A/N: I seem to have gotten a lot of questions since I posted my last chapter, so I'll try to answer them here
A/N: I seem to have gotten a lot of questions since I posted my last chapter, so I'll try to answer them here. To Blackletter, yes of course, I'm looking forward to a fast-paced career in classics. Rosmerta, next year I'm going to Rhodes College in Memphis, where I plan to major in GRS (Greek and Roman Studies—classics, of course). Oh, and my fast is something that I do, not a religiously sanctioned thing. I'm an Episcopalian. Rushumble, thanks for the suggestion. Cassie does feature more prominently in this chapter, and she's got a mystery surrounding her as well, believe it or not. And I think that's it. This chapter is VERY important, so read carefully. Hope you enjoy it. Chapter Ten

The library was devoid of all but a single soul by the time he came in. Even Madam Pince was gone. The room was occupied solely by Dr. Oliver's raven-haired associate, who was deeply absorbed in a book, and took no notice of him.

He wandered from shelf to shelf, gathering any and all books that he saw on non-wizard magical creatures, and soon he had a veritable pile that he unloaded on a table not far from the quiet girl. She glanced up at him, undoubtedly noticing the titles of his books, and decided to stand up and introduce herself.

"I don't believe we've met," she said, smiling slightly. "I'm Rosamund Smith."

"Severus Snape," he replied. "You must be one of Dr. Oliver's assistants. I know I've seen you down at the site."

Her mouth curved in the semblance of a smile, but there was something very spooky about it. "I suppose she doesn't find me important enough to talk about."

"Well, I…" he said, flabbergasted.

"You've said more than enough."

"What are you reading?" he asked suddenly, trying desperately to change the subject.

She held up the thick book so that he could read the words on the spine. "The Resolutions of the Council of Witches and Wizards in the High Middle Ages," she said.

"I must have missed that one," he bantered.

"And what are you reading, Professor Snape? Books on non-wizard magical creatures? Are you doing your research on us?"

"Us?" he asked, confused.

"I see she hasn't told you then. I must have been misunderstood, but I thought I heard her saying that the two of you were friends."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean," he replied.

She had a mysterious smile on her face. "I'll leave you to find out on your own, then. I'd try this one first," she added, tapping on the largest book. Then, as he watched, she left the library, her book still under her arm.

He flipped over the book she had indicated to see what it was called. A History of Non-Wizard Magical Beings, he read, by Cassandra Vablatsky.

"Cassandra?" he said out loud in surprise, as if she might answer him. But why had she written the book? And when? She had never told him about it. He had thought her sole concern was divination.

Now fully interested, he began to leaf through the book, past banshees, centaurs, mermaids—suddenly a striking portrait caught his eye. It was of three women standing in a half-circle. At first he didn't know what had attracted him to it, but he realized with a start that the woman in the center had her hand clasped over her heart in a familiar gesture.

Gazing more intently at the portrait, he recognized the woman as a slightly younger Dr. Oliver, dressed, as she was in the portrait in her room, in Roman clothes. The two women on either side of her he recognized as well—they were Rosamund Smith, the girl he had just met, and the younger blonde-haired girl that was also Sylvia's assistant.

He now glanced at the article that was opposite the picture. It was entitled "The Three". He read:

"From ancient times until the present, these non-wizard magical beings have been known simply as The Three. They are a group of three females, in appearance and manner similar to humans, and are known for their deep communion with nature.

It is said that in the beginning of time, Mother Nature created three women whom she named her guardians and protectorates. The women were given the gift of immortality.

But the legend goes that soon the women were lonely and bored with their immortality and they asked Mother Nature for companionship. So she granted this proviso to them—that they would age one year for every century of human time that passed, and that they would each be provided, at some time, with one male who was their match. With him they would mate, and, once pregnant, would lose their immortality. The birth of a daughter would signal the next member of The Three.

This pattern has continued for thousands of years, but with it came a new power for the member of The Three who was the eldest (before this, the women had all been of comparable age). Now the eldest of The Three had a special duty towards Nature to protect her from harm, and the duty to teach her companions to do so as well.

It has been known for centuries, though it has never been scientifically proven, that The Three have their own brand of magic that they can use if the need arises. What is clear to wizards and witches is that The Three can control nature and can reverse magical spells, although it is unknown how they do so.

The Three currently are Andromache, Axiothea, and Artemis (note: their names have often changed, and they themselves seem little concerned with such things). Andromache, the eldest, is the daughter of Rhodesia and the philosopher Socrates. Axiothea is the daughter of Rahab and a Roman emperor, Claudius. The youngest, Artemis, was born of Ruth and Baudoin, a cabinetmaker.

Each one of The Three has a colorful story to tell, but that of Andromache is perhaps the most dramatic and, this author would say, demands its own book. The Three currently reside in both America and England."

Snape was astounded. He kept reading and rereading the entry in the book, trying to understand it. He vaguely remembered stories of The Three from his younger days, but had thought they were merely legend. Suddenly, things seemed much clearer about Sylvia and her compatriots.

But things were only murkier about Cassandra. If she had known all this, why hadn't she told him? She'd certainly had every opportunity to give him this information, and he'd certainly been puzzling over it.

Then he began to wonder about Sylvia herself. Was Lupin the one that the book spoke of, and, if so, where was their child? It didn't seem as if they were married, and certainly not parents. With a shock, he looked over the words on the page again and the realization of her parentage began to sink in…the daughter of Rhodesia and the philosopher Socrates…Socrates! The original philosophical master! This was simply…simply mind-boggling! He had to find Sylvia right away and ask her about the man. No wonder she was so interested in philosophy!

He sprinted almost blindly towards her room, but was stopped by, of all people, Cassandra, who had obviously been looking for him.

"Severus," she said pleasantly, "Where have you been? I've been looking for you all over? Are you feeling all right? You look pale."

"Cassandra," he said slowly, pausing now and again to catch his breath, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, dear?" she asked, looking at him curiously. "I think you're ill. Perhaps we should go to the infirmary and see Madam Pomfrey?"

"You didn't tell me about the book that you'd written…about non-wizard magical creatures," he said petulantly, annoyed by her attempt to mother him.

Was it his imagination, or did she now look distinctly uncomfortable? "Yes," she said uncertainly, "that. Well, Severus, don't tell me that you expected to know my whole life story in the few months we've been together."

"This has to be a pretty significant part of your life story," he replied, finding himself to be angry with her. He had this feeling that she had lied to him, and her discomfort was only adding fuel to his suspicion. "I mean, it's a long book and you're not very old. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought your main interest was divination."

"It is, it is," she said hastily, as if trying to soothe his fears. "I have the natural gifts for Divination. I've always known that. But I'm also very interested in non-wizard magical creatures. It's a hobby of mine, I guess you could say."

"Are you interested in The Three?" he asked, and watched as her face grew pale.

"Well…well of course, who isn't?" she stammered. "I mean, really it's a very intriguing story, and they're very interesting beings. I-I…I'm only as interested in them as anyone else."

"Then why is it that you never told me about them?" he asked quietly, silkily. "Seeing as how you find them so intriguing, didn't you want to share the news with me that they were living right here in this castle?"

She now looked frightened. "Severus, what is it that you are accusing me of? I really think you must not feel well. Sylvia wanted me not to tell anyone—she and Rosamund and Sophie don't like all the extra attention they get from it. Please come with me to see Madam Pomfrey, Severus…I'm sure she can help…" She laid her fingers lightly on his arm.

He pulled away from her immediately. "No, Cassandra, I'm not going with you," he said coldly. "I feel perfectly fine. It seems that you're the one who isn't feeling well. Perhaps your conscience is bothering you? I'm going to see Sylvia."

Ignoring her protests, he walked away, his mind still reeling with everything that had happened in the last few hours. All he knew was that he had to talk to Sylvia; he had to ask her about her father, and about Cassandra, and about so many other things. He was suddenly floored with the thought that she was centuries old. How much history she must have seen! What a valuable resource she could be.

Then he felt a sudden pang of remorse. Why was he thinking this way? It was probably the exact reason that Sylvia had not wanted people to know about her and her two assistants; she was probably tired of the questions and the endless looks of awe that she got when she told anyone about herself. Maybe he shouldn't ask her about her father—maybe he would wait until the right time to say anything about it.

With all this thinking, he hadn't even realized that he was standing in front of her room. Plucking up his courage, he knocked on her door. There was no answer.

"Sylvia?" he called. "Dr. Oliver? Are you here?" He heard only silence within. He then opened the door cautiously, seeing her room dim with the light of a single candle. She obviously had gone somewhere.

He was about to leave when he noticed a stone basin sitting on top of the trunk at the foot of her bed. With a start, he realized it was her Pensieve. He wondered how many years of history were contained inside of that bowl. It wasn't wrong to want to know, was it? He peered down into the depths of the basin, wondering what secrets of Sylvia it held. He desperately wanted to find out.

So, looking around carefully to make sure he was truly alone, he reached out his finger and touched it to the strange substance within the bowl. Suddenly he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, and before he knew it, he was no longer in Sylvia Oliver's bedroom.

***

Okay, so now Severus is on a trip through Sylvia Oliver's memories. It should be a wild, wild ride for him next chapter, eh? Thanks to my many reviewers—your words of wisdom mean everything to me. Please don't stop! A special thanks to new reviewers Blackletter and Sphinx—I'm so glad you've found and enjoyed my story. And, of course, don't think I've forgotten you, my old faithful friends. Please keep reviewing! J