Chapter Eleven:
Dumbledore sighed tiredly, and stood up slowly from his creaking leather chair. Placing both hands on the surface of his desk, he attempted to reason with his, by now, very irate god daughter.
"For the god's sakes," she hissed at no one in particular, her hands raking roughly through her hair, the ends of which seemed to crackle with her tangible annoyance. "I get treated like a pariah by the very people I'm here to help! What the hell did he think I was?"
"My dear," Dumbledore replied in soothing tones, "Professor Snape meant no offence." He privately thought that this was highly unlikely, having many years of experience of the ever scathing potions master. "You can hardly blame him for being cautious, Eleanora."
She stopped her relentless pacing of his office and turned on her heel. Her godfather had as point, she supposed. Truth be told, she had to admit that faced with a practical stranger in her private quarters performing advanced wandless magic, she might have reacted in the same way. Though, she thought ruefully, she most likely would have cursed first, cared later, as was her habit in these matters.
Her brow furrowed in displeasure she started at the elderly wizard stood before her. "But you saw the way he looked at me," she said plaintively, her eyes clouding with what looked suspiciously like hurt. Dumbledore watched her closely, noting the melancholy sheen to her yes with interest.
Curious, he mused. Eleanora very rarely let anyone bother her in that manner. She possessed, he knew, a very thick skin, that protected her from the jealous and hurtful comments that she was no doubt used to by now. Whilst she was generally the most genial of girls, he knew full well that there had been a number of girls and boys alike at Beauxbatons that had exhibited a marked dislike to her. Still, he thought with a small smile, never let it be said that Eleanora let anyone get the better of her.
His mind wandered back to conversation with Aloysius that had taken place over a year ago. The younger man, used to regularly dealing with the scourge of the wizarding world, had been at his wits end at how to deal with his wilful teenage daughter. She had, he had been told used a particularly obscure curse to physically seal the mouth of a seventh year who had dared to insult her father, whilst passing her in the corridor. Whilst the curse was easy enough to remove, more difficult was the task of explaining to the school why exactly a third year student had been able to use such powerful and objectionable curse. Eleanora's verdict on the matter had been a distinctly unrepentant grin and a simple, "he deserved it. Maybe he'll think twice about insulting my family again, oui?"
Dumbledore shook himself out of his reminiscent reverie to find that his god daughter had sunk into a deep velvet armchair, her hands now absent-mindedly scraping over the soft material.
The barely noticeable trace of hurt in her dark eyes had vanished to be replaced by a mixture of acute dislike and animosity, no doubt, he thought, directed at Snape. He cleared his throat, and met her eyes as she looked up at him.
"Eleanora, you cannot blame Professor Snape for reacting the way he did. I can assure you that his uppermost concern is the safety and security of this school and you must admit, a seventh year student performing such complex magic must have looked slightly suspicious to him." His god daughter nodded reluctantly, though he noticed her scowl remained as extreme as before.
"He should know more than anyone, though, what it's like to be suspected wherever you go." This sudden statement, laced with a dry empathy escaped her almost unintentionally and she raised her head, her glare a little depleted as she awaited the elderly wizards reply.
She had known for a long time now that a professor at Hogwarts bore the Dark Mark. As she had said earlier, it's hard to grow up the daughter of an Auror without learning a thing or two. It had not taken a great deal of thought to work out who the Death Eater among the staff was. Ex-Death Eater, she corrected herself immediately. She knew and had no doubts about the fact that Snape had switched sides at the height of Voldemort's power at great personal risk to himself and has since proved himself to be a intrepid spy and for a length of time, a particularly effective double agent.
Dumbledore nodded gently at the young woman. "I do indeed think that Snape knows that more than anyone, my dear. I also think, though you may be reluctant to hear this, that you two have more in common that either of you would wish to admit."
One eyebrow raised in distaste. "With all due respect, Godfather, I have hardly met anyone who I would wish to be less like."
Her voice was soft in the quiet stillness of the study, but the meaning was clear to Dumbledore. He sighed. He had anticipated from the start that the relationship between Eleanora and Severus would be an adversarial one, but at this present moment, it looked more like open warfare than respectful and workable truce.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing her long legs underneath her lithe body. She had, she reflected not been entirely honest in her last statement. Whilst she resented his hostile attitude towards her and his almost rude antisocial tendencies, she had to admit a grudging respect for the man who troubled her so. She could scarcely imagine the amount of courage it took to lead a life bowing to two masters, forging loyalty where there was only hatred, and concealing true feelings, instead hiding under a mask of impassion and isolation. Even her father, who made no secret of his petty dislike of the man, talked about him in a professional capacity with unconcealed veneration and respect.
"Are you going to tell the others now, godfather?" she asked. Dumbledore now seated back at his desk, shook his head, his beard swinging gently against his deep purple robes.
"I see no particular reason to as yet. Professor Snape will keep what he knows to himself as long as I wish him to, and so your security is not yet compromised.
She nodded in silent agreement and unfolded herself gracefully from the deep chair. "I'm going to go and check if my books have arrived now if that's alright?" She padded over to her godfather and hugged him warmly, all traces of her earlier discontent gone.
After she had left Dumbledore's office, she had lost her bearings somewhat. After having stood in bewilderment for a minute or two she looked around the empty corridor cautiously to make sure she was indeed alone then took out her wand from her robes and levitated it in front of her at chest height. With a deft flick of her fingers and a quick mutter of "owlery locatiorum" the wands spun gently in mid air, the tip eventually coming to rest pointing up a nearby staircase. With a satisfied smile, she pocketed the still air born wand and bounded up the narrow almost invisible staircase.
After a few minutes more of corridor navigation, she arrived at a heavy oak door though which the muffled hoots of several lethargic owls could be heard. She turned the ancient handle and pushed open the door. The room was illuminated in the afternoon sunshine thought several large glassless windows. An assortment of owls perched on various surfaces, their half open eyes regarding her quizzically. Her eyes scanned the room littered with feathers and droppings. She wrinkled her nose as she crossed the room to a large package that sat upon a window ledge, tightly wrapped in brown paper. "For the attention of Miss Eleanora D'Souza" the label stated regally, the large ornate golden crest of Flourish and Blotts, shining magnificently on the paper. She lifted the package, then lowered it back down again with a thump. It was, she noted, rather heavy. Reaching back into her robes she once again produced the slim tapered baton of mahogany and proceeded to shrink the package to pocket size. Popping it in her robes along with her wand, her hand closed around a sheath of parchment. Deciding to write her father a quick letter as she was there, she transfigured a feather laying innocuously upon the floor into a quill then ensued to write.
"Dear papa," she scribbled quickly in a large, expressive scrawl. "Have arrived at Hogwarts; I expect Fudge has already owled you to complain of my somewhat hasty departure. Don't worry about me; I'll be just fine here. Godfather is wonderful as are the other staff."
She decided to censure the account of her run-in with Snape.
"Will owl you as soon as term starts to let you know how I'm getting on. Take care and see you soon, Nora."
Folding up the parchment and addressing it, she lightly tapped the nearest bird, a handsome barn owl to rouse it. It studied her grumpily with ochre, orb like eyes then reluctantly stuck out a leg for her to attach the parchment. It flapped its wings then soared magnificently out of the window, soon disappearing into the afternoon sun.
With that she left the owlery, taking care to avoid the conspicuous droppings on the stone floor. If she hurried, she thought, she could still catch the last rays of sun, stretched out indolently on the shore of the lake, the events of the morning hopefully forgotten.
Thanks go out to Michelle, and the other reviewers – thanks guys! (Don't fret; Eleanora is no Mary Sue!)