15.
Most of the other students had already left. Vivian was waiting in the entrance hall, she had asked to be allowed to be collected by car, as Lucy couldn't spare the time to leave her pupils for a day to drive down to London to pick Vivian up. Anyway, they only lived about half an hour from the school; it was easier to drive.
She was still holding the book Hermione had leant her. She had read the section on her mother over and over again, but she still wasn't sure she'd taken it all in. Each time she read the description of the Malus Infinitas curse, she compared the mark on her wrist to the one pictured in the book with a feeling of disbelief.
So now she knew what her mother had done to her. By rights, she shouldn't be alive. Her mother had wanted her dead, obliterated. She remembered Lucy's comforting words: her mother had been maddened by grief, hadn't known what she was doing. But from what she'd read about the Malus Infinitas curse, she could tell it wasn't a curse you could just do on the spur of the moment. It took deliberation, coolness.
Her mother had really hated her. She was annoyed with herself for feeling it so sharply, even after all this time. What had been in her mother's mind when she cursed her? Had she ever cared about her at all?
*
Snape was sitting gloomily in the dungeons. He was feeling particularly vindictive: he'd just passed Vivian and Lucy on the way to their car. Vivian, doing her best to hide her feelings, had seemed lively and cheerful, she and Lucy laughed as they made their way through the grounds. She was wrapped in a thick winter coat and a cheerful scarf, the cold weather had brought a tinge of colour into her cheeks, for an instant she had looked almost radiant.
What right did she have to go off looking so happy, as if she didn't have a care in the world? He thought irritably. It was he who had all the trouble of researching her sickness; he was the one who had to puzzle over Dumbledore's cryptic comments. It was something that had always irritated him, he realised, Dumbledore's habit of making mysterious remarks and refusing to explain them.
Bringing it home to the rest of us that we're not omnipotent, he thought sourly. He knew he was doing Dumbledore an injustice, but he was feeling too irritable to care.
As if on cue, the door to the classroom opened, and Dumbledore came in.
"Still marking, I see." He said.
"And supervising." Snape said, indicating a corner of the classroom, where Marcus Fowler was serving part of his detention by scraping dried potions off the desks. He had not been expelled, thanks to his parents, who were influential school governors, and also thanks to Snape, who had exerted all his influence to get Dumbledore to allow him to stay. It was his duty, he thought, not to let Vivian have it all her own way.
Dumbledore interrupted Snape's thoughts by saying:
"I came to ask if you'll be attending Christmas lunch, it would be such a shame if you missed it, and we really need someone to keep Hagrid off the eggnog..."
"You know I loathe things of that sort." Snape said shortly, "I'm sorry Albus, I just don't think I could face it this year."
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"I understand." He said. "You're recovering from a particularly nasty curse, and I suppose you've never been much of a raver."
"A what?"
"A raver. Partygoer. Dear me, I seem to be picking up all kinds of Muggle phrases, must come of reading their newspapers. Minerva always did say it was madness. Oh well, I'll leave you in peace. Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas." Snape said half-heartedly, and Dumbledore was gone.
There was a sudden clatter, Snape looked up to see Marcus Fowler had dropped the bottle of Mrs Skower's All-purpose Magical Mess-remover he had been using.
"Sorry." He said in a sullen tone, when he saw Snape looking at him.
"Never mind." Snape said shortly, then following a sudden impulse he said:
"It wasn't you who cursed me." Marcus looked up at him. His eyes were full of resentful intelligence.
"No. Someone framed me. But I don't know who."
Snape studied him thoughtfully.
"Can you really think of no one? No one who had a grudge against you? Someone you'd injured recently? A girl, perhaps?"
Marcus gave a start, as if he'd just had a sudden revelation.
"It couldn't have been, not Lor-"
"-No names!" Snape snapped. "But I think you're right. And it's most likely this person had help. She has friends, I believe. Some of them are admittedly rather clever. Logically, it would seem that some of them were involved."
Marcus seemed to be thinking rapidly.
"Of course!" he exclaimed. "I dumped her..."
Snape felt a strange feeling of revulsion as he looked at the youth; he almost regretted what he'd done. It was hardly the sort of thing a teacher ought to have done. He knew exactly what Professor McGonagall would say if she found out. Once a bastard always a bastard, he thought with a twisted smile. But there was nothing he could do now. Marcus left soon after, after thanking Snape profusely, his mind already intent on revenge. Snape was left alone with his thoughts, and a familiar feeling of self-disgust.
*
That night Snape found sleeping difficult, even more so than usual. After tossing and turning in bed until midnight, he finally fell into an uneasy doze.
He couldn't remember afterwards which one of them it was in the dream, Claudia or Vivian. He was lying on the ground in a wood somewhere. It was night. He knew somehow that he was helpless, his wand was lost, his leg injured. Then he saw the figure of a woman silhouetted against the sky, her long hair floating in the breeze. Her laughter was low and gentle. She was coming nearer and nearer, and he realised with a stab of horror that she was going to kill him as he lay there helpless, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He tried vainly to crawl backwards away from her.
She stood over him, he knew without seeing that her eyes were green, almost luminous in the moonlight. She looked down at him, staring intently into his face; all he could see was shadow. He suddenly vulnerable, as if she could see through him, into the darkness that lay beneath. She knelt down beside him. He had the impression of a snake, coiling itself to strike. Then suddenly she took his hand, and raised it to her lips.
Then he woke up, and lay there, cursing softly to himself in the darkness.
Most of the other students had already left. Vivian was waiting in the entrance hall, she had asked to be allowed to be collected by car, as Lucy couldn't spare the time to leave her pupils for a day to drive down to London to pick Vivian up. Anyway, they only lived about half an hour from the school; it was easier to drive.
She was still holding the book Hermione had leant her. She had read the section on her mother over and over again, but she still wasn't sure she'd taken it all in. Each time she read the description of the Malus Infinitas curse, she compared the mark on her wrist to the one pictured in the book with a feeling of disbelief.
So now she knew what her mother had done to her. By rights, she shouldn't be alive. Her mother had wanted her dead, obliterated. She remembered Lucy's comforting words: her mother had been maddened by grief, hadn't known what she was doing. But from what she'd read about the Malus Infinitas curse, she could tell it wasn't a curse you could just do on the spur of the moment. It took deliberation, coolness.
Her mother had really hated her. She was annoyed with herself for feeling it so sharply, even after all this time. What had been in her mother's mind when she cursed her? Had she ever cared about her at all?
*
Snape was sitting gloomily in the dungeons. He was feeling particularly vindictive: he'd just passed Vivian and Lucy on the way to their car. Vivian, doing her best to hide her feelings, had seemed lively and cheerful, she and Lucy laughed as they made their way through the grounds. She was wrapped in a thick winter coat and a cheerful scarf, the cold weather had brought a tinge of colour into her cheeks, for an instant she had looked almost radiant.
What right did she have to go off looking so happy, as if she didn't have a care in the world? He thought irritably. It was he who had all the trouble of researching her sickness; he was the one who had to puzzle over Dumbledore's cryptic comments. It was something that had always irritated him, he realised, Dumbledore's habit of making mysterious remarks and refusing to explain them.
Bringing it home to the rest of us that we're not omnipotent, he thought sourly. He knew he was doing Dumbledore an injustice, but he was feeling too irritable to care.
As if on cue, the door to the classroom opened, and Dumbledore came in.
"Still marking, I see." He said.
"And supervising." Snape said, indicating a corner of the classroom, where Marcus Fowler was serving part of his detention by scraping dried potions off the desks. He had not been expelled, thanks to his parents, who were influential school governors, and also thanks to Snape, who had exerted all his influence to get Dumbledore to allow him to stay. It was his duty, he thought, not to let Vivian have it all her own way.
Dumbledore interrupted Snape's thoughts by saying:
"I came to ask if you'll be attending Christmas lunch, it would be such a shame if you missed it, and we really need someone to keep Hagrid off the eggnog..."
"You know I loathe things of that sort." Snape said shortly, "I'm sorry Albus, I just don't think I could face it this year."
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"I understand." He said. "You're recovering from a particularly nasty curse, and I suppose you've never been much of a raver."
"A what?"
"A raver. Partygoer. Dear me, I seem to be picking up all kinds of Muggle phrases, must come of reading their newspapers. Minerva always did say it was madness. Oh well, I'll leave you in peace. Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas." Snape said half-heartedly, and Dumbledore was gone.
There was a sudden clatter, Snape looked up to see Marcus Fowler had dropped the bottle of Mrs Skower's All-purpose Magical Mess-remover he had been using.
"Sorry." He said in a sullen tone, when he saw Snape looking at him.
"Never mind." Snape said shortly, then following a sudden impulse he said:
"It wasn't you who cursed me." Marcus looked up at him. His eyes were full of resentful intelligence.
"No. Someone framed me. But I don't know who."
Snape studied him thoughtfully.
"Can you really think of no one? No one who had a grudge against you? Someone you'd injured recently? A girl, perhaps?"
Marcus gave a start, as if he'd just had a sudden revelation.
"It couldn't have been, not Lor-"
"-No names!" Snape snapped. "But I think you're right. And it's most likely this person had help. She has friends, I believe. Some of them are admittedly rather clever. Logically, it would seem that some of them were involved."
Marcus seemed to be thinking rapidly.
"Of course!" he exclaimed. "I dumped her..."
Snape felt a strange feeling of revulsion as he looked at the youth; he almost regretted what he'd done. It was hardly the sort of thing a teacher ought to have done. He knew exactly what Professor McGonagall would say if she found out. Once a bastard always a bastard, he thought with a twisted smile. But there was nothing he could do now. Marcus left soon after, after thanking Snape profusely, his mind already intent on revenge. Snape was left alone with his thoughts, and a familiar feeling of self-disgust.
*
That night Snape found sleeping difficult, even more so than usual. After tossing and turning in bed until midnight, he finally fell into an uneasy doze.
He couldn't remember afterwards which one of them it was in the dream, Claudia or Vivian. He was lying on the ground in a wood somewhere. It was night. He knew somehow that he was helpless, his wand was lost, his leg injured. Then he saw the figure of a woman silhouetted against the sky, her long hair floating in the breeze. Her laughter was low and gentle. She was coming nearer and nearer, and he realised with a stab of horror that she was going to kill him as he lay there helpless, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He tried vainly to crawl backwards away from her.
She stood over him, he knew without seeing that her eyes were green, almost luminous in the moonlight. She looked down at him, staring intently into his face; all he could see was shadow. He suddenly vulnerable, as if she could see through him, into the darkness that lay beneath. She knelt down beside him. He had the impression of a snake, coiling itself to strike. Then suddenly she took his hand, and raised it to her lips.
Then he woke up, and lay there, cursing softly to himself in the darkness.