..."
".....you gentlemen would like a glass of firewhiskey...shall we go out onto the balcony?"
Ianthe sighed. The air was starting to feel a bit warm for her, so she decided to venture out for a short walk in the gardens.
Night-time walks were one of Ianthe's favourite things to do. It allowed her to escape the veritable stuffiness of the household. As many friends she had at Durmstrang, she really felt the need to be alone on the Summer holidays, to attain some degree of peace. Particularly tonight. She could hear the noises from the mansion, despite the fact that all had retired now. The servants, cleaning with their wands, muttering charms.
Indeed, she was so absorbed in her thoughts, that she did not feel the drop of water on her head. Or the next. Or the one after that. It wasn't until thunder sounded from above, and a downpour ensued that she realized she was in the midst of it. Already soaked, she ran up towards the back stairs of the balcony, only to find someone was sitting up there, waiting for her. Cold dread began to creep through her. Her Father had seen her! Slowly, she began to make her way up the stairs towards the tall figure, lit up from behind by the dim lights. As she neared the top, relief flooded her as she realized it was not her Father. Perhaps one of the guests...she paused and squinted in the dimness, trying to identify who was there.
With practiced elegance, Severus Snape rose from his seat, and stood at the top of the stairs, holding his hand out. Ianthe reached forward and took it, as he guided her up the remainder of stairs and into the chair he was sitting in previously.
"Your cloak is dripping." he stated.
Ianthe looked down at the droplets coming from the heavy black material. She undid the clasp, and hung it over the back of the chair.
"I told your Father that I thought you'd gone to bed......obviously I was mistaken. It is late, Miss Demidova. You should best be retiring."
"Yes," she replied, finally feeling the cold wetness of the evening.
"You're pale.....perhaps you should have something warm to drink?"
"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I will just sit here a moment, and then I shall be fine."
It was too late though, he'd already conjured up a warm cup of tea for her. She watched as he reached into his robes, and produced a small vial of dark red liquid. He poured a few drops of it into the tea, at which point it began steaming quite nicely.
"Humour me, Miss Demidova. Take a sip."
Tentatively, she took a sip. The warm liquid surged down her throat, and she immediately felt warmth creeping through every vein and bone in her body.
"Why were you up?"
"I like to walk in the gardens, Professor. It allows me to gather my thoughts."
"Ah," came the soft reply. "You were very kind in your comments tonight, Miss Demidova. Perhaps too kind."
"You most certainly deserved it, Professor. My Father tells me you're one of Europe's finest Alchemists."
"The question is whether the wizarding public will accept it," he said, doubt tinging his words. "There is too little study of Potions in the modern wizarding world....it is fast growing into a rare art. More people must be willing to take it up. This journal of mine is my attempt to enlighten witches and wizards alike on it."
"I see...." she said in return, permitting a small smile to him. "Well, as you say Professor, it is late. I must be retiring."
She rose out of her chair, and in doing so, the clip holding her hair up slipped out, hitting the balcony with a small clatter. Snape bent to retrieve it, and handed it to her without much ceremony.
"Thankyou." she said softly, taking it from him.
"You are remarkably poised, Miss Demidova. You know, it is a rare thing for a witch your age."
She looked at him, somewhat speechless for a moment, and then turned to go through the doors to the house. His voice stopped her again.
"I saw you that evening, on the beach......I was there."
She turned back to look at him, and yet once again lost for words, exited swiftly into the house, his words ringing in her mind.
