Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 11 Midnight Voyages

Silence had reigned ever since the two had left the Hospital Wing. Airelle shivered as she followed Snape down the corridors, flinching at every sound. She felt like a child who'd gone out of bed to look for Santa on Christmas Eve. Or perhaps just take the cookies and milk that were left out for Santa.

She crossed her arms for warmth, and felt her cold fingers through her nightgown. Of all the things they could have chosen to change her into at the Hospital Wing, they had to pick this flimsy piece of--

Snape slowed his pace and walked beside her. If she'd been blind, she would not have known it, even by his footsteps. Because, of course, his feet did not make a sound on the floor. That achievement of movement Airelle had yet to master fully. As an Auror, there was always the direct approach, but sneaking up on people was something she'd been instructed in as well. To Snape, it seemed to come naturally.

He looked her over thoroughly for several seconds, then slipped his over-robe off his shoulders and wordlessly handed it to his friend.

"What d'you think, I'm so weak that I can't handle a s—silly chill?" she asked, but the scathing tone was somewhat undermined by the sudden chattering of her teeth.

Snape looked sideways at her. "After all the trouble I went through to get into your room, I wouldn't want you to freeze to death," he said. "But if you choose to be stubborn, then give it back and keep on shivering."

Airelle glared at him, but found no sufficient response, so she grudgingly slid her bare arms into the sleeves, which were so long that they hid her hands completely. The robe dragged on the floor and looked like a badly sewn Halloween costume. How was it that she could make it look so clumsy, while on Snape the material looked like fluid?

Must be a Slytherin thing, she thought, and grinned because her assumption was utterly imbecilic. Snape, thankfully, did not notice any of this, but kept on leading her down the numerous corridors, and their cold stone floors. Airelle was thankful that she had been smart enough to put on her shoes before leaving the Hospital Wing. Otherwise, Snape would probably have been forced to carry her, and that prospect definitely put a damper on her 'independent' spirit. One thing, Airelle knew-- if she ever married, she'd pummel her groom senseless if he tried to carry her over the threshold. Just a little pet peeve of hers, that's all…

"Aren't you going to be cold?" she murmured quietly, glancing around at the darkened doors of the classrooms as though something was surely going to pop out any second. At Hogwarts, these things tended to happen. And to walk through, say, a ghost, was none too pleasant.

Snape gestured towards the remainder of his garments with his hands. "No," was the plain response, and they kept walking. Airelle was not convinced, and scrutinized him from the shoes up. Apparently, he had not dressed for bed yet; he was still wearing a warm under-robe like the one Airelle had in her room. Or somewhere in the Hospital Wing, since it was now probably smeared with Runespoor egg juice and she had no idea what Madam Pomfrey did with it. Beyond the under-robe -- well, she obviously could not see clearly. Consoling herself with the fact that Snape had enough sense not to let himself freeze for her sake, Airelle was silent until a question came into her head. A question that she should have asked a while ago.

"Where are we going?"

Snape stared straight ahead. "Don't worry, I shall return you to Pomfrey in the morning. She'll never know you were gone… What?" he asked, turning his head slightly and seeing his friend's glare.

"Oh, thank you, I really like being treated like a library book that you can return," she sneered, in a way not unlike Snape's own.

Snape stopped. His fathomless black eyes gazed into hers, and suddenly the corridor seemed much smaller and lacking in air.

He looked at Airelle for a long time (she did not really notice its passing) before speaking. "If you must know, we are going to my quarters," he said curtly and continued walking. Airelle had to run to catch up.

"Quarters? You mean, your bed-chambers?"

"Yes."

"Oh, right," she said absently. The Illusions professor had walked a full ten feet before she realized what Snape had just said. She stopped so suddenly that had Snape been walking behind her, he would have crashed into her.

"Did you just say… bed-chambers?" she whispered. It was not uncommon for them to sleep in the same room as students (there had been lots of incidents when they'd fallen asleep over their potions ingredients), but she now remembered, for some odd reason, the words of Peeves the Poltergeist: "Wandering 'round at night, and where are you headed, anyway… could it be that you're visiting ol' Severus Snape in his bedroom, eh?" Airelle flinched at the memory. Why did she have that reaction? Lord knows…

Snape looked at her again, and something passed through his eyes. Was it hurt? "If you're implying that I will seek to take advantage of our situation," he said, the old sneer quickly returning to his face, "I can assure you of my respectability as a gentleman."

Airelle winced inwardly. Did he think that she doubted him in his demeanor because of his Death Eater days? "Oh… no…" she began, looking up at those magnificent black eyes in the darkness, "that's not what I meant--" It took her a second to realize she was blushing intensely. Cursing herself, Airelle thanked the lack of light for hiding her face. Why was this whole thing happening? Hormones, blasted hormones…

"I meant," she said, "that it's not often this happens. And couldn't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No," he replied, the scowl leaving his face. "I felt it would be safer if I kept an eye on you. In this case, Madam Pomfrey did not treat you fully, and I do not blame her. First, I did not tell her exactly what hurt you. Second, I happen to know more about Runespoor damage by mere experience than she does. Thus, I intend to make sure that you recover before tomorrow comes."

"You mean this thing is still having effects on me?"

"Correct," said Snape, as if she were a student who had done her homework. "I happen to have some potions in my private cabinet, not in my office or in the room behind the Potions fireplace, that could help you."

"I see. Someone said you had brought me to the Hospital Wing. I trust that no one--"

"No," Snape replied before she'd even voiced her worry. "Nobody has seen that room. But we shall talk about what occurred later. Now, we must be quiet. You, of all people, should know the walls here have ears."

"Yeah," joked Airelle as they passed a painting of a snoozing, curly-haired woman. "Not to mention the artwork, and the suits of armour, and…"

"Hush!" he suddenly said, gripping her shoulder so hard she could see the muscles on his arm tighten. Airelle had not heard anything, not even by Auror instinct. See what I mean, Vilka? chastised a voice in her head. Whenever Snape's around, you lose your vigilance. Why is that, may I ask?

Airelle rolled her eyes mentally, allowing Snape to drag her behind a motionless (thank heavens for that) suit of armour on the side of the corridor. They were back in the dungeons now. Who could possibly be wandering around at this time?

Airelle grinned as the now-audible footsteps came closer. There was a good chance of the person being a Slytherin student out of bed. Of course, who else could be down here? And thus, if it were a Slytherin, she'd get to watch Snape take points off his own house. She'd never seen him do that before, and was actually looking forward to how he was planning on twisting out of it. Airelle did not have to be away from him for twenty years to realize Snape was biased in favor of his house. After all, he had been ever since they were young; why change now? It was almost funny, really, how he loathed the Gryffindors. At least, thought Airelle, she was somewhat able to make him appreciate the other houses. But then again, Slytherins were more likely to talk to Ravenclaws than anyone else, since the Ravenclaws could relate to them, in an odd sense…

This is actually fun, she thought, the grin still not wiped off her face. The marvelous tinge in your heart when you were about to surprise your friend with a gift -- that was probably the closest feeling to the one she had now, the one she had gotten many times, years ago…

"Snape, are you sure this is a good ide--ow!"

"Would you be quiet?" hissed Airelle's friend from somewhere behind her. They were in the staff room, of all places. Talk about a wrong turn… it was their first year, and they'd planned to go up to the towers… but now, they were hiding out from an invisible person, searching for them somewhere in the dark corridors. It was a teacher, for sure; he or she must have heard Snape's eloquent curse when he stubbed his toe against a thick wooden door.

Airelle bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, for lack of doing anything else constructive. Her breathing was very irregular and hurried, as if she'd just emerged from a Quidditch game and was regaining air. Snape, however, was behind her and did not make a sound, save to shush her occasionally when footsteps got louder. She envied him, good-naturedly, for the ability.

The doorknob turned. Her heartbeat caught in her throat and stuck. She gripped the edge of the armchair she was hiding behind--

But it was not the feeling of wood that went into her nerve ends, but the chill of metal. Airelle was catapulted back into the present, suddenly, and realized that what she had grabbed and twisted was the hand of the suit of armour next to her.

Snape only had time to look at Airelle oddly before the both of them fell backwards into the passage that had opened in the corridor wall.

"Ouch," was the first thing that came out of Airelle's lips as she and the Potions professor rose from the stone floor. The room was graced with a medium ceiling, a few chairs, a cabinet that looked like it was going to collapse under its weight of dust, and several candles bewitched with a Perma-Glow Charm. Semi-faded prints on the chairs and the floor caught the ex-Auror's attention immediately. Someone had frequented this place within the past month or so…

"What is this?" she murmured softly, as if afraid to disturb the multiple spider-webs that hung precariously on the ceiling. Snape, meanwhile, stood next to the passage (which had silently slid shut), listening intently. Airelle tore her gaze away from the cabinet and turned towards her friend.

Just like old times…

Both froze as a pair of feet passed on the other side of the wall with a series of even, dull clunks. The sound receded relatively quickly, and the Potions professor turned around, a thoughtful look crossing his pale face in the darkness.

"Curious…" he said.

In the meantime, Airelle had already walked into the middle of the room. Hogwarts hid many secrets, and this one was not familiar to her. There was a bitter residue in the air, as though a restless spirit had haunted it for centuries--

Could this be the Bloody Baron's place? she wondered, blowing the dust off a magic-sealed lock on the large cabinet door. But no-- ghosts would surely not need a cabinet… but then again…

Finally, deciding it was worth a shot, Airelle opened her mouth to call Snape; but he'd been quick-minded and stood there, wand ready, before she had even said a word.

"Stand back," he ordered, and there was something worried in his voice Airelle had not heard before. "I do not like this…"

"Maybe we should not open it," Airelle hesitated, but moved to the side nonetheless. Whoever had been in here had not opened the lock. And when something stays clamped magically and covered with ages' worth of dust, it is either a treasure or a curse. Probably the latter, in this case. But hopefully not.

Snape's eyes looked set, though, and he said softly, "As long as we are here…" He broke off. "I have a bad feeling," he ventured again, "but we must…"

Airelle did not need explanations for the lack of coherency in his statement. One did not want to get oneself ensnared in a trap, but had to throw a stick for its jaws to snap shut. Only… what made Snape so certain it was a trap?

"Abrete!" said Snape loudly, and a stream of ruby light radiated from the tip of his wand. The lock exploded; the door burst open, sending dust everywhere in suffocating clouds.

Snape was there before Airelle even had time to cough. "Just as I thought," he murmured triumphantly, long fingers closing over the spine of a book with faded edges as he lifted it up.

Airelle's eyes watered from the dust. Funny; she never had a reaction like that before. "What--achoo!--is it?" she asked, coming closer.

Severus Snape turned around, black eyes shining. "It looks as if we have stumbled upon old Dippet's storage room," he announced.

"Dippet," Airelle repeated, sitting tentatively in the nearest chair and watching her friend open the book cautiously. His face was pointed away, and his eleven-inch wand was raised to the pages, as if he were expecting something to pop out. "I've heard the name before…"

"He was Headmaster here before Dumbledore," explained Snape, heading towards the cabinet again, Airelle wanted to follow, but thought better of it, since Snape was returning with the same book in any case.

"So?" she asked.

"After Dumbledore became Headmaster," (here the Potions Master adopted the teacher voice; Airelle guessed it came automatically) "I suppose he put quite a few charms on this place. But since we are unwanted visitors, and no harm has come to us yet, either those spells are wearing off or Fortune smiles on us for once."

Airelle did not find herself understanding. "Then, why do you sound so happy to find this room?"

To her surprise, Snape's smile was grim. "Happy? Hardly. In fact, I am amazed that Dumbledore did not destroy it by now. Perhaps he knows something I do not… biding his time…"

"Eh?" said Airelle. Snape was hiding something again; thankfully, she had a feeling the answer to this one was right in front of her.

"May I see that?" she asked curiously, and without waiting for an answer, laid a hand on the book. It felt coarse, yet oddly hot, and the parchment had grown a sickly yellow with the passage of the years.

Snape turned the book around and allowed Airelle's eyes fall on the minute scribble that graced the pages.

She did not have to flip through them, however. Three little words had caught the former Auror's gaze like a grappling hook and held them there.

Flight From Death.

Her cold fingers tightened on the cover.

'What… where is this book from?" she asked, feeling something similar to a nausea that one experienced when holding a wound tight. Keep holding, and the blood trickles in rivulets down your arms mockingly; let go, and it flows like a river. Either way, you lose. Airelle, clutching the book, shifted her eyes to Snape, who sighed.

"You've recognized the translation of Lord Voldemort's name," he said. "At least now you cannot say you've come off worse as far as languages go."

Airelle did not reply; instead, she lowered her gaze again and fingered towards the cover. On the first page, in a richly flowing hand, was written: T.M. Riddle.

"T.M. Riddle," she whispered, looking away, trying to recall times long adrift.

"The Trophy Room," Snape offered.

"The Trophy Room!?" she exclaimed. Ah, yes, said a voice in her head, you remember, don't you?

"I cannot believe we have detention. Again," murmured Airelle Vilka, the old broom that she'd been given swishing back and forth on the stone floor. It jumped yet again, and smacked the fifth-year Ravenclaw in the shins. Luckily, Severus Snape spoke at that moment, drowning out Airelle's intense desire to send the broom somewhere where the sun doesn't shine.

"At least be happy we are not stuck with Potter," he said, kicking his own broom, which was as far from willing to cooperate as Snape was from willing to wear a pink tutu. Apparently, it liked flying much better than sweeping, and kept trying to lift the Slytherin boy off the ground.

"Potter had detention too, did he?" smirked Airelle, and Snape began to laugh.

"He deserved it. Played the moronic prank on me in the first place."

Airelle was grinning. "Very well, fine, but you were the one who slipped our home-made Balding Potion into Potter and Black's respective mugs of pumpkin juice."

"Yes, it did prove quite handy."

"Snape!" Airelle exclaimed, failing to hide a smile. "McGonagall nearly had a heart attack."

"She's young," said Snape nonchalantly. "She'll live through it."

"Whatever the case may be," said his friend, exaggerating the last word and struggling with the now recoiling broom, "both of us and Potter have detention for our behaviour. Now, look at us; we have to sweep the Trophy Room, without magic."

"Be thankful our supervisor left to watch Potter," mused Snape, sneezing as his broom smacked him in the face and buried his shiny black hair under a pile of dust. His head now looked like a badly made flour ball.

"Say something," he warned dangerously when Airelle's mouth began to twitch, "and you'll be dealing with an angry Slytherin on a maniacal broom."

"All right, all right," she choked back the laughter, raising her arms and instead glancing around. The Trophy Room (or Famae, as the two termed it) was enormous, with an immensely high ceiling and hundreds of glimmering trophies stacked in glass and gilded metal shelves along the walls.

"I wonder…" her voice echoed, and she trailed off, walking closer to one of the transparent cabinets.

"Wonder what?" came her friend's voice behind her. "If we should use magic to sweep this? I've been thinking about that myself."

"No, no," she murmured absently, putting a finger on the glass edge. Her line of vision rested on a large Special Services Award in the center of the shelf. "I was just wondering what these people had to do to get their names here, for eternity."

"If you're talking about Quidditch," said Snape bitterly, abandoning his broom and walking closer to Airelle, "all you must do to win that is fly around--"

Airelle glared at him quickly. "I play too, you know."

"That's different, and you know that," said Snape. Obviously, he was thinking of Potter. "You prize academics more than the game. On the other hand, there are some who care for nothing else than being famous and looked up to."

Airelle did not think Potter was vain to that extent, but she had had the argument with Snape many times. Her friend was a better debater, so it was wise not to bicker. Not right now, anyway.

She shifted the subject. "I was not looking at Quidditch trophies anyway," she said. "I was merely admiring this Special Services to the School Award."

"T.M. Riddle," Snape read, but his voice was not enthusiastic. I heard some teacher talk about him once. He was Head Boy here many years ago."

"Oh," said Airelle. "There's a person I'd like to admire…"

Airelle opened her eyes without even realizing they'd been closed. Snape was looking at her intently.

"Yes," she said. "I remember."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Snape slowly, "is Voldemort himself."

"How do you know?" asked Airelle, flipping some more through the pages. It was regular class-work, from what she could tell. This was one of Riddle's schoolbooks. So Dumbledore had hidden them here, for fear of harmful spells inside them. But why didn't he destroy them? Now that the Dark Lord was back, would he want the books back? Would he try? And most of all: why would Dumbledore keep them here?

"If you forget," said Snape, emotion leaving his eyes as he said it, "I was a Death Eater. I found out soon after I joined, by accident from a colleague."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was the use? To bring shame? Very few people know his identity, but I happen to be aware that his mother, a witch, came from an old and respected family. Its name does not deserve to be shattered. From what I understand, her relatives did not keep too much of a contact with her when she married a Muggle, but they never knew that her son went on to become the Dark Lord."

"All right," said Airelle, as slowly as Snape had spoken, "but Dumbledore knows."

"Correct. Dippet did not, but Dumbledore guessed after a while, and wisely collected most of Tom Riddle's books that had been floating around the wizarding community, and put them here. Voldemort does not know about this yet, as far as I can tell. Dumbledore must have some purpose in doing it, but I trust my judgment as well. And right now, it is not too great of an evaluation."

"I see," murmured Airelle. "But what I want to know is… what could be in these books that's so terrible…"

Snape opened his mouth. But before he'd had a chance to reply, they heard a creak of metal, and the passage behind them began to slide open.

To Be Continued…