Inscribed in Air & Fire
~ An HP fanfic by Snape Ophelia ~
CHAPTER 12
Later that same afternoon, Snape was seated in the staff section of the Hogwarts Quidditch stands, surveying the expectantly waiting crowd. As usual, the whole school, as well as any number of parents and visitors, had turned out for the first match of the season. The morning's downpour continued unabated, and both teams would have a challenge fighting the wind and rain. Thanks to the sheltering charms cast on the stands, the spectators would be considerably more comfortable than the players. It was cold enough that everyone was bundled in scarves and gloves, but at least the spells kept them reasonably dry.
Snape tried not to appear incredibly bored as he stared off at the dismal, low-hanging rain clouds. He could have happily never sat through another game of Quidditch as long as he lived. But, as the Head of Slytherin, he could hardly be absent.
The match should begin at any time and the last of the crowd was now filling the stands. Snape was at the far end of his row and there were still three empty seats between himself and the nearest teacher, Professor Flitwick. He was happy enough with that arrangement. If he must spend the afternoon sitting in a noisy crowd in the damp wind that the sheltering charms couldn't completely shut out, at least he wouldn't also be subjected to his colleagues' chit-chat.
A moment later, however, just as the players were emerging onto the field, he sensed movement out of the corner of his eyes and saw that the seat beside him was being taken.
"Hello, Professor," said the Glamour Casting Instructor, settling into the seat, then blowing on her gloveless hands for warmth.
Snape gave a brief nod in her direction. "Instructor." Then he turned back to the field, not wishing to encourage conversation. He had seen quite enough of Miss Gwir for one afternoon already.
The Quaffle was thrown into the rain-filled air and seized at once by one of the Slytherin Chasers. The Chaser, his green cloak already sodden, swerved through the Hufflepuff defenses and scored. A roar of applause erupted from the Slytherin students in the stands below, and Snape joined politely in the clapping.
Though he made no particular effort to follow the game, Snape kept his eyes fixed on the darting, swooping players as if the sight of his students flying around in the rain like idiots was far too fascinating to ignore. He was, nonetheless, aware of a series of restless movements from the seat beside him.
Eventually, he grew bored enough to throw a sidelong glance at the Glamour Caster.
The woman looked distinctly ill at ease. Her hands were fidgeting with the edges of her cloak and her expression was strained and grim. Her complexion seemed to have taken on an unhealthy hue that had not been present a few hours earlier. When she noticed that he was observing her, she attempted a wan smile.
"You seem rather on edge, Instructor," he said quietly. "Are you already having second thoughts about the subject of our discussion?"
She shook her head. "No, it's not that." Her hands twisted and kneaded at the fabric. With her chin, she gestured at the crowd around them. "It's just…all these people. Crowds like this…they make me nervous."
"Ah," said Snape noncommittally.
There was a sudden collective gasp at some occurrence on the field that he had missed.
"Are you such a fan of the game then," he asked when the stands quieted down again, "to brave both the weather and the crowds?"
"No." She gave a small, strained laugh. "But Professor Dumbledore made it fairly clear that I was expected to attend. I'm afraid he finds me too anti-social."
Snape applauded half-heartedly at whatever it was that people were now cheering about.
"I would prefer to spend the afternoon otherwise as well. But, as you have noticed, our headmaster is incorrigibly fond of such festivities. And he does expect his staff to share his enthusiasm."
Gwir merely nodded, but she seemed to grow slightly less fidgety. They watched the players in silence once again.
A moment or two later, she shifted in her seat and Snape felt her shoulder and upper arm pressing lightly against his own. When, after several seconds, she didn't move, he shifted his own position to remove the contact.
Why does she have to be here? he thought irritably.
Actually, the fact that she had chosen to sit next to him was for the best, he had to admit. It showed that the trust he had forced into her psyche hadn't been dispelled after the end of their previous talk. And if any news from the Quidditch match should reach Voldemort, a public show of solidarity was advantageous.
Nevertheless, he added, does she have to keep touching me?
He made an effort to rein in his annoyance. She doesn't "keep touching you," said the calmer, more rational part of his mind. People sitting next to each other happen to brush shoulders from time to time. And beyond that, she's done exactly what? Touched your hand for a second or two. Given a friendly pat on the arm. Completely unremarkable and respectable. She could have done either in the middle of the Great Hall and raised nary an eyebrow.
At least, he continued in his musings, it would have raised no eyebrows if the recipient of those gestures had been anyone other than himself.
Snape suspected that—in the minds of his students at least, and perhaps most of the faculty as well—touching the Potions Master was much akin to staring down a basilisk. It was simply not a thing to be contemplated. Miss Gwir was not being forward; she was simply not avoiding him as most people did. Accustomed as he was to being given a wide berth, a perfectly normal amount of contact was more noticeable to him than it should be. More noticeable, no doubt, than she intended. Wasn't it?
As if to test this hypothesis, his eyes drifted towards the object of his thoughts. Though she still looked tense and wan, she gave him a smile as soon as she noticed his gaze. A smile which he promptly returned with a scowl. She dropped her eyes.
But a moment later, her shoulder was brushing his again.
Somehow, I miscalculated, he thought.
The command he had given her under Imperio had been meant to work merely as a counter-agent. He had envisioned it doing exactly one thing—counteracting the fear and suspicion she otherwise would have felt. He had certainly not been trying to elicit warmth.
"Trust me."
At that grim moment, it had seemed like the proper instruction.
Does one have to like a person to trust them?
He wouldn't have thought so.
He stole a quick, surreptitious glance at her. Young. Pale. Nervous. And, it occurred to him, who else did she have to sit with? There seemed to have been some cooling-off in her friendship with Lupin lately. She must be, he supposed, rather lonely.
It was a condition he himself took for granted. Lack of friends and confidants didn't bother him—having never had them, he could hardly miss them. But no doubt others looked at such things differently. Other people depended on their fellows in a way that he had never done. And if such support were suddenly absent….
In that case, Snape concluded, one might seek companionship in unlikely, unpromising places. Especially given the fact that he had removed those memories and rearranged those instincts that otherwise would have warned her to stay away.
He sighed.
How well can you read my feelings, Instructor Gwir? You read something of the Dark Mark today. What else are you able to perceive?
And what would he want her to sense, he asked himself, if she were to turn that concentration on him again? He carefully formed his thoughts and tried to push them in her direction.
Leave me alone, Instructor. Keep your bloody smiles to yourself. You'll find no answering warmth here.
He took another glance in her direction, but if his warnings had reached the Glamour Caster, she gave no sign of it. Her attention was on the game, or so it appeared.
Her face was still but her restless fingers traced unconscious spirals on her knees.
Against his will, Snape's eyes lingered a moment longer. Young and pale and nervous, yes. Nerves taut under his hands. And pale skin, soft and smooth, sensitive and shivering. Melancholy child's eyes so easy to catch and command. He remembered all too well how her eyes pleaded and suffered prettily.
As if now catching his thoughts, now that he didn't want her to, Annwyd turned towards him, her expression unguarded and open.
He tried to put the whiplash of cold rejection into his eyes. She saw it—saw something—and flinched, but she didn't look away.
Look away, Instructor, he said silently. Because it's safer. Because I hate you. Look away.
~ * ~
Slytherin had defeated Hufflepuff by a landslide, 320 to 70. There was exultation from the Slytherin students and grumbling from everyone else. As Professor Snape descended from the upper reaches of the stands, he gave the expected smirk to any students or other teachers who caught his gaze. Annwyd Gwir, making her way down the steps just behind him, was the only person he'd seen who seemed indifferent to the outcome of the match.
Just as they reached ground-level, Snape heard his name called from somewhere off to the right.
"A fine game," the voice continued smoothly. "Well worth attending, in spite of this less-than-charming weather." Snape scanned the nearby faces to locate its owner, already certain whom that cultured drawl belonged to.
"Lucius," he nodded a greeting. "Good afternoon."
"You'd think, with all his vaunted powers," continued Malfoy, striding forward with Draco in tow, "that Dumbledore could manage to cast a warming charm for the stands. But, then again, I've always thought his prowess was somewhat…overrated."
Lucius Malfoy, in spite of the fine droplets of moisture clinging to his white-blond hair, looked warm enough in his sumptuous cloak and supple black gloves. Draco, standing beside him, was soaked from head to toe and spattered with mud, but his face was aglow with his recent triumph.
Snape turned briefly towards Lucius' son. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco had ended the game by snatching the Golden Snitch from the Hufflepuff Seeker a split second before the other boy could grasp it. The fact that he had knocked the Hufflepuff from his broom in the process, sending him spiraling twenty feet to land with a wet thump in the mud below, had no doubt added to Draco's moment of glory. With his pale hair plastered to his head and his pointed, grinning face dripping rain, Draco looked, Snape decided, like a very smug drowned white rat.
"Thank you, Professor."
The elder Malfoy made a movement as if to clasp his son's shoulder, then, noting his sodden and none-too-clean appearance, reconsidered. Draco was, in any case, soon surrounded by his fellow Slytherins, who were less finicky about slapping him on the back as they enthused over the game.
"Draco," Lucius interrupted the congratulations, "would that by any chance be your new instructor, the Glamour Caster?" Snape followed the direction of Malfoy's gaze to see the Annwyd Gwir standing a few paces away, trading pleasantries with Clarice du Bois. "You should introduce us, don't you think?"
Though Draco would have clearly preferred to revel in the admiration of his housemates, he obediently called out, "Instructor Gwir!"
Gwir's expression hardened slightly when she saw that it was Draco who was motioning her to join them, but she approached and offered polite congratulations.
"Yes, congratulations," said Lucius coolly to his son, "and your mother of course sends her fond regards."
Draco, seeing that he was dismissed, took his leave and disappeared into the crowd, surrounded by cheering and gloating Slytherins.
"Ah, Miss Gwir," said Lucius in a warmer tone, turning his attention to the instructor, "I've heard such interesting things about your classes. How charming to meet you at last."
"Mr. Malfoy, I presume?" she said neutrally, extending her hand for a handshake.
"Lucius Malfoy." He took her hand and bent gracefully to place a kiss on her fingers. "Where are your gloves, my dear?" he asked, holding her hand a good deal longer than was, in Snape's opinion, necessary. "You'll catch a chill."
"It's nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Malfoy," said the Glamour Caster, withdrawing her hand. "You must be pleased with your son's performance in the match."
"Yes. I was just about to ask Severus to join me for a drink in honor of this little victory. Perhaps you will grace us with your company? It's always a pleasure to become acquainted with Draco's teachers. And I would love to hear more about your…fascinating specialty."
"I'm afraid I can't make it, but thank you. I have…I have work that I ought to attend to."
"Severus must be having a bad influence, Miss Gwir. If you're not careful, you'll become as entombed in those dreadful dungeons as he is. And that would be a pity for a lovely young woman such as yourself." Malfoy turned his mocking grey eyes towards Snape. "You completely failed to convey the charms of your new colleague, Severus," he chided. Returning his attention to Gwir, he added, "You see what results when you take your work too seriously? It dulls the senses and dampens the appreciation of life's pleasures. Now surely your students' essays will keep until tomorrow?"
Gwir shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I thank you for the invitation. But truly, I have little time to spare this weekend…." Her eyes, holding the hint of a question mark, turned to Snape.
Snape gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Another time, then, Instructor. And I will be expecting you on Monday to begin the work we discussed. At three o'clock, if that will be convenient."
"Yes, that will be fine." She gave him a hesitant smile. "I'll look forward to seeing you then. Good day, Professor." She nodded towards Snape, then to Malfoy. "It was nice to meet you."
As she walked away, Snape saw her approach the edge of the shielding charm that was currently keeping the worst of the rain away from them. He strode forward with sudden decisiveness and put a restraining hand on her shoulder before she could step into the downpour.
"There's no need for you to get drenched walking back to the castle." He withdrew his wand and cast a short-lived shielding spell around her. "That should see you back in a bit more comfort."
As she thanked him, her smile was warmer and less hesitant. He also found it less unwelcome than his musings during the game would have predicted, and that thought produced another scowl.
"You will be of little use if you are sick in bed. Again."
For whatever reason, her smile only deepened, and he thought there was a tiny glint of mischief in her expression. "Do enjoy your drink with Mr. Malfoy, Professor."
"That," growled Snape, "is certainly most unlikely."
~ * ~
An hour later, Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy were comfortably ensconced in a corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. Clearly they were not the only ones who had opted for a drink in Hogsmeade after the match, and the pub was packed and noisy. Snape had cast a low-level privacy spell around their table, keeping the background noise to a low buzz and preventing their own voices from carrying distinctly. The spell would not have been sufficient for matters of great secrecy, but it provided a reasonable degree of protection against casual gossip-mongers and allowed them to talk without shouting over the din.
With the noise muted, the lamps casting a cheerful glow on the dark wood tables, and a roaring fire in the hearth warming the room, it might have been pleasant enough, Snape conceded. At least, it might have been pleasant in other company.
Snape had spent the last hour giving Lucius an update on events at Hogwarts. That was accomplished easily enough. Most of it was common knowledge and of no real importance. And, as Snape had learned long ago, Malfoy was often content with uninformative conversation as long as it included a sufficient number of slurs directed at the right people. A few scathing and well-chosen words about the headmaster, Harry Potter, the Weasleys, and Hogwarts' Muggle-born students satisfied his fellow Death Eater and spared Snape from doling out anything useful. He was now ready to see if Malfoy had something useful for him.
"A few days ago," he said, keeping his tone light and slightly mocking, "I had the distinct displeasure of meeting Instructor Gwir's mother. Amanda Whistbury. I believe you know her?"
"We're acquainted," agreed Malfoy, indulging himself in a languid stretch. "She manages to make herself ubiquitous, so her acquaintance can hardly be avoided."
"How unfortunate."
"Oh, it's not so bad as that." He settled back comfortably once more. "She offers a certain amount of amusement. And since her husband is well-placed at the Ministry, I commend him on choosing a wife who's so very talkative. Not to mention easily charmed."
"She would have to be talking about something quite extraordinary to be worth charming, in my opinion." And, he added to himself, whatever exists between Whistbury and Malfoy will certainly merit further investigation.
"Ah, Severus, no one is ever worth charming, in your opinion, are they? So I assume, at least, since I've never actually witnessed you being charming." He gave Snape a winning smile, as if to demonstrate how it was done.
Snape responded with a disdainful snort.
"Then again," said Malfoy, "I seem to recall from days gone by that you have other methods of, ah, winning women's affections, shall we say."
"I can assure you that I have no interest in winning Madam Whistbury's affections." And even less interest in discussing my methods, past or present.
"Oh yes, I was forgetting. It's her daughter's affections that concern you." Lucius took a drink and studied Snape with amused interest. "I must say, I was a bit surprised to meet your Miss Gwir. I imagined her to be more like her mother, but they seem…quite dissimilar."
"And for that I am truly grateful."
"Not exactly beautiful, is she? For a Glamour Caster, she's rather…unglamorous."
Snape made no attempt to laugh at this dose of Malfoy wit. "If glamour entails wearing gaudy jewelry and far too much perfume, then I am happy enough with its absence. Even after a mercifully brief encounter with the Whistbury woman, I could smell nothing but her flowery reek for the rest of the day."
"What a shame, my friend," replied Lucius, shaking his head. "I do understand what it must have cost you to find a woman's perfume interfering with the aromas of your dungeons. A whole day without the intoxicating odors of frog brains and rat spleens. However did you manage?"
"I have nothing against perfume as such," said Snape coldly, "but I do prefer its wearer to be anointed as opposed to marinated."
Lucius gave an easy laugh. "Touché, Severus. I will admit that Amanda's tastes are rather excessive. That is ever the hallmark of the nouveau riche, don't you think? They try so hard." Malfoy drained his glass and signaled the waitress to bring another, every movement demonstrating the effortless grace that was lacking in Whistbury's careful posing. "I've always believed it takes a number of generations for elegance and taste to seem natural. Or in your case," he added, eyeing Snape with cool smile, "to be dispensed with altogether."
Acknowledging that, from Malfoy, this was more or less a compliment, Snape graced his companion with a mostly benevolent smirk. In Malfoy's circle, one must hail from a respectable family indeed to be allowed to not give a damn with impunity.
The waitress returned with Malfoy's drink and looked at Snape inquiringly. He waved her away. His own glass was still two-thirds full. He had no intention of returning to Hogwarts drunk.
"So," said Malfoy after the waitress had gone, "is your distaste for Amanda the reason you aren't attending her little soiree?"
Snape had no idea what "soiree" Malfoy referred to or why he would be expected to attend. He therefore kept silent and raised an eyebrow noncommittally, hoping to draw the information out.
"She's asked for my advice on a suitable escort for Miss Gwir. I was surprised you weren't taking her yourself, given the, ah, present circumstances. I imagined you'd be keeping a closer eye on her."
"Oh, but I will be escorting her," Snape said smoothly. I will be now that I know about it, at least. "Madam Whistbury is clearly misinformed."
Lucius seemed to find this entertaining. "I'll have to tell her as much. But I daresay she won't be pleased. I take it she was no more impressed with your brief encounter than you were."
"Pleasing Amanda Whistbury is not on my agenda. In fact, I would consider it quite disastrous. Should she actually find my company enjoyable, she might feel inspired to engage me in conversation at said event, a prospect I find thoroughly unappealing."
"But probably unavoidable," said Malfoy. "She's most eager to show off her long-lost daughter. And since the daughter in question will apparently be on your arm, I doubt you'll be able to ignore the mother."
"It won't be for lack of trying," said Snape with an undisguised grimace, wondering just what, when, and where this social nightmare would be.
"Do you know, I didn't realize she had a daughter until last month? No one did. Or no one worth mentioning. It appears that Miss Gwir has been a well-kept secret."
Interesting, thought Snape. "But a secret no longer, it seems."
"True. Amanda is giving out that the girl was in ill health and unable to make a social debut until now. But I find that rather unlikely."
"It would hardly account for her never even mentioning her existence," Snape agreed.
"I suppose she was embarrassed about her offspring's unusual talents. Personally, I find them rather intriguing. No match for real magic of course, but an interesting curiosity nonetheless. And her arts have a long and distinguished history, even if they lack the power of conventional spells."
Snape wondered idly whether Malfoy would eat sautéed puffer-fish eyes and proclaim them delicious, provided the dish had a "distinguished history." Probably so.
Lucius had apparently grown bored with the topic however, and he now turned to other, more delicate matters. "We spoke before about the small gift you're trying to procure for your friend…."
Snape gave him a look of displeasure. Stealing an unknown magical item for Lord Voldemort was not a topic he cared to discuss at the Three Broomsticks, privacy charm or not. He hoped Malfoy would have the sense to be discreet.
"Any news on its availability?" asked Lucius.
Snape shook his head.
"I've also heard little more about it," Malfoy admitted. "Only enough to know that our friend will be quite pleased to receive it."
And quite displeased if he doesn't, no doubt, thought Snape.
"Oh yes," added Malfoy after a moment, toying lazily with his glass, "there was one other bit of news. If I overheard correctly, there are actually two gifts involved. Our friend said something to Mulciber about 'a pair of useful trinkets.' Whether they are to be…purchased…together or separately wasn't clear."
Snape nodded. He inwardly tensed at the mention of Mulciber, but kept his voice light. "I assure you that I can manage this bit of shopping without outside assistance. Feel free to tell him so, if you like."
"As long as Miss Gwir accompanies you, I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for. Women always have a knack for buying presents."
"She will be more than pleased to accompany me," Snape said firmly.
"Oh?" said Malfoy with a smirk. "I'm glad to hear it. I wondered, of course, how things were proceeding."
"Just as they should."
"If you say so," Lucius chuckled. "From what I saw, she was hardly swooning with adoration. But then again," his pale eyes gave Snape a deliberate once-over, "that would be expecting a bit much. I suppose she did seem a trifle friendlier than your colleagues are in general."
Snape stifled the urge to hex the smile off Malfoy's face.
"The situation, as I said, is well in hand."
"She seemed," said Lucius, his expression growing more avid, "rather nervous at our introduction, didn't you think?"
"She dislikes crowds," said Snape curtly. He was not inclined to give out extraneous information about the instructor, but he also didn't want Malfoy to misconstrue the cause of her agitation. It would not be wise for Lucius to know that she knew he was a Death Eater, not at this point. And he couldn't quite stand to let the other man conclude that Miss Gwir had been overwhelmed by meeting a Malfoy.
"And for that matter," added Snape after a short pause, "I have had quite enough of crowds myself for the day." He swallowed the whiskey remaining in his glass. "I believe I'll return to the peace and quiet of my 'dreadful dungeons,' as you like to call them."
"You never change, my friend," sighed Lucius.
I've changed far more than you know, my 'friend,' thought Snape as he walked away.
And far less than I might have once hoped.
tbc…