February 15, 1976 - Hogwarts; Continued
Cassiopeia settled even deeper into the library's wingback chair, her mind drifting as she struggled to focus on the dry text in her lap. The room around her was peaceful and quiet - absent even of Ravenclaws who'd already realised their OWLS were 'only' a few months off. Only the sound of Remus' quill, scratching methodically as he scrawled out his essay, filled the easy silence that had settled between them. It was only when she registered its absence, an indeterminable amount of time later, that she realised she had drifted off to sleep.
She blinked open her eyes, watching as Remus' quickly turned his head to look away, an embarrassed flush overtaking his face.
"How long was I out for?" she asked with a little amusement in her tone, replacing the book that had almost slid from her lap onto the table.
"A few minutes," he answered lightly, singing his name onto his completed assignment. "I just had time to finish the last paragraph."
"That's not too bad, then," she yawned, stuffing 'Substance Transfiguration: Metals and Alloys' inside her book-bag with perhaps less care than it should have been afforded. "Merlin, at this rate I won't ever finish reading this, much less by next week."
"Is that when your extra essay is due?" Remus asked, rummaging through his bag. "I think I saw an article on substance transfiguration in the Prophet today - that could be an easier read, if you'd just like an overview."
"It can't hurt to try," she shrugged, taking the proffered newspaper from Remus' hands. "Thanks."
A few minutes later she stood at the entrance to the hall, making a plan to meet again with Remus in a few days. Their conversation was interrupted, however, when unfamiliar Slytherin hastily approached them, calling out her name.
"Nazyalensky!"
She paused, frowning up at her elder Housemate. "Yes? What is it?"
"I was looking for you," he said curtly, coming to stand in front of her. "Promised Snape I'd tell you where he was."
"Well?" she asked with a raised brow, a modicum of alarm beginning to creep into her mind.
"Hospital Wing," came the brusque reply. "Black beat him up, again."
Cassiopeia froze as a series of possibilities, each worse than the next, flashed through her mind.
"Thank you for telling me," she offered up quickly, before turning immediately in the direction of the Infirmary. She walked as fast as she could without running, hearing almost nothing except for the pounding of her heart, and the rushing of blood through her ears.
Remus, after a moment's hesitation, hastened after her.
Arriving at the tall, imposing doors of the Hospital Wing, she paused only to catch her breath for a second before intruding on the cold, sterile environment that was Madame Pomfrey's domain.
Standing at the foot of a bed, the Matron made only a disapproving noise as they entered inside. Made uneasy by this reaction, Cassiopeia moved forward slowly as she sought out Severus between the washed-out sheets, coming to stand carefully, and as non-disruptively as she could, at the mediwitch's side.
Biting her lip harshly, she suppressed an anxious cry at his sight. Though his face looked to have been cleaned, blood still slowly dripped from his bruised and battered nose - striking, bright red against the pallor of his skin.
Madame Pomfrey moved her wand, muttering a litany of spells under her breath as she concentrated on setting his nasal bone to rights. A few moments later, in a sudden rush of movement, she slashed it upwards, a horrible cracking sound ringing through the air.
Severus' lips twisted deeply in a grimace of pain, his eyes fluttering open as Madame Pomfrey cast a reenervate. For a moment, his gaze was unseeing, but seconds later his focus returned, settling on her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her hoarsely, reaching up to touch his face almost unconsciously.
"Never mind that, Mr. Snape," the Matron spoke before she could. "Now - as the tissue on your face is still quite tender, I'd advise you to stay still to avoid furthering the pain. I've done my best to return your nose to its original state, but I'm afraid there may be some slight differences due to the nature of the break, which was much more aggravated than one might typically expect..." Madame Pomfrey paused, giving Severus a meaningful glance. "Is there still no chance of you telling me who caused it?"
"No," her patient responded curtly.
"Very well," she sighed. "Give me a minute, Mr. Snape, and I'll be back to tend to those other injuries of yours."
It was only once she had disappeared that Severus allowed his gaze to roam freely over the room, almost immediately making the realisation that they were not alone.
"Remus."
The werewolf startled from his place against the wall, taking a half-step towards the infirmary bed before stopping himself.
"Hey...Severus," he greeted awkwardly, nervously running his hand through his hair. "I – I'm sorry for what Sirius did. I promise I had no idea - I thought he was going to Hogsmeade."
Severus closed his eyes for a moment, heaving a long-suffering sigh at the indignity of his position. "Don't apologise, it's not your fault," he acknowledged through gritted teeth, as though the very words pained him - which, considering his split lip, could very well be true.
The other boy's eyes lit up at the words, though he was still cautious to close the considerable distance between them. "Thanks, Severus. I'll - Should I ask him what the hell he was thinking?"
Severus rolled his eyes. "Don't bother - he'll only be happy that one more person knows of his achievements.
"Ah - that's true," Remus replied with an embarrassed grin. "Well, I'm glad at least you're not in too bad of a way - " he cut himself off as Madame Pomfrey re-entered the room.
"Everybody out now," she announced, shooing them away. "I'll just be touching up the rest of the bruising now, and afterwards it's peace and quiet for you, Mr. Snape."
Remus acquiesced immediately, leaving with a smile and a nod, but Cassiopeia was not so easily convinced.
"If it's alright, Madam Pomfrey, I'd prefer to stay with Severus for just a little while more," she said, modulating her tone to be soft and hesitating, and laying her hand over his. "I promise I'll let him rest, but I'm worried about...whoever did this...coming back, and - " she bit her lip, the reaction genuine.
The mediwitch's gaze drifted to Severus. "No need to hide the culprit anymore - I overheard you from my office," she sighed, her expression melancholic for a few seconds, before her firm demeanour returned. "Very well, Miss Nazyalensky, but only until curfew. After that, you'll be able to see him in the morning, and by then he should be free to go."
Severus drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter; a combination of magical exhaustion, and a sleeping draught, Madame Pomfrey had explained. For the past hour he had lain almost motionless atop the small bed, only his chest rising and falling with each breath. Now, as the last rays of sunlight began to hit his face, he stirred lightly, making soft noises undistinguishable in their intent.
In sleep, she thought, Severus's face was transformed. His expression, so often nowadays marred by a scowl or a frown, was smooth - the lines around his soft-hued lips, and the corners of his eyes disappearing as if without a trace. She reached out almost unconsciously to trace his brow, only pausing as her fingertips ghosted over his skin, and his lashes fluttered at her touch. She drew them back with guilt, returning to the battered, wooden chair she had drawn to his bedside, and resolving to take in this unfamiliar image only in silent watchfulness.
Slowly, however, as time passed by, her mind began to wander further - and when Severus stirred once more she was struck by an idea.
Taking care to stay as quiet as she could, she rummaged through the contents of her bag for a second, almost immediately finding what she sought. Carefully, she took out her ream of vellum, flipping though it to retrieve a parchment of appropriate length.
She paused suddenly as if frozen, her blood running cold as she took in the sight of the newspaper Remus had given her, tucked between the pages. Unthreatening, in and of itself, but the front page news -
Muggleborn Couple Gruesomely Attacked; Victim Toll of Hate Crimes Rises
The magical photograph which took up most of the front page had been purposefully blurred, yet even the powerful spell could not conceal the brutality of the bloodbath that had occurred. The victims' house was razed to the ground, still smouldering with purple flames, and the two sheet-bound bundles laid out beside it seeped with blood - almost concealed by the swarm of first-respondents that had rushed to the scene.
Her hands trembled as she took in the sight - immediately certain as to who had orchestrated the assault. There was only one thought in her mind, blocking out all others:
Why?
She gripped the paper tightly, feeling it crumble and tear beneath her fingertips. He'd promised her - promised to end the violence, promised that he did not desire to spill magical blood.
Did it really mean nothing?
She placed her head in her hands, letting the paper drift to the floor. She watched its descent, feeling as though time had slowed to a halt as the image of the killing grounds and of the bodies replayed on the page, again, and again. Finally, at the last moment, the paper overturned, hitting the floor with an almost deafening sound.
Gods. She closed her eyes, hoping desperately to block out the image which had already imprinted itself deep within her mind. Gods.
Anger and betrayal surged within her, unbidden. She should have known they were only pretty words, only false sentiments expressed to draw her mind away from the bloody reality of his plan. And still, nonetheless, she had been pulled in - made to feel as if a Dark Lord held her in any regard.
And even now, as she accused him of deceit and of manipulation, she could not help but feel that perhaps his words had been genuine, that perhaps he had truly begun to take interest in her thoughts and proposals, and perhaps even considered them.
She could not know - would probably never know. But she was in too deep to do much else except continue to follow along, maybe hoping desperately that one day she would know. And perhaps, if her thoughts were wrong - if he still meant what he said - perhaps she could come to understand, come to prevent another attack from ever taking place.
Heart hammering with adrenaline, she took out her quill.
Valens Gaunt -
She had barely put her first words to paper when the office door creaked open, Madame Pomfrey's form, blurred by the evening gloom, slowly stepping out onto the floor. Cassiopeia's eyes snapped to Severus - still asleep, still vulnerable - and leaned her head against a bedpost, closing her eyes, and allowing her body to go limp.
Seconds later the mediwitch stepped up beside her, and Cassiopeia fought to keep her appearance relaxed under her gaze and scrutiny. There was a moment of silence, before Pomfrey let out a breath of amusement, stepping forward to take the stationary from her hands, and lay it onto the floor. With an unspoken spell, she summoned a soft, woollen blanket from somewhere far away, and tucked it around her body carefully, before returning to her office with a whispered, 'Goodnight.'
Cassiopeia blinked back tears at the Matron's tenderness, only daring to move once she heard nothing but the quiet hum of the night air. The letter on the floor, barely visible under the moonlight, tempted her - an outlet for the turmoil of thoughts and emotions that enveloped her brain.
The blanket's warmth prevailed over all else, however, a comforting weight which calmed her fraught mind, and made her limbs grow heavy and pliant. She closed her tired eyes, and in a moment of weakness allowed herself to slip onto the bed, curling up at Severus' side.
Valens Gaunt -
Thank you for the insights provided in your latest letter. I am beyond appreciative of your patience in teaching me our wizarding customs and traditions; as I become further enlightened, I bemoan the complete lack of education on these subjects that our curriculum provides.
Nonetheless, per your advice, I will be attempting to seek out a suitable place to perform the Ostara ritual next month, and will speak to my Defence teacher soon regarding further reading material, as I have come to believe - through my interactions with her - that she would be amicable to my cause.
I stress all of this, as I also wanted to mention my surprise - and to be forthright, dismay - at the story presented in the news just yesterday. If you would be so willing, might you elaborate on your reasoning behind the targeting of this attack? I had thought that through our discussions, a mutual goal had been made clear: the preservation of our people. Now, I fail to see how the spillage of magical blood will aid us in this endeavour, but perhaps I am missing something. I would defer to your judgement, but I must reveal that the attack struck me as particularly vicious and violent, when there is rarely any need for that to be the case. Similarly, I would advise you - should such actions be committed again - that it may be prudent to extinguish the flame curse that Lucius so enjoys to cast. I worry that its appearance at the scene of these attacks only makes it easier for the press to find connections and craft narratives - all of which are slowly turning people from our side. Of course, stopping such actions altogether is another viable option that I would like to once more suggest.
I apologise for sounding discomposed, but I hope to make it clear how much such attacks on our own blood worry me. There are few enough of us alive, and it has been - and still is - my fervent view that every drop of magical blood is precious in its own right. Of course, the blood of the pure should be valued more in every way, but even filthy blood has its uses - and I must admit my distaste for seeing it go to waste.
Lastly, however, to answer a question you posed, regarding Severus' training in the mind arts: I am almost certain that he has had none, and certainly he has never expressed any interest or desire in their pursuit. I would also tell you how he came to discover the Headmaster's invasion upon his mind, but I'm afraid that he is asleep at the moment, under the influence of a draught. I shall ask in a few hours when he awakes, but I will need to deliver this letter to Tully now, if I hope to do so at all before the coming week.
I await your response eagerly.
- Cassiopeia
•••
My greatest apologies for the delay - a combination of factors made it difficult for me to write this week's chapter. As I feel it is not my best work, by far, I will attempt to make it up to you next week, as by then I should have much more time and energy to put into this work. Thank you for your patience, and for SilentMayhem's and Stephanie MRV's help. I appreciate all of you :)