Chapter Twenty-One:
One day in her third week, after afternoon lessons had ended, Eleanora hastily ran down the echoing corridor that lead to the enchanted staircase that would take her to her godfather's study for a hurriedly arranged afternoon tea. She checked her watch and found to her annoyance that she was already several minutes late.
"Pepper imps!" she said loudly at the stone phoenix who glared down at her imposingly, his claws clenched like her own fists held rigidly at her sides.
Stupid Snape, she thought hotly, her eyes flashing in still raging anger, as the stairs began grating upwards.
The stern potions master had ordered Eleanora and Hermione to remain behind after the lesson and remove every last trace of armadillo bile from the work benches as punishment for Hermione's whispered instructions to the hopeless Neville Longbottom during the preparation of their shrinking solution. Her incensed protestations had also earned her an extra load of homework, on top of the unreasonable amount that he had already given them, and she had struggled to retain her already fraught temper as he sat irritatingly serenely behind his desk, staring at her as she scrubbed the stubborn stains from the benches.
Never before in her life had her fingers itched so badly with need to deliver a sharp stinging slap, as they has when the professor had indolently drawled, as the two girls made their way of the door,
"You missed a bit. Ten points from Gryffindor. Each"
Still, she reasoned, her anger subsiding a little, at least she had someway made up for Snape's quite unnecessary, in her opinion at least, deduction of house points that morning in her DADA lesson. Professor Lupin had set the class an cunning obstacle course of sorts out in the castle grounds, pitting their wits against a variety of malevolent creatures, ranging from the fairly innocuous; grindylows, to the slightly more hairy, both figuratively and literally; blood-sucking bugbears.
Eleanora had been the last to attempt the course, held back by a discreet shake of the head by Lupin. She had worked her way quickly though the course, a brief moment of difficulty with a Lethifold solved not by the usual patronous charm, but by a swift, though unconventional kick to the gaping maw of the creature, then a tickling charm, which left the nefarious beast rolling on the floor in paroxysms of hoarse rasping laughter.
Lupin had shaken his head in wry amusement at the girl's eccentric approach and awarded her fifteen points to Gryffindor for "use of initiative", though privately mourned the loss of the Lethifold, which he feared would never be quite the same again.
Reaching out her hand to violently fling open her godfather's door, she found, to her mild surprise, it gently swinging open of its own accord before she even had a chance to grasp the handle, revealing her godfather to be sat behind his desk, calmly pouring two cups of tea from a very oddly shaped teapot indeed.
"Ahh, Eleanora, my dear. I took the liberty of charming the door as I feared you might be in……….a slamming sort of mood," he greeted her gently, peering at her over the rims of his half moon spectacles.
Eleanora slumped down heavily in the armchair opposite the desk, sulkily blowing a lock of hair from across her face with a scowl.
"That man is beyond impossible!" she expostulated crossly, raking a hand through her tangled hair, surmising that her godfather did indeed know of the recent clash of wills, as he did everything that went on within the walls of the castle.
Dumbledore sighed resignedly.
"I don't care if he has to battle to the death with Voldemort just to get the bathroom every morning, nothing gives anyone the right to be that god-damned cantankerous!"
Her godfather looked at her concernedly, as she rattled her teacup and saucer so violently he thought it might shatter with the fiery force of her annoyance.
"My dear," he began cautiously, as his god daughter met his composed gaze with her own blazing stare.
"You truly must learn to control that temper of yours. Whilst I understand that Professor Snape can be…..… fractious at the best of times, it is up to you to forge a viable working relationship, which, in your current state you are certainly not able to do."
She stared at him blankly.
"His student, I might be, but every single student in the whole castle dearly wishes to kick his crotchety old ass; why should I be any different?"
Ponderously removing his spectacles, Dumbledore regarded them for a moment. Eleanora had come to recognise this as a device of procrastination designed to stall for time when he had disagreeable news to give.
She bit her lip in grim expectancy.
"Come on," she coaxed wryly. "Spit it out."
Her godfather replaced his glasses and fixed her with a level stare, his fingers laced together under his chin, his silver beard flowing sinuously over them.
"Your father and I have decided, that whilst it is undoubtedly important for you to continue your academic studies here, it is also imperative that you should begin to learn other skills, which you will no doubt come to require in due time."
Eleanora remained silent, her eyes narrowing in quiet consideration of the implication of her godfathers words.
"It is already clear that whilst you are performing perfectly adequately at your time-tabled subjects, they are not absorbing your full attention." He paused pointedly. "I refer to particular incidents involving a foolish dare, a flight of stairs and a dung bomb let off outside the Slytherin common room in particular."
She squirmed under his assiduous gaze, endeavouring to keep her expression innocent.
"Dung bomb?" she asked wide-eyed. Damn, she thought, I told Fred not to make it so quite so pungent.
"Yes," her godfather replied knowingly, his eyes silently reprimanding her. "About that particular episode I shall say no more, as I am more concerned about your thoughtless antics regarding certain staircases."
"Nothing happened for Merlin's sakes!" she protested weakly, her indignation fading in Dumbledore's quiet presence.
He conceded with a moderate nod of his head, "True, in this particular instance you were fortunate, but your father still feels it wise if we were to make arrangements to channel your energies into something more appropriate."
Eleanora ground her teeth.
"Suggest extra potions lesson and I will go and pack my cases now," she told her godfather in warning tones, her brows knitted together in apprehension.
To be truthful, it was not only Snape's caustic manner and antagonistic classroom behaviour that aggravated her, but the troublesome doubt in her mind that always leapt up like an inextinguishable flame when ever she tried to convince herself that she did indeed dislike him as much as her words made out. She was not afraid of his quick temper in the same way that Neville was, but instinctively knew to deferentially respect the power that the man wielded, not just in the laboratory but in the greater scheme of the survival of the wizarding world, mawkish as it sounded. She could curse him all she liked, but she knew that even if he made her scrub every toilet bowl in the castle with her toothbrush she couldn't dampen the small spark of exhilaration that ignited within her at the very mention of his name or sincerely despise him, though she could certainly make a damned good show of it. Though, thinking about the vast number of toilets there must be, she quickly changed her mind regarding that particular scenario.
"So what's it to be?" she asked, preparing herself for the worst.
"Duelling lessons," came the measured response, infinitesimally better than the one she was steeling herself for.
"Duelling lessons," she repeated slowly, as if rolling the phrase around her mouth to see how it tasted. She evidently found the taste agreeable because she treated her godfather to a sudden wide smile, a stark contrast from her earlier grim scowl.
He however remained impassive. "With Professor Snape," he continued tentatively.
Eleanora shrugged. Not even the prospect of extra hours spent in Snape's problematic company could dampen her vastly improved mood, though the irksome voice in the back of her mind told her that she may well later regret her optimism.
She grinned impishly. "Does he know about this yet?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "No, he does not. I have called him to my office in," he consulted his pocket watch, "about five minutes."
Eleanora shifted uneasily in her chair, casting a brief glance at the door and made to stand up, but was waved back down by her godfather.
"Sit," he commanded gently, sensing her eagerness to escape what would undoubtedly escalate into another run-in with the short-tempered professor. Curious, he mused as he watched her sip her tea, his argumentative god daughter would usually need no persuasion to stay and engage in a little verbal sparring, but he sensed that she had perhaps met something of a match in his ever intractable potions master. However, he had no intention of letting either of them off easily and the crafty old man was secretly rather looking forward to the fire works display that was sure to ensue.
Eleanora hid behind her tea cup, her eyes glued to the grandfather clock behind the desk. Suddenly, it let out on echoing toll, and that precise moment the door to Dumbledore's study flew open, admitting into the room the imposing figure of Severus Snape.
His face, already creased in a deep scowl, contorted into a vestige of sour loathing as he saw the familiar shock of tousled hair that peeked up innocuously from behind the high back of the armchair opposite Dumbledore's desk.
"Ahh, Severus," Dumbledore greeted the po-faced man jovially, shooting a warning look at his god daughter who had sank further down into her chair, her own face etched with aversion and what looked peculiarly like the first flushes of embarrassment.
"Albus," came the curt reply. "What is so deeply important that you saw fit to interrupt my afternoon teaching?" Shooting a disdainful glance at Eleanora, he lowered his lean frame into an adjacent chair.
The headmaster ignored his terse question and instead gestured to the teapot. "Tea, Severus?"
Snape's brows knitted together in irritation.
"No," he replied, "thank you. I would be most appreciative if you could enlighten me as to why I am here and then let me get back to my classes."
Refilling his own cup, Dumbledore began,
"Severus, you will of course know that Eleanora here is to be groomed to join the Order upon graduation."
Snape merely nodded, his obsidian eyes fixed firmly on the elderly wizard, behaving as if Eleanora was not there.
"As it is, both Aloysius and I feel that Eleanora is currently not being stretched to her full potential and her excess energies are hence being directed into somewhat unsuitable activities."
Eleanora wrinkled her nose at this sterile description of her antics.
"Thus, we feel that it would be beneficial to all involved if Eleanora were to be tutored in slightly more advanced subjects.
Severus clenched his fists on the arms of his chair. Suggest that I take this girl for extra potions lessons and I will gladly give over my body to one of the more sadistic looking devices in the dungeons, he thought mutinously. Even that one with the uncomfortably placed hooks.
However, never it let it be said that Severus Snape did not possess self control as he merely nodded and asked,
"What exactly did you have in mind, Albus?"
The elderly wizard clasped his hands together in expectation of what he expected to be a none too thrilled reaction.
"We had discussed the possibility of tutoring Eleanora the basic rudiments of duelling, Severus," Dumbledore announced a little too brightly, his blue eyes lit with tentative hope.
Snape's expression however remained emotionless.
"And?" he asked in a bored tone, knowing full well what his part in this diabolical little scheme was to be.
"And we had hoped that you might agree to instruct Eleanora," Dumbledore finished.
Snape shifted his weight awkwardly in his chair. He felt rather like some sort of caged beast, with the optimistic gaze of Dumbledore boring into him on one side and the dark stare of that girl on the other, pinning him to the spot, removing his options of escape one by one. Despite his insubordinate thoughts, he knew full well that he had no choice in the matter, and was uncomfortably reminded of when he had sat, equally helplessly in the headmaster's office some weeks previously, before he had ever had the misfortune to run into the D'Souza girl.
He stole a glance at her now, inclining his head slightly and fixing her with a cool stare. She sat nestled in her armchair, her slim ink-stained fingers clenched uneasily around her teacup, her gaze directed at her booted feet which bobbed irritatingly in nervous anticipation of his answer. Her face was half hidden by a snarled curtain of that dratted hair, and he did not see the anxious licking of her dry lips and the furrowing of her brow as he turned back to address Dumbledore.
"It seems that I have no choice in the matter," he conceded with a frown.
"Thank you, Severus," replied Dumbledore with a humorous smile "Your willing cooperation is much appreciated."
Snape narrowed his eyes at the obvious sarcasm embedded in the headmaster's words.
"When are these cosy little tutoring sessions to take place?" he asked, the flinty tone of his voice indicating to Eleanora that these sessions would be anything but cosy.
"That is for you and Eleanora to decide," Dumbledore replied lightly, waving a hand to invite conversation between the two reluctant figures seated before him.
Eleanora lifted her gaze, then promptly wished that she hadn't bothered, as Snape was staring at her as if she were some sort of idiot child, one dark brow hitched in condescension. She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for him to initiate conversation. After a few painfully silent moments, she sighed deeply and said,
"Well, you let me know when you've managed to fit me into your undoubtedly packed schedule."
Her voice was tinged with ringing sarcasm, and she smiled tightly at the potions master.
Snape stiffened at the obvious barb and glared back at her, nostrils flaring in irritation.
"You can rest assured that I will, Miss D'Souza," he replied impassively, already rising from his chair.
"Is that is all?" he intoned coldly, eliciting a small nod from Dumbledore.
"Good day, Albus," he said perfunctorily, nodding at the headmaster as he seemingly glided towards the door, his black teaching robes billowing behind him.
Eleanora turned her head to regard the potions master, but he had already slammed the door forcefully, the teapot shuddering slightly from the impact.
"Well," she said mordantly with a grim smile, "that went well."
Her godfather stroked his beard thoughtfully. It had indeed gone well, he thought, despite his god daughters misgivings. He had expected nothing less than a flat refusal, an eloquent excuse detailing too much work, too much pressure, and the professor's almost painless acquiescence had come had come as something of a pleasant surprise. Not for the first time, he wondered just how deep the feelings, whatever they might be, of his strait-laced potions master ran with regards to the girl sat before him, now absent-mindedly fiddling with a strand of her tawny hair.
Sensing her godfather's gaze upon her she looked up.
"Why Snape?" she asked in a forthright tone, dropping the lock of hair and folding her arms across her chest.
"Professor Snape, Eleanora," he reminded her vaguely.
"Yeah, Professor Smart-Ass Snape," she muttered incoherently, but Dumbledore appeared not have heard her.
The elderly wizard considered her question for a moment. "Well, my dear," he began, "Professor Snape is already a long standing member of the order, and possesses a great breadth of knowledge with regards to the dark arts and duelling."
Eleanora mused upon this, recollecting something that Ron had said about Snape being "desperate to get his greasy little mitts on the DADA job."
"So why not Remus?" she asked bluntly. "He is the DADA teacher after all."
"Professor Lupin," he reminded her again. But that familiarity he could forgive, seeing as Remus Lupin was a close friend of Eleanora's father and a frequent, or as frequent as circumstances would allow, visitor to the D'Souza household. Eleanora had been delighted to find that an old and trusted friend had been awarded the prestigious post and so far, he had heard nothing but glowing reports of his god daughter's performance from the affable man. A welcome respite from the slightly less favourable reports that he had received from Sybil Trelawney and Professor Binns, who had found the wilful girl to be "thoroughly lacking in focus and application," and " far more interested in the view from the window, then in the 1564 Dwarf uprisings."
The headmaster regarded her over his clasped hands. As far as he was aware, Aloysius had not informed his daughter of Lupin's affliction, out of both well forged loyalty to his school friend and out of his almost consuming desire to protect his daughter from the knowledge of the harms of the world, however close to home they may be. Whilst Lupin was perfectly harmless, thanks in no small measure to the skills of Professor Snape, Aloysius had still felt a strong need to keep the fact from his daughter, and Dumbledore could hardly forgive the man his over protective tendencies considering the events of the past and the likely events of the near future.
"Professor Lupin, my dear," he began levelly, "is unable to tutor you as his schedule is already full to the brim, especially in these uncertain times." As much as Dumbledore detested lying to anyone, let alone this canny girl, he did not feel it right to disclose the information that he father had been so adamant she be protected from.
She frowned slightly, as if she did not quite believe that words of the elderly wizard. Still, she said nothing, merely shrugging in acceptance of his answer.
At that very moment the bell announcing the commencement of dinner rang piercingly, shaking Eleanora into a flurry of movement. She leapt out of her chair, nearly tripping over her feet and made a dash for the door.
"I'll let you know what Snape says!" she called over her shoulder as she yanked open the door.
"Keep out of mischief!" Dumbledore smiled humorously and Eleanora childishly stuck out her tongue in reply as she disappeared from the doorway.
As Dumbledore returned to his desk, he heard her galloping down the corridor, her boots clapping resonantly on the cold stone floor and he wondered if she knew just what she had so readily agreed to in taking duelling lessons with Snape. He smiled amusedly to himself.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall during that first lesson, he thought with relish.
Then, with a worried frown; Perhaps I should see about having the Duelling Gallery fire-proofed?