Chapter 6: Professor Ebony
Three days after Meli's interview with Dumbledore, the school governors arrived at Hogwarts to put her through the wringer before approving her to teach. They came with all of the pomp befitting bureaucratic grandeur; consequently, Meli was impatient with the lot of them within an hour, a condition that put her at something of a disadvantage since her grilling didn't begin until the following day.
An indispensable noxious ritual was a formal dinner for the governors' benefit. Every member of Hogwarts' faculty who was at the school at the time was "strongly requested"—a bureaucrat's way of saying "required"—to be present. As a result, a number of teachers suddenly discovered family obligations, and those who didn't (or couldn't) were envious of them.
In the latter category were Snape and Zarekael. Snape had no acknowledged family that Meli knew of, and she strongly suspected that he had no home outside of Hogwarts, although there were rumors that a Snape Manor existed somewhere. Zarekael probably had some family left, but he had no way of communicating with them; Snape was really the only family he had.
Thus, both Snape and Zarekael were present at the dinner, and unless Meli was much mistaken, they were every bit as thrilled with the arrangement as she was. The difference was that they could show their displeasure, while she, as the object of the governors' scrutiny, could not. She took it all philosophically, however, vowing not to let the bureaucrats get the better of her. This, too, shall pass, she thought as she sat down to an arrangement of more forks and spoons than she had seen in her entire life.
Someone in the kitchens was apparently under the mistaken impression that such a high occasion required extra sugar, and Meli cursed that nameless someone in many creative and painful ways in her mind. Her stomach lurched violently as each new course was presented, knowing from the smells that nearly all of it was candied or glazed or otherwise infested with sweetness. Ordinarily, she only dreaded dessert, but this entire meal was a thorough nightmare. By luck, she located the few edible dishes and took a few bites of each to give the appearance that she was not out of sorts, but she saw Dumbledore looking compassionately at her more than once. He knew of her aversion to sweets as well as he knew why this job prospect was so important to her.
The talk was as formal and trifling as any dinner conversation Meli had read in Jane Austen. No matter how well anyone present knew the others, addresses were by title and surname only, and discussion topics largely concerned the weather, the economy, and the accomplishments and connections of the various governors.
Meli, for her part, followed the conversation enough to know its general content, and she participated just enough to pretend that she actually cared, but most of her attention was focused on coming up with more fitting names for each governor present. That silly occupation kept her from letting her stomach from doing as it wished—namely, empty itself into the lap of the governor to her right (whom she had dubbed Mr. Puffin).
It was thanks to Mr. Puffin, however, that she learned something else interesting about Zarekael. In the course of an extended soliloquy on the weather, that worthy gentleman apparently realized that he'd been monopolizing the conversation and decided to include the most silent member of the dinner party.
"So, Apprentice Sel Dar Jerrikhan," he began, but Zarekael cut him off.
"My formal name is Zarekael," he corrected quietly. "Sel Dar Jerrikhan is a title."
Mr. Puffin was a bit taken aback at the rebuff, but he had enough bluster to recover shortly, and Zarekael was obliged to offer his opinions about such fascinating things as average yearly precipitation, barometric pressure, and the effects of humidity on hair. Much to Meli's amused relief, Zarekael kept his responses brief and as much to the point (such as it was) as possible. He was polite enough to give no offense and dignified enough to keep himself somehow above the absurdity of it all.
His correction of Mr. Puffin's error drew her interest, however, and she made a mental note to ask him about it at the earliest opportunity.
After a morning and afternoon of walking Meli over the coals, as with a perverse hope that she would burst into flame, the board of governors declared a three-hour recess to consider their findings; Meli made her way to the dungeons in search of more anti-inflammatory company.
Snape, as she had hoped, was in the Potions room, busily making up some brew whose smell she did not immediately recognize; rather than interrupting him and taking the risk that it was touchy potion, she leaned against one of the worktables until he turned around.
When he did so, it was with an amused countenance. "Good afternoon, Meli," he said sardonically. "You appear to have survived."
"Appearances can be deceiving," she replied dryly. "I feel as though I've spent the day dictating my memoirs to a group of people predisposed to disbelieve every word I say." She shrugged. "Dumbledore seems optimistic . . . but then, this is Dumbledore we're talking about. I don't think he's capable of despondency."
Snape smirked. "Can you think of any reason for them not to approve you?"
Meli stared at him. "You're asking me?" she countered.
"Can you think of any compelling reasons of which they are aware?" he asked again, his eyes glittering. "I know you didn't give them your full autobiography."
And for very good reason, she added silently. "None that I know of," she answered aloud.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," he assured her.
Zarekael entered then, sending a series of creeping taps up and down Meli's spine, and walked sedately to join them at the front of the room. "Hello, Meli," he said.
"Hello, Zarekael. How are you this fine day?"
He bowed slightly from the neck. "I'm well," he replied. "And you?"
"Splendid," she told him. "Thrilled to be in the dungeons."
That comment elicited knowing smirks from both men. "If you would care to extend your stay," Snape offered, "by all means, join Zarekael and me for tea."
"I wouldn't want to impose," she said hastily.
"Father would never have offered if it was an imposition," Zarekael pointed out.
She glanced first at Zarekael, then back at Snape, with hooded eyes. "Very well, then," she said after a moment. "I accept." Abruptly, she smirked, then added, "However, in the presence of two such tall and brooding people, how could I ever think of myself as imposing?"
Zarekael's expression remained impassive, but Snape offered a persevering smirk as reward for that exceptionally terrible pun.
Snape served tea simply, and, Meli noted with satisfaction, without any sugary augmentation. They ate and drank in silence for several minutes, until Meli's earlier curiosity came to mind.
"Zarekael," she said, setting down her tea cup. "There's something I'm curious about. You don't have to say if you'd rather not, of course, but I was wondering about your name."
He arched an eyebrow. "My name?" he repeated.
She nodded. "Last night, someone addressed you as Apprentice Sel Dar Jerrikhan, and you corrected him," she recalled. "Since Sel Dar Jerrikhan does not function as your formal name, I wondered about its actual function."
Both of Zarekael's eyebrows were raised now; Snape just looked amused. The apprentice paused a moment, then replied, "As I said last night, Zarekael is my formal name. Sel Dar Jerrikhan refers to my House; it literally means 'of House Jerrikhan'. In saying Apprentice Sel Dar Jerrikhan, he was referring to everyone in my House who has ever been an apprentice."
"I see." Meli fitted that piece into the slowly-assembling puzzle that was Zarekael. "Do you have an informal name, then, or is it just your formal and House names?"
Snape, who had experienced six years of her temerity as a student, was practically smiling by now; Zarekael, though he maintained conversational balance with the same grace that kept his height from making him awkward, seemed nevertheless thrown slightly off-kilter.
There will be no tap-dancing 'round subjects with me, I'm afraid, Meli thought, smiling inwardly.
Zarekael made a swift recovery, however, and, after fortifying himself with a bite of scone and a sip of tea, he replied, "There are five names. The first is my formal name, and the last is my House name. My second name is known only to family and close friends, my third to my closest friends, and my fourth—should I ever marry—will be known only to my wife."
To judge by his tone, Zarekael had as little interest in marriage as Meli had.
"A good arrangement," she said. "If the owner of the names is not careless with them, such a custom emphasizes the honor of friendship. The way in which English names function makes it far too easy for others to presume a closer acquaintance than actually exists."
"Middle names are not always commonly known," Snape pointed out.
"But they are more easily found out than Zarekael's second, third, or fourth names would seem to be," Meli countered.
Zarekael nodded gravely, but she noticed that there was an odd trace of something unreadable in his look. "Each name has its own meaning," he said. "The more of my names someone knows, the more he knows of me. 'Zarekael' means 'protector of the king'. Few know anything of me beyond that."
To this Meli could formulate no reply, so she nodded and took another sip of tea.
Now that the door had been opened, though, Zarekael decided to step through it. "Do your names have any significant meanings, Meli?" he asked.
She smiled mirthlessly. The names she now bore were free of the dark meanings of those she had borne before, but there was no way to tell him that. "Well," she answered, "'Meli' was not chosen for meaning, so I have never troubled myself to discover one for it. When I was at university, some of my classmates imagined that it must be a diminutive for some high-sounding name, so one of them consulted the book another was reading at the time and christened me 'Elbereth', which means 'star queen', and which was quite high-sounding enough for a group of bored Americans.
"My second name is Ailsa, which means 'island'. I suppose it could be significant since I'm rather a solitary person." Crim had given her that name when she had refused all avoidable human company for weeks following her parents' deaths.
"And 'Ebony', the most misleading of them all, means 'dark strength'." She shrugged, then drank the last of her tea. "I might as easily have been named Oliver Twist."
Snape narrowed his eyes in amusement. "I would hope, Meli, that Bumble would have known enough at least to make it Olivia Twist," he said dryly.
Meli raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Given the IQ level of that worthy sir," she replied, "I wouldn't bet my salary on it." She shook her head. "The man fancied himself a philosopher because he could starve and mistreat paupers and orphans as efficiently as anyone else, and a theologian because he represented a self-righteous entity that called itself the church, but which was in reality no such thing. But name to him Immanuel Kant or David Hume for the philosophers, and Thomas Aquinas or John Piper for the theologians, and the old fool would have no idea that they were men of great thought and accomplishment. He would think each of them was a charity orphan he'd named himself, and would write them off consequently. There lies the true test of one's intelligence—knowing when you know nothing."
Zarekael wisely chose to remain silent. Snape, however, who had heard such talk before, smirked. "I wasn't aware that you now equated tea with detention," he said.
She gave him a hawkish look. "Severus, do you honestly believe that the only time the Skulkers discussed philosophy and literature was during overnight detentions?" she countered. "That was when our arguments made the most sense, mind you, but it certainly wasn't the only time the subjects came up." She darted a glance at Zarekael, who was doing a magnificent job of not looking lost, and smiled. "However, afternoon tea is perhaps not the best time to wax eloquent on that subject."
From there the conversation turned to other matters and continued for an enjoyable while until Dobby, the most annoying house elf Meli had ever encountered (and she had met up with quite a few) popped up beside her chair.
"Excuse me, Miss Ebony?" he said.
He managed a grammatically correct fragment, Meli thought in shock. How monumental! Aloud, she answered, "Yes?"
"They is wanting you again now."
Meli stood, made her apologies to Snape and Zarekael, and followed the walking annoyance out of the dungeons. Every step Dobby took elicited either a loud honk from his left sock or a chorus of "Jingle Bells" from his right sock. The socks, made for humans, were too big for him, so Dobby had to stop every dozen or so steps to pull them up again lest he fall. By the time they arrived at the faculty boardroom, Meli was one honk away from wringing the house elf's neck. It was all she could do not to kick him as he honk-Jingle-Bells-ed his way down the corridor after showing her to the door. The board was watching her through the open doorway, though, so she withheld her wrath and once more took comfort in the impassive countenance she habitually wore; it would not do to look irritated or flustered just now.
"Come in, Miss Ebony," intoned the chairman (whom she had dubbed Mr. Wispy the previous evening). She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment, then stepped quietly into the room. Her thoughts turned once more to Oliver Twist as she stood before the imposing board of governors, each member a self-important statue behind the heavy wooden table.
No wonder Lucius Malfoy was at home as a governor, she thought randomly. They're almost arrogant enough for him!
Dumbledore stood at the end of the table to her left, his eyes twinkling even now. She took courage at the sight and forced a meek smile.
Mr. Wispy bestowed on her a condescending smile of his own. "It is the decision of the governors," he pronounced, "to approve you as a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for a term of one year, at the end of which time we shall review your actions and effectiveness, and, if you show yourself adequate, submit to you a contract for a longer term of service."
Meli nodded once, formally. "Thank you, sir."
"Thank me after you've survived the year," Mr. Wispy advised darkly. "You've applied for and received a post that's rumored to be cursed."
She inclined her head slightly to one side. "Far be it from me to make any attempt at dictating my own destiny," she replied, "but I fully intend to serve as long as I am both able and approved. Whether that period is a fortnight or ten years or something other remains, of course, to be seen. I thank you, however, for the opportunity."
What Mr. Wispy thought of this he did not say, but something like approbation flickered in his countenance for the barest nanosecond.
Snape was not at all surprised when Meli relayed to him the governors' decision; he found it amusing, however, that even the bureaucrats had fallen prey to student superstitions about the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.
"If for no other reason than to prove them all wrong, I'm resolved to stay here for at least two years," Meli told him firmly.
Snape smirked. "I doubt any of the last few Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, with the exception of Moody, intended to leave when they did," he countered.
Meli shrugged with feigned flippancy. "Well, I think I stand a better chance than any of them did," she insisted. "I'm not harboring He-Whom-You-Do-Not-Name, I'm not a complete incompetent—or so you've told me, anyway—I'm not a werewolf, and I'm not a Death Eater, in disguise or otherwise."
Snape made no reply; he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and, for all her vocal confidence, she was perfectly aware that there was something about her, that, should it become known, would probably make her another Remus Lupin.
Fortunately, the chances of it coming to light were considerably slim.
She hoped.
All the while these thoughts passed through her mind, Snape watched her from the corners of his eyes, a shrewd quirk to his mouth.
"I know," she sighed. "Foolish optimism does not become me."
He arched an eyebrow. "That's not at all what I was going to say," he countered smoothly.
"A wise aphorism, then?" she suggested. "Something about how four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie are better than two in the bush?"
"No."
She shrugged helplessly. "Well, what, then?"
Snape held out his hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts," he said simply.
She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. Snape was not one to shake hands lightly; for that matter, he was not a person who generally touched anyone.
"Thank you, sir—Severus," she answered after a moment, then carefully shook his hand. "I suppose we really are colleagues now, aren't we?"
"So it would seem."
Suddenly, Meli grinned as a new thought occurred to her. Snape remained calm, but he knew her well enough to show the mildest trace of concern.
"You know what this means, of course," she said slowly.
Snape raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
"You can't give me detentions anymore," she answered. "And you can't take points from Gryffindor because of me, either."
Snape smirked, then crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the worktables. "I find more than adequate compensation in the fact that, as a responsible adult, you won't be able to earn either detention or point deductions," he replied. "Moreover, as a responsible adult, it will be your duty to issue detentions and point deductions—to Gryffindor, no less."
"Oh!" Those particular consequences had not occurred to her. However . . . She sighed again, rather theatrically, reminding herself that no one could make her miserable if she did not allow it. "Curses. Foiled again." She abruptly grinned once more. "Then I shall just have to turn my creativity to the responsible adult task of devising thoroughly creative and miserably unbearable detentions."
"A worthy use for it," Snape assured her sardonically.
"I think so." She raised a knowing eyebrow. "Of course, there are precedents to surpass. Cleaning out the detailing on the arches in the Great Hall using only toothbrushes and clear water was a stroke of genius." Her shoulders slumped comically. "How shall I ever top that?"
"I'm sure you'll find a way."
WINTER 1983, FIFTH YEAR
They were never told exactly what McGonagall was doing in the Potions classroom that day, but her presence was directly responsible for the Skulkers getting into far more trouble than they would ordinarily have done.
It started with an argument between Anthony Flint and his cauldron partner which necessitated relocating one of them to sit elsewhere in the room to prevent a round of fisticuffs. That resulted in Flint being re-seated at the cauldron next to Crim's, an arrangement which allowed her to observe that he had not been overly careful when grinding his scarab shells. This in turn led her to conclude that Flint was generally unobservant of his grinding, a hypothesis which she wished to test at the earliest possible convenience.
At first she added a few dust particles from the work table, but that struck her as boring and criminally unimaginative. That was how the others came to be involved. Meli was better at Potions than any of the others, so of course she must be consulted; Collum, who was forever fearful of coming up short on some item or of being without something on a critical day, was the Skulkers' walking pharmacy, so naturally he must be involved; and Sharpie, who sat between Crim and the others, was vital as both messenger and courier. Thus Snape later reconstructed it, and thus it actually happened.
That was how Flint ended up adding a ground mixture of scarab shells, porcupine quills, dried tongue of newt, and monkshood to an infusion of wormwood and witch hazel. No sooner had the powder mixed in than the contents of the cauldron exploded into a terrific starburst of color would make any American leap to his feet, hand over heart, and sing "The Star-Spangled Banner".
They might have gotten off scot-free had the Skulkers not made one collective fatal error: They failed to duck for cover when everyone else did.
Only then did Professor McGonagall announce her presence, and though they could never quite make out her words, they most definitely recognized her voice. She marched straight up the aisle between the Slytherin and Gryffindor worktables, her words shrill with reaction as she demanded (they theorized) an explanation.
Meli had known then that the Skulkers were in for it. Ordinarily, Snape would probably have lit into Flint for being inattentive, then taken the Skulkers aside after class for a less public reprimand in which he could also compliment them on their ingenuity.
With another teacher present, however, and that teacher being McGonagall, Snape was obliged to come down on them like a ton of bricks.
He had already glided down the aisle to their worktables, silencing McGonagall with a look of dark reassurance. "I trust there is an explanation for this?" he said coldly, his eyes riveted on Crim.
Crim, well aware of the advanced state of cooking her goose had already undergone, was pale, but she nodded slowly. "I . . . um . . . helped with the . . . grinding?" she suggested.
"The fireworks started out blue, Miss Fell," Snape observed. "Do you regularly carry monkshood with you?"
"Aah—"
"Perhaps you should lay out all of the ingredients you're carrying with you today." Snape's eyes flicked to his left. "Pierce, Miss Ebony, and Fell, why don't you do likewise?"
As the class watched, all four of them emptied their bags, laying out dozens of bottles and pouches, all neatly labeled. Only Collum, who was seated farthest from Crim, had either monkshood or dried tongue of newt.
"I see," Snape said after he had completed his survey. "Very well. Twenty points for each of you removes forty each from Slytherin and Gryffindor. The four of you will join me tonight for detention." His eyes glittered. "I suggest that you do not do this again."
Such a stiff penalty was enough to please even McGonagall, though she was obviously angry that the Skulkers' actions had brought on a dock from Gryffindor as well as Slytherin. She and Snape retreated, and Crim leaned forward to catch the others' eyes.
"Oops."
The Skulkers reported to Snape's office immediately after dinner, their outward manners suggesting a remorseful repentance than none of them felt in the least. It would, however, elicit a better response from the Potions master than if, as Collum had suggested, they arrived whistling "Heigh-Ho". As Meli pointed out, they really were in serious trouble—not for their stunt in class, but for putting Snape on the spot with McGonagall; it would be best, therefore, to keep a low profile until he had gotten that irritation out of his system.
They lined up in front of his desk, studiously looking down at their shoes and waiting for him to make a first move. Snape let them remain that way for several minutes, long enough for Collum to begin squirming, and then he cleared his throat. They looked up to find him watching them with an amused, hawkish countenance.
"This, I take it, is the meek face of the Skulkers?" he said deliberately. "The silent way of saying, 'We who are about to die salute you'?"
"Actually, sir," Meli replied quietly, "we didn't know we were about to die. If you'd like, we can adjust our salutes accordingly.
She ignored the sharp jab Sharpie administered to her ribs.
Snape, for his part, remained amused, much to the relief of all. "Death is not yet a punishment Dumbledore will allow, but should that ever change, you can be sure of proper preparation time for your salute." His amusement faded now, though he remained non-threatening. "The four of you have had all day to contemplate your situation. Can any of you tell me what it is that you did wrong?"
They exchanged puzzled looks, then Collum dutifully cleared his throat. "We tampered with another student's potion, causing an effect which probably hurt his grade and which also could have caused harm or damage. Sir."
Snape gave him a long-suffering look. "Fell, I would like to assure you at this time that I am not Professor McGonagall under the influence of polyjuice potion. I was looking for an honest answer."
Crim snickered, and Collum glared at her.
"Perhaps the correct answer, sir," Sharpie spoke up, "is that we were caught."
"We could have gotten a good effect, though not as spectacular, had we used more common ingredients," Meli added. "But we got sloppy and used ingredients that only Collum had, thereby making it clear that all four of us were in on it."
Snape nodded. "But what error brought it all to light first?" he prompted.
"But we wanted to see what it would do!" Crim protested. "You can't do that if you're busy ducking out of the way!"
Snape arched an eyebrow. "Forty points lost and a night of detention don't bother you enough to show more caution?"
She shrugged. "So my Gryffindor tendency took over for a few evil minutes," she sighed. "But detention, in my experience, is not a deterrent, and Slytherin's so far ahead of everyone for the House Cup that a forty point dock is nothing."
Snape's amusement returned. "Four and a half years in Slytherin House have not been sufficient to teach you how to bring your inner Gryffindor to heel?" he said sardonically.
Crim glared at her brother. "Collum's had a bad influence," she replied simply. "Though it could be worse; he could have been a Hufflepuff."
Snape stood and stepped around his desk to join them. "Well, then. Now that you're all back in your normal state, we can dispense with the pleasantries and move on to the punishment."
"We were hoping you'd forgotten about that, sir," Meli said insincerely.
Snape smirked. "With all due respect to your integrity, Miss Ebony," he countered, "I somehow doubt that very much."
He was right to doubt, and they all knew it—though, had he ever before administered a Skulker detention, he would have had grounds for more than mere doubt. The Skulkers were incredibly philosophical when it came to punishment: no one, most certainly no teacher, could force them to hate it. As a group or singly, they had always found a way to enjoy detention.
Thus, when Snape led them to the Great Hall and issued each of them a toothbrush and bucket, no one's heart sank. Even when he informed them that their task was to scrub out the detail moldings on every arch in the hall, he was greeted with cheerful smiles. Shaking his head, Snape watched them get started, and then he made a calculated "error" through which the Skulkers immediately saw: he left the room for ten minutes to retrieve a book.
Had any other teacher done that, the Skulkers would have been in Hogsmeade at the end of that ten minutes. It being Snape, however, they instead remained, partly out of respect for the teacher in question, and partly because they knew that he could—and would—find them.
When Snape re-entered with his book, he found them industriously working while singing the theme from Gilligan's Island in perfect four-part harmony. Once that song was completed, they moved on to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", for which they created a number of nonsensical verses on the fly. That kept them thoroughly amused for an hour and a half.
Snape never once spoke, so he was treated to an uninterrupted concert that only the Skulkers could construct as they exhausted their shared repertoire of nonsense songs, many of which had apparently been written by the Skulkers themselves. It began to taper off at about two in the morning, and at that juncture Meli deemed that they were all now sufficiently tired and dense that the conversation could turn from trifles to philosophy.
It did not take long for the switch to elicit a reaction from Snape. In the middle of a heated debate between Crim and Sharpie over what sort of drugs Plotinus must have been on (Sharpie maintained it was barbiturates, while Crim insisted it must have been hallucinogens), he cleared his throat pointedly. The work and words immediately halted, and four sets of eyes fastened onto him.
"Do you always behave this way during detention?" he asked, not entirely masking his amusement.
"When we're allowed to talk, yes," Crim replied. "But usually we have detention with McGonagall, and she makes us write essays, so we're not nearly as vocal."
"We're not at all vocal," Collum corrected. "She gets mad if we talk."
Snape raised his eyebrows. "I can only imagine the content of the essays."
Sharpie shrugged. "Well, we don't exactly write about Plotinus," he said. "Usually the assigned topics are so boring that it takes a lot of effort to drain them of substance and make them presentable." He smirked. "We generally manage it, though."
Snape sighed. "I think you've all had enough detention for one night," he told them, standing up with his book in hand. "Return the buckets and toothbrushes to the Potions room, then you may go to your Houses."
The Skulkers were crestfallen.
"Already?" Meli said, a plaintive note in her voice. "But sir, it's only three in the morning! We should have four hours left!"
She had become an expert in drawing from him mystified expressions, which he now proved. "Then you'll have some extra time to sleep, Miss Ebony," he pointed out.
"But—but—"
"Oh, pull yourself together, Meli," Sharpie called. "We'll get another detention soon enough, don't worry!"
Snape had no need to comment; they all knew he was wondering whether or not to recommend that none of them ever again receive detention. On the one hand, Crim was right: it failed in its function as a deterrent . . . on the other hand, however, who was he to keep his fellow teachers from self-inflicted frustrations?
The latter view plainly won out, for he led the way to the dungeons with a smirk on his face as easily read as the book he still carried.
PRESENT: JUNE
One of Meli's first tasks upon moving into her new rooms was the hanging of several poster-flats throughout her quarters. She kept no pictures, either photographs or paintings; the only visual art present was on these flats, in the form of crayon drawings or watercolorings in the background of hand-printed words. Most of the backgrounds were intricate geometric patterns or woven strokes of color; Meli tended to think abstractly, with only rare concepts of images.
The words found on each of these flats differed widely. Some were song lyrics, others were poems; some were humorous, others were pointed. The last flat she hung was placed beside her bathroom mirror, where she could not help but see it each morning and evening, and it was quite thoroughly accusatory.
Robert Burns had probably never foreseen the strange twist that Meli applied to the interpretation of "The Selkirk Grace"; indeed, no sane person could have. In her tormented mind, four lines of simple thanksgiving had become two lines of condemnation followed by two lines of what she considered a fantastical optimism that bordered on willful blindness. She chose to interpret the whole of it symbolically, and actually followed Burns' verse with one of her own, reflecting this interpretation:
Some have friends they cannot trust,
And some would trust that lack them,
But I have friends that I can trust;
For this, God's grace, I thank Him.
She did not see God as ungracious, per se, but she found His grace in almost every area of her life aside from that of relationships. The few friends she did have were in mortal danger, and as she had seen only too recently, not all were as trustworthy as she might have hoped.
The background of "The Selkirk Grace" was a somber matte black, against which the scarlet lettering seemed to glow like fresh blood. An accusation, yes, but also a reminder that the best way to spare others Elizabeth's fate was to push them far away.
There was hope for the future—in isolation.
12 NOVEMBER 1981, THIRD YEAR
Since time was of the essence, Snape had obtained Dumbledore's permission to apparate with Meli to their destination. In order to do that, however, they had first to get out from under the school's anti-apparation wards, which meant a twenty-minute walk toward Hogsmeade.
It was during this time that a disconcerting thought occurred to Meli.
"Professor Snape?"
He turned to look at her. "Yes, Miss Stafford?"
"Will I be able to continue at Hogwarts after this?"
"Is there any reason you should not?" he countered.
She swallowed. "Well, I haven't any magical next of kin who could take me in. My mother's sister works for the Department of Mysteries . . . Whoever does have custody of me may have . . . other plans."
Snape shook his head. "According to Headmaster Dumbledore, he is your legal guardian now. It was one of the provisions in your adoption."
"But my grandparents—they may appeal in the courts."
He stopped walking and turned fully to face her. "Do you believe they would?" he asked quietly. It was not a mocking question, nor even for his own information. He seemed to care more that she came to her own accurate conclusion.
Meli looked down. "No," she admitted. "My father's parents—the Staffords—they don't like me. They thought I was bad luck." She smiled faintly. "And the Ebonys know Dumbledore. They'll trust him."
Snape stood silently, but she could sense that he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say or do. With an effort, she mustered a small smile and resumed walking. He picked up his former pace, and it was only a few more minutes until he judged they were free to apparate.
"Sir?" she said, just before they disapparated.
"Yes?"
She looked him directly in the eye. "The only family I have left with the name of Stafford are those grandparents," she told him. "They don't want me, and I don't want them. May I change my name to Ebony?"
Snape didn't smile, exactly, but his expression was not unkind. "I'm sure the headmaster will see to it," he replied, then added, "Miss Ebony."