Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on! The Shepherd belongs to Frederick Forsythe and its publishers--don't have a copy on me at the moment.
A/N: Thanks to my reviewers, especially the the gang on the Snapefic Liberation Front mailing list! Just search for "Snapefic_LibFront" over on Yahoo Groups (sorry, FFN doesn't like URLs, apparently).
As you can probably tell, this chapter reveals where I got the title for this fic from. My story will bear no resemblance to Forsythe's, but the title just seemed...perfect, so I used it. Read the story! It's really well-done, particularly considering he uses a somewhat familiar plot device.
And for those that are interested, I wrote a lot of the latter part of this chapter with both the Thomas Moore version and the Cambridge Singers version of the carol "In the Bleak Midwinter", and Loreena McKennitt's "In Praise of Christmas" in the background. Yes, I know it's April, not December. :-)
Enjoy!
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Chapter 9: The Muggle Book
Though in some ways she hadn't really expected to see a change in the teachers--she was too used to the onus for resolutions of student/teacher problems being placed solely on the student--she did see something of a change in the following weeks. She did try to take Dumbledore's advice and not get her hackles up when a teacher either talked down to her or seemed to expect too much, but she noticed as well that the teachers seemed to be trying not to do that as often. And she had to admit, Dumbeldore had been right; her professors did talk to her as an adult in her tutorials.
She was also glad to see that she was receiving more practical instruction in some of her tutorials. Actually doing something was always so much more interesting than answering questions from her reading. Lupin had her trying some actual defence spells, spending much of their time together in the next couple weeks working on "Expelliarmus". It was difficult to do right; with the proper amount of concentration one gained the opponent's wand, and the upper hand in a fight. If you were too panicky, or not concentrating, the spell went wild, knocking the other person off their feet, their wand flying anywhere. While the less precise version had its benefits, she still had to try and perform the spell properly, if only to spare Lupin some unnecessary bruising. Sprout had her spending more time potting, caring for, and preparing plants, rather than the theory and general care that she had been doing. Despite the fact that it meant getting caked in mud by the end of her tutorial, it was much more interesting to actually make something grow than to read about it all the time.
Possibly more surprising than the change in her other teachers was McGonagall's slight change in attitude toward her. While still managing to be somewhat stern most of the time, she did occasinally show some mothering tendencies, particularly when Eve's stuffy sinuses turned into a full-blown bout of the flu the day after her blow-up with Snape. McGonagall was the one who noticed that Eve was looking a little under the weather and bustled her off to Madam Pomfrey, and who managed to persuade the matron to let Eve sleep the virus off in her room, instead of the hospital wing. She sometimes took a couple minutes of tutorial time just to chat, and Eve had to wonder if Dumbledore had asked McGonagall to be a bit of a female confidante as well, for things that she might not be comfortable talking to Dumbledore about, which actually weren't many.
In the two meetings she had with Dumbledore before the Christmas holidays, Eve found herself relaxing a little more when she talked to the Headmaster. Dumbledore had a knack for getting to how things were going for her without directly asking, and making her feel that she could give him an honest answer. He would talk about other things as well: the reading she was doing, her interests, trivial things. Actually, she began looking forward to their talks. She still didn't feel all that comfortable with most of her housemates, so while there remained a kind of teacher/student definition to her relationship with Dumbledore and McGonagall, they were still two people at Hogwarts that she felt she could confide in.
It was mainly the interaction between her and those two people that made her decide to stay, well before the end of term. Besides, she had to admit that she'd be a bit of an idiot to go running off in a huff without learning how to do magic--it was certainly something she would have kicked herself for later.
Snape, of course, was a completely different story from her other teachers. Her tutorials with Snape started as soon as she was feeling well enough to go back to classes, the week after their argument. She could have sworn that the temperature in the dungeons--already considerably lower than in the rest of the school--dropped considerably during every tutorial. They were both exceedingly stiff with each other, speaking in clipped sentences containing the bare minimum amount of content that they could get away with. Snape usually refrained from making any cutting remarks both in classes and tutorials, though his facial expressions were usually sufficient to express what he was thinking.
For his part, Snape had to admit that she was making some progress. As he had noticed before, her familiarity with some of the equipment they used was an asset, and seemed to make it a little less likely that she would make a serious error. Her essays were also more readable than her classmates', but that was hardly surprising. She would have had to develop an ability to write clear, concise essays for university.
Still, her few advantages over her classmates didn't mean that she was a perfect potion brewer. She had a few less failures than the others, but her potions did fail at times. At least when they did turn out wrong she looked about as annoyed with herself as Snape was with her, though he couldn't be sure whether it was due to her perfectionist tendencies or a desire to show him up.
Probably the one thing that managed to cheer him (though it did little to outwardly improve his usually dour mood) was that Gryffindor lost its first Quidditch match, which had been against Hufflepuff due to Malfoy's "injury". Even if it was really only because the Dementors caused Potter to fall off his broom from fifty feet in the air, it was still a loss, and lessened Gryffindor's chances of taking the Quidditch Cup from Slytherin this year. As Snape and McGonagall traditionally had a strong rivalry over their house Quidditch teams, he was glad for the chance to rub a little salt into McGonagall's wounds when she was being particularly annoying. Most of the time he and Minerva got along quite well--as well as he got on with anyone, that is--but there were occasions where they couldn't resist needling each other. He was quite glad to have this new development for ammunition.
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After a chill, damp November, the sky finally lightened in early December, when the inhabitants of Hogwarts woke one morning to find a delicate frost on the grounds. The castle began to buzz with the promise of Christmas, teachers and students alike longing for the holidays.
The sign-up lists for those wishing to remain at the school for the holidays went up the first week of December, and Eve reluctantly put her name down. She wanted to head home for Christmas, but her teachers had piled on a great deal of homework for the holidays, and she would likely need to use the library's resources to do much of it. If there was any way she could go home for part of the holiday she would have, but she knew of no other way to get to Hogwarts than the train, and so she either had to stay for the entire vacation, or none of it. She would just have to forego Christmas at home this year, though the promise of seeing what Hogwarts was like on Christmas wasn't much of a trade-off. She owled her parents to let them know she wouldn't be coming home, and they sent their regrets, though they would be making the best of the situation by heading somewhere a little warmer for Christmas, in that case.
She did have a few things to look forward to, however. Though she did have an armload of homework, she would have some time to herself, time for loafing around and sleeping in. There was also a Hogsmeade visit just before term ended, as well as the promise of free time where she could head into the village on her own.
She headed into Hogsmeade wrapped up in her cloak and Gryffindor scarf, walking quickly through the gently falling snow with the other students. After doing a little last-minute Christmas shopping for her parents and picking up a couple catnip toys for Erik she headed into the Three Broomsticks and curled up at a small table with a book and a tankard of Butterbeer, spending as much time looking around at the assortment of patrons as well as the swirling snow outside the mullioned windows. There was a few minutes of excitement when Hagrid started bellowing about something during a conversation with McGonagall, Flitwick and some puffed-up-looking man in a pinstriped cloak, but as she wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, Eve turned back to her book.
Everyone was chilled through when they got back to the castle, and they eagerly tucked in to hot chicken stew and bread still warm from the ovens before heading back to their common-rooms. Eve stayed for a little of the end-of-term festivities, but soon climbed up to her tower room, after the Weasley twins set off a few Dungbombs. She was knackered after the busy day, and only wanted to wrap herself in her duvet and curl up on one of the widow-seats in her room, watching the snow fall outside with a book in her hand and Erik purring in her lap.
Eve woke early the next morning but stayed in her room until nearly lunchtime. She didn't want to see the other students heading home in high sprits, wishing each other a Merry Christmas, in case it made her more homesick than she already was. When she finally did come down, Gryffindor tower was nearly silent, the only other students staying over the holidays being the "Terrible Trio": Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.
Outside, the grounds were covered in a thick layer of snow, and after lunch Eve donned her cloak, boots and scarf, and headed outside for a walk on the grounds. She was used to Christmases near London, which didn't often include much snow. She loved the sound of it crunching underneath her boots, loved watching it fall in soft clumps from the grey sky. It just made things seem so...magical. Spirits buoyed by the beauty of the landscape and castle covered in snow, she walked over to the lake, which was rimmed with ice; past the Forbidden Forest, which she stayed well away from, along with the Whomping Willow; and past the Quidditch pitch before looping back to the school.
It was slightly eerie, walking through the halls or sitting in the common room and not seeing or hearing anyone else. She settled into the fireplace alcove--a small seating area within the fireplace itself--with an Ann Paré mystery novel and read all afternoon, joining the few students and teachers that remained at the school in the Dining Hall at dinner. It felt odd, sitting at the near-empty Gryffindor table, the Great Hall echoing with the discussions of the teachers, who had all moved in towards the middle of the high table to talk. Though she did notice that there was one teacher who wasn't doing much talking. While McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick were chattering on to each other, Snape seemed to be ignoring the conversation every time Eve glanced up at the teachers' table.
She turned back to her plate and finished eating while she jotted down notes on a piece of parchment for her Potions essay. Once dinner was over, she continued her note-taking in the common room before finally heading up to bed.
Most of her days leading up to Christmas were pretty much the same, a little time for her own pursuits, a little for work, mostly spending time by herself, though McGonagall occasionally took time to chat with her for a little while, and even Hermione did on a couple occasions when she wasn't with Harry and Ron. For the most part, however, she spent her time alone, with Erik or a book for company. She went for a walk around the grounds almost everyday, sometimes taking a stroll around the castle as well, Erik trotting along at her heels or leaning against her shoulder. She had to admit that the castle felt rather cosy--even homey, at times--with all the beautiful Christmas decorations: the swags of evergreens and holly that adorned every archway and staircase; the tiny, glowing fairies that twinkled in the twelve giant Christmas trees in the Great Hall. She couldn't wander too much, as Filch was liable to find her and demand what she was up to, but if she mainly stuck to the corridors that she was used to walking in between classes, then she wasn't likely to get in any trouble, and wasn't likely to get lost. She had figured out how to get to all her classes by October, and afterwards didn't stray from her usual routes; with the way the castle was laid out and the way the stairs and rooms tended to move around, one could get lost very quickly.
The only problem with wandering the halls was the fact that most of the suits of armour in the castle were charmed to sing Christmas carols when someone approached, and every time she heard one singing "O Holy Night", or "O Come All Ye Faithful", she felt a pang of homesickness. She'd lived on her own for years, but she had always gone home for Christmas, and she loved the family traditions of the holiday. Cutting down the tree with her father, decorating it, doing the Christmas baking with her mother...it wasn't really the day itself that she looked forward to, but the season, and the small, shared moments of it. And as the days crept closer and closer to the 25th, she found herself missing those moments and the people she shared them with most of all.
Snape welcomed the holiday, the respite from teaching allowing him some time to finish up some marking and do a little experimenting in the empty dungeon. Potter and friends were off making mischief somewhere else in the castle, and Snape was more than willing to leave them to Filch for the time being.
The break from teaching was the only thing he enjoyed about Christmas, really. It had never held much excitement for him, even when he was younger. His parents had put on a big show of having a "proper" Christmas when he'd come home from school for the holiday, but that was exactly what it was: show. They decorated the house so that the neighbours would turn their heads to look at it as they went by, had the large, perfectly-decorated Christmas tree that looked like something out of a decorating magazine, and had the family dinner on Christmas Day, simply so they could boast about it to their friends. In his mid-teens he had just decided to stay at the castle for the holidays, where he could show his real opinion of the holiday and not have to live up to his role of "perfect child", where he could scowl all he wanted and not get punished for it. At home, it had all the appearance of Christmas but none of the spirit, and so Snape had never regarded the holiday as much more than time off school and an excuse to get a few things he didn't particularly want. His parents usually bought him almost anything he wanted anyway, so Christmas was not all that different from the rest of the year, and that belief had stuck with him into adulthood.
However, he couldn't completely hide in his dungeons, no matter how much he would have liked to. Every year the staff remaining over the holidays had a small celebration on Christmas Eve with desserts and a little too much eggnog. At least this Christmas there could be no chance of a repeat performance of the year before when Hooch and Sinistra had started singing Christmas carols with the kind of lyrics that one expected to hear from Peeves, as they were both off to visit relatives for the holidays. Though for ninety-nine percent of the year the teachers were staid and respectable, some did let themselves go a little on the special occasions, particularly those where there were no students around to see the after-effects.
And Snape wasn't much of a party sort of person. He liked the teachers well enough when they were at dinner or sitting in the staff room, though he sometimes didn't give that impression with his stony silence. He just didn't like the noise of a party, the constant entreaties to "join the fun". If he wanted to join in, he'd bloody well do it on his own; their nagging him about it only make him less likely to do so.
Snape turned up at the staffroom a good twenty minutes after the party had begun, holding to his philosophy of arriving late and leaving early. He grabbed a few things from the buffet table, then retreated to a corner of the room where he could be seen, but was unlikely to be disturbed. Dumbledore was always insistent on his turning up at these things, so he made sure that his presence was noticed, then retreated back to his dungeons.
This year was no different. By an hour into the "celebrations" the sound level of chatter had just edged into the "racket" category (quite a feat with only six teachers present, but then Hagrid usually made up for three people on his own), and a couple of his colleagues seemed to be laughing a little more than was actually necessary. Dumbledore had glanced over his way a few times, so he could finally make an exit and head back to his latest experiment.
He edged out of the staffroom into the Entrance Hall and hurried down into the dungeons, checking his watch as he went. The Dreamless Sleep potion he was working on had been bubbling away for an hour--that should be enough to allow him to add the next two ingredients. After that, two more hours of simmering and it should be done.
This was the fruit of some months' careful research, an improvement on the older concoction. The problem was that not only did the existing potion taste absolutely awful, but it had a physically addictive property, not just a psychological one. It also meant that those who used it often enough eventually needed progressively larger doses to get the same effect, as he well knew.
This recipe would hopefully remove at least the physically addictive effects, and prevent desensitization to the potion. If he'd done it right, he should have a good sleep that night; if not, he'd know what the effects were and be able to tinker with the recipe a little more.
He reached his office, where the potion was burbling away, and after giving it a gentle, tentative stir, he added the pre-measured, two final ingredients. He stirred the concoction, letting the new ingredients incorporate before checking his watch again and making an entry in his overly thorough notes.
Two hours before he would know whether it worked or not. Two hours to fritter away. He had a pile of marking to do, but didn't feel much like ploughing through clumsily-worded and ill-argued essays. Instead, he settled for prowling the school, his second-favourite pastime. Besides, one never knew what Potter and his friends would get up to, with most of the school gone.
He made his way to the fourth floor before he finally stilled a moment in his prowling. He had just turned to hex a suit of armour which had decided to serenade him with "Good Christian Men Rejoice", when something caught his eye, sitting on a window-ledge to his right. A brief pause to silence the armour, then he walked over to the ledge.
The windows in this part of the fourth floor were set deep in the walls, providing a low ledge just the right size for a window-seat, if one didn't mind sitting on bare, cold stone. On this particular ledge sat a book; a small one, different from most others one usually found around the castle. Wizarding books tended to be rather heavy and impressively bound. This was a very thin, hardback book, with a brightly coloured dust jacket.
Snape picked it up, examining it through the light that streamed in the window from the full moon. He noticed the light and briefly made a mental note to see if Lupin wanted any more of the wolfsbane potion the next day, before concentrating on the book in his hands.
The Shepherd, by Frederick Forsythe, the cover read, above a drawing of a Muggle aeroplane flying over a darkened countryside. He opened the book, wondering if the book's owner had had the presence of mind to write their name on the fly-leaf. They hadn't, but there was an inscription inside.
To Eve,
From Mum & Dad
Christmas 1990.
May you always be your own shepherd,
or find one to guide you home.
The book was Eve Berger's, then. Snape checked his watch again; he had at least an hour until the potion would be ready. With nothing else to do, and curious what kind of books she read (he had long known that you could tell quite a bit about a person by what books they treasured), he seated himself on the window ledge and began to read.
Glossing over any Muggle contraptions or expressions he didn't understand--or deducing a general idea of their use from the context--he went through the book rather quickly. It was hardly a book, really, more of a short story. A pilot heading home to England loses all electric-powered instruments on a foggy Christmas Eve, and just when things are looking their most dire, he is guided down to a near-abandoned airstrip by someone in an older plane, a "Shepherd". Only after landing and thinking of a number of other explanations, does he find out that his shepherd disappeared on Christmas Eve years before, on a routine patrol for lost pilots needing a helping hand. Trite, clichéd, a staple of ghost stories, but it was at least well-written and somewhat interesting. It took only half an hour to read, and Snape was about to replace it on the window ledge and start making his way down to the dungeons when he heard a sound in the connecting passage; a muffled footfall.
Snape jumped up from his seat and ducked into the shadow of the suit of armour on the opposite wall, peering around the breastplate to see who was coming round the corner. Someone walking around at this time of night when most of the school was gone seemed suspicious enough, but considering it also sounded like they were trying to creep through the school without drawing attention...
A short, rounded shape, silhouetted by moonlight coming in one of the windows further down the corridor, turned the corner and walked quickly over to the window ledge where Snape had been sitting, slipper-shod feet lightly scraping against the stone flags. It was Eve Berger, her school robe thrown over pyjamas. As he watched, she glanced at the window ledge, then began studying the floor around the window, looking for something.
Snape realized that he was still holding her book, and didn't even need to consciously deduce that that was what she was looking for. He took a small step out of the shadows, and said sharply, "It seems rather late for you to be prowling the halls, Miss Berger."
She jumped at the suddenness of his voice and turned around, a cold expression settling on her features after a momentary look of surprise.
"It's only ten-thirty, well within my curfew. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm looking for something," she said, and was about to leave when Snape stepped a little further forward, and held out the book.
"Would this be what you were looking for?"
"Yes, thank you," Eve said stiffly, reaching out to take the book from him.
He pulled it back until it was slightly out of her reach from where she stood. He wasn't willing to give it up that easily.
"What were you doing, reading here and not in your common room?" he asked, suspiciously. God, from Filch's mention earlier of her wandering the castle, she was becoming more nosy than Potter, Weasley and Granger.
"I wanted a change of scenery. The moon is on this side of the castle tonight, and I wanted to see the lake," she said innocently, and not breaking eye contact, "Now may I have my book? It's freezing in this corridor."
He placed it in her hands with a sarcasm-laden "Merry Christmas", and had turned to leave when he heard her voice behind him again.
"Merry Christmas, Professor."
Snape didn't turn around, just continued in his long strides back down to the dungeons. Doubtless the seasonal greeting was simply a formality, so there was no need to acknowledge it. It wasn't like he gave it any significance, and they were two words so easily parted with. What was that curmudgeonly response he'd heard ages ago, from some Muggle author?
"Bah, humbug," Snape muttered to himself as he passed the staffroom door and hurried back down to the sanctuary of his dungeons.