CHAPTER SEVEN - THE MUGGLE CAMERA
The remainder of the day was devoted to classes, none of which were particularly remarkable but which Snape found simultaneously a relief and vexatious. He welcomed the opportunity to immerse himself in a familiar and well-worn routine, but was nagged by the wish to be alone and meditate on a strange and anomalous alarm that had been triggered in his mind.
When a 6th year student produced an impeccable potion, first try, and brought it to Snape's table for grading, he almost sobbed with gratitude. It seemed a tiny token in the day of something going right, a moment of clouds parting and a shaft of light coming through, a small flower in a muddy, mown field. The student received a smile from Snape for her work and her eyes widened in consternation, and she turned and hurried back to her desk and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Snape could not explain why he felt this way, but he knew it had something to do with his conversation with Charity Burbage. It troubled him, as if he'd forgotten something important, or committed an impropriety for which punishment would be imminent. He scanned again and again across his words in case his instincts had picked up an error that he himself did not yet know, but nothing blipped, nothing stood out, nothing he'd said should be a problem.
At the end of classes for the day, he returned to his dungeon office unobserved to retrieve the modified potion recipe that Lupin had given him. The potion needed to be started, and he hoped, vainly, that getting that chore underway would somehow assuage him.
He sat at his desk to read through the instructions on the parchment, which took several minutes as the writing was almost indecipherable and smudged. This brought to his mind the typewriter on the table in the archive, an old-fashioned manual, mechanical object. Why couldn't they be used occasionally? What was this wizarding obsession with ink and quills? He vowed to himself that he would ask Charity to let him use it –
And there was a sudden flare in his head, as if he'd touched an inflamed sore, or stung himself.
Charity. Was it she? Was she a threat?
He pictured her warm, laughing eyes and inside his mind, bolted down shields were wrenched open. What? Why? There was nothing about her different to other staff on the faculty, people he worked with every day, for years. What was significant about Charity that he should be hoisted into mental turmoil?
He forcibly dismissed the flare and concentrated on the parchment. The words swam. It was a long, exacting and complicated potion, with a great number of alterations on the version Snape had made for Lupin's September full moon – gathering and measuring the ingredients alone would take hours. If he made a larger batch, would it store?
He should make sure this parchment was kept safe; he thought. He'd never memorise this potion accurately. Perhaps he should archive it. Perhaps he should make a copy, using the typewriter. There was no point using a copy charm if the original was next to useless. He imagined himself going to the archive to do so. Would Charity be there? He could go tomorrow when she wasn't there, but he didn't think he should use the typewriter without her permission.
A log shifting in the fire snapped him out of a reverie, in which he had imagined working on a duplicate with Professor Burbage, mulling over how he could explain the potion without revealing the need for it. Realising he'd wasted almost half an hour on unjustified cogitation, he chastised himself and stamped down the trapdoor steps into his storeroom intent on making a start. If, apparently, he was on a promise from Dumbledore to keep Lupin protected on his own expertise, then this would be the best wolfsbane potion Lupin had ever imbibed.
In the mixing room, the demands of the draught eclipsed his wandering mind and he lost track of time. Dinner came and went without him noticing. He was forced to replace two candles, causing much irritated cursing – why hadn't the elves charmed them to replenish? Around 8pm, a second year student ended up banging on the door due for his detention that Snape had forgotten all about. Snape dropped a vial and the ingredients spilled over the stone floor, ruined. When he flung open the door, furious, the student – Rupert Kennett of Hufflepuff - jumped in fright and said he'd been to both the classroom and his office looking for him. For a moment, Snape considered yelling at him that detention was cancelled, then remembered this particular little toad had been making jokes in class about Neville Longbottom's inventive boggart charm and so decided to be spontaneous.
"I need an assistant. You are to follow any instruction I give you but do not interrupt me. If you finish a task, wait in that corner until I call you again. Understand?"
Rupert nodded, eyes like saucers. At night, in the dungeon, with Snape in full flight over a large cauldron, this was no time to argue a point.
Twice, the potion was unsatisfactory. One was ruined by a mis-measured ingredient because the ingredients were processed in two separate forms, and he'd brought the wrong form up and measured that version out. That had been ruined at 6pm and the cauldron had been peremptorily scourgified, but Snape set Kennett to work anyway, scrubbing the cauldron and the stirrer.
The second potion had been toxified by heat. Too much flame beneath the cauldron – a rookie error. When Snape realized the potion was destroyed, he sent Kennett away and then threw a number of empty, glass canisters at the wall. He was running dangerously low on ingredients, and they were expensive, difficult to get. A special order would need to be placed to restock them. Furthermore, he needed to spend another hour down in the store before starting again.
It was two in the morning before Snape flung himself down on his bed, the Wolfsbane emitting its faint blue smoke in the maturing chamber. Although he hadn't anything to eat or drink since lunch, he was too tense and exhausted to bother. He kicked off his boots with effort and allowed his eyes to unfocus, knowing sleep was far away.
How had it come to be that the man who had stood by while his friends humiliated and degraded him, indeed almost killed him, was now privy to hours of Snape's time and labour? Why was Snape reduced to some kind of peon, when surely it was Lupin who needed to supplicate for the negligence and violence he'd been party to? It was Dumbledore who'd agreed to it, worse, offered it, on Snape's behalf, without consulting him, to secure the wolf for a position that Snape coveted. Why was it that Dumbledore considered a werewolf, who needed constant, high-level maintenance and who posed a deadly risk to the students, a better choice than Snape? Was it the rumoured jinx on the post that Dumbledore was protecting him from – did he believe Lupin dispensable in case the jinx was true?
Anger, now mixing with the stress of the evening, did nothing to aid his rest. Snape tossed and turned, until dawn, when he thought of the mahogany table in the archive, Charity's oddly innocent wand, her smiling at him over her shoulder, and finally relented to sleep.
The next day, Snape showered, shaved and dressed as though his life depended on it. Coffee was a special order for the House Elves, but he would be asking for several. For today, he was not just surviving, not just teaching, but initiating contact with the Board of Governors as well. This audit wasn't going to get done by itself.
He checked on his Wolfsbane before he left. The potion was bubbling about once per ten seconds – perfect. The blue smoke was almost indistinct in the smoky candlelight. Snape straightened. Unusually, he craved sunlight.
Making his way to Great Hall, he heard the dull roar of several hundred head of teen discussing their lives over breakfast. He made his way to the teacher's dais and took his usual seat, this time once more between Lupin and Flitwick. A quick glance over the Slytherin table assured him that everyone was accounted for. He would check in personally after breakfast.
Hagrid came in shortly after him and passed behind his chair. "Morning Severus. Good of yer to join us; we missed you last night. Almost came ter visit."
"No need, thank you Hagrid," replied Severus briskly. "Just caught up in a project. All is well."
Hagrid often took it upon himself to extend his caretaking instincts to Snape, and had done since Snape had been a new entrant, volatile and yet heartbreakingly vulnerable to the practiced eye of Dumbledore and his gamekeeper.
Snape placed his order for a pot of strong coffee, remembered too late his vial of Restoration Remedy and thought wasn't it just ironic that he was too tired to remember a cure for tiredness? The thought of irony reminded him of Charity's claim to ironic humour, and suddenly he froze, wondering if she was at breakfast.
The impulse to look down the table was overwhelming and he forced himself instead to select some food to put on his plate. And then the impulse got the better of him anyway. Fortunately, Dumbledore had said something amusing causing laughter, and even though he hadn't heard it, he pretended he had with an enthusiastic glance in the Headmaster's direction and then a sly look at the far end table. Unfortunately it was almost impossible to see at this angle, the teachers at the far end were hidden from view and he found himself disappointed. He toyed with the idea of fabricating a reason for a visit to one of the other Professors down that end…surely there was some reason to drop by McGonagall…
His coffee arrived. A physical need took priority and he poured himself a cup, forsaking the milk and sugar that had been thoughtfully added to the tray. Lupin watched with interest and said, "Need a boost? I have some Restoration –"
"Thank you, coffee will do."
Lupin finished his mouthful, dabbed a napkin then said, "Tough night? The owls were atrocious – I don't know what gets in to them sometimes – worse than cats – "
"The moon perhaps?"
The barb wasn't lost on Lupin. He stiffened and looked away briefly, then roughly rubbed his moustache with the napkin. "Just trying to be…friendly…alright?"
Snape swallowed a cup of coffee in one gulp, then poured another.
"Dumbledore talked about the plans for Halloween -," Lupin began stoically, but Snape turned his back and began a rather false conversational broadside with a startled Flitwick, who had sunk into a morning repose.
So obvious was Snape's maneuver that the snub would have been obvious to any student watching. Too late, Snape realized, he hadn't stopped to check. Quite apart from the gossip that would have been won as fair game, Snape didn't want to be labelled a hypocrite by his own house. It was a bit too late to teach many of his Slytherins diplomacy now, however. His own conduct in the classroom recently had taught far more than potions – his younger students who revered him had taken wholesome lessons in sarcasm, criticism, humiliation, victimization and dismissiveness to heart.
The bell rang and there was a cacophony of movement as students and teachers alike began moving towards their next appointments. Snape went down to the Slytherin table and caught the attention of Warrington and Pucey. "You two – come to my office after second period, I need to talk to you."
"Yes, sir," Warrington answered, hastily tucking his shirt in. Snape thought this was for his benefit, and made a point of raising his brow, but then saw the boys looking over his shoulder and turned to face Dumbledore, standing behind him.
"Thank you boys," said Dumbledore, in effect dismissing them. He turned to Snape. "A quick word if I may?"
"Certainly Headmaster."
"Lupin's Wolfsbane is on track I hope? I overheard a terrorized young Hufflepuff who enjoyed detention with you last night. And I noticed you missed dinner."
"It is a challenging and onerous potion, if I may be frank, sir. There is now a complete cauldronful, and it appears to be correct, so Lupin should be fine this month. But I have depleted stocks of key ingredients and I will need to order more before next month. I am afraid it will be expensive, particularly as I will need to make delivery fast."
"Will the potion be ready in time?"
"He needs to take it for several days in a row before the full moon once ready. It's maturing at the moment. I think he should start on Halloween." Dumbledore was nodding, clearly quite concerned about it. Snape thought that was well and fine, that his rather glib and fatuous solution to giving Lupin employment was now a bit of a headache for everyone. "By the way sir, that Hufflepuff student, Kennett – he did not know the nature of the potion. I did not disclose it."
"No, he didn't name it, it was I that put two and two together. He was painting a very vivid picture of the mood the potion put you in. As you say, it is a challenging one."
"I have a class, sir, but perhaps we could walk and talk as I have another matter."
Dumbledore indicated he was obliged by indicating the way forward.
"The audit – I should like to visit the Ministry and have a meeting with as many members of the Board of Governors as possible – as I understand it, at least three work at the Ministry on any given day? Including the Chair?"
"Yes, that's right, Sir Byron works in the department of IMC."
"Perhaps, sir, you could send him a letter of introduction and advise him I would like to meet him for guidance, and then I could alert him via Floo when I will be visiting. I may need a substitute teacher that day."
They had arrived at the top of the stairs to the dungeons and they could hear the students waiting outside the classroom for Snape, causing a ruckus.
"A good idea Severus, I shall do that." Dumbledore cocked his head towards the noise. "Have a good morning, lad. I have a Restoration Remedy in my office if you need it."
As Dumbledore walked away, Snape sighed heavily then straightened and braced for impact.
Later that morning, his head pounding, Snape returned to his office, arms laden with homework for marking. Warrington and Pucey were waiting outside, heads bent over something Warrington held in his hands.
"Thank you, boys," Snape muttered by way of getting their attention, and he shifted his load of parchments to one arm while he flicked out his wand with the other to unlock the door. It was a very precise movement of a twitch to loosen the wand from its holds inside his sleeve and letting gravity slide it into his palm.
The Prefects following him in, and as he sat gratefully down behind his desk, Warrington approached the table with the object in his hand and placed it in front of Snape.
"What is this?"
"I believe it's a Muggle camera, sir."
Snape picked it up and examined it. Indeed, it was a Muggle camera, the kind he'd seen other Muggles use when he was a child. If his parents had one, they never used it. These days, when he went home to Cokeworth on holidays, he saw tourists using them, and remembered pharmacies used to process the photographs – sometimes he'd see them in their paper packets ready for the customers on the counter. While there was a superficial similarity in the wizarding world, magical cameras did not use film or need to be developed with chemicals. Rather, the camera was used to select an image with a viewfinder, then a technical charm was employed to transfer it to a glossy paper developed with an eisque developing solution, allowing the image to move.
"Where did it come from?"
"We found some first years playing with it. We think they stole it from the Muggle Studies cupboard."
Snape's head jerked up at this. "Stole it? Which House were they in?"
Pucey looked admonished. "Slytherin, sir. We caught them in the Common Room. I told them you'd be hearing about it."
"Names?"
"Jacob Fetherington and Carmilla Constantinople."
Snape set the camera carefully aside. "Thank you, gentlemen. Please send them to me here after lunch. No, wait - ," he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the Master Class timetable. There were no coinciding free periods for Potions and Muggle Studies for the remainder of the school day. "Send them to me straight after last period." He intended to return the camera, and wanted Charity to be there when he did. "Actually, better deliver them, some First Years won't know how to find me themselves yet."
"Yes sir," said Warrington. "We do have Quidditch practice this afternoon -,"
"You won't need to stay. Just make sure they find my office."
"Yes sir, of course."
Snape indicated for the two Prefects to sit, and when they were, he looked at them levelly for a moment or two. Then he said, "I am giving you each an extra-credit assignment. I need you both to assist me."
The two boys glanced at each other, eyes wide, but not with anticipation, more anxiety. Snape shook his head slightly, guessing what was on their mind. "Not with potions, don't worry about that, but since we're discussing that, if you intend to go onto NEWTs, you're going to have to start taking my class much more seriously before OWLs."
"Yes sir," they both said, eyes down.
"Onto the assignment at hand. The Headmaster has given me a project to manage, and it will be tedious and dull, and involve a lot of fetch and carry type work. But if you do a good job of it, there will be credit for each of you, and points towards the House Cup."
The boys were confused now. "What kind of project?"
"Hogwarts is to be audited, it's a scheme set up by the Ministry and Board of Governors. They want to make sure Hogwarts is up to the same standard as our European counterparts."
"What's it mean to be audited?" asked Pucey, and at the same time, Warrington said, "What do we have to do?"
"Audited means to be examined closely and to pass certain tests. Standards. They'll want to turn over every rock to make sure the school is run properly."
"Who's they? People from the Ministry?"
"Yes. They're called auditors. Unbelievably some people do this for money."
The pair digested this for a few moments. Warrington was nodding slightly, as Snape observed the information being processed telegraph on his features. "So will the auditors want to talk to us?"
"I doubt it. What I need from you will become clearer over time, but what I need to produce is evidence. Where it can be found. The things the auditors will want to see that proves we actually do what we say we do. I'll need your help finding that evidence."
Pucey seemed to have a brainwave. "Why can't you just conjure up evidence?"
Snape carefully controlled his expression. "Because the auditors will probably be expecting that. They'll look for the traces of magic."
"Oh. Will they check your wand?"
"I wouldn't put it past them. Probably most of the House Masters and teachers will need to submit their wands for a reversal if there's due cause."
The two boys appeared to accept checkmate, and sat mutely. They clearly weren't thrilled with the assignment, but had far too much respect for their Head of House to say so. Snape appreciated this. "Don't worry, I won't let it interfere with Quidditch. We still need that Cup. Gryffindor are not backing down."
Warrington grinned, happy to be on familiar territory. "Don't worry sir, we won't let you down on that one."
Snape offered them a strained smile. "I'll be sure to come down for the matches. In the meantime, I rely on you to keep the Slytherin's on track when I can't be around. My schedule is…tight…at the moment. Please keep me informed, and let me know if there are problems."
At long last, the teaching day drew to a close. By late October, 3pm drew a long-slanting light and rich shadows across the lawns. The Forbidden Forest was virtually pitch by this hour under the dense canopy. In the Great Hall and along the corridors with windows, the light was almost tactile, and rectangles of it reflected the counterpanes on the floor.
Snape stood at one of the windows on his way back to the dungeon office having escorted a student to the hospital wing after an eventful 4th year class that finished his day. The student would soon be back on her feet, Madam Pomfrey assured him, particularly since his quick actions had averted further damage. But it cast his mind to the possibility of the medical records being audited at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey was kept impressively busy year in, year out. She had literally saved lives. While she was an indisputable asset to the school, was it normal for students to be exposed to such high rates of harm and hurt? Would their European cousins show similar histories?
Between Quidditch, hexes, jinxes, Jonkos jokes and Potions classes, the students seemed to be in a perpetual state of hazard. That didn't include the odd magical creature losing control, and of course, the various antics visited upon them by the apparently fearless Harry Potter. Dementors, basilisks, escaped convicts and a psychopathic megalomaniac barely caused a blip by comparison. Snape let the sunlight burn through his shut eyelids to the back of his retinas and rubbed his forehead, then briskly swept his robe and marched on back to the dungeon.
The two first year students arrived not five minutes after he had sat down at his desk. Warrington and Pucey were immediately dismissed for Quidditch having delivered their charges as promised. The two students stood across the desk from him, mustering all their eleven-year-old bravado like good Slytherins in the making. But Snape wasn't letting them know that.
"Take your hands out of your pockets!" he snapped at the boy, Fetherington. The lad did so, watched by his friend who seemed suddenly a little uncertain.
He spent a good ten seconds from there just sitting in silence, glaring at them. Their cool ebbed away. If the Prefects had done their job properly, these two should have been primed to expect the worst hour of their life.
"How long have you been at Hogwarts?" he asked them coldly.
"Sir?"
"You arrived on September first. It is now October 29th. That's less than two months. You are less than two months into your stay at this institution, in my House, and you have cost us thirty points."
"Sir!" the two objected loudly together. "Why sir?"
"For stealing!" he rounded on them fiercely. "Fifteen points each. And it's me who has to deduct it. Where did this camera come from?"
Constantinople dropped her eyes immediately at the sight of it. Fetherington decided to bluff it out. "From nowhere. I brought it from home."
"Really?"
"Yes sir. It's mine."
Snape stood and went to the filing cabinet a few feet from his desk. It contained details about the students assigned to Slytherin. Apart from documenting anything significant about them as individuals, about their families (particularly if there were a Death Eater in the background), about their education prior to Hogwarts, he could record information on their file, such as breaches, awards, injuries and the like. He pulled out Fetherington's file and scanned it before fixing an icy stare back at the boy. "It says here you're a pure-blood. That your father owns a stonemasons business with exclusively wizarding clients. Why would there be a Muggle camera in a pristine, magical home such as yours?"
Snape had met Fetherington before when he met with each and every first year at the start of term. The interview had been unremarkable as the boy was a very typical Slytherin novitiate – pureblood, educated at home by tutors, pandered to by house elves, dressed in brand new uniform from Twilfitt and Tattings. No evidence of fascism in the family, but he had a lot of that arrogance that comes from entitlement and indulgence.
The boy paled under Snape's penetrating stare. A few sharp corners would be knocked off the edges of this one before he graduated Slytherin – doing so was a point of pride for Snape. They didn't expect it from their Head of House, a previous Death Eater, so he was always able to catch them unawares. Perhaps he was motivated by envy, by resentment when he contrasted his own home life with theirs. But in greater part it was the truth he'd discovered himself that starving them a little, cleansing them, detoxifying them from those self-satisfied dogmatisms, made them better wizards and witches.
"Well?" Snape demanded, closing the file draw with a bang. "What on earth would a young wizard such as yourself do with a Muggle camera that you can't even work? And even more puzzling, why bring it with you to Hogwarts?"
Devoid of answer, Fetherington shrugged. Constantinople saw the lay of the land. Sensibly, she said, "Professor Snape sir, he – we – took the camera after Muggle Studies. Professor Burbage had asked the class to pass it around and…and at the end of the class we just sort of forgot we had it." A blush crept hotly up her neck and Fetherington hissed at her. "We were going to take it back, honestly sir."
"Except the entire time it is in your possession, not being returned, it classifies as stolen. Having stolen goods on your person makes you a thief. Thieving is strictly in breach of Hogwarts Code of Conduct and the Slytherin Constitution. Hence fifteen points each. I'll be making a note on your file." He turned to Fetherington. "Lying is also unacceptable. Another five points from you. Thank you, students, that's thirty-five points in less than an hour and in under two months. I'll leave it to you to explain to the rest of the House. In the meantime, we are all returning this camera to the Muggle Studies classroom immediately."
Thoroughly dejected, the two First Years left the office with Snape. He made Fetherington carry the camera during the walk of shame to Charity's classroom, his cloak billowing out behind them as he strode, the students trotting to keep up. He walked quickly for fear that she would have finished in the classroom for the day, gone off to wherever she went that had obviously screened her from Snape's notice until now.
Entering the staircase to the second floor, Snape realized he was walking alone, and turned to see that Constantinople had suddenly stopped and staring at Snape with anxious confusion. Fetherington bumped into the back of her. "What? What is it?" He thought for a moment she might need to go to the bathroom.
"Sir, this is not the way to the Muggle Studies classroom. It's on first floor." Fetherington didn't dispute her.
Snape pulled up short. How long since he'd been to Muggle Studies? Had he ever gone back since he gave it up as an elective in Year 3? Surely there must have been some reason to go there more recently? Although he felt mildly discombobulated, he made his expression stony, as if the girl had been an annoyance rather than a help.
"I know, I know – keep moving."
Presently they arrived outside the classroom, and the door was closed. Snape took this as a sure sign Charity had finished with it. His heart sank, but he'd brought the students all the way here so he resolved to leave the camera on her desk with a small note.
"Right, come along, let us return the loot." He pushed open the door and they went through, then Snape stopped abruptly, sighting Charity Burbage upon the dais under a beautiful arched window, where the late afternoon sun filtered through and illuminated the front end of her room in a gentle radiance. She was sitting at her desk, in front of her a microscope, and when she looked up, startled at their entry, the tips of her hair had a bronzed glimmer.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, clearly interrupted from something extremely absorbing. "Severus! What a – and, um, Jacob? Carmilla?"
"Professor Burbage," said Snape officiously, although it took concentration not to smile. "I regret to interrupt you. I come on unhappy business."
He nudged the two students forward towards Charity's desk. With a soft frown, she stood and approached the students. "Whatever's the matter?"
"Fetherington!" Snape barked. "Explain."
The boy held forth the camera to her, which she accepted, still looking confused. "I'm very sorry, Miss. We took your camera after class."
"Oh…I see." The frown disappeared, and amusement smoothed around her eyes. "You helped, Carmilla?"
"Yes Miss. Sorry Miss."
"And Professor Snape caught you with it, did he?"
Snape, his hands clasped behind his back, said, "My Prefects confiscated it. I have deducted 35 points from Slytherin for stealing."
"Thirty-five, goodness," she said, looking very disappointed at the pair. "Stealing is a serious offense. I'm glad you've returned it."
"Yes miss," the pair said in unison, dejected and miserable now.
"Well it seems to be in one piece, so I'll thank you to pop it back in the artifacts cupboard and then I think you can go. Is that alright Professor Snape?"
"As you wish, Professor Burbage."
The children hurriedly shoved the camera back into her special glass-fronted cabinet, then fled the room, a blur of black, silver and green robes.
After they'd gone, Charity turned to Snape with a smile and raised brows. "Well, well. Little rotters. In some ways I'm delighted they found the camera interesting enough to risk."
Snape's heart felt lighter. He hadn't been entirely sure whether seeing her again would be a mistake and that his enjoyment of her company in the archive had been some aberration. But no. He was glad he'd come, glad she was here.
"My apologies on behalf of Slytherin. It's not how I raise them."
She laughed. "They didn't view it as stealing. They seized an opportunity. Combine that with some cunning and inquisitiveness and I'd say it was exactly Slytherin." There was no accusation, she made it sound like a compliment. Along with the broad smile, Snape couldn't help but return it.
"Twice in two days!" remarked Charity, gesturing at him. "Our contact has increased by four thousand percent!"
He chuckled. "Returning the camera gave me a good excuse to see your classroom. It occurred to me I haven't been here in several years."
"Oh, I'm tucked away. Just like the archive."
Snape looked around him. He had very vague memories of classes in here, but his MS teacher hadn't bothered with the room the way Charity had. She had opened every available shutter and maximized the natural light. Then in alcoves along the walls were glass, spherical lanterns holding candles. The desks were polished like the archive table, and she had placed cushions on the bench seats. What he liked most, however, were enormous lacquered posters hanging high on the walls. They were at least 10 feet in height, and were instantly eye-catching as they were bright, coloured photographs, not paintings. Three along one wall depicted in turn a space shuttle launch, an exceptionally clear ultrasound image of a human baby, and the earth lit up at night from space, showing intense pockets of high-density electricity. Along the opposite wall, the image of a deep sea explorer sinking into the depths of an ocean, a graphic of the earth with a slice taken out of it to reveal the various inner layers, and lastly, the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. Charity remained quiet as he examined them in turn. He found himself somewhat humbled and ambivalent.
"Muggles," he said simply.
"They have their own kind of magic," she responded softly. "Some of it dark. It was a difficult task narrowing it down to just six images. Since you've come all the way here, perhaps you'd like to see what I was just looking at?"
He didn't speak, but followed her up to the dais, and her desk, where she motioned towards her microscope. "You've seen one of these before?"
"Yes. I went to a Muggle Primary."
That caused her to turn and grin at him. "Did your Dad want you to have a, quote, normal childhood unquote?"
"My father didn't know I was magic until quite late. He was…not highly involved."
She acknowledged this with a sympathetic nod, then said, "I always ask first. Some kids have never seen or heard of one." With a wry grin, she added: "Mostly Slytherins, actually."
"Purebloods," he agreed.
She positioned her eye against the eyepiece and lightly dialed the focus. "There. I got a slide of human blood, showing the cells. With a better microscope you'd be able to see bacteria, and cell structure. This is a bit of an old one though. Have a look."
Fascinated, Snape stepped forward and looked through the eye piece. The smear on the slide was magnified 400 times. Cells were clearly visible, jittering. While he examined them, finding himself unexpectedly entranced by this invisible world, Charity spoke in a soft voice. "What I wish is that I could teach the kids about the human genome. Our DNA. I happen to know that Muggle scientists have the technology know to read it, interpret it like they've discovered some biological equivalent to the Rosetta Stone."
Snape was still looking, but he was listening closely to her, hearing intensity in her voice, obvious intelligence, the Ravenclaw roots of her.
"I strongly believe that one day, one day in our lifetime, Muggle scientists will discover the gene that makes us magic. They'll figure it out. Even if they don't believe in magic, they'll find something genetic they just can't explain. Then they'll start to put two and two together."
Snape pulled away and straightened, holding her gaze. She wasn't smiling now. He cocked his head slightly. "What will two and two equal?"
"They'll start to investigate this odd, rogue gene. Pull up historical DNA and search for it. When they find it, they'll map the traits to the individual. Find a pattern. We all know that Muggle-borns can't completely hide their magic – they'll find that correlation."
"You think their science is good enough?"
"Severus – computers can do the work of a thousand scientists in minutes. Research is so much faster…it's like technology has, has abbreviated the process…Muggles are on this exponential curve of discovery - ," she frowned, slightly inwardly. "We won't be able to hide. It's not if, it's when."
He blinked, but couldn't escape the obvious gravity of what she was trying to convey. "The Wizarding world will stay one step ahead. It will be like an arms race."
"Not if we're torn asunder from inside. This stupid, stupid obsession of preserving pureblood status. I've done my own research and I haven't found any evidence of pureblood status resulting in superior magic or superior children. It's bald-faced prejudice."
She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and he was distracted by the look of it, the feel of it; her bleak expression.
"I know," he replied sedately.
She frowned at him, blinked slowly and seemed to remember where she was. A quizzical smile softened her face. "I'm sorry Severus, I didn't – I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"
"Don't apologise. You have no need to apologise."
"It's nice to share, I mean, I don't have – the others…" she trailed off.
"I don't…mind…if you want to…share with me," he said, feeling warm, feeling foreign and awkward. His eyes suddenly roamed the room, then back at her. "I, personally, find science interesting."
She offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you. You've just, you've just caught me deep in the middle of something. These slides –"she indicated. "Anyway, I should probably pack up. Not long till dinner."
"I'm sorry. Please don't stop on my account. I'll leave you alone."
"No! I mean, I just meant I'm not normally all weird and intense like this, when you came in I was mid-stream? You know? Like when you're in the middle of a potion?"
At this, he smiled his understanding. "Yes. I'm a bit…focused…when I'm brewing."
"That's why you're so good. You'd have made an excellent scientist. Did you ever consider a Muggle life?"
"No. No I didn't." He wasn't sure if being honest with her about his preferences would be insulting to her, and he watched her reaction closely. "I do sometimes go to my home in Lancashire in the holidays. When I'm there, I use magic sparingly…the neighbours all around are Muggles. But I can't bring myself to go in a lift."
Her eyes widened. "A lift? Why ever not?"
Distaste crept to his features. "I don't like the movement. I don't like the small space. I always take the stairs."
"You'll use the Floo network? And apparate? But you don't like the movement of a lift?" she said, laughter in her voice.
He acknowledged this wryly. He chose not to mention that he was capable of unsupported flight. "I'm not good on a broom," he added. "Adequate at best."
"Ah, me too. I think you're best to learn the broomstick when you're young and invincible. Trying to learn as an adult, all I can think about is falling off. I'm afraid Madam Hooch has just about given up on me."
Unbidden, he imagined being at Spinners End with her, bringing home food in bags from the supermarket. She'd know how to shop at a supermarket properly. He knew how to cook.
"It's amazing watching those kids at Quidditch, how they can move. I can barely stand to watch sometimes," she said.
"They perform with the righteousness of youth. No fear of consequences. Completely immersed in the moment."
"Bless them for it," she murmured in asset. Absently, she was packing her microscope back into its styrofoam mold, then into a wooden box.
"Are these your own?" he enquired.
"The microscope is. Dumbledore gives me a modest budget for the other artifacts, but I brought the microscope from home. I thought I might let the kids see things like plant structure and pond water. But the curriculum won't allow genealogy. I just thought it would be an interesting idea to show them how alike we all are at a fundamental level."
"Muggles and wizarding?"
"No, mud-, sorry, Muggle-born and pureblood."
"I see. Controversial."
"I think Dumbledore worries it will get back to the Board of Governors. Draco's father – you know."
Snape sighed heavily. "Draco does like to share and his father encourages it. But Lucius Malfoy is no longer on the Board. I am in fact hoping to meet with the new chair rather soon. Perhaps I can report back his…leanings."
He followed her to her cabinet where she was putting away the microscope. At his suggestion, she turned and smiled. "That's very kind Severus. But don't make any special effort on my account. I'm just happy to have my job here, I don't want to make trouble."
"I will be subtle," he replied, not wanting her to take away an opportunity for him to do something for her, to please her somehow. When she shut the cabinet door, he murmured, "Better to lock that."
"Mmm." She glanced back at her desk. "I haven't got my wand – could you do a quick -?"
He flicked out his wand and locked the cabinet in moments, then turned to her with his brows raised. "Have you misplaced your wand again?"
"It's on the desk, Severus. I know where it is," she answered with a rueful grin, and returned to her desk, but paused, clearly unable to find it. "I'm sure I put it here. I'm sure I had it with me this morning…"
Snape, who virtually slept with his wand under his pillow, was astounded. "Try summoning it."
"Accio wand," she said, but nothing happened.
"Accio Charity's wand," tried Snape, after a moment, with a little boost from his own wand. It still did not appear. "It will be somewhere it can't escape from," he deduced.
"I might just try my office," she said to him, and then gestured the way, inviting him to follow. He was happy to.
She left the classroom and went a little further up the corridor to another closed door, with a nameplate on the front, Professor Burbage. As she opened the door, her wand flew out almost hitting her in the face. "Ah, there it is. Couldn't get out, you were right."
His laugh was partly at her defending herself against the eagerness of her own wand, and partly at the ludicrousness of leaving a wand in another room, and not even noticing. He was not alone in his dependency on his wand. Her preparedness to go about her business without even noticing its absence brought it home to him just how novice she was.
"Charity, you can't leave it unattended like that. Not only are you exposed without it, but someone could steal it."
"Why would someone steal another person's wand? That's like stealing someone else's keys which is pointless without the lock to use them in."
"A spare wand around the place is never wasted."
Some students were walking down the corridor, and as they passed, they each said, "Sir." He nodded curtly at them. It impressed her. "Wow. They really seem to respect you."
"No, I merely know them. They're forth years now."
It reminded them they were standing in the corridor, and any natural or obvious reason to be there had concluded. But he didn't want to go.
"I, uh, have homework…" she said finally, raising her eyes at him and he could see that she too regretted the inevitable.
He imagined them being in his office together, each at their own desk, marking homework in companionable silence. He would offer to get them tea. The fire would be crackling away.
"Yes of course," he responded gruffly. "I, too. I apologise for taking up your time -,"
"Not at all, Severus. Thank you for returning the camera. And thank you for finding my wand. Again." A small laugh.
"One day I will show you how to use the insert in your gown, or in the sleeve."
In a soft, considered voice she said, "I'd like that."
He stole a moment to take a last sweep of her eyes, hair, mouth, then he turned sharply on his heel and strode away, robe billowing out behind.
