4.
Her eyes were green-grey, glittering in the twilight. She was laughing at him, a sensation that he found unbearable and at the same time strangely exhilarating. She had ensnared him, and he knew it. As long as she lived he could never turn against Voldemort.
"See you tomorrow." She had said brightly. She smiled; again he felt that mixture of loathing and longing as he watched her leave. For her there had been no tomorrow. But somewhere she was still laughing at him.
*
As soon as Snape got back to his office, he unlocked a cupboard and brought out an ancient muggle kettle and a tin of leaf tea, and with unsteady hands he began to make himself a cup of tea. He could of course have procured the drink in half the time using magical means, but he preferred the slower, muggle way: he found the leisurely ritual strangely comforting. He had acquired this habit when he was younger and it had stuck, although he tried to keep it a profound secret.
He thought of Claudia as he set the kettle to boil on the fire (an electric kettle would have been useless, even if Hogwarts had had electricity, the magical atmosphere meant that nothing electric could work in the vicinity.) A picture of her as he had last seen her slid into his disordered brain: she was setting off to meet a famous auror, she had said with unholy glee. They all knew that the man was doomed. (So was she, but they weren't to know that) Snape had offered to accompany her, but she had refused with a strange smile. Of course, it made sense now. How surprised he would have been to realise that that man she was meeting was her husband.
Had she known she was going to her death, and the death of the man she loved? Maybe she had, Snape thought, maybe she appreciated the danger, the strange mixture of love and hate that bound her to Anton Leroux. He felt suddenly excluded, shut out from this strange intense relationship.
Voldemort had suppressed all reference to Claudia or her death. Well, now he knew why.
Somewhere in the castle a bell rang, startling him out of his reverie. It would soon be time for lessons. Hurriedly he began tidying away the kettle and the dirty mug, in his haste he left the key in the lock instead of putting it back in his pocket. It was not until he was sorting out his books for the next lesson that he remembered Vivian.
He felt a stab of dislike towards her. Why did she have to turn up here, of all places, staring at him so insolently out of her mother's eyes? He tried to think rationally: Vivian was not Claudia. Even in the small space of time he had know her that was obvious. Claudia had had charm, vivacity, colour. The brat might have inherited her mother's brains, but she certainly hadn't inherited her personality.
Still, it was irritating.
*
When Vivian burst into Snape's office at quarter past six, she found the room empty. On Snape's desk lay a goblet of steaming sky-blue liquid, and a terse note:
Late again, Miss Leroux.
This is the Bene Liquidas potion you require. On no account add sugar, this will make it useless.
"That's friendly." Said Vivian to herself. The note was unsigned, but it was obviously from Snape, who seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. She thought about what Dumbledore had said. She had tried to believe him, but in her heart of hearts she was sure Snape was still in league with Voldemort. Memories were coming back to her now, and the more she could recall of the vague man in black who had taught her the first curse she had ever known, the more she mistrusted him.
People don't change, she told herself.
She picked up the steaming goblet; she knew from experience how foul the potion tasked, it was better to drink it without thinking about it. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed the mixture in two gulps.
"Ugh!" she gasped. She looked around for something to wash her mouth out with. There was a small, rather dirty-looking sink in a corner of Snape's office, to which she rushed over and began to drink from. She wished Lorna had come with her, but Lorna had flatly refused to go anywhere near Snape's office.
"And neither would you if you had any sense!" she had said. The fact that Snape's office contained the potion that was in effect keeping Vivian alive she dismissed a minor detail. It certainly wasn't a nice place to be: Snape seemed to be making a collection of slimy things in jars, and it obviously hadn't been dusted in years. Vivian decided to leave as quickly as possible, and was already halfway across the room when she spotted the small cupboard, which had the key still in the lock.
Don't be stupid, she told herself; he could be back any minute. But she was certain Snape was still a Death Eater. Surely this was a wonderful opportunity to prove it?
With trembling hands, she unlocked the cupboard. With bated breath she drew out the kettle. It took her a minute to realize what it was, and then she laughed, and realized she had been stupid. It would be something funny to put in her letter to Lucy. She was about to fling it back in the cupboard when she caught sight of something else lying at the back: a small, rather badly printed book: Shakespeare's Sonnets.
Inside was written: "To Claudia." Nothing else. Vivian flicked through the book, her thoughts in a whirl. Suddenly her gaze froze on two lines that had been underlined in pencil:
"So true a fool is love that in your will / though you do anything, he thinks no ill."
Before she could do anything else she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Franticly she flung the book back into the cupboard and locked it, and then walked hurriedly to the table where the empty goblet stood. Ten seconds later Snape stalked in. He glared at Vivian and said shortly
"Have you taken the potion?"
"Yes." Said Vivian. "Thank you for making it." She added reluctantly.
"Don't mention it. Perhaps next time you will be more punctual." Said Snape irritably. He had obviously meant this as a dismissal, but Vivian stood still, her eyes fixed on him, her mind busy with what she had found in the cupboard. Was the book really addressed to her mother?
"Yes?" snapped Snape, when he realised she was still there.
"Nothing." She said hastily, turning to go. "Nice chess set." She added over her shoulder. There was something defiant about the way she said this, but before Snape could think of a suitable reply she was gone.
Snape stared crossly at the empty goblet. She seemed so meek and docile, he thought irritably, and then when you least expected it she would suddenly turn insolent. He was actually extremely proud of his chess set, which stood in a remote corner of the office. It was exquisitely carved out of black and white glass, and stood on an elegant wooden table. It was one of the few things he had inherited from his father.
He shrugged irascibly and dismissed Vivian from his mind.
He began his marking with a vague sense of dissatisfaction.
Her eyes were green-grey, glittering in the twilight. She was laughing at him, a sensation that he found unbearable and at the same time strangely exhilarating. She had ensnared him, and he knew it. As long as she lived he could never turn against Voldemort.
"See you tomorrow." She had said brightly. She smiled; again he felt that mixture of loathing and longing as he watched her leave. For her there had been no tomorrow. But somewhere she was still laughing at him.
*
As soon as Snape got back to his office, he unlocked a cupboard and brought out an ancient muggle kettle and a tin of leaf tea, and with unsteady hands he began to make himself a cup of tea. He could of course have procured the drink in half the time using magical means, but he preferred the slower, muggle way: he found the leisurely ritual strangely comforting. He had acquired this habit when he was younger and it had stuck, although he tried to keep it a profound secret.
He thought of Claudia as he set the kettle to boil on the fire (an electric kettle would have been useless, even if Hogwarts had had electricity, the magical atmosphere meant that nothing electric could work in the vicinity.) A picture of her as he had last seen her slid into his disordered brain: she was setting off to meet a famous auror, she had said with unholy glee. They all knew that the man was doomed. (So was she, but they weren't to know that) Snape had offered to accompany her, but she had refused with a strange smile. Of course, it made sense now. How surprised he would have been to realise that that man she was meeting was her husband.
Had she known she was going to her death, and the death of the man she loved? Maybe she had, Snape thought, maybe she appreciated the danger, the strange mixture of love and hate that bound her to Anton Leroux. He felt suddenly excluded, shut out from this strange intense relationship.
Voldemort had suppressed all reference to Claudia or her death. Well, now he knew why.
Somewhere in the castle a bell rang, startling him out of his reverie. It would soon be time for lessons. Hurriedly he began tidying away the kettle and the dirty mug, in his haste he left the key in the lock instead of putting it back in his pocket. It was not until he was sorting out his books for the next lesson that he remembered Vivian.
He felt a stab of dislike towards her. Why did she have to turn up here, of all places, staring at him so insolently out of her mother's eyes? He tried to think rationally: Vivian was not Claudia. Even in the small space of time he had know her that was obvious. Claudia had had charm, vivacity, colour. The brat might have inherited her mother's brains, but she certainly hadn't inherited her personality.
Still, it was irritating.
*
When Vivian burst into Snape's office at quarter past six, she found the room empty. On Snape's desk lay a goblet of steaming sky-blue liquid, and a terse note:
Late again, Miss Leroux.
This is the Bene Liquidas potion you require. On no account add sugar, this will make it useless.
"That's friendly." Said Vivian to herself. The note was unsigned, but it was obviously from Snape, who seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. She thought about what Dumbledore had said. She had tried to believe him, but in her heart of hearts she was sure Snape was still in league with Voldemort. Memories were coming back to her now, and the more she could recall of the vague man in black who had taught her the first curse she had ever known, the more she mistrusted him.
People don't change, she told herself.
She picked up the steaming goblet; she knew from experience how foul the potion tasked, it was better to drink it without thinking about it. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed the mixture in two gulps.
"Ugh!" she gasped. She looked around for something to wash her mouth out with. There was a small, rather dirty-looking sink in a corner of Snape's office, to which she rushed over and began to drink from. She wished Lorna had come with her, but Lorna had flatly refused to go anywhere near Snape's office.
"And neither would you if you had any sense!" she had said. The fact that Snape's office contained the potion that was in effect keeping Vivian alive she dismissed a minor detail. It certainly wasn't a nice place to be: Snape seemed to be making a collection of slimy things in jars, and it obviously hadn't been dusted in years. Vivian decided to leave as quickly as possible, and was already halfway across the room when she spotted the small cupboard, which had the key still in the lock.
Don't be stupid, she told herself; he could be back any minute. But she was certain Snape was still a Death Eater. Surely this was a wonderful opportunity to prove it?
With trembling hands, she unlocked the cupboard. With bated breath she drew out the kettle. It took her a minute to realize what it was, and then she laughed, and realized she had been stupid. It would be something funny to put in her letter to Lucy. She was about to fling it back in the cupboard when she caught sight of something else lying at the back: a small, rather badly printed book: Shakespeare's Sonnets.
Inside was written: "To Claudia." Nothing else. Vivian flicked through the book, her thoughts in a whirl. Suddenly her gaze froze on two lines that had been underlined in pencil:
"So true a fool is love that in your will / though you do anything, he thinks no ill."
Before she could do anything else she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Franticly she flung the book back into the cupboard and locked it, and then walked hurriedly to the table where the empty goblet stood. Ten seconds later Snape stalked in. He glared at Vivian and said shortly
"Have you taken the potion?"
"Yes." Said Vivian. "Thank you for making it." She added reluctantly.
"Don't mention it. Perhaps next time you will be more punctual." Said Snape irritably. He had obviously meant this as a dismissal, but Vivian stood still, her eyes fixed on him, her mind busy with what she had found in the cupboard. Was the book really addressed to her mother?
"Yes?" snapped Snape, when he realised she was still there.
"Nothing." She said hastily, turning to go. "Nice chess set." She added over her shoulder. There was something defiant about the way she said this, but before Snape could think of a suitable reply she was gone.
Snape stared crossly at the empty goblet. She seemed so meek and docile, he thought irritably, and then when you least expected it she would suddenly turn insolent. He was actually extremely proud of his chess set, which stood in a remote corner of the office. It was exquisitely carved out of black and white glass, and stood on an elegant wooden table. It was one of the few things he had inherited from his father.
He shrugged irascibly and dismissed Vivian from his mind.
He began his marking with a vague sense of dissatisfaction.