Chapter 33: Silva praeco

Soon, they arrived at the portkey point, never coming across the servant and the Half-blood. That incident had slipped from her mind to join with the other unimportant matters. Reaching up, she unclasped her invisible necklace, and slowly, she laid it on her palm. "The portkey," she said by way of explanation, squinting against the light of the setting sun as she looked at Snape. How were the Flamels going to react? How would Nicolas?—since this was partially for him. Her brows knit together briefly before they smoothed once again. Cyrna held out her hand. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

It would be fine. Perenelle would get new company, Nicolas would get an intellectual conversation, and Snape would stop asking. Definitely a win on multiple fronts.

Cold, bony fingers enclosed her hand in a stiff grip. It was like the time when he had dragged her out of her own mind, except it was more solid. More tangible and present.

"Any time now," drawled Snape with impatience.

Cyrna snapped out of her thoughts. "Home," she said, and then the space warped around them, squeezing and pulling in all sorts of directions before finally shuddering to a stop.

They landed in the fields, their lengthened shadows darkening the overgrown stalks of grass.

By the time she had reoriented herself, Snape had already surveyed their surroundings and had spotted the mansion. It was near, the only hint of order in what was basically the middle of nowhere. The grass rustled around her as she shuffled over to her professor.

"There's not another person in this godforsaken place… hiding from something are we, Miss Raine?" Snape said idly, so casually as if he was speaking of the weather.

"We—" Cyrna caught herself. Tricky bastard. "I don't know—Sometimes, I wonder how it would've been to live nearer… well, everybody else. But still, I like it here." Snape was closely watching as she shrugged. "You'd have to ask my parents why they chose this place—or why don't you tell me what you think after meeting them?"

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do mind who you speak to."

Cyrna resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she refastening her necklace. "Right, well then Professor, I'll portkey you to Diagon Alley when you'd like to leave."

"Is that so? How… convenient." Snape sneered. With an expert flick of his wrist, his wand flew to his hand, and he muttered rapid strings of Latin, faster and quieter than what she could catch. With the low, silky drone, Cyrna almost found it unfortunate when her professor stopped with an angry scowl. His brows were furrowed and he was glaring darkly at her. "Unplottable," he murmured finally. "Or under heavy magical protection."

"Which is why I offered to portkey you away. Of course, if you have your own, you could use that instead." She paused then smirked. "You're welcome, sir."

His lips twitched as he made a noncommittal sound. Cyrna blinked. What was that? But he had looked away, hiding his expression.

"Irritable child," Snape muttered before striding towards the mansion, his voluminous black robes billowing behind him.

Cyrna stared at him in aghast. "I heard that you know!"

"A pleasure to know that your ears function normally," Snape drawled sarcastically. "Shall I offer you my congratulations?"

Cyrna's eyes sparked with mischief, a grin curling on her lips as she hurried up to her professor. "Please. Direct praise from the Potions Master of Hogwarts is a rare thing indeed. Why wouldn't I want it?"

Snape shot her an incredulous look that couldn't quite be masked in time.

"No?"

"Do be quiet, Miss Raine," Snape snapped, regaining his stern manner. "Congratulations," he intoned humourlessly, "for being the most infuriating Slytherin under my care. Now if that is satisfactory, you'll not utter another word till we reach your house."

"Not even to tell you that there are wards?"

Snape rolled his eyes and continued on as if he didn't hear her.

Cyrna frowned. "No really. Wait! Sir, there's actually—"

She felt a shudder of Perenelle's magic as Snape stepped across the invisible boundary. "Wards," finished Cyrna weakly, thinking of all the trouble she'd now get into with the Flamels. "There were wards that I was going to deactivate."

Snape spun sharply towards her just as the mansion doors flew open.

In the next moment, he was before her, shoving her back.

Black and the scent of potions swallowed her senses as she clutched instinctively onto the closest thing. It was the same, so similar to the time with the unicorn, that she had to forcefully remind herself that Quirrell wasn't there.

Snape snarled several defensive spells, and Cyrna's head snapped up to see a yellow light bearing down into his hastily erected shield.

"Redirect it!" she yelled when she saw Perenelle's spell flare brighter. She wasn't sure if a battle of force would end with his victory.

Glancing sharply at her, Snape responded with a graceful twist of his wand. The spell veered away, hurtling towards the ground which erupted upon contact. Cyrna released her grip on the Potions Master's robes, shielding her eyes as bits of dirt rained down from the air, the smell of burnt grass sharp and abrupt.

It left a pit in the field of green.

Or at least, that was how it appeared.

"You're trespassing," came Perenelle's voice, steely and unyielding.

"A sentiment which has been made remarkably clear," Snape retorted, dark eyes burning coldly.

Cyrna cast one last studious look over Perenelle's illusion, watching the pit return into an unblemished field—only to her eyes; to those who knew. She turned back to the confrontation. Snape was dangerously still, tensed like a coiled snake preparing to strike. She placed a cautioning hand on his arm, but when he only tensed further upon contact, she gave up and lifted her hand to wave to the Flamels instead.

Her smile, which had been hesitant to begin with, faded entirely when Nicolas' expression darkened, and Perenelle's voice cracked through the air like whip, "Get away from her!"

Snape scowled at them, sparing her a glance before refocusing on the Flamels. "They are?" he murmured his inquiry, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

"My parents," said Cyrna. Her brows knit at the Flamels' reaction, far more extreme than what she had ever expected.

Hastily, Cyrna hurried over, and when she was within reach, Perenelle immediately crushed her to her side in a tight hug. "Cyrna, Cyrna," Perenelle mumbled.

Eyes wide, Cyrna held herself still as Perenelle's hands frantically checked for injuries. "I'm fine," Cyrna said, over and over again, puzzled at their response. If she had been threatened, she'd definitely look way more terrified—and they were always adept at reading her. Especially Nicolas. Cyrna looked to the alchemist for help, but to her dismay found him glaring darkly at Snape.

So she waited patiently in silence, waited till Perenelle's hands slowed, till her words became less watery.

"What happened?" asked Perenelle finally. Nicolas was still tense, ready to spring into a duel at a moment's notice. She could not fully see his expression, but she caught a glimpse of an ugly expression. One so terrible that it had no place being on her alchemist's face.

And Snape was… Cyrna beckoned to Snape who had been watching the proceedings. He appeared impassive as he strode towards them, but she was certain it was just that. An appearance. Cyrna sighed, thinking this whole idea had turned out to be more horrible than amazing. Snape arched an inquisitive brow at her sigh, and she quickly pulled herself back together. "As I wanted to say earlier, he's Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; my Head of House. I asked him to accompany me back," she clarified to Nicolas, gratified when that expression finally began to leave. "And they're my parents, Nick and Nellie Raine."

Snape threw them all skeptical look. Purposeful, since Cyrna knew he was more than capable in hiding what he wished no one to see.

"Not that it's any of your business," Nicolas growled, "but since our son and his wife have passed, we've been looking after her. For all purposes, she is our daughter."

"Indeed? My condolences for your loss," Snape said blandly. He eyed the three of them—the two adults standing protectively over the child—and finally, after a long silence, he reached his decision. "As I am clearly unneeded here, Miss Raine, Diagon Alley, if you would."

Perenelle frowned. "Not so fast, young man." Her hand gently squeezed Cyrna's shoulder, warning her not to move.

And so, she had stood and watched as Perenelle had forced Snape into the house. Kidnaped? Not quite, since Snape had eventually, and very grudgingly acquiesced. Nope. Definitely not threatened. Well, she was sure that he was going to make her life hell next school year, but for now, she was fairly happy with the way things had turned out.

Cyrna's legs swung happily beneath her seat at the dining table. She took another sip of her tea, making sure to avoid looking at her professor, or at his general direction. She'd feel more sympathetic to his plight if he wasn't trying to drill holes into her with his stare alone.

Cyrna supposed that his constant scrutiny was because she was his ticket out, but also because Nicolas—Nick, excuse her, had let it slip that he had been her mentor in potions. Snape hadn't actually been pressing for that; rather, when he had reported her perfect examination, Nicolas had gruffly, but quite happily, acknowledged his role in her success. So really, it was kind of Nicolas' fault.

"Look at you, already better than the lot of potioneers out there. And in only two years!" Nicolas had once praised her when she had finally succeeded in brewing the antidote for the Veritaserum. Pensively, he stroked his chin. "Hm, I'm a rather good teacher, aren't I?"

Cyrna only indulged his attempts to inflate his ego a handful of times. According to Perenelle, he was already unbearably smug as it was.

Like now.

Nicolas had the biggest, smuggest smirk on his face. Cyrna shared a knowing look with Perenelle, and of course, this drew Snape's attention. She gave him a clueless smile, and he turned away after studying her suspiciously. If it had been only them in the room, she'd probably have been questioned, but Nicolas was here. Snape spoke to the alchemist with a chilling gleam of interest in his eyes. A hard light that produced harsher shadows—a cunning that told her he was onto something. What exactly, she could not tell. So she paid closer attention to the mild interrogation that continued on both sides—at least, till Nicolas said something that had Cyrna leaping from her seat in excitement, banging her knees against the table in the process.

She barely flinched at the pain. "Alchemy!? You'll teach me alchemy? Really?"—she absolutely did not shriek. Holy shit. Holy shit.

"Well we could stay with Potions if you think it's too much work…" teased Nicolas, now appearing somewhat at ease with Snape's presence.

"I don't!"

"Hmm."

"I don't! You know I want to learn it! I-I—" Cyrna cleared her throat. Snape was sporting a blankness in his expression that could rival that of an empty canvas. He stared at her as if he'd never met her before. "Uh, I mean," said Cyrna, melting into her seat. I would be very pleased to learn alchemy from you."

Nicolas smirked, and the fond pat from Perenelle reddened her cheeks further.

"A pity you have not a tenth of that enthusiasm for your classes, Miss Raine," Snape said dourly after a moment had passed.

"It'll be better next year," she mumbled, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

Eventually, Snape and Nicolas predictably fell into a discussion about Potions and Alchemy. Words like chrysopoeia, aether, and a bunch of other words were thrown around. She was sure Snape was subtly interrogating, but without knowing what they were even speaking of, she simply resigned herself to her fate. It was too late to change things now, not with Nicolas enjoying himself so much.

Cyrna closed her eyes, suppressing the unrelenting sigh that seemed to have made its home on the tip of her tongue. The Flamels had insisted for her to go to Hogwarts, and had urged her to achieve higher grades. She'd already planned to do so, since there was little point in hiding now that Voldemort had already noticed her. But still, their suggestion bothered her. She wanted to ask. Wanted to know why the Flamels hadn't agreed on her request to stay, why they couldn't be the ones to teach her.

Did they not want to spend more time with her?

"Where are you going?" Perenelle asked when Cyrna stood.

"I…" silence replaced where a lie would've been. She had promised, after all.

"Then come with me. I have something to show you, my dear."

Wariness cautioned her, and she glanced hesitatingly at the two men whose conversation had halted. They stared at her in puzzlement and mild concern. Even Snape, however fleeting—or maybe her brain was just playing tricks on her.

"Come along," said Perenelle.

Cyrna and Perenelle left the two men in the dining hall. And in the gentle presence of Perenelle, her brief distress faded. There had to be a reason. No one did things without reason, especially something so counterintuitive to their nature. Cyrna sighed, distasting her fluctuating temperaments as of late. It was so easy back then, her mind a steady calm. Efficient, before she had met the Flamels. There were less things to worry about when she had worried only for herself.

"I'd like to thank you for inviting your professor back. I haven't seen Nicolas so energetic in a while," said Perenelle, casting a warming charm over the both of them.

"That was partially my thought as well," Cyrna admitted. At least that had turned out well. "Do you think we'll make it back before Professor Snape is done? I told him that I'd portkey him to Diagon Alley."

"Of course—unless Nicolas scares the poor boy away."

"Professor Snape? Ha."

Perenelle laughed, and Cyrna silently recorded that sound in her mind. The brightness; its warmth. She frowned. No. She didn't want to think of that. "Where are we going?" she asked when Perenelle led her outside.

"A very interesting place in the forest."

Cool evening air teased her hair, tugging little strands out of her ponytail. The forest. The Flamels had warned her against going there when she had been untrained in magic. Especially when daylight had fallen.

Silver light flowed from the tip of her wand as Perenelle pressed on, going deeper and deeper into the forest. The leaves crunched under her feet, the thigh-high bushes rustling as she passed. There were occasional sounds, but with Perenelle guiding her, they were serene rather than eerie.

When they finally came to a stop, it was before a spot of glowing white flowers. They sprouted on the tree trunks, covering the rugged brown with a blanket of delicate white. And the ground—Cyrna took an experimental step onto the carpet of laterally growing vines—weren't they suppose to grow vertically?

Cyrna plucked on of the flowers from the trees, assuming by Perenelle's watchful silence that these flowers were the purpose of the visit.

The flower had four silk white petals, each attached to a blue center—the stamens glistening like gems. It was quite pretty.

"What are they called?" she wondered, handing Perenelle the flower.

Perenelle's eyes crinkled warmly at her action, "There's no official name, but it has long been known as Silva praeco."

Cyrna turned the name over a few times in her mind. "Nicolas hasn't told me about them," she confessed. "Does it have any uses?"

"Must one be practical to exist, my dear?" Perenelle chuckled. "You see, Silva praeco isn't truly a plant, merely a clustering of the purest magic—but I'm afraid that gathering all these flowers wouldn't even be sufficient magic for a lumos."

"… so it's here just to look pretty?"

"Well, some creatures absolutely adore these as snacks, unicorns especially."

The Soulflower was still sitting in its box, stuffed in the corner of her bookshelf. Cyrna glanced around the woods, but there was neither a unicorn nor Soulflower in sight.

"Why don't you take one back for yourself as well?"

Cyrna gave Perenelle a dubious look. What was she going to do with it?

Perenelle beckoned her near, and tucked the flower into Cyrna's hair, just above her ear. "Beautiful," said Perenelle, giving Cyrna a motherly pat. "Take a look in the mirror, won't you?"

Under Perenelle's watchful eye, Cyrna's cheeks turned pinker at the sudden affection, and she shuffled awkwardly away with a small nod. Perenelle laughed.

"And the vines?" Cyrna asked after a while, directing the light of her wand to the ground.

"They will wither in a few days, I'm afraid. As will the flowers."

Ahead, the trail of white flowers lined the trees, and the laterally growing vines seemed to pave a path deeper into the forest. To her, the plants looked perfectly healthy. With a frown, she turned to Perenelle who was already heading back to the mansion. It had darkened considerably during their trek, the evening evolving into a starless night.

"Remember. The mirror," Perenelle said as she was about to depart with Snape.

"Yes, yes," said Cyrna hastily with pinkened cheeks.

Nevertheless, she made sure to charm the flower to stick before she portkeyed her professor to Diagon Alley. They landed on the streets, just outside the flickering lights of the Leaky Cauldron. Cyrna was halfway into her goodbyes when she faltered.

"Ward of the alchemist himself," Snape murmured stiltedly, his expression utterly indecipherable.

Cyrna shivered as a chilly breeze meandered down the street. "Sir?"

"And to think that his last protégé is a child who attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… Nicolas… Flamel."

The wizarding pub was raucous with cheers and hollers, but somehow, the quietly spoken name still sounded clearly. Cyrna flashed an apologetic smile, tampering the urge to check if anyone had overheard. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?"

But Snape's gaze never wavered, boring intensely into her. "Miss Raine," he said. Then with one last unreadable look, he disapparated, vanishing abruptly with nothing but a sharp crack signaling his departure.

Well fuck.

Cyrna glared at the brick wall in front of her.

After, she had gone back home, listened to Nicolas grumblings—his heart wasn't quite into it since he had actually enjoyed Snape's visit—and had mutedly returned to her room. Surprisingly, the unexpected visit had upset the Flamels more than the fact that Snape knew. "There's not much he can do with the Stone now," said Nicolas mildly. "There's only enough for 16 months; even if we were to share the formula, it'd be too late. It can never be made again—" here Cyrna remembered that damned missing creature. "And you say he's an Occlumens?" Nicolas continued, "Well, memory charms are out of the question."

"I'm sorry," said Cyrna miserably wishing she had never brought Snape back.

"Ah forget it," Nicolas said, sounding hassled at her persistent apology. "It's only a danger if he were to hand the Stone over to Voldemort. But it's not as if the young man's about to do that, is he? You wouldn't have brought him here if you thought he might."

Perenelle gave kind smile. "Though a warning next time for any visit would be appreciated."

Cyrna nodded. "If I had known you'd be so… worried, I'd never have done that. I'll never do it again… But I was wondering…"

"Why?" Nicolas finished wearily. He eyed Perenelle, a flicker of shame crossing his features.

"We had a son once," Perenelle said softly before Nicolas could speak. "He never made it to your age."

The alchemist looked older than ever, his gaze distant and glassy as he looked at his hands. "He was innocent."

The necklace throbbed against her skin as her heart thundered in her chest. "I-I'm—"

A small smile formed on Perenelle's face. "It's nothing for you to worry about, my dear. It's been many, many years in the past." She sighed heavily, turning to Nicolas. "Go and rest, Cyrna."

Sensing the dismissal and not knowing what else to do, Cyrna quickly muttered her goodnights before fleeing upstairs. She'd never thought of that. Why did she not think of that? So the Flamels had had a son… she'd stayed with them for more than a year and it was only now that she knew because she'd never asked.

And now, in front of her, a blue-eyed black-haired girl stared guiltily back. Different from the usual was the delicate white flower tucked in her hair. It looked the same as it did in the forest. Equally as white, its stamens equally as blue…

Cyrna rushed towards the mirror, leaning forward till her breath fogged over the glass.

She froze. Guilt fading momentarily to be replaced with intrigue.

Slowly, she returned to her seat.

Surely not.

Her eyes crept back towards her reflection, shifting tiredly between her face and the flower. Perenelle was right, the flower did suit her well—

The stamens were a matching shade to her eyes.