CCIII

When is a door not a door? It was impossible to think like a fae, but he knew that the little wanker would not set such a riddle if it weren't solvable.

Severus stopped pacing when something rubbed against his back. He'd bespelled a pocket into his belt because he had no wish to be encumbered by one of those ridiculous furry pouches the Scots seemed to find necessary.

A moments' fishing about rewarded him with the knotted ribbon he'd been given earlier.

What was needed was either a centenarian…or a scholar.

Slipping a knot free, Severus summoned Madam Pince.

CCIV

With a loud pop, Irma Pince, a usually staid and dignified witch, appeared in the ritual circle screaming, "What in Merlin's name was THAT?"

Molly rushed over, uttering soothing nonsense. "Remember that spell cord we gave Severus? That's all it was." She dusted the librarian off with a flick of her wand, and licked a finger, leaning in to fix one of the hairs that escaped from Irma's bun.

"Don't you dare, Molly Weasley. I am fine. Justifiably ruffled, but fine. Now." Those steely eyes swivelled to Severus and for a moment he felt like he was 11 again and caught pencilling his notes into a book. "What did you need, Severus? It is getting chilly out here."

Straightening, Severus shoved all thoughts of how he was dressed compared to the old harpy and reminded himself that she was here to help him and that he'd best not point out the disparity for his own mental health. "I need help deciphering a riddle posed by a fae who last set foot in Britain over 100 years ago."

Irma fixed him with a level gaze. "And what is the riddle?"

Severus intoned, "I quote: When is a door not a door?"

CCV

Irma Pince tapped a forefinger on her lips pensively. "A door. And I presume this riddle was posed for a lark?"

Severus whipped his head about to glare at the witch, but his rational mind caught up with her meaning. Context was everything. "He answered a question with a riddle."

"I wanted to know if the barrows are not safe, where might Hermione cross over? In legend, the crossroads…" Molly stopped prattling in alarm. Severus must have been growling.

The librarian's eyes lit up with inspiration. She turned and addressed the fae. "Kind sir, would you please repeat the riddle?"

CCVI

With all of the flair of a Shakespearean actor, Puck struck a pose with one arm lifted to the sky and recited, "When is a door not a door?" He took special care to enunciate each syllable, rolling the R on the last door.

Nodding slowly, Pince sparkled with the glow of an academic who knew the answer to one of life's biggest questions. "When it is a sacred door, of course!" She rolled the R, too.

Puck swept a courtly bow. "Well reasoned, my lady."

"Well?" Severus was rapidly losing patience.

Pince had pity and answered plainly, "The oak tree is also known as the daur, and is thought by English scholars to be the etymological root for the word door. You need to find this forest's oldest and most Sacred Tree, specifically an oak. It is a tree of life which we see described in many mythologies. Quite the opposite to a door meant for the dead." She had abandoned the tone of a lecturer towards the end, her eyes shining.

Severus turned to regard the Forbidden Forest in dismay. "There must be hundreds of wand-quality oak therein. How can we know which one is the right one?"

CCVII

Madam Pince raised up upon her toes and looked about the circle for a particular face. "Where is that witch?" She squinted, taking notice of the people outside the circle. "Oh!" She covered her eyes quickly in alarm, "I beg your pardon!"

The couple, deeply involved with one another, took no notice whatsoever.

Turning away, Pince peeked through her fingers to find Puck openly leering at her. He reached over and gently pushed her hands away. "How funny you mortals are. Fornication is as natural as nudity, my callow crone!"

Severus drawled, "Amusement aside, who are you looking for, Irma?"

CCVIII

Blushing as pink as a spring dawn, Madam Pince answered Severus' question. "I am looking for our expert in Herbology." She narrowed her flinty eyes at Puck and took a blatant step away from him. The fae merely grinned, looking pleased with himself.

Straightening, Severus dangled the knotted ribbon for Irma to see. "I could use this."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Pince shifted closer to Severus and farther away from the fae, who was observing them both in open amusement. "Go on, then. We're in a tearing hurry aren't we?"

Severus slipped a knot loose, calling, "Pomona Sprout!"

CCIX

A pop echoed within the circle, but this time it was Sybil who screamed in shock at the sudden arrival of her colleague, summoned by the ribbon she'd helped create.

Severus was mortified. Not only had he pulled Pomona into the circle, but a lucky wizard as well. He was a strong young lad who held her up with her legs wrapped about his waist, a perfect height for an ardent snog, which they both enjoyed. Athletically.

Rolanda Hooch muttered in quiet admiration, "Isn't that Connolly, beater for the Kestrals? And the Irish National team. Oh, good for you, Pomona!"

AN:

Written for grangersnape100, Spring Fever Challenge.

Thanks to Qdrew for her beta expertise.