Chapter Eight:
Breakfast had been a noisy and amiable affair, with Professors Flitwick and Sprout still vociferously bickering over their difference of opinions the previous evening. Eleanora laughed out loud as Sprout barely restrained herself from throwing a piece of just buttered toast at Flitwick, instead furiously jamming in his mouth, quelling any further argument. Professor McGonagall turned to her and said with a kind look in her eyes, "You laugh just like your father my dear!" Eleanora smiled, half-shyly and attacked her own pile of toast with renewed enthusiasm.
Still playing upon her mind was the picture of a young Severus Snape, standing alone upon an empty Quidditch pitch, his shadowy eyes staring sullenly into the obsolete distance. She was, for some reason, unable to shake that image from her mind, and even found herself, to her utmost horror, to be absent-mindedly meditating the fact that the black recesses of her coffee cup resembled those of the potion masters eyes. She downed the cup in one long gulp and having devoured her sizeable pile of generously buttered toast, genially excused herself from the table.
As she made her way back along the echoing corridors, she thought of the long and empty day ahead of her. She would walk to the owlery at lunchtime to check whether her consignment of books had arrived. They were due to arrive by portkey, yet upon ordering them she had little other idea of where to have them delivered. She had a vague idea of where it was, seeing as she had a number of owls soaring into the night sky the night before from a small window in the tower to the right of her rooms. Apart from that, the day was her own to waste away as she had planned, lazing by the lake or taking a book out into a sunny quadrangle. She sighed happily as her the sound of her footsteps resounded around the cloisters.
"Eleanora!" a voice called from behind her.
She spun round, recognising the voice as that of her godfather. She retraced her steps to where he stood and hugged the old wizard warmly.
"Morning, godfather," she greeted him.
"Now, my dear," he began. "I assume that your glamouring charm is still in effect?"
She nodded. "But it's beginning to wear off I think. Shall I cast it again, or start on the potion right away?"
Dumbledore considered this for a moment. "I think that Professor Snape has brewed enough to last you until late spring, so there is no harm in starting the course now. I would send for one of the house elves to bring it to your rooms, but in the circumstances, it might be wiser if you were to go and collect it yourself."
He observed the girl before him with a contemplative stare. "I do not expect you know where Professor Snape's rooms are?"
Shaking her magnificent head, she replied, "If I called Dobby, would he take me there?" She had little desire to fruitlessly wander the depths of the castle in search of the professor's rooms, when she could be outside enjoying the remainder of the holiday.
Dumbledore nodded his approval. "I would have taken you myself my dear, but if you are happy for Dobby to lead you then I can return to my office and begin my attack on the rather threatening pile of paperwork that has seemingly taken over my desk." His blue eyes sparkled with humour, and his expression of mock-irritation was instantly replaced by one of affability.
"If you need any help at all," Eleanora offered, "then give me a shout. I can't profess to being much good at paperwork but I'm sure I can be useful for something."
Dumbledore's eyes regarded her with intensity. The young woman stood before him shone with potential, her enthusiasm matched and more by her talent and estimable ability.
"I have no doubt in saying that you will prove invaluable to us here, Eleanora. In all that you do," said the old wizard earnestly.
His words were pointed, and lost none of their meaning upon the girl. She smiled modestly and flipped back her hair. She made to turn but a question surfaced in her mind.
"Can I just ask a question?"
"Please do, my dear. Asking questions is after all the best way to learn the answers."
She lowered her voice and stepped closer to her godfather.
"Do the other staff know about …me?" she asked tentatively.
Dumbledore sighed and ran a hand contemplatively though his long silver beard. He had only told the staff as much as he felt they needed to know at the present moment, though he had little doubt that as time went on their need for knowledge would amplify, perhaps necessitating the revelation of the full extent of his goddaughters powers. He was torn between a strong desire to protect the girl stood before him from any sort of harm that might result from the disclosure of her strength, yet knew that in time her potency would reveal itself, under the intense pressure of her allotted task. Still, he saw no need to complicate her arrival at the school with hushed whispers and curious looks.
"I have only told them that you here in order to be protected against any threat that may be posed to you because of your father's position." The old man smiled shrewdly. "Whilst this may not be the whole truth it is by no means untrue."
Eleanora returned his crafty smile, but hers was tinged with trepidation. "They'll find out eventually though, won't they?"
"Yes, my dear, no doubt they will. I may have decided to tell them myself before then. I will have to inform a select number of them in any case as they themselves are members of the Order. It simply wouldn't do to have you turning up without them knowing."
She chuckled as she conjured a mental image of Professor Snape's face, contorted in anger and disbelief as she strode though the door to the order meeting. He would no doubt greet the news with enmity but she trusted her godfather's judgement and resolved to say nothing to the contrary.
"Which of them are members?" she asked quietly inclining her head to hear the whispered reply.
"I suspect you have a good idea yourself." At her non-committal shrug, he continued, "Professor Snape, Professor Lupin who will be rejoining us this coming year, Professor McGonagall and of course myself."
Eleanora raised in her eyebrows in feigned surprise as he spoke the name of the potions master. He, she already knew was a long standing affiliate of the order, and had been a founding member, back in the last reign of Voldemort. She mused to herself that she knew so much about him, yet he knew so little about her, though he undoubtedly had formed an opinion of her as wholly unremarkable and ultimately inconsequential. This bothered her, and she rather hoped that his opinion would change upon learning the truth, and that haughty look of disdain would be replaced with one of respect and concord.
The old wizard continued, "we will bide our time, my dear. I see no reason to put you in that difficult position before it becomes absolutely necessary. Now, I shall summon Dobby and he will take you to the dungeons to collect your tonic." At these words Dumbledore snapped his aged fingers, and an instant later, the diminutive house elf appeared at his feet.
"Good morning Professor Dumbledore, sir! Good morning Miss Eleanora! What is you wishing me to do?
Eleanora knelt to the tiny elf's level. "Could you show me the way to the dungeons, to Professor Snapes offices, please?"
The face in front of her placed at the mention of the potion masters name, gulped and whispered, "To the dungeons, Miss Eleanora? Why is you wanting to go there?"
Eleanora thought quickly. "I need to collect some textbooks to do some extra reading before term begins."
The elf nodded resignedly, and set off down the corridor, pausing at the staircase to wait for the young woman behind him.
"I'll see you at luncheon, godfather!" She called behind her, then broke into a soft run to catch up with the elf.
* * * * * * * * * *
The air in the dungeon was still and chilled, a stark contrast to the warm breeze that had flown freely though the cloisters a few minutes before. Eleanora shivered, and pulled her sage green cloak tighter around her, rubbing her upper arms to dispel the cold.
Dobby had brought her this far: She now stood alone outside the door to the potions laboratory. The elf had been reluctant to linger with her, and had shrilly made his excuses then run nervously back up the dark stairwell, leaving her standing unsure whether to knock or simply open the door.
She hesitantly raised a hand, and made to rap it sharply upon the door, when it suddenly flew open in her face, the dark grain of the wood instantly giving way to the menacing spectre of the potions master, his cloak billowing behind him, a decidedly irate expression upon his ascetic face.
The young woman started in fright, her hand flying to her chest to still her pounding heart. The man before her merely started at her unflinchingly, seemingly oblivious to her fright.
"I," she began, her breath catching in her throat, "I came to collect my tonic," she managed to choke out, her breath now coming in short gasps, as her hart rate steadied somewhat.
He continued to stare at her, his eyes expressionless and unmoving. For what seemed like an age they stood, facing each other in the dim light of the torch lit corridor, the silence thickening and stagnating around them. Finally he spoke, his voice soft, the resonant tones undulating around them.
"You had better step inside."