Warning: alcohol abuse

Chapter 13: In the Dungeons

Ever since he had heard the discussion of what had occurred between Ron Weasley and the contessa the night of Black's attack, Severus had been awaiting an opportunity to ask her about it. When they had dined with her friend in Hogsmeade, she had drunk a bit too much, which seemed to be a common occurrence with her when her daughter wasn't in residence. Her genteel reserve faded, and she became lively and talkative – and unguarded – at such times.

He had been able to get her to discuss the concept of "sharing memories" and had subtly probed her for information. She had been willing to talk, but he had not learned much that was useful. She had admitted that it took a lot of concentration and energy to do it properly and that she was not nearly as skilled as some of her Janarra "sisters", as she called the other witches of her clan. One of the Weasley twins had been bragging that she confided in him that the daughter was already learning how to do it. Calyxa confirmed this but had also said the child would not be able to perform that magic until she was older.

Overall, Severus was satisfied with the night's work. It had been a good beginning and one on which he was determined to build. In addition, that evening had provided much more entertainment than he had anticipated. Calyxa had been flirting with him and Lupin, and even Flitwick to a certain extent. He had to admit that he had enjoyed her performance. Who wouldn't have? She was brilliant and had looked very attractive, flushed with wine and incandescent with some ineffable quality. Lupin had been falling out of his chair in his desire to get near her, and when she kissed him, the pathetic werewolf had gone to pieces.

Actually, Severus had felt a sharp pang of compassion for Lupin at first, knowing what it was like to have a woman toy with his affections before pushing him away. He had learned to avoid making himself vulnerable to appealing females, something the foolish werewolf was obviously unable to do.

Almost as soon as he recognized it, his disgust twisted the weak feeling of compassion into hatred, anger, and bitterness. He hated Calyxa for using her feminine wiles so effectively, and he hated Lupin for succumbing to her so easily, and he hated himself most of all for feeling sorry for the idiot.

Let's see her try something like that with Lucius, he thought viciously. Of course, Lucius would never put up with such teasing. He would demand – and get – satisfaction from such a dangerous game. Lupin was a pathetic fool to let himself be used and toyed with that way.

Even as he thought it, he imagined that Calyxa was too clever to tease someone like Lucius. A woman of her experience would know that a pathetic excuse for a man like Lupin would let her get away with almost anything whereas Lucius would not. She had a talent for assessing men and knowing just how to deal with them. Severus wondered how she saw him and how she would deal with him if he made an overture towards her. He imagined she would perceive the type of woman that he liked and would use that knowledge to gain some kind of control, some kind of upper hand, over him. In his mind, he assumed that learning Sexual Magic had given her some kind of terrible ability to seduce and influence the men who fell victim to her snares.

Soon after that night, Calyxa came to him and asked if he had any time to tell her how the Wolfsbane potion was brewed.

The perfect opportunity – she wanted to sit down and talk with him! "Certainly." His mind raced. "If you would be agreeable, let's finish up what I have left of Chateau Lafitte Rothschild this evening."

"You still have some?" she asked in surprise, smiling.

"I do," he replied. "I have a bit of paperwork that I need to deal with first. Would eight o'clock suit you?"

"Would it suit me? Certainly," she agreed.

He eyed her suspiciously. "You wouldn't be planning on arriving late, would you?"

She laughed in response. "Not at all. There is no need. A late arrival ensures that one has a captive audience. Any matter," she eyed him thoughtfully, "I cannot imagine you would be at all impressed with an entrance, and I am not to waste effort."

It was difficult to keep from making a sarcastic remark in response to that, but he managed to control his tongue and said something civil. As soon as he returned to his quarters, he opened the wine bottle to let it breathe. In addition, he had a less expensive, but still good quality, bottle of red wine, reasoning that after the first had been drunk, she wouldn't be able to determine the lesser quality as easily.

The lady arrived perfectly on time, and once she was settled in a chair with a glass in her hands, he began to describe the complicated method for brewing the Wolfsbane potion. Not once did her attention falter, nor did she ask any questions. She remained watching him and listening very intently. Not in all his years of teaching had anyone paid such undivided attention to his instructions, and he relished the feeling.

"Teach me to prepare it," she urged rather suddenly.

He frowned in response.

"Show me how," she repeated.

"Wolfsbane? It is a highly complex potion to make and very few wizards have mastered it. I don't teach such things."

"That is because you have never had a student like me," she countered.

His lip curled at her immodesty. It was her most unattractive trait.

"Oh, by Losna," she muttered, getting up to pace. "You have never had a student like me, and all your grimaces and looks of distaste cannot change that. I have asked you for what I want. Now, it remains for you to answer yes or no."

He considered her, rubbing his lower lip with his index finger. "You ask a lot. No doubt you'll offer a lot in return."

She laughed. "I suppose you will not be satisfied with a kiss," she teased.

He froze. What did she mean? Was she laughing at him? Did she imagine he thought of her that way? Didn't she think he was in love with another woman?

It took him what seemed like an eternity to realize what she was talking about. He had once desired a kiss in exchange for a similar favor, but that had been a long, long time ago.

"I can provide something that you want," she continued. Meeting his eyes, she assessed him with a smug little smirk. "A complete translation of La Saggezza delle Streghe."

His breath stopped. Since he was a boy, he had been trying to obtain an English translation of the ancient Etruscan classic The Wisdom of the Witches. Years ago, she had realized it and tempted him by translating one chapter into English. "No such translation exists," he countered. "Unless you..." He looked at her questioningly.

"Not yet." She drained her glass and held it out for more. "If you invest your time in giving me what I want, then I shall invest time in giving you what you want."

He considered it as he refilled her wineglass. To translate the ancient text... it was far more work than teaching her to brew Wolfsbane potion. He would be in her debt, then. Most profoundly so. And he did not like to be in anyone's debt.

"Not quite a fair exchange." She spoke his thoughts. "Besides the chapter I did for you years ago, I have done some of the translation already to publish with research. I am due to end the student-based research in early May so that they can prepare for their examinations. Such employment shall keep me out of mischief."

Even if he was to be in her debt, he knew perfectly well that she would not hold it over him and demand something in return in the future. "Very well, but I shall expect you to do the work, same as any other student."

"I will not waste your time," she vowed.

The lessons began the following week. Despite his complicated feelings in the matter, Severus found the experience unique. She remembered everything he said, so nothing ever had to be repeated. It was remarkable, for she had no special aptitude for Potions. When she did actually ask a question, it was for clarification of something he said, which annoyed him because her questions indicated that he had not properly explained the procedure. As much as it galled him to admit it, she had been right: he had never had such a student. Her discipline and concentration in combination with her memory made his job remarkably easy.

Her memory. Interesting. What did her incredible memory and sharing memories have to do with the strange magic of the Janarra clan? She usually remained silent during the lessons and instead focused all her attention on his instruction. A way to get her to relax and talk was necessary, but he couldn't think of one at first.

The idea was a brilliant one, and as usually happened with such things, he never could quite recall how or when it occurred to him. He invested in quite a few nice bottles of wine and began to offer her a drink in the evening when she came for her lessons. Of course, she was delighted to drink with him and did not notice that he sipped one glass while repeatedly refilling hers.

Various stages of inebriation did nothing to affect her keen mind, so her work did not suffer; however, the wine relaxed her and loosened her usually reserved tongue so that she spoke candidly. Although he disliked chatter and idle talk, she often spoke of academic matters that interested him. It also gave him an opportunity to witness how her mind worked, how she reasoned things out, how she followed strings of logic.

At the end of April, some religious holiday of the Janarra drew Calyxa away from the school overnight, and when she returned, the child and nanny were with her. Before Christmas, Severus had paid little attention to the girl. Calyxa had mentioned, however, that Amanita had already begun learning the disciplines that were the basis of everything that the Janarra did. She was Janarra, as was the nanny. If he approached them correctly and with the right questions, he might be able to learn a lot.

At lunch, the child and nanny sat with Calyxa. He usually avoided the girl; however, he decided to make an overture to becoming better acquainted. It would not be difficult. The little girl talked rather excitedly so one could easily locate her by sound if she was in the vicinity. He planned his arrival and only had to loiter on the stairs for a few minutes before he heard them coming. Timing it perfectly, he climbed to the top of the stairs just ahead of them.

He turned at their approach. "Ladies," he said with a polite nod.

"Good day, Professor Snape," said Calyxa with a smile.

"How fortunate. I shall now have the honor of entering the Hall with three charming companions." He had rehearsed the sentence in an effort to sound as casual as possible although he knew very well that someone like Lucius would have spoken more smoothly.

All of them laughed, even the child, which made him feel instantly ridiculous. Stupid. He swore to never try something like that again.

As it happened, though, his effort paid off. Sitting between the child and the nanny at lunch, he talked with Amanita a little, which caused Calyxa to watch with an expression blending bemusement with warm affection. He knew that she was surprised at his taking the time and effort to be kind to the child, for he was not fond of children of any age, especially the noisy, tiresome age of four. On the other hand, Lupin sat on Calyxa's other side and monopolized her during most of the meal, which gave him the opportunity to speak privately with the child.

"Is it difficult when you practice sharing memories?" he asked the child when Calyxa was distracted by the werewolf.

"Do you mean compartecipazione delle memorie?" asked the little girl, stumbling over the long word. "I don't like it. It's hard and it makes my head hurt. I like the Memory Palace."

"The Memory Palace?" he asked. "What's that?"

"A place to keep memories. Mine is only little, but Mama's is very big. Papa can't do it. He said it's too neat for him, and he likes to be messy in his mind."

"So you mother has a big Memory Palace? How do you know it's very big?"

"I visit in that place sometimes. She builded the entrance like Grandpapa's entrance of his palazzo. It is too pretty."

"You visit your mother's Memory Palace?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes." She looked at him in confusion. "Don't you?"

He didn't know how to respond. "No, I don't have time," he said smoothly. "What do you do when you visit her Memory Palace?"

"I learn how to build mine. I took the same entrance hall like Grandpapa's house." She pushed her plate towards him. "Professor, will you cut more lamb chop, please?"

A flick of his wand set his knife to cutting her meat; Calyxa turned back to them at that point. "Darling, are you being polite to Professor Snape?"

"She is perfectly polite," he assured her as the knife finished cutting and settled down on the table. Although he was unable to continue questioning the child, he had learned enough for now.

As soon he had time, he went to the library and had Madam Pince help him find him any references to Memory Palaces. That night, he spent hours reading about the unusual Medieval mnemonic device. The secret to Calyxa's remarkable memory was obvious, but something was lacking in what he learned. How did a construct of one's mind that was used to aid memory provide a place where others could visit? Clearly, there was something that the texts could not tell him, and he knew that it was because the Janarra were different. But in what way?

With only a few weeks left in the school year, something happened. No one could say exactly when the row had occurred, but the frigid civility that developed between Lupin and Calyxa pleased and amused Severus tremendously. Whatever they had fallen out over was immaterial. The werewolf was absolutely wretched and pathetic, which Severus found delightfully entertaining. Calyxa still spoke to him with the same gracious reserve she used for everyone else, but the change from the close friendship, which most of the staff had mistakenly assumed was a love affair, was dramatic.

Even more, old Filch, who had developed an odd protective liking for Calyxa, now treated Lupin as if he were a criminal. The whole situation was immensely enjoyable for Severus.

The school year was coming to an end, and Calyxa had admitted that she was heartily sick of the noise and disorder of the students. She had wrapped up most of her research a few weeks earlier so as not to distract the students from preparing for their examinations. The Weasley twins still came to her office despite having to prepare for their O.W.L.s, but Severus imagined that the aspiring Lotharios were not interested in research as much as the lady's sordid reputation.

The first lesson after her row with Lupin, she could not concentrate. Schooling himself to not grow annoyed at her restlessness, he simply poured the wine and watched her agitated pacing. It was obvious that nothing would be accomplished that night.

After ten minutes and as he poured her third glass, she sat down on the other side of his desk and picked up the flat whetstone he used to sharpen his instruments. "I am glad to see that you use this," she remarked. "I had forgotten about it."

He said nothing. There was really nothing for him to say. She fidgeted with the stone for a while and then set it down and picked up her glass. The hostility between her and Lupin must have discomposed her more than it had originally seemed. After just a sip, she set the glass down again.

"Losna." She rubbed her hands over her face. "Severus... what is going to happen if they do not catch Sirius?"

"That is a question for the headmaster, I think." Since they were not actually working, there was time, and he considered how to turn the conversation to his advantage. "Why did you go out with him?"

"With Sirius?" she asked. "Well... he was very dear to me."

"Yet you turned him down when he asked you to the dance," he reminded.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Yes, I recall. He was awful then. I think I was afraid of him."

He recalled her turning down Black very politely when the arrogant prat deserved contempt. "And then you did something I would have thought impossible. That I have never seen anywhere else."

She frowned at him, not comprehending. "Do you mean the song? The project that Remus and I presented for Charms?"

"No, of course not," he sneered. "Useless idiocy. I am referring to the ritual you performed. The ritual of the dead that I participated in."

A little nostalgic smile touched her lips. "You remember that?"

"It is something that would be hard to forget," he said honestly. In fact, it was the root of his obsession with the Janarra clan and their special type of magic. The image of her holding a swirling sphere of light and then drawing that light inside her was seared onto his memory. And after that, a memory so powerful that he rarely allowed it into his conscious mind, she had embraced him and the others, and the light had been inside all of them as well…

"It was the first time that I performed a ceremony alone. Without my mother."

Of course. Less than a year after the event in question, she had lost her mother, he remembered and sought to steer her away from the melancholy memories. "Do you know how Lupin is helping Black?" he asked her. "To get into the castle, I mean?"

The question confused her. "Pardon me?" Although she did not slur her words, her accent was stronger.

"How is Lupin helping Black? You must have some idea."

She shook her head at him. "No. You are mistaken. Remus knows nothing. He thinks he might kill Sirius if he must."

He sighed in disappointment. No doubt, it was the truth as she saw it. Nothing useful would be gained from her about this. On the other hand, she could be mistaken. She was certainly mistaken about him trying to make someone jealous.

Or was she? The mistake that she had made was to jump to the wrong conclusion: that he was trying to make a witch jealous. A female. Of course, she had correctly perceived that he wanted to be seen with her to make someone envious, but that someone had been Lucius, and it had worked beautifully.

A change of subject was definitely needed, and he decided to steer the conversation in another useful direction. "When will your daughter be able to do such things?"

She looked at him with raised brows and considered him for several long seconds. He felt a bit uncomfortable and topped off her glass even though it wasn't empty. "Does your lady have children?" she asked. "Is that why you are getting to know Amanita?"

The question startled him. How could someone so brilliant and intuitive be so misguided about his motivations?

"Forgive me. I attempt to invade your privacy at every turn, but I mean it in a kindly way." She looked into her glass and swirled the wine. "I know what it is like to want someone that I cannot have."

What an interesting thing to say. Although she was short and not particularly pretty, she had an air, an elegance, a... something. A disarming quality. An appearance of ease and comfort in all situations. An absolute confidence. Knowing her, it was probably something learned rather than natural, not that it mattered. The net result was that it was hard to imagine that there was a man she couldn't have. On the other hand, if she wanted declarations of undying love, which not all men were willing to make, she might be disappointed. Whatever she meant, he wondered for whom she was pining. The knowledge could prove useful in the future.

"Amanita will not be capable of performing a ceremony for many years," she said. "The onset of menses is when girls may start wielding that power. The ability to create life is a powerful thing as well."

What she said made sense: puberty was when young witches and wizards could learn some of the most powerful types of Old Magic, and it fit with her theory of cyclical time. Unfortunately, her frank mention of intimate subjects made him uncomfortable. "Can't men participate in such things?" he asked.

"Certainly. The men of the Janarra are very powerful in Ancient Magic. My father and even my former husband are both very adept indeed."

"Why is it then that we only ever hear about Janarra witches?"

Having raised her glass for a sip, her eyes flew to his over the rim, and she swallowed before answering. "Because our Goddess is female."

Not since they were teenagers had he felt such contempt for her and such disgust for her ancient religion. "Is that a modern interpretation?" He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

She studied him for a moment as if trying to decide how to answer him. "If you think about it, the metaphor is an appropriate one. She is the mother of all monthly cycles."

No one else in the world took such ease in discussing subjects of a personal nature; nevertheless, he controlled his discomfort. This was the second time in as many minutes that he had found himself uncomfortable with something that made sense. Was there some key here that would unlock the secrets of the Janarra?

"Our cousins, the Tanarra, worship a male God," she informed him, "and they have many more males than females. They are patriarchal."

"Their magic is practically useless," he retorted and regretted it immediately.

"Useless?" She looked aghast at his blasphemy. "You evaluate magic based on how useful it is to you personally?"

"I don't mean to be disrespectful," he assured her. "I am merely curious."

The way she eyed him spoke volumes of her skeptical view of that comment. "The Tanarra draw their magic from the stars, a source of power far greater than anything else of which we know."

"But too far away," he pointed out.

She drank her wine and considered it. "No. The distance is necessary. Without it, they would have to deal with Wild Magic unlike anything we have encountered, and it would be extremely dangerous."

Reaching to refill her glass, he asked, "What is the difference between Wild Magic and Old Magic?" The bottle was empty, so he got up to fetch and uncork another.

"You will do well to read La Saggezza delle Streghe. I shall give you the bits that I have completed." She turned in her chair to continue the discussion. "Wild Magic, such as we use, is very dangerous and hard to control. Our ancestors slowly developed their methods over eons. There is no limitation to what can be done, but like children playing with complicated potions, there is much that we do not understand. We must experiment very slowly and carefully."

Severus stood very still with the new wine bottle in his hand. "So the other clans do not undertake Wild Magic?"

"No." She smiled. "And historically, females handle Wild Magic whereas males do not. In general, men have a predilection for trying to control magic, for trying to force it, to bend it to their will. You have seen young brutes attempting to create useful potions."

"Every day," he sighed.

"Yes, well, then you know that such things rarely work effectively. Especially with Ancient Magic. Never with Wild Magic. It seems that girls have more of a natural inclination for the delicate touch. My brother did not really find the ability until after he was thirty years of age!"

"Thirty?"

"And he was learning it all his life." She smiled with a wicked glint in her eyes. "And you will not learn much that is useful from Amanita."

He froze but managed to keep his expression neutral. She knew? She knew and had said nothing?

"Borodin is much more acclimated to such things," she went on, "but he has a gentle touch in all things. Well, almost all things."

Although he was very relieved that she had not said more about his attempts to learn secrets from the daughter, Severus frowned. Was she still in love with Prince Borodin? No, she had mentioned wanting a wizard whom she couldn't have, and a husband, or ex-husband, didn't exactly fit the description. It wasn't Lucius, whom she detested, nor Lupin who panted after her in desperation. It had to be someone else, someone in London.

Too bad. Drunk or not, there was no way, really, to weasel it out of her and no way to know if it would be useful information. On the other hand…

"The prince is not the one you meant earlier, was he?" he asked.

"Borodin?" she laughed. "By no means. I am relieved to be rid of him."

"I am sorry. It is not easy to imagine that there is a wizard whom you cannot have."

At that statement, she looked at him with an odd expression that he could not define. To his horror, he saw tears dribble from her eyes. "I think that is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me," she remarked in a whispery voice.

She got up from her seat and came around the desk to embrace him. It was awkward because he was sitting in his desk chair; he stood up as well, and she reached up to kiss his cheek. Her face was wet with tears, which he found revolting.

"Thank you for talking with me. For giving me something else to think about." She was smiling at the same time as tears flowed from her eyes, and her voice was almost normal. "I shall go now. I am sorry for wasting your time, but thank you."

He frowned at her. "Perhaps a good night's sleep would be best for you."

"I think you are right," she sighed.

He escorted her to the door. "I will not forget that you have promised me the parts of La Saggezza delle Streghe that you have finished translating."

She laughed then, a real laugh. "I would expect no less."

When she was gone, he returned to his desk, he sat down and finished the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Wild Magic," he said aloud.

The usual thanks go to Vaughn, Phoenix, Clara Minutes, and Finrod the Faithful.