Chapter Three: Alliances
***Friendship is but another name for an alliance with the follies and the misfortunes of others. Our own share of miseries is sufficient: why enter then as volunteers into those of another? - Thomas Jefferson***

Catherine's keyboard clacked busily as she communicated with her superiors.

CR: Will be submitting a report soon. The staff here is uncooperative, and somewhat hostile, as expected.
MD: Estimated time for completion?
CR: Hard to say. The AMDF chip makes the job both easier and harder.
MD: What about the training from the MoM?
CR: The Ministry of Magic was uncooperative as well. There is a prevailing belief that those who do not practice magic are not a threat, less than capable.
MD: Makes our job easier, should we need to intervene.
CR: Affirmative. Active intervention should not be required, however. Out.

Catherine heard the library door softly open and close, and snapped shut the lid of her laptop. We are prepared to intervene. Catherine wondered if Albus knew what kind of devil his people had made a deal with.

"Hello?" she said, not seeing anyone come around the first rows of stacks. "May I help you?"

Hermione Granger peeked around the corner of a shelf of books. "It's just me," she said.

She was still a little timid, Catherine thought. "Come on in. What do you need?" Catherine asked.

Hermione looked as though she was about to say something, then clamped her mouth shut. Instead she said, "I need Numerology and Linguistics, it's for Arithmancy."

Catherine waved her hand at the girl to come forward. "I just ran across that one this afternoon. Come on and we'll get it together."

Hermione looked shocked. "Aren't you just going to retrieve it for me?"

"Then you won't know where to find it next time, will you?" Catherine asked. "Especially if it's on one of those late-night library raids."

"How-I mean, what do you mean?" Hermione stammered. They reached the shelves containing the books on Arithmancy, and Catherine ran her fingers over the bound volumes.

"Just because you think the library's empty, doesn't mean it is, Hermione," Catherine told her ominously. Then she winked at the girl. "As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Dumbledore if he would allow you to work as my part time assistant, if that's agreeable to you." "Your-are you joking?" Hermione's eyes grew round and eager.

"Look, Hermione. I know you went into the Restricted Area at least once so far this term." At Hermione's blush she added, "Yes, that's right, and I have notes from Madam Pince that she was aware of a few incidents herself." She took down the title Hermione was searching for and gave it to her. "I would rather know for myself that you've been trained to go in there properly, if you're going to do it. I have had a couple of run-ins with those little pieces of-those volumes in there. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Well, how do you protect yourself?" Hermione asked curiously. "If you're a-" She stopped, and lowered her eyes.

"A muggle?"

"Actually … yes," the girl conceded.

"I arm wrestle them," Catherine told her humorously, then remembered the book Snares and Crawling Vines, which had included figures designed to literally illustrate its material. Arm wrestling, indeed. "I'll talk to Dumbledore and Professor McGonnagall, and let you know what they say. How's that?"

Hermione smiled brilliantly. "I'd like that very much," she told Catherine.

"Good. Ok, off you go then. Don't want you to be late for class."

"Thank you ma'am!" Hermione bounded away, clutching her books against her chest.

Catherine shook her head and chuckled. There went a potential librarian, if she had anything to do with it. She looked at her watch. Now, though, it was time for the evening meal with the other faculty members. All those smiling faces, she thought to herself. "Happy, happy, joy, joy," she muttered aloud.

She collected her laptop to return to her room, and left the library. She had taken only a few steps down the dimly lit hallway when she spotted Snape's black robes billowing toward her. He appeared to be on his way to the library. As he reached her, she asked, "Can I be of service, Professor?"

He stopped and peered down at her, looking as though he'd accidentally swallowed a gnat. Finally, he said with difficulty, "As a matter of fact, I have come to find you."

"Me??" She asked, almost afraid to ask what he wanted.

"Yes. It seems … I … " He was faltering for words, but Catherine had no possible way to intuit what he was trying to say. So she waited. Snape found he couldn't meet her eyes. He looked, instead, at the portrait of one of the wizards on the wall beside them. The old man was smirking at him, and waved for Snape to continue. Snape looked away from the old wizard as well. "Our conversation the other night. I said some things …"

"Snape," Catherine said sharply. "Don't you apologize to me."

He snapped his attention back to her face, a scowl on his face, "I'm trying to …"

"I know what you're trying to do," she told him scornfully. "And just stop it."

He raised one eyebrow skeptically. "And what do you think I'm trying to do?"

"You can watch me. You can ask questions to me or about me. But do not try to kiss my ass in some lame attempt to disarm me," she shook her head at him.

Snape's lips twisted back into a snarl. "You flatter yourself."

"You came to me, Snape," she reminded him coldly.

"I suppose it would be too much to expect a certain amount of grace from a …" He eyed her with reproach.

"From a Muggle?" she challenged.

"From an American," he finished. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

In an instant, Catherine realized her mistake. He had misunderstood her rejection of his apology. He had taken it personally. Knowing better than to change her tone, she said, "I just know you better than you think, Snape. You're better than that." He frowned in confusion. She explained, "You expect a certain amount of grace. I expect a certain amount of professional respect. I know you wouldn't give any other person in this castle the kind of apology you're trying to offer me. Not unless you were trying to manipulate me for something." A flicker of something passed in his eyes, and she caught the ghost of a smile play over his lips briefly before dying. He realized he'd been busted. "I'll respect you more for treating me like you do everyone else."

"Then you should know I don't insult fellow faculty members," he said condescendingly.

"Oh, bull," she retorted. "Everyone knows how you are. You're the company grouch," she couldn't help but laugh. "Actually, some of your more legendary comments are quite amusing. Like what you said to Trelawney last semester, calling her a 'moon-eyed psuedo-mystical poseur.' I've met her." Catherine laughed. "I think not everyone appreciates your frankness."

Snape smiled. Catherine got the impression he was rather pleased, but it looked like an expression of cruelty.

"Make no mistake," she said. "I don't appreciate mean-spirited insults, humor or not. I've been accused of being a bit grizzled myself, so I know that's a fine line sometimes. But you know as well as I do where that line is."

Snape didn't like the feeling of being reproached, especially from someone he considered a subordinate. His scowl had returned. "I can see I've wasted a trip, then."

"Not exactly," she replied. "I'm not trying to antagonize you. But, I think we understand each other a little better now. "

"You don't know as much as you would like to think," he told her. But his expression appeared more thoughtful.

"You keep saying that," she said. "However, since you've apologized," she couldn't help but add smartly, "I'm sorry I hurt your…feelings, too." She raised her eyebrows and smiled innocently up at him.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. Not trusting himself to say another word he turned and stormed back down the hall the way he came. Catherine watched him leave, her smile turning to a grin. "Bad, Cat," she told herself lightly. Whistling, she continued to her room to freshen up before dinner.

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What do you think that one is up to?" Harry asked with a scowl. The three friends were sitting together at dinner, and Hermione had just gushed the news to her companions.

"Harry! Why does she have to be up to anything? Just because she offered to let me help her?" Hermione protested. "Have you even talked to her yet?"

"Well, it's just-" Harry started to say. "Hey, pass over those potatoes, will ya?" He asked Neville a few seats down. The bowl was passed over to him.

"It's dead weird, that's what," Ron agreed. "What about the way she's always in there?"

"Does seem like a good way of keeping track of you," Harry concluded.

"What do you know?" Hermione sulked. "Sounds like you're just jealous to me."

"Jealous?" Ron howled. "Are you joking? Oh, please," he pleaded sarcastically, "chain me to the library with all that dust and books. I never wanted to go outside again anyhow." He took a huge bite from a forkful of ham.

"Maybe we can turn it around. Do you think you could get a look at that notebook of hers?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I don't know anything about computers!" Hermione protested. Someone shoved a basket of bread into her hands. Without looking, she passed it on to Harry, who handed it to Gilly Wicket, one of the first years, on the other side of him. The basket continued down the line to its intended recipient.

"Notebook? Computers?" Ron seemed curious.

"That thing she's always typing on," Harry answered. "It's a Muggle device."

"Oh, right," Ron said. "What does that thing do?"

"Depends on what she keeps on there," Harry replied. "You could keep a whole library in one of those. More, even."

Ron groaned in disappointment. "Forget it," Ron muttered, stabbing a piece of broccoli. "Hey! I didn't put this on my plate," he said in disgust, and shoved it aside. "It's just not my day."

"What makes you think she has anything to hide anyway?" Hermione asked indignantly.

Harry looked around him. No one appeared to be listening, but that was never truly the case. "I'll tell you later," he said in a softer voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Everything is always a conspiracy with you." She used a knife to cut herself a slice of ham with far more energy than necessary.

"Well?" Harry persisted. "Are you in?"

Hermione glowered at him. "I'll tell you later," she told him pertly.

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Catherine looked up from the scroll she was reading, startled.

"Damn," she murmured, then bent her head to check. With these texts, you had to make sure what you thought you understood was really true. Not to mention making sure that it was still there a few seconds later. "No wonder they couldn't find it," she said.

Rolling the scroll back up, she raced to Dumbledore's office. Knocking once, she burst into the room without waiting. It was empty. "Albus?" she called, tentatively. Suddenly, she was embarrassed at having entered without permission, especially when she heard a door closing softly. Madam Pomfrey had come from Dumbledore's chambers and was viewing her with evident dislike.

"I need to speak with the Headmaster," Catherine said. "It's urgent."

"He cannot be disturbed," the nurse told her coldly.

"He'll want to hear this," Catherine assured her. "I must speak to him."

"You misunderstand," Pomfrey said, a little sadly. "That would be impossible."

"I don't have time for this," Catherine said between gritted teeth. She pushed her way past the objecting nurse, and jerked the door to the inner chambers open. There was no one in the room she could see, but the drapes to the four-poster bed standing to the side of the room were drawn. Catherine pulled her arm from Madam Pomfrey's insistent clutch, and moved to pull the heavy velvet aside. Dumbledore was lying beneath a load of blankets. His eyes close, and breathing shallow. "Oh, no," Catherine murmured.

"Madam Rosewood, this is most unacceptable. If you do not leave immediately, I will be forced to summon Professor McGonagall," Pomfrey told her sternly.

Catherine looked over her shoulder at the agitated nurse. "Go get her then," Catherine said firmly. Pomfrey huffed a bit, and then left the room. Catherine leaned forward, "Albus," she said gently. "Can you hear me?" His eyes flickered behind his eyelids, but he didn't rouse. "I've found it. It didn't take as long as I'd expected, but I can't get it without you. Please. C'mon."

She could tell the old wizard was trying to wake, but there appeared to be something preventing him. If she could have had Pomfrey's help, instead of her animosity, the nurse may have been able to stimulate him enough to answer. Catherine swore in disgust.

"Madam Rosewood," McGonagall said as she stepped into Dumbledore's bedroom. "Explain yourself!" The raven-haired witch adjusted the spectacles on her nose and strode forward angrily. Catherine considered asking McGonagall for the help the old wizard couldn't give her now, but the furious look on the witch's face alone told her that there was a very good chance she wouldn't be believed.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said quietly. "There is no excuse."

McGonagall rose to full height and clasped her hands together at her waist. "Then I suggest you go back to your rooms." It was an order. "We will most definitely discuss this later."

Catherine smiled grimly, and rose from where she had been leaning. "I look forward to your visit," she deadpanned. And she allowed Madam Pomfrey to walk her out of the offices. Catherine rested on one of the pillars in the hall outside Dumbledore's office. Before she had arrived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had given her the names of several witches and wizards he would call upon if something like this happened. At this point, she had no choice. She went to find the wizard at the top of Dumbledore's list.

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Catherine stood before the door of Snape's office and paused. She wasn't sure how he was going to respond to her request, and wiped her palms on her robes nervously. She had the brief thought that maybe she'd luck out, and he wouldn't be inside. Then she reminded herself that Dumbledore had picked him for this request for a number of reasons.

She rapped on the door. It snapped open so fast, she couldn't help but blink. She wondered if he'd been standing just on the other side.

"Well?" Snape drawled.

"I'd like to speak to you. If you're free, Professor." She said coolly. Her fingers, hidden inside her robes, were cracking her knuckles quietly.

He flicked his hair back with a toss of his head, and raked her with his eyes sharply. He looked behind her and, seeing nothing, nodded. Without another word, he stepped back and held the door open for her. His office was surprisingly warm, and she realized it was due to the rather large simmering cauldron on the table at the far side of the room. There was a slightly acrid smell in the air that was not exactly unpleasant, but which wasn't a scent she'd have used as an air freshener, either.

Snape moved between her and the cauldron and looked down at her. "As you can see, I am quite busy. About what, pray, did you wish to see me?"

"I was thinking over what we talked about earlier. Also, you've always said told me that you'd figure out why I was really here. I just thought I'd tell you. And ask your help." She had decided to simply state the problem, and to try not to let him lead her into a merry dance of wits.

He raised one brow expressively. "Indeed? Decided to come clean, have you? And why should I take you seriously at all?"

"Because I was hired by the Ministry of Magic, and by Dumbledore to find the Tome of Rowndwyn." The way he stilled, she could tell she'd caught his interest, and piqued his suspicions as well. Very softly he said, "And why would they trust that to," his eyelids narrowed disdainfully, "a Muggle?" He was so disapproving and so sinister, she couldn't help repressing a smile. "Do I amuse you, Madam Rosewood?"

"A little." At his frown, she added, "Don't get me wrong. I do respect your abilities. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. Dumbledore says you're one of the best wizards he knows. After himself, of course." Her lips twisted in a wry smile and she turned to scan the rest of the room. It was artfully cluttered with vials, murky glass containers holding unidentifiable lumps that she suspected were parts of things she wouldn't want explained to her, and stacks of scrolls.

"You have yet to answer my question," he reminded her sternly.

"I was hired to find the text, and I have found a way to it." She paused a moment to let that sink in to him. "But, as you probably know, the tome is enchanted. I can't actually get it without help."

Snape paced the small confines of the room a time or two before asking, "You have found the way, but you haven't found the book." He repeated.

"Right. I need magic for that. It's not actually on this plane, you see-"

"Why not ask Dumbledore to do it?" He smiled, as though sure he'd caught her in a lie. Catherine found herself staring into Snape's dark eyes. She didn't look away.

"Why don't you ask him that," she said quietly. If he didn't know how badly the old wizard was doing, she wasn't going to inform him.

He nodded. "I shall."

"Will you help me, or not?" She asked him, frustrated.

"Why are you asking someone who obviously doesn't trust you?" He countered smoothly. Adding, "Not one whit."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but no one here trusts me but Dumbledore. And he's-" She was going to say that he wasn't in a position to help her at this point, but thought better of it. "He can't help with this. Of the teachers here, I guess I could ask McGonagall, maybe Flitwick, but I'm asking you."

"What makes you think you can trust me, rather than my very esteemed colleagues?" He asked sarcastically.

"I know where you stand. You've never made it anything but plain. The others are too influenced by what Dumbledore might say or think if they're less than pleasant to me. I know you don't trust me, but from what I can tell … you're pretty much an equal opportunity asshole. I respect your honesty, as far as that much goes." He was obviously surprised by her answer, enough to cross his arms across his chest thoughtfully. Catherine decided to press her point. "Besides, if you're working with me, you'll be able to watch me more closely. I know you've considered that aspect." She was rewarded to see a slight smile cross his lips.

"Hardly a convincing argument. If no one will help you retrieve the text, then you are not much of a threat, are you?" He said, but she sensed that he was relenting. He couldn't take the chance that she could persuade another, less suspicious, professor.

"You're assuming that I have any interest in the tome. It's not for me. And, really, it's not for the Ministry of Magic."

"Then for the Muggles you represent?" He retorted, gesturing dismissively with one hand. "Spare me."

She surprised him yet again by chuckling good-naturedly. "Well, I'd be lying if I said there wouldn't be a lot of interest in what that book is reported to do. But, personally, I think it's right to keep the damned thing hidden. Who wants to live forever, right?" He inclined his head in a non-committal nod. "But it's not for my 'kind,' and it's not to keep Voldemort from retrieving it. It's for Dumbledore himself."

Snape glowered at her dangerously. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when you go to talk to the head master about me, that you'll find out more than I'm willing to tell you here and now," she replied stubbornly. "And that's enough. You think about your answer. Tell me what you decide in the morning, but I can't wait longer than that. I have no idea how long it will take to collect that tome even with your help, and we don't have a lot of time."

"There is still one question you haven't answered," she heard him say as she opened the heavy wooden door to his office. She closed it again, leaving one hand on the handle and waited. "Yes?"

"Why did they pick a Muggle for this task?" He asked. He seemed more curious than condescending.

"Because the spells hiding the tome were designed to bar the path of any magic intended to find it. Those spells didn't work on me," she answered simply.

"That wouldn't be enough for the Ministry of Magic to allow you anywhere near it," Snape told her, pensive.

"No, not that by itself. I think, though, that if the threat against the wizarding world wasn't such as it is, they'd have left Dumbledore out in the cold anyway. But, all things considered, there are a number of people there who seem to think the old guy is pretty necessary." She decided not to mention the pressures her own superiors had been placing on the Wizarding government. She could tell she had just horrified him with the implication she was making. At this point, though, she didn't care how much she was giving away. She had a gut feeling that this was the wizard she needed to accomplish her task, and if her hints helped to convince him, all the better. "Good night, Snape." Before he could answer, she pulled the door open again and left the office. Well, she thought, that ought to give him something to think about.

Suddenly, she had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She looked around her at the darkness, and hearing nothing, quickly returned to her rooms.

She had changed into a nightgown, brushed her teeth, and had been lying between comfortable sheets, unable to sleep, when she heard a light rap at her door. She sighed impatiently, rose, and slipped on a plush cotton robe before padding over to see who it was. She opened the door a crack, and saw Snape.

"That was fast," she said, opening the door a little wider. She didn't invite him inside, but he didn't appear to mind.

"We'll start tomorrow morning, after my first potions class," he informed her. "Is that soon enough for you?" She thought of how Dumbledore looked last time she spoke to him. The old man's condition most likely explained how pale and sharp Snape appeared now.

She nodded. "I'll be ready."

"Tomorrow, then." He disappeared into the shadows, leaving her staring into the dark.