Things which matter most should never be at the mercy of things which matter least. ~ Johann von Goethe

Chapter 3

'It's shameful, the way they run this school,' said Draco Malfoy pompously the next morning, 'If Father has his way, he will. . .'

Years of practice helped Harry to shut out Malfoy's whining. Instead, he concentrated on what Hagrid had to teach.

'All yeh have ter do, is ter hold the little one round his tummy.' Rubeus Hagrid demonstrated, 'Grab 'im firmly so he can't move. . .'

Hagrid's lessons positively scintillated year by year. Although his passion made dangerous magical creatures predominate classes, he made a point to show occasionally he also extended his love for other fascinating, much gentler and certainly much prettier creatures that appealed more to the students. Harry suspected it was a form of reward and compensation, or maybe Grubbly-Plank had a hand in it.

It was one of those rare days and everyone was drawn to the rare sight of a pup of the Guardian Hounds species. Legend had it that Guardian Hounds protected the Four Founders against the Dark creatures living in the Dark Forest, when it had been even more dangerous than it was at present, whilst they were busy building Hogwarts' School. Hagrid must have had spent a lot of effort procuring the pup. There were fifteen left in Great Briton. At four months, with the finest coat of silver fur, tawny eyes, and the most incredulously adorable ears, the tiny pup was already showing the fearlessness renowned among his species. Oblivious of the huge number of people surrounding him, he licked Hagrid's palm as Hagrid explained the history that stretched over thousands of years.

'Guardian Hounds,' Malfoy scoffed, 'They are nothing special. Why, I've seen them when I was five. They are mean things. They bit me.'

Harry wondered, One would think that under the circumstances we grew in, Malfoy would be less childish, and shook with suppressed laughter when Hermione retaliated, 'Maybe they bit you because Guardian Hounds see the blackness of a person's heart.'

Malfoy spun around with his wand in hand, 'Watch what you say, Granger.'

'Quick to take offence, aren't we?' Ron remarked, 'Careful where you point that Malfoy, you wouldn't want detention with Hagrid, would you? Or would you like Furnunculus and Jelly-Legs on you? Crabbe can tell you how they felt together.'

Malfoy and his cronies had not changed either. At every opportunity, they would gloat over any unfortunate accident which occurred in the wizarding world, and frighten the younger students with their bullying tactics. Insults were aimed especially at Harry and his friends. It was a reckless move, but Malfoy was an unwise person. He did not hide his sentiments and all but declared that his sympathies lay with Voldemort.

However, ever since the incident in the train at the end of their fourth year, they were more careful not to pick a fight. Verbal abuse was more easily escapable than duels. They had no wish to appear worse for wear as in the train.

Malfoy scowled, and walked haughtily away. Ron patted Hermione's hand and winked at Harry. They turned their attention back to Hagrid, who winked at them when others did not notice.

***

High above the grounds, Severus stepped away from the window. He had witnessed enough. He removed the 'Sensitia' spell he had cast upon himself previously and went to sit in front of Albus.

'Do you not worry about Messrs. Malfoy and Potter?'

'No,' Albus chuckled, 'The little confrontation the two groups have everyday are part and parcel of house rivalry.'

'It will progress into something worse. In another year, they will graduate and officially choose their side.'

'Until then, we shall protect them, and further on if we can. You have something you wish to tell me.'

'Yes.' Severus found it hard to say it. 'It has occurred to me that the Dark Lord no longer trusts his first followers. He places more faith in the new generation, which is much too eager to prove their worth and will do anything to please him. Through the meetings at Lucius', I realise we've been pushed aside. It is only a masquerade that we still command all the members. Voldemort's given vague instructions to us whenever we carry out missions. What is worse, he calls us at the eleventh hour to instruct us to do them.'

'I remember the St. Mungo's incident.'

'I notice some of our supposed subordinates seem more prepared than we are about what he has in mind. They know what to expect and what they have to look out for during our attacks.'

'Who are they?'

'I'll compile a list for you after I learn more.'

'Very well.'

'In short, we're at a dead end.' Severus said what he feared to say. 'There is no way I can be of more use to you other than to tell you who the recent wizards initiated are. And that information we have to treat with caution as taking too many of them at one time will alert Voldemort that there is a spy in his ranks.'

Albus sighed, 'We have to manage. At least we can be thankful that Olympe and Hagrid have secured our relations with the giants.'

'Yes, the Dark Lord was annoyed with that.'

'What a way you have with words Severus,' said Albus lightly.

Severus smiled, 'I suppose Voldemort doesn't know what annoyance is. What about Tom Riddle?'

'I don't think anyone knew who he truly was. He was always the well- mannered boy everyone thought him to be.'

'Including yourself?'

'I had my doubts,' Albus conceded, 'but I never thought he meant harm. I didn't know his past.'

'It would be better if he had never known it either.'

'True, but before he learnt of his origin, he was certainly an embittered lad already. His charm was simply a tool and disguise. He's delved too deep into the Dark Arts to surface again. . . Is he still using corpses?'

'Yes, MacNair led some to excavate more out two nights ago. The Dark Lord requires less bodies now, but I deduce he will need them to sustain his strength for the rest of his life, or if he has his way, forever,' Severus smiled grimly, 'A true Death-Eater.'

'Are you still the only one doing those potions for him?'

'I'm not certain. He does not summon me as often as he did before and I did give my notes to him. As I've mentioned, he needs less of them now.' Severus said in a clinical tone, 'In some ways, it's more difficult than making Wolfsbane. One has to have steady hands and precise timing to do them. The. . . ingredients vary from one body to another and that interrupts the process as the effect can only be seen after the body parts are added into the cauldron. If the potion fails, one has to start all over again. The worst case I've endured was going through seven bodies before coming to the appropriate one.'

Severus knew he was rattling off, grateful that Albus tolerated his repeating the procedure. It helped relieve him of the disgust and nausea he felt whenever he thought of the cold, ashen corpses he had to touch and dissect in order to serve his master.

'This is a most unsuitable topic for such a sunny day,' Albus said when Severus finished. 'Come with me to the kitchen for a cup of tea.'

'The House-Elves will just make me more irritable Headmaster,' Severus protested, 'They are overly eager to wait on us, much to Miss Granger's disappointment.'

'It is a good thing she has given up trying, is it not? What will we do without their sumptuous meals.' Albus walked round the table and hoisted Severus up. 'Come,' he said cheerfully, 'A bowl of clam chowder and lamp chops with mint sauce should do wonders for your stomach and expression.'

'And shock the students when the sour-faced Potions Master dances into class with delight and reward them all with points? Poppy will have her hands full of students who have fainted.' Severus paused at the doorway, 'It is an excellent idea Albus. I shall have more time to myself while the brats are recuperating. Thank you for the inspiration.'

'Severus. . .' Albus laughed, 'Do you dislike teaching so much?'

Severus replied solemnly, 'Teaching was the only position proposed to me. I had no choice in my career prospects. Yes, I think I can safely say there is a certain resentment regarding my tedious and narrow path of life.'

Albus stared at him and Severus felt the corner of his mouth turn up into a familiar sardonic smile. He could not help throwing the famous omnipotent wizard into disconcertion sometimes. Besides, fond of him as he may be, he loathed the students and their wild antics. Not to mention the devastating hormones that seemed to burst out as they grew older.

'You are completely heartless sometimes.'

Severus grinned unrepentantly, 'Thanks.'

Albus chuckled, spoke to the young man as though he were a naughty boy, 'Come with me to the kitchen laddie,' and proceeded to give him a friendly shove.

Severus complied grudgingly, walking side by side with Albus. He mulled over his options.

'Headmaster?'

'Yes, Severus.'

'Thank you.'

'You are welcome, my lad. Very welcome.'

***

Adela slipped into a booth quietly. She had finally found time to come to 'Alcotts' Tea Shop' -serving traditional meals and pastries since 1946 to the delight of all customers, in and out lovely England - that day.

No sooner had she settled down, when a plump, robust woman of fifty appeared beside her.

'Welcome to Alcotts' Tea Shop, Miss, serving traditional. . .'

'Thanks,' Adela grinned, 'Charmed as I am by the grand history as you are proud of it Mrs. Alcott, you might enhance your prompt service by taking down my orders. I'm hungry.'

'Impertinent chit. I've been taking care of you these four years and this is what I get. Why, you have skipped breakfast today again I've reckoned. You should take care of your health.'

'Really Rose, I had no idea you were so protective over me,' Adela's teasing belied the fact that she was touched by Mrs. Alcott's concern.

'My home away from home,' she said happily when her late lunch was served. It comprised of green pea soup and lamp chops. 'What will I do without this place?'

'Find another hole I suppose. Elves adapt easily.'

'Madam!'

Mrs. Alcott sniffed, 'You are elfish Adela. Especially so as Halloween approaches.'

'Halloween's two months away.'

'That's right. Those large business franchises are already preparing to make money out of it. Did you see the decorations around the corner? Or the costumes and treats being sold? Anyway, will you be heading home before or after the season?'

'I'm graduating in a month's time. I shall leave soon after.'

'And what are your plans?'

'I may teach at the village.'

'Does that mean you won't come back?'

'I will visit you and the others.'

'I shall hold you to it. Enjoy your meal.'

Mrs. Alcott gave a peck on Adela's cheek and walked briskly away to another table when she spied a customer sitting down.

Adela ate with relish. Having the rest of the day to herself, she sipped her tea at leisure as she looked out the window to view the hustle and bustle on the streets.

Putting her cup down, she waited for Mrs. Alcott's helper to clear the table before taking out her folder from her bag. Lessons were more or less wrapped up but she wanted no odds and ends left undone. She marvelled at the years passed. Cliché as it sounded, it seemed only yesterday that she left her village for the first time to explore the world outside. As she arranged her notes and wrote additional ones to supplement them, she recalled her pleasant stay here and was wont to leave. She reminded herself, therefore, that she could return if she wanted to.

The day was drawing to an end by the time she left the shop. Riding her bicycle, she screeched to a halt a few metres later when a little boy tottered in front of her.

'Hello!' Adela cried, her heart thumping fast. She got off her bicycle and knelt beside the boy, 'What do you think you are doing young man?'

The boy stared at her. Then he bent down to pick a small brown ball. Palm outstretched, he showed it to her proudly and said, 'I got it for my birthday.'

'Did you drop it?'

'No, I threw it and it landed here. I came to collect it.'

'It's dangerous to run out onto the pavement like you did. What if I did not stop in time? You would have been hurt.'

'I won't.'

'How would you know?'

'My ball protects me.'

Adela smiled, 'Then it must be a very special magical ball.'

'It is. It has a ward on it.'

'Ah! And what does the ward do?'

'It wards off people. You will stop if you ride your bicycle closer to it, even if I'm not here,' the boy spoke importantly, 'Only I can touch it.'

'I see. You must like this ball very much.'

'Yes. It helps me see any place I like. All I do is hold it.'

'Can I see the places too, if you let me?'

The boy looked at her with large solemn dark eyes, 'You can't. You are non- magical.'

Adela was disappointed. 'What a pity. How does one become magical?'

'You have to be a witch.'

Adela asked, 'Is it too late to become a witch?'

'Yes, you have to be born magical you see.'

Their discussion was interrupted by a female voice, 'Esmond! There you are!'

Adela looked up to see a tall woman dressed in an elegant suit walking hurriedly towards them. Smiling to ease the anxious mother, she carried Esmond in her arms and returned him to her.

'No harm done, madam.'

'Thank you so much. Esmond loves walking on his own and I was in the post- office when he ran out. I'm so worried that I'll lose him sometimes.'

'You just have to take more precautions.'

'I will.'

'He's delightful,' said Adela, 'His speech is excellent for a child at his age.'

'He turned four last week.'

'Indeed. He told me all about his magical ball he received on his birthday.'

Adela was surprised to see alarm cross the lady's face. The woman quickly composed herself.

'He has a full imagination,' said the lady casually, 'I suppose he told you about the ball enabling him to see places.'

'Yes.'

'What's im-agi-nation?' asked Esmond.

'I'll explain later,' promised his mother. She turned back to Adela.

'My husband and I travel frequently and Esmond is inheriting his father's taste for adventure. He loves to imagine himself in Never-Never Land. . .'

'And Hogwarts!' the little boy helpfully contributed.

The lady looked at Adela apologetically, 'It's a school for witches and wizards.'

'Yes, you have to be born magical to qualify I surmise,' Adela smiled.

The lady's tone shook, 'How did you know?'

'Your child told me.'

'I. . . I see.'

Adela saw her left hand shake when it entered her bag. Thinking the lady was trying to hide her discomfort, Adela tried to soothe her, 'Children's imagination is a vast and wonderful thing Madam. I'll do nothing to prevent but everything to encourage it if I am allowed to.'

The lady observed her carefully. At last, she stopped shaking. She smiled warmly at Adela, 'You are right. Children have the right to be free of any inhibitions adults have. Did he let you touch his ball?'

'No.'

'You may one day. Who knows?' she took her hand out of her bag and gave it to Adela.

Adela shook it.

'Thank you for looking after Esmond even if it is for a little while. I am glad, Miss. . .?'

'Call me Adela.'

'I am glad, Adela, you have not made me worry that you have compromised the safety of my son and do things I have no wish to do.'

'I certainly hope not. I have no wish to see the police. Good day then. Esmond is a lovely child. When he grows older, enroll him in Hogwarts by all means.'

'Thank you.' The lady gave her a final smile and walked away.

Adela's sharp hearing caught her muttering, although she must not have had heard correctly.

'. . . almost obbliviated her. . .'

Adela turned back to her bicycle. She paused to watch the sun set behind the buildings. She loved sunsets. They were the metaphor for death and melancholy, but she knew a sunset meant that a sunrise would follow. Such was the girl's simple faith in the powers of the universe.

She recalled one particular sunset. She had not seen him for several years since, but she thought about him at times. She hoped he was well.

***

Severus frowned in concentration as he began working on his potions in his office. Dusk was an appropriate time since the students were more subdued at the end of the day. There was relative peace and quiet during this time.

He poured out the thick juice extracted from the poisonous petals of the Globukus Water-Plant into his cauldron, and watched the purple liquid swirl almost hypnotically into a black substance. . .

Black nights, white lightning, nights on fire, thrilling screams amidst the howling winds, the lone wolf crying for his companions, darkness pooling in, the sins drowning him. . . Midnight swimmer, midnight sea, there must be pleasure yielding like one perishing in the snow. . .

Severus found himself flung backward onto the floor. He panted heavily.

Weak, weak! he reprimanded himself. He knew he had not recovered his strength despite appearances to the contrary. He felt exhausted and was more easily lulled into the gloominess and sinister part inside. He wondered what it was like to lose oneself in one's thoughts forever.

Think! Think of something else. Severus frantically calmed himself. The potion was technically done save for storing it. He decided to let it cool in the night before transferring it into bottles. That left him to his own devices. Picking himself up with as much dignity as possible although no one was looking at him, he walked to his study.

There was an unmistakable touch of the Potions Master about the study for those who knew him. The shelves, table and frames of the chairs were made from solid alder wood, the tree of fire, and were after the Victorian style. The shelves were filled with rare books ranging from magical to non- magical. The subjects of the magical ones comprised mostly of Potions, Arithmancy and Charms. One obscure corner revealed books of the Dark Arts. If Tom Riddle had known the latter books he had been seeking were in Severus' possession all the time, he would have had killed Severus before seizing them. It was in the non-magical books that students would be amazed in. They spanned from the history of Muggles to 19th-20th century literature, be it English, French, Russian or even Chinese. The stone floors were not covered. In fact, the large study was quite bare and airy. What few decorations there were, were elegant but not extravagant. Draperies hanging on the walls depicted scenes from the Renaissance period in Florence. What personal belongings there were showed the professor to be a man of exquisite taste. The finest set of stationery was placed neatly on the writing table, together with a chess-set, surprisingly Muggle-made, for the ebony and ivory pieces did not move. The chess-set, if one observed carefully, was actually hand-made in India in the 16th century, India being the country where the game first originated. If the seller was to be believed, the set was a gift from the then emperor to his son and was smuggled out by his servant. Overall, the room was dark, but not oppressive, and like its master, exuded a detached form of arrogance.

The fire which Severus had started before was blazing by the time he entered the study. He took a file out of his drawer. Sinking into his armchair, he drank from a glass of 1962 Vodka as he contemplated the paper he laid on his lap.

He was not an artist. The sketch did not do justice to the subject he had in mind. At least, he thought so. He knew it was useless, that despite every effort, the Charm, or Curse in his-not-so-humble opinion, could not be lifted. The nightly sketches he had begun doing after the chat with Albus in the stuff room was a method to exorcise his pent-up helplessness, to give expression to his voiceless thoughts. He looked down at the latest addition. Like its predecessors, it started off with a faceless portrait with long fine hair flowing down. Each night, he tried to pin down the features on the face.

Picking up his charcoal stick, he sketched out the eyes. No, not quite right, his eyebrows knitted together as he made amendments to them. He snorted over the pathetic attempt. The eyes were too round, the eyelashes too curled. He went on to the nose and lips. The overall work was so hideous he shoved it into the file, and moped over his failure to relinquish hopes of returned memory.

He pondered again why it meant so much to him. He had possessed and lost precious things in life. Why was he determined to cling to this shadow? He was indebted to her, but it was not as though she had saved his life. No, he corrected himself; she had saved him, from himself. Albus was right. He was a listless corpse before he met her. Was that why a memory with no substance held such great importance in him? Did he feel that he owed her, that he would let her down if he did not remember her?

His introspection was threatening to become a vicious cycle. He decided to have an early sleep. He deserved it, after the strenuous exercise of marking his students' work. While Potter would never be a Potions Master, Longbottom was better off as a Squib. He was tempted to throw the essays into the fire and tell the class to write another one. That would teach the brats to show more respect in Potions.

Potter. . . he needed to plan another talking session with the softhearted trio in the near future. It did not do to allow them to keep silent and accept their punishments without complaints. He was taken aback by the sudden turn in their attitude towards him. It was nothing short of miraculous. He had expected Potter, with his self-importance and self- righteousness, to avoid him or treat him with the advantage of high moral ground that he himself had no right to. Weaseley was viewed as the least mature of the three. He always appeared to put everyone into one of the two camps in his mind: the Good and the Gits. Perhaps it was the prejudice he inherited from a Weaseley wizarding background that affected his judgement. Perhaps it was the sensitivity he learnt after having Granger as his girlfriend. Severus recalled the initial hilarity which struck him when he heard of the way the two had. . . resolved their. . . relationship problems, so to speak. Still, they had proven that they were a compatible match so far.

Severus heaved. Who knew? Who cared? He had much on his mind without the need to worry about his students' affairs and what they thought of him.

Resolute, he extinguished the fire and went to his sleeping chamber, the only difference between the latter and the study being that there was a large four-poster bed with silver hangings situated against one wall of the chamber. Changing out, Severus realised that he was still holding his file. He paused, and meditated for a while. Her voice floated in his ears while her image played in front of his eyes. As before, each time he tried to focus the image, it disappeared. Sighing, he placed the file on the chest beside his bed. Once dressed in his nightgown, he turned in.

***

Harry and his friends looked chagrined after Snape had lectured them. In fact, they knew they were looking stupid.

'We didn't know the danger arising from our change in behaviour Professor,' Hermione winced at her squeakiness. 'We didn't think anyone would. . .'

'Notice?' asked Snape in his trademark silky voice, which indicated his mockery.

'We didn't think anyone would think,' Ron admitted to himself that it sounded lame even as he said it.

'Ah, I am enlightened.'

Snape had bellowed over Harry and Ron when they were trying to help each other decipher the sheet of instructions Snape had given out in his lesson that morning. The instructions did not make sense. When the two had tried explaining to Snape what their problem was, Snape had scorned at their apparent lack of intelligence. Hermione, having seen the boys' instructions and confirmed they were different from everyone else's, had joined in to clarify and was brushed aside. When she had persisted, Snape handed out detentions for the three of them to meet him during lunch.

Now, Ron understood Snape's intent, 'Honestly sir, there are many ways to arrange a meeting if you want to. There's no need to embarrass us by giving us detention.'

Snape said dryly, ''Messrs. Potter and Weaseley, Miss Granger, please accept my most sincere invitation to have lunch with me in my office.' How will the class react to it?'

Harry was stunned. Did Snape just crack a joke with them?

'You could have just sent us a note.'

'And risk it being read by others?'

'I think. . .' Ron scowled, 'I think you get a kick out of mistreating us.'

'Really Weaseley. . .' Snape drawled, 'Five points for besmirching my character.'

'Yeah, and you've given me permission to not stomach your taunts and injustice quietly. So there, you bastard,' Ron let out a hoot of self- congratulatory relief and celebration, 'Best news I've heard all week.'

'If you disliked what you were doing, why suppress your indignation?'

'We thought you had enough troubles without us bothering you,' Hermione replied in earnest.

'I surmised as much. Ill-guided as your impulses were, they are acknowledged and appreciated.'

Harry wondered at it. Ron and Hermione seemed to be able to talk to Snape at ease, while he had not spoken up throughout the meeting.

Was it so difficult to bury old grudges? But this is Snape we're talking about, a Death-Eater! Harry screamed in his head.

It was not so simple. This was a Death-Eater turned spy. He had seen what needed to be seen, heard what needed to be heard. Snape was doing what needed to be done not for his own benefits, but for the greater good. The man had honour. Moreover, Harry recalled his first meeting with him, Snape had a heart.

Was it so difficult to look past a person's faults and tarnished past and accept him unconditionally?

'So quiet, Mr. Potter?'

Harry faced Snape and asked fearlessly, 'The thing Ron said about mistreating us, do you really enjoy it?'

Snape's eyes glittered, 'Oh, assuredly. There is nothing more satisfying than having a spat with disrespectful, disobedient students and knowing you have the upper hand. After all, I have the right on my side and the authority to punish you.'

Harry laughed immediately. He felt inexplicably happier, for he felt no anger with Snape's answer. 'Then, you are a bastard.'

He noted that Snape was slightly taken aback. For the first time, he had wrongfooted the Professeor. All due to an innocent laugh.

Harry smiled. Maybe Ron was right. Snape would never be like his father James Potter, but he was an unsung hero. Harry seemed to breathe more freely. His confidence, or daring, grew as well.

'Do you hate me Professor?'

'I should ask you that Potter. On my part, I hate students in general for all manners of reasoning, and I hate the way you think you can handle every danger in your stride. I have no regard for the celebrity-type reputation you don't deserve.'

'On mine, I hate your cruelty and used to think of all sorts of ways to take my revenge whenever you punished us. But I don't hate you. I hate Voldemort.'

Snape frowned, 'Hate is a potent thing. Voldemort instills hate in you. I. . .' He stopped abruptly, 'You will learn in your own time. But always keep your hate in check. It brings the worst out in everyone.'

Harry nodded. Although no one had ever mentioned it explicitly, he knew that the staff feared the darkness they believed he possessed. Who would not possess a darkness after confronting the Evil Lord at age one? As he spent his years in the wizarding world, he felt it harder to keep his rage in check whenever Voldemort attacked.

The inappropriate timing of the growling of Ron's stomach interrupted his thoughts.

'Sorry,' Ron said unabashedly, 'It is lunch, you know.'

Snape conceded, 'It is a long walk to the Great Hall. Never mind, you can have it here.'

The three tried to decline his uncharacteristic gesture of hospitality. They stopped when they saw the House-Elves bring plate after plate of sumptuous food at Snape's request.

'Merlin! Is that why you take your meals here instead of the Great Hall?' Ron gawked at the spread.

'And to have moments of silence to myself. Help yourselves. The House-Elves always overestimate our abilities to finish the food they serve.'

The four of them tucked in and the three students unconsciously slipped into an amiable conversation. Snape kept to himself.

When the bell rang, the three left Snape and headed off for Herbology as though they did it everyday. All in all, they concurred in wonder, it was the best detention they ever had.

Author's Note:

'Midnight swimmer midnight sea' is a song-line from the musical Notre Dame de Paris. Great book. Kinda wild about the show because of it. Hey, everyone's got their own opinion. =

'obbliviated' is a deliberate misspell. You can't expect Adela to know what it really is, right?