Chapter 17
Silver Light
It wasn't until later that day that Bella had time to think at length about what had happened in class. There had been a long exam in Potions that she'd forced herself to focus on, and she had gone to watch Draco's Quidditch practise. Now she was looking back on it from a chair in front of the fire, still dumbfounded. She leaned on Draco's shoulder and closed her eyes, picturing the silver snake again.
Was it such a surprise? Maybe she was wondering about nothing. But whatever had given the Patronus its shape had had nothing to do with her, and it hadn't come from nothing. Maybe they just took the shape of some aspect of the wizard's mind. Draco's was his namesake, and he was interested in dragons. It couldn't be a random chance.
"Sleepy?" Draco's voice roused her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes, and blinked and sighed.
"No, just thinking." She looked at him. "Draco, what do you think makes a Patronus take its shape? Why is it the animal it is?"
"No idea. Still thinking of it, then?"
She nodded. "Yeah. But what do you think? Not a pop quiz, just a wild guess. I wasn't expecting a kitten or anything, but I still don't understand it. I mean, yours makes sense, but I can't find a reason for mine."
He gave her a playful smile. "Maybe it's just the serpent in you," he said. But then, in a more serious voice, "It bothers you, doesn't it?"
She stared at the fire for a moment. "No...I guess not. I just feel like it should make sense. I want to know. And I'm not about to go find Carmichael after hours and have a sit down with him." She paused. "Did you ever ask Professor Snape my dementor question?"
"No, I haven't got a chance to yet. Thinking of asking him?"
"I'd like to, if you think he'd know, and he'd help me."
"I'm sure he'd have a better idea than I do. And he likes you. I bet he's glad to have a Slytherin that answers as many questions as Granger. I don't see why he wouldn't answer a few of yours."
"So you think it's a good idea? When should I ask him, though?"
"He's probably down in the dungeons, it's still early."
She only hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd appreciate being disturbed. But after a second thought she realise she wanted to know about this more than she minded disturbing him "I think I'll try and find him," she said after a few minutes. "It couldn't hurt, I suppose." She started to get up. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she whispered, kissing him slowly. "If anyone asks, I'm in the library."
I'll wait up for you. And good luck."
And so Bella made her way down to the dungeons. When she reached the classroom door she rapped on it, and after a moment, she heard Snape's voice from the other side say, "Come in." She pushed the door open.
He was sitting at his desk, with a stack of exams in front of him and a quill in his hand. As she entered, he looked up, and then slowly put down the quill. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly
She didn't know what she had been going to say, but till that moment she'd been sure it would be something casual and intelligent sounding, not awkward at all. But then, like in nightmares about giving speeches, the words evaporated on her lips. "I...um, I wanted to ask you something, sir...Draco said that –that maybe you'd know."
A flicker of interest crossed his face. "Yes?"
"Well, I know you know a lot about Defence Against the Dark Arts and...well, to be honest, I'd rather ask you than Professor Carmichael."
"Yes, I can see why. Go on."
"Well, er, I wanted to ask...What is it that makes a Patronus? Not the thing itself, but the shape it takes?"
"Ahh...," he said slowly. "Has this been on your mind long?"
"Only since this afternoon, sir. Why?"
"Because you're not a careless student, Miss Thorne, and you seem to have made some careless errors on your exam. I wondered, but I'll take this into consideration determining you grade."
"Ah," said Bella, a little nervously. She felt very strange, standing here. She hadn't spoken to Professor Snape outside of class since his first night back.
"Well, a Patronus draws on the memory to form itself, but its shape is usually more difficult to explain. What form does yours take, if you don't mind me asking?"
She took a slow breath. "A serpent, sir. An enormous snake. We practiced in class, and it didn't look like anything till I had to do it in front of everyone. And then it was there, as big as day. It scared some people."
There was a slight curve of his lips. "I see. Somehow, I'm not surprised it frightened them. Well, sometimes the explanation can be as simple as a pet or a favourite animal. But since you're asking me about it, I think I can assume it isn't so simple?" Bella nodded. "Well, sometimes the Patronus can be very complex, reflecting the history, even the ancestry of the one casting it." He frowned slightly as he said this, as if thinking of something unpleasant, but the expression quickly passed.
His voice had never altered its smooth, explanatory tone, but this last sentence rang out to Bella like a clap of thunder. She started involuntarily, and put her hand to her mouth to disguise the fact that her jaw had dropped open. "Oh," she breathed, barley above a whisper. She was very surprised, and trying to seem normal taxed even her considerable skill as a liar. And apparently she failed, because she saw Snape's eyebrows raise up and his look sharpen.
"This interests you?"
Without thinking, she nodded. There was no use passing this off as idle curiosity. "Yes, sir...but I never knew my parents. If you don't know the story, I was raised by Muggles. The only reason I was even given my proper name is a bracelet I was wearing when I was found, like the kind they give to babies."
"Oh, I've heard, make no mistake about that. You were quite a surprise, Miss Thorne, to all of us. Ursula and Maxim Thorne were your parents, I believe?"
Bella faltered. "Yes..." she began, and then stopped short. Would it do any good to tell him? Would it do any harm? But the risk seemed worth it, if he could tell her anything at all... "But, Professor? Can I tell you something? In confidence, I mean?"
"Certainly, Miss Thorne. Unless you tell me something that immediately endangers you, it will not leave this room."
She was silent a moment, thinking of how to say it. "Professor, I don't think Maxim Thorne was my father." She looked up at him, searching for some reaction, but beyond another lift of the eyebrows, she could read nothing from his face.
"And why do you think this, Miss Thorne?" he asked quietly.
She told him about the article. "He died in February, and I wasn't born until at least the next spring. Nobody else seems to have put this together...I don't know if it matters now, if it makes any difference. But that's all I know."
"Certainly it makes a difference," he said. "It obviously matters to you." He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. "You are a human concoction, just like any of us. And like anything wit a mind of its own, you're wondering where your ingredients came from. Forgive the analogy, but teaching Potions will make one see things this way."
"No, sir, that's quite true," she said softly, almost to herself. "That's it exactly. I think I was mislabelled." She laughed nervously. "Do you know...if there's any way to find out who...who my father is?" She stopped, wondering if she had asked too much.
He regarded her over his long, steepled fingers. "And if say yes, will you stop at nothing to find out?" There was a touch of curiosity in his voice now.
"I might." She bit her lip. "Well, yes," she said honestly.
He fell silent, and didn't speak for a moment. He was infuriatingly inscrutable. She still felt he had taken an interest in her situation, but she couldn't tell what he thought of it. She didn't dare expect him to do her any favours, but she let herself hope just a little. When he finally spoke, it was with a slight hesitation, and a searching, analytical look in his eyes. "Do you know what the Separator Solution is, Miss Thorne?"
She'd heard the name before, but only in passing. She shook her head. "I've heard of it, but I don't know what it does."
"It is a very complex potion. Given a sample of a person's blood, it will recreate an image of them, made up of the sum of their parts, so to speak. When properly handled, it can separate these traits into two parts, and show you which ones came from the mother, and which from the father. A very well made Separator can differentiate between wizardkind and Muggles, even to go so far as to differentiate between a Pureblood wizard and a Muggleborn. Their images appear in different shades. Do you follow me?"
"Yes, sir. It sounds a little like what Muggles use, for DNA analysis."
"Yes, but the Separator is much more subtle. Although, I'm sure you've guessed, it cannot give you your father's name, only his image."
"I understand, sir. But a picture is better than nothing at all. So...so does that mean you'll help me?"
She was curious why he seemed so willing to help her. She'd never expected him to even entertain the idea, and certainly not to agree to it without some begging on her part. She was getting the feeling, as she did with most of the Slytherin type, that there was more that one reason why he was doing it. And her own nature was not exactly a trusting one, so she was powerfully curious.
"Yes, I suppose I will. But on one condition."
"Yes?"
"You must tell no one I helped you with this. Do you agree?"
"Of course," she said.
"Not even Draco Malfoy?"
"If you say tell no one, I'll tell no one, sir."
"Good." He stood up, and motioned to her to follow him. He unlocked one of the heavy iron doors that led out of the classroom, and she went quietly after him, down into a little stone stairway that got smaller and clammier the farther down they went.
Eventually, after passing through several more doors and going down much farther than she had thought possible, they came to a door that was shorter and broader than any they had yet seen, and made of a different kind of metal, one she didn't recognise. He unlocked it and entered, having to stoop to avoid the low lintel of the door. She followed him in, and he locked the door behind them.
For a moment, Bella found herself in complete, seamless darkness. No light came through under the door, and there were no lights in the room. Then she heard Professor Snape's voice next to her say, "Lumos!" and a light sprang from the tip of his wand. It revealed a circular room, lined with cabinets the whole way round. There was a clear globe hanging from the centre of the ceiling, and a large, silver bowl in the middle of the floor, filled with some clear liquid. She knew better by now than to assume it was anything as simple as water.
He stepped forward and touched the tip of his want to the hanging globe, and it caught the light of his wand and began to glow with a clear white light. He tapped it with his wand and the light changed to a pale blue that reminded her of moonlight .
"What is this place, Professor?" she asked, a little awed.
"This is the room of Projections. The Separator Solution doesn't work alone, nor do many other potions and spells that do similar things. That bowl contains the projecting fluid, to amplify the results so we can see them clearly. Projections should be viewed under the right conditions, because some are so weak they couldn't be seen without this particular light."
"That's why it's the only one in the room, and why the door is sealed against light?"
He gave a little smile. "Yes, but that isn't the only reason. Hasn't it occurred to you that what's passed through this room might not be meant for an idle listener? Often people learn things in this room that they would rather keep to themselves."
Bella swallowed hard, but said nothing.
"Shall we begin?"
She nodded, and he went to one of the cabinets and took out a small bottle made of tinted glass. Inside the cabinet she saw hundreds of others of every shape and size, all labelled, though she couldn't read their tags.
"What do I do?"
He uncorked the bottle and carefully dripped several drops of the solution into the bowl. The liquid was as black as ink until it touched the stuff in the bowl, when it seemed to disappear. He replaced the bottle in the cabinet and took out a small silver knife. "Sit down in front of the bowl, and make a small cut on one of your fingers," he said, giving her the knife. "Just enough to draw blood. The second projection will be clearer, so first you will ask it to show the face and form of your mother, and your father after that."
She mutely accepted the little knife and knelt down on the floor. After a moment of apprehension, she positioned the little razor-sharp point over her left index finger and sliced the tip of it. It was easier than she'd thought. She drew in her breath in a hiss at the insignificant stab of pain, and laid the dagger aside. When she saw the small red drop welling from the wound, she scooted forward and immersed her hand in the liquid.
As her fingers touched the fluid it felt cold, and all of a sudden, her body was surrounded by a mild coolness, as if she'd just stepped into a walk-in refrigerator. She saw the blood form a small dark cloud in the bowl for a moment, and then the liquid began to change. Where it had been clear before, it was turning silver, and it began giving off a pale blue vapour that swirled for a moment like mist over water, and then Bella bit back a gasp as it coalesced into a small, perfect image of herself about four inches high, kneeling with the left hand outstretched. For a moment it gleamed pale blue, and then took on a perfect imitation of her colouring, of her skin and hair and eyes, even her expression. She glanced up at Professor Snape, who was watching her carefully. The tiny Bella in the bowl turned her head as well. He nodded.
"Show me the face and the form of my mother."
She watched in fascination as the little replica glowed blue again, and saw her own tiny features, her hair, and most of her shape dissolve into vapour again. The vapour now swirled into another form, the shape of a woman who looked so much like Bella that one would have to be blind not to see it was her mother. Then the colouring changed, and there, standing on the surface of the projecting fluid, was the same woman she'd seen looking out at her from the Malfoy's photographs.
At first, Bella couldn't move. Her mother's image had fixed its eyes on her, and she was suddenly full of longing to have known this woman, whatever she may have done or what she'd been. She wanted to walk and talk with her, to hear the sound of her voice. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, and looked away, blinking back tears. The slight coolness she felt all over turned to gooseflesh for a minute, and then relaxed, leaving her a little dizzy.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked back. While looking at the image of her mother she hadn't noticed what was happening to the image of her. It had not resumed its shape or colouring, but was now only a vague human shape without a distinct face. It was transparent in some places, and she could see the outline of the brain and parts of the skeleton through its thin blue surface. But the colour had changed too. Her mother had been all bright, pale blue, but what was left had big, moving patches of grey swirling through with the blue. For a moment she shrank back, not sure what the intruding grey might be, but then she remembered what Professor Snape had said, about the potion revealing the parent's ancestry. Her father was a Half-Blood? Curiosity sent her into action.
"Show me the face and form of my father."
The remaining figure dissolved completely, becoming a tendril of blue steam, still with veins of grey running through it, twisting and forming and then dissolving to reappear somewhere else. And then it formed itself into a column that shifted, all of a sudden, into the shape of a man.
Professor Snape was right, the second image was much clearer. As human colouring replaced the blue-grey surface she found she could see every hair on her father's head, every line on his face. She could see the fingernails on his long, thin fingers, and the facets in his piercing blue eyes.
Bella was struck by the man's face.. It was a cruel, hard, bitter face. It was a face that had seen and suffered terrible things, but had also done terrible things. Though he didn't otherwise look very old, there was grey in his hair, and a sense of many years around his eyes. He gave her an unpleasant feeling, and she found it very hard to look away.
Suddenly, as if from far away, she felt someone shaking her, and heard them calling out to her. Then something gripped her left wrist and pulled her hand out of the bowl.
In a rush she felt warmth envelope her and all the little sounds and smells of the room came flooding back to her. For a moment she looked around, confused. She looked down at the bowl, which was clear again, the two figures gone as if they had never been.
It was Professor Snape, of course, who had pulled her hand out of the bowl and brought her back. And when she looked at him, she found herself becoming even more confused and unsettled. He was staring at her in unmasked disbelief like she was some bizarre hallucination, his breathing rapid and shallow.
"What?" she asked, still very dazed. "Professor? What's wrong?"
As she watched him, his composure returned, slipping over his face like a mask being pulled on inch by inch. He straightened himself, and then said, "Stand up."
Bella obeyed, confused and growing more unnerved by the moment. With a grim expression he went to the bowl and touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the clear fluid, and then waved it over the bowl. "Evanesco," he said. The clear liquid vanished, and the bowl slowly refilled itself.
Snape turned to her, his black eyes narrow and glittering and his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "Miss Thorne, I'm afraid I cannot keep my word to you."
"What?"
"We are going to see the Headmaster."
Her heart leapt into her mouth. "Why, sir? What happened?"
"We are going to see the Headmaster," he repeated flatly, and then added in a very severe voice, "Bella Thorne, you will not breathe a word of what just happened between here and Professor Dumbledore's office. You will not ask me in the classroom or in the halls. Do you understand?"
"Y –yes," she said, utterly confounded and beginning to be rather frightened. He tapped the globe with his wand and the wand caught light. He tapped it again and the light went out. He unlocked the door, and Bella followed him out into the corridor. She waited while he locked the door again, her mind racing with fear. She tried to think of it logically, to ask herself what could possibly be so bad. She hadn't done anything; it had been the projection that had startled him, the projection he was taking her to Dumbledore about.
She was glad they met no one as she followed his dark form through the halls of the school, walking quickly to keep pace with his long strides.
Finally he came to a halt before a large stone gargoyle. "Blueberry Thingummy," he said, the silly password seeming incongruous coming from him. The gargoyle sprang aside.
Snape led her up a winding staircase and stopped before a polished wooden door. He rapped on it and entered without a word to her when Albus Dumbledore's voice told them to come in.
As they stepped into the office, Bella watched Dumbledore carefully as his eyes swept over the two of them.
"Good evening, Severus," he said pleasantly. "I don't often see you drag members of your own house into my office at this time of night. What seems to be the problem?"
Snape took a deep breath and said, Headmaster, I've just learned something quite singular about Miss Thorne here. It concerns her father." He related quickly how he had come to take her to the Projection room.
"And what did you see? Please sit down." He still seemed unperturbed. Bella did as she was asked, but Snape remained standing behind her chair. Bella had never quite known what to make of Albus Dumbledore. He was even harder to interpret than Snape, though much more subtly so.
In answer, Snape took out his wand. "If you'll allow me?" he asked. Dumbledore made a small gesture of assent, and Snape pointed his wand at the desk. "Recanto Projection!"
A streak of blue vapour came from the tip of his wand and a paler reproduction of the two figures in the bowl appeared on the desk. Dumbledore watched them for a moment, his face growing grave. He nodded to Snape, who lowered his wand and the images vanished. Dumbledore raised his eyes to Bella.
She couldn't stand this anymore, and at last she burst out, "Will one of you please, please tell me what's going on? Who is that man?"
It was a moment before Dumbledore spoke. She got the feeling that he was reading her, trying to gauge her reaction, and she was aware that, much the way Professor Snape had earlier, he seemed to be pulling on some invisible mask. It was as though a curtain had been pulled behind his eyes. "That man," he said slowly, "is Tom Riddle."
Bella looked round at the two men. Snape's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was still looking at them both with a mild, but serious face. "Who is that?" she asked. "I really don't understand." She was getting the awful feeling that she ought never to have tried to find out in the first place.
The Headmaster wet his lips. He seemed to be thinking of how to phrase what he was about to say. When he spoke it was in the same calm, quiet voice he had used all along. "Tom Riddle is the true name of a very famous wizard. You would know him better as Lord Voldemort."
There was another moment of silence in which Bella's insides turned to ice and she saw Snape's hand tighten on the back of her chair. She opened her mouth to speak but found she couldn't speak. What could she say? What could she possibly say to that? When she heard her own voice at last it was like hearing another person talking through her, a person who sounded choked and frail. "No...that's not possible..." she said, but then stopped herself. But it was possible, wasn't it? It was true. She had seen him. Now she knew the truth, she felt she could match that cruel face to all the stories she'd ever heard about him. This wasn't a lie, this wasn't a mistake. It was just...she closed her eyes.
"Bella, I'm sure this is a shock to you."
Dumbledore's words snapped her back. Suddenly, all the things she thought of saying were tumbling out of her like gumballs from a broken machine. "I thought it was bad knowing nothing...it was all I knew for so damned long. But this is worse, this is so much worse, oh god, goddamn, goddamn!" She opened her eyes again. She was breathing hard. She looked from Dumbledore to Snape, and then said in a very quiet voice, "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Snape and the Headmaster exchanged a look, but neither said anything at first.
"Of course not," said Dumbledore at length. He sighed a little, and turned to Snape. "Severus, I wish to have a word with Miss Thorne alone. Will you leave us? I shall send for you later."
Snape nodded, looking both relieved and reluctant. "Yes, Headmaster. You know where to find me." He turned and swept out the door, but not before Bella caught him looking at her with a sharp, analytical look, one that was somehow different than she'd expected. The door swung shut behind him, shutting her in the room with Dumbledore.
"I can't believe this," she said in a shell-shocked voice. "Please, sir, tell me this is some mistake." There words sounded desperate and stupid aloud. She knew they were, but couldn't help herself.
"I could do that Bella, but you know that if I did I would be lying through my teeth." When Bella said nothing, he went on. "I know you can't be happy, learning who your father is like this."
"Happy? You expect me to be happy?" She knew she was being rude, she was acting like a fool, but she couldn't stop herself. "Are you surprised? I wish to god I'd never asked!"
"I'm sure it must seem that way now. You'll curse that knowledge a thousand times over, but some day, you will be glad you know. The most important things we ever learn are often the most painful. The answer is yours, to do with as you like. There is a choice that comes with it." He paused, as if expecting her to say something. When she did not, he went on. "If there is one cardinal fault among Slytherins, it seems to me that it is putting too much faith in the bloodlines, and not enough in the end product, in the witch herself."
Bella looked down at her hands. What he was saying was true, and she knew it. But still... "I know that, sir, I mean, I know I'm not my parents. But I can't forget it. My father is evil. People are afraid to say his name, and I owe part of my existence to him..."
"To say nothing of your abilities," put in Dumbledore.
"Yes, and..." she stopped. "What?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Voldemort is a very powerful wizard. It doesn't surprise me in the least that his daughter is a very talented witch. The very fact that you could produce a Patronus after so little practice, to say nothing of your skill as a Legilimens..."
She stared at him. "Legilimency? But I can't do that...from what I know about it –and it's not much –oh, hell." She cut herself off. That was what Carmichael had meant! What on Earth did he think she'd been trying to do? "Okay, so maybe you're right," she said slowly. "But I can't really, I mean, I can read people's faces, I've always been able to do that. But isn't Legilimency a lot more...powerful?" She had forgotten what she had been saying a moment ago. This was really too much.
"Legilimency is a thing of the mind, in this case, of mind against mind. Things like that are never clear-cut. They work by degrees. I'm sure you have a gift for reading faces, child, but I'd bet my life that you can learn more from a single blink than any ordinary witch. You absorb their thoughts as easily as breathing, without even knowing it."
"Is that why...I wanted to ask Professor Snape before...There's this thing that happens to me around dementors, I can't really explain it, but I start seeing these things, remembering things that never happened to me. It's terrible. I can't move, I can't do anything but remember." Just describing it aloud brought back the way she'd felt in that corridor in Azkaban, made her feel cold and frightened again. "I never thought...I didn't know those were real, I thought I was going crazy."
"A natural Legilimens faces trouble that someone who simply learns it will never experience. Some often think they are losing their minds. I'm well aware of your upbringing, and I believe that if you had grown up among wizard-kind, your talent would have been recognised, explained to you before now. You would have been trained to use it, how to extract the thoughts you wished to see and block the ones you did not. It would have made you a different person in a thousand different ways, but it is up to you to decide which road you would rather have taken."
"Sir, I know...I know what you must think about me," she began, but he stopped her.
"Do you? Because, in the last few minutes, it has changed a great deal."
"Has it, sir?" She looked at him harder. Dumbledore was the last person she would have thought to say that, if he really meant what she thought. "Is there someone else in this room that thinks I wasn't cut out for this war?"
"I never said that, child, but I can tell that all you've seen and heard has not sat well with your conscience."
"I can't say that it has, but that's just it, sir. I can't take sides in this! I don't want the Dark Lord to take over, I couldn't if I tried. But if I hope for the other...then I'm wishing ruin on people I love. I can't do that either, Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what I can do. I'm at a dead end."
"There is no wise and simple answer to your question, though I wish I could give you one. But there will come a time when your choice will have to be made, and I hope for all our sakes that you will make the right one. If you choose to fight, you will be an asset to the side you join and the fear of your enemies. And I know you aren't one to sit and watch. All who take sides must make this choice, even Voldemort himself made it once, long ago. Do not forget this."
She nodded. "I won't sir. But I'm still afraid."
"All that proves is that you are intelligent enough to question what you're told. What is it that frightens you?"
"I inherited this power, and whatever other ones, I don't even know, from the most evil wizard in living memory. It's bloody scary. I don't know if I'd have used them when I didn't know that, but now...I guess I could stop..."
"No, no, Bella. Don't do that. It would be a waste of talent, and a shameful one. Legilimency is not an evil skill, by any means. It can be used to very good ends. And you, with your gift, should never think that learning to use it is an evil thing."
"Yes, I suppose," she said, a little apprehensively, uncertain.
"Bella, I do not know what it will take to convince you that there is nothing evil about you if you don't want there to be. But there is something you should know about him."
"What?"
"That you have lived, up till now, a life very similar to that of Tom Riddle. He was an orphan too, raised among Muggles. His father was a Muggle. And the difference between the two of you is already greater than I could have imagined. You too have lived in difficult times, in the face of adversity. And you have come through it, without becoming bitter and cold and uncaring. Yet you are powerful, intelligent, and strong. Your similarities show your differences better than anything else could. Yes, he is a part of you. You will never forget that. But don't let that overshadow the fact that the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, and that you were yourself before you were anyone's daughter."
"That's true sir. I've thought that before, a long time ago, when I lived with the Muggles. Back then, I thought my parents were just junkies or drifters or something. I thought I'd been fished out of a rubbish bin. And of course, you know, I had those days where I wondered why I was there at all, when I thought no one had ever cared a whit for me my entire life. All that saved me back then was thinking that no one cared enough to make something of me, and I'd have to do it myself. And it's different now, I mean, I know there are people that care for me, who want to help me. But it still comes down to what I want to do. And I know I don't want to join with...with Voldemort." The name felt strange on her lips, with its stigma of mingled respect and fear that she'd been surrounded by for so long. It was surreal and eerie to know that, out of all the sidestepping, euphemistic nicknames that people had for Voldemort, she alone could call him father. It made her feel a little ill.
"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Dumbledore. "I know the choice is hard to make. You'll second-guess yourself before this is over, but I trust you to choose your path wisely."
"Thank you, sir," said Bella. She saw Dumbledore in a new light. She had only spoken with him a few times while she'd been at Hogwarts, never for very long or about anything spectacularly important. She had thought him a kind old man, good at relating to the students. She knew he had powers she probably couldn't imagine. But now there was something different that she saw, looking out of his clear blue eyes. He really did believe her. The mask was down now. He believed she was strong enough, smart enough, human enough, to look through sharp eyes at the things she was offered and to choose the right ones. It was trust that she saw looking over the table at her. Despite herself, Bella felt a little happier.
"Now, there is something that I must ask of you, Bella."
"Yes?"
"You were serious about not wanting anyone to know about this, about wanting to keep your father's identity a secret, were you not?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Then you must promise me that you will tell no one, not your closest friend, what you learned tonight. It might put you in danger from people on both sides of this fight. Do you agree?"
"Of course, sir, but..." Snape knew! He would tell Voldemort, sure as anything, but how was she to tell Dumbledore that? "I don't think you'll have to worry about me..."
"Oh, you were worrying about Professor Snape! You can rest you mind about him, I assure you, you will be in no danger from Severus." And he gave her such a look with these words that Bella almost believed him. Long ago she had read about Paddington Bear, and the special hard stares that he had learned from his Aunt Lucy. She was strangely reminded of that just then.
"If you say so, Professor, I'll believe you," she said at length. "I swear to you I'll keep this under my hat so far I'll forget it's there." She smiled wanly at the halt-hearted joke.
"Very well, then, you're free to go. Have a good night. I hope you don't lose sleep over this."
"Goodnight, sir. Oh, and thank you. Really, for everything." Bella stepped out the door, and as soon as it clicked shut behind her, she could hear Dumbledore moving around inside, and then the telltale whoosh! of Floo Powder. She went straight out, past the gargoyle, and paused for a moment in the hall.
What was she going to tell Draco?
This whole adventure hadn't taken very long. He was sure to be waiting up for her when she got back. She frowned, and chewed her lip. She knew what she would tell him. She would tell him nothing. But then, what if he found out some other way? Dumbledore had said not to worry about Professor Snape, but he didn't know about the Professor's divided loyalties...or did he? She didn't know what he was planning to do. The best she could hope for was nothing, and the worst...she didn't know where to begin. Bella hoped she hadn't brought down any trouble on Snape's head.
Sure enough, Draco was waiting for her when she got back to the common room, the only one still up. He rose when he saw her come in, and Bella smiled as he came slowly over to her, and ran a hand down her arm. "Any luck?"
"You could say that, I guess. You were right, I think."
"How?"
"I think it's just the serpent in me."
Silver Light
It wasn't until later that day that Bella had time to think at length about what had happened in class. There had been a long exam in Potions that she'd forced herself to focus on, and she had gone to watch Draco's Quidditch practise. Now she was looking back on it from a chair in front of the fire, still dumbfounded. She leaned on Draco's shoulder and closed her eyes, picturing the silver snake again.
Was it such a surprise? Maybe she was wondering about nothing. But whatever had given the Patronus its shape had had nothing to do with her, and it hadn't come from nothing. Maybe they just took the shape of some aspect of the wizard's mind. Draco's was his namesake, and he was interested in dragons. It couldn't be a random chance.
"Sleepy?" Draco's voice roused her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes, and blinked and sighed.
"No, just thinking." She looked at him. "Draco, what do you think makes a Patronus take its shape? Why is it the animal it is?"
"No idea. Still thinking of it, then?"
She nodded. "Yeah. But what do you think? Not a pop quiz, just a wild guess. I wasn't expecting a kitten or anything, but I still don't understand it. I mean, yours makes sense, but I can't find a reason for mine."
He gave her a playful smile. "Maybe it's just the serpent in you," he said. But then, in a more serious voice, "It bothers you, doesn't it?"
She stared at the fire for a moment. "No...I guess not. I just feel like it should make sense. I want to know. And I'm not about to go find Carmichael after hours and have a sit down with him." She paused. "Did you ever ask Professor Snape my dementor question?"
"No, I haven't got a chance to yet. Thinking of asking him?"
"I'd like to, if you think he'd know, and he'd help me."
"I'm sure he'd have a better idea than I do. And he likes you. I bet he's glad to have a Slytherin that answers as many questions as Granger. I don't see why he wouldn't answer a few of yours."
"So you think it's a good idea? When should I ask him, though?"
"He's probably down in the dungeons, it's still early."
She only hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd appreciate being disturbed. But after a second thought she realise she wanted to know about this more than she minded disturbing him "I think I'll try and find him," she said after a few minutes. "It couldn't hurt, I suppose." She started to get up. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she whispered, kissing him slowly. "If anyone asks, I'm in the library."
I'll wait up for you. And good luck."
And so Bella made her way down to the dungeons. When she reached the classroom door she rapped on it, and after a moment, she heard Snape's voice from the other side say, "Come in." She pushed the door open.
He was sitting at his desk, with a stack of exams in front of him and a quill in his hand. As she entered, he looked up, and then slowly put down the quill. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly
She didn't know what she had been going to say, but till that moment she'd been sure it would be something casual and intelligent sounding, not awkward at all. But then, like in nightmares about giving speeches, the words evaporated on her lips. "I...um, I wanted to ask you something, sir...Draco said that –that maybe you'd know."
A flicker of interest crossed his face. "Yes?"
"Well, I know you know a lot about Defence Against the Dark Arts and...well, to be honest, I'd rather ask you than Professor Carmichael."
"Yes, I can see why. Go on."
"Well, er, I wanted to ask...What is it that makes a Patronus? Not the thing itself, but the shape it takes?"
"Ahh...," he said slowly. "Has this been on your mind long?"
"Only since this afternoon, sir. Why?"
"Because you're not a careless student, Miss Thorne, and you seem to have made some careless errors on your exam. I wondered, but I'll take this into consideration determining you grade."
"Ah," said Bella, a little nervously. She felt very strange, standing here. She hadn't spoken to Professor Snape outside of class since his first night back.
"Well, a Patronus draws on the memory to form itself, but its shape is usually more difficult to explain. What form does yours take, if you don't mind me asking?"
She took a slow breath. "A serpent, sir. An enormous snake. We practiced in class, and it didn't look like anything till I had to do it in front of everyone. And then it was there, as big as day. It scared some people."
There was a slight curve of his lips. "I see. Somehow, I'm not surprised it frightened them. Well, sometimes the explanation can be as simple as a pet or a favourite animal. But since you're asking me about it, I think I can assume it isn't so simple?" Bella nodded. "Well, sometimes the Patronus can be very complex, reflecting the history, even the ancestry of the one casting it." He frowned slightly as he said this, as if thinking of something unpleasant, but the expression quickly passed.
His voice had never altered its smooth, explanatory tone, but this last sentence rang out to Bella like a clap of thunder. She started involuntarily, and put her hand to her mouth to disguise the fact that her jaw had dropped open. "Oh," she breathed, barley above a whisper. She was very surprised, and trying to seem normal taxed even her considerable skill as a liar. And apparently she failed, because she saw Snape's eyebrows raise up and his look sharpen.
"This interests you?"
Without thinking, she nodded. There was no use passing this off as idle curiosity. "Yes, sir...but I never knew my parents. If you don't know the story, I was raised by Muggles. The only reason I was even given my proper name is a bracelet I was wearing when I was found, like the kind they give to babies."
"Oh, I've heard, make no mistake about that. You were quite a surprise, Miss Thorne, to all of us. Ursula and Maxim Thorne were your parents, I believe?"
Bella faltered. "Yes..." she began, and then stopped short. Would it do any good to tell him? Would it do any harm? But the risk seemed worth it, if he could tell her anything at all... "But, Professor? Can I tell you something? In confidence, I mean?"
"Certainly, Miss Thorne. Unless you tell me something that immediately endangers you, it will not leave this room."
She was silent a moment, thinking of how to say it. "Professor, I don't think Maxim Thorne was my father." She looked up at him, searching for some reaction, but beyond another lift of the eyebrows, she could read nothing from his face.
"And why do you think this, Miss Thorne?" he asked quietly.
She told him about the article. "He died in February, and I wasn't born until at least the next spring. Nobody else seems to have put this together...I don't know if it matters now, if it makes any difference. But that's all I know."
"Certainly it makes a difference," he said. "It obviously matters to you." He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. "You are a human concoction, just like any of us. And like anything wit a mind of its own, you're wondering where your ingredients came from. Forgive the analogy, but teaching Potions will make one see things this way."
"No, sir, that's quite true," she said softly, almost to herself. "That's it exactly. I think I was mislabelled." She laughed nervously. "Do you know...if there's any way to find out who...who my father is?" She stopped, wondering if she had asked too much.
He regarded her over his long, steepled fingers. "And if say yes, will you stop at nothing to find out?" There was a touch of curiosity in his voice now.
"I might." She bit her lip. "Well, yes," she said honestly.
He fell silent, and didn't speak for a moment. He was infuriatingly inscrutable. She still felt he had taken an interest in her situation, but she couldn't tell what he thought of it. She didn't dare expect him to do her any favours, but she let herself hope just a little. When he finally spoke, it was with a slight hesitation, and a searching, analytical look in his eyes. "Do you know what the Separator Solution is, Miss Thorne?"
She'd heard the name before, but only in passing. She shook her head. "I've heard of it, but I don't know what it does."
"It is a very complex potion. Given a sample of a person's blood, it will recreate an image of them, made up of the sum of their parts, so to speak. When properly handled, it can separate these traits into two parts, and show you which ones came from the mother, and which from the father. A very well made Separator can differentiate between wizardkind and Muggles, even to go so far as to differentiate between a Pureblood wizard and a Muggleborn. Their images appear in different shades. Do you follow me?"
"Yes, sir. It sounds a little like what Muggles use, for DNA analysis."
"Yes, but the Separator is much more subtle. Although, I'm sure you've guessed, it cannot give you your father's name, only his image."
"I understand, sir. But a picture is better than nothing at all. So...so does that mean you'll help me?"
She was curious why he seemed so willing to help her. She'd never expected him to even entertain the idea, and certainly not to agree to it without some begging on her part. She was getting the feeling, as she did with most of the Slytherin type, that there was more that one reason why he was doing it. And her own nature was not exactly a trusting one, so she was powerfully curious.
"Yes, I suppose I will. But on one condition."
"Yes?"
"You must tell no one I helped you with this. Do you agree?"
"Of course," she said.
"Not even Draco Malfoy?"
"If you say tell no one, I'll tell no one, sir."
"Good." He stood up, and motioned to her to follow him. He unlocked one of the heavy iron doors that led out of the classroom, and she went quietly after him, down into a little stone stairway that got smaller and clammier the farther down they went.
Eventually, after passing through several more doors and going down much farther than she had thought possible, they came to a door that was shorter and broader than any they had yet seen, and made of a different kind of metal, one she didn't recognise. He unlocked it and entered, having to stoop to avoid the low lintel of the door. She followed him in, and he locked the door behind them.
For a moment, Bella found herself in complete, seamless darkness. No light came through under the door, and there were no lights in the room. Then she heard Professor Snape's voice next to her say, "Lumos!" and a light sprang from the tip of his wand. It revealed a circular room, lined with cabinets the whole way round. There was a clear globe hanging from the centre of the ceiling, and a large, silver bowl in the middle of the floor, filled with some clear liquid. She knew better by now than to assume it was anything as simple as water.
He stepped forward and touched the tip of his want to the hanging globe, and it caught the light of his wand and began to glow with a clear white light. He tapped it with his wand and the light changed to a pale blue that reminded her of moonlight .
"What is this place, Professor?" she asked, a little awed.
"This is the room of Projections. The Separator Solution doesn't work alone, nor do many other potions and spells that do similar things. That bowl contains the projecting fluid, to amplify the results so we can see them clearly. Projections should be viewed under the right conditions, because some are so weak they couldn't be seen without this particular light."
"That's why it's the only one in the room, and why the door is sealed against light?"
He gave a little smile. "Yes, but that isn't the only reason. Hasn't it occurred to you that what's passed through this room might not be meant for an idle listener? Often people learn things in this room that they would rather keep to themselves."
Bella swallowed hard, but said nothing.
"Shall we begin?"
She nodded, and he went to one of the cabinets and took out a small bottle made of tinted glass. Inside the cabinet she saw hundreds of others of every shape and size, all labelled, though she couldn't read their tags.
"What do I do?"
He uncorked the bottle and carefully dripped several drops of the solution into the bowl. The liquid was as black as ink until it touched the stuff in the bowl, when it seemed to disappear. He replaced the bottle in the cabinet and took out a small silver knife. "Sit down in front of the bowl, and make a small cut on one of your fingers," he said, giving her the knife. "Just enough to draw blood. The second projection will be clearer, so first you will ask it to show the face and form of your mother, and your father after that."
She mutely accepted the little knife and knelt down on the floor. After a moment of apprehension, she positioned the little razor-sharp point over her left index finger and sliced the tip of it. It was easier than she'd thought. She drew in her breath in a hiss at the insignificant stab of pain, and laid the dagger aside. When she saw the small red drop welling from the wound, she scooted forward and immersed her hand in the liquid.
As her fingers touched the fluid it felt cold, and all of a sudden, her body was surrounded by a mild coolness, as if she'd just stepped into a walk-in refrigerator. She saw the blood form a small dark cloud in the bowl for a moment, and then the liquid began to change. Where it had been clear before, it was turning silver, and it began giving off a pale blue vapour that swirled for a moment like mist over water, and then Bella bit back a gasp as it coalesced into a small, perfect image of herself about four inches high, kneeling with the left hand outstretched. For a moment it gleamed pale blue, and then took on a perfect imitation of her colouring, of her skin and hair and eyes, even her expression. She glanced up at Professor Snape, who was watching her carefully. The tiny Bella in the bowl turned her head as well. He nodded.
"Show me the face and the form of my mother."
She watched in fascination as the little replica glowed blue again, and saw her own tiny features, her hair, and most of her shape dissolve into vapour again. The vapour now swirled into another form, the shape of a woman who looked so much like Bella that one would have to be blind not to see it was her mother. Then the colouring changed, and there, standing on the surface of the projecting fluid, was the same woman she'd seen looking out at her from the Malfoy's photographs.
At first, Bella couldn't move. Her mother's image had fixed its eyes on her, and she was suddenly full of longing to have known this woman, whatever she may have done or what she'd been. She wanted to walk and talk with her, to hear the sound of her voice. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, and looked away, blinking back tears. The slight coolness she felt all over turned to gooseflesh for a minute, and then relaxed, leaving her a little dizzy.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked back. While looking at the image of her mother she hadn't noticed what was happening to the image of her. It had not resumed its shape or colouring, but was now only a vague human shape without a distinct face. It was transparent in some places, and she could see the outline of the brain and parts of the skeleton through its thin blue surface. But the colour had changed too. Her mother had been all bright, pale blue, but what was left had big, moving patches of grey swirling through with the blue. For a moment she shrank back, not sure what the intruding grey might be, but then she remembered what Professor Snape had said, about the potion revealing the parent's ancestry. Her father was a Half-Blood? Curiosity sent her into action.
"Show me the face and form of my father."
The remaining figure dissolved completely, becoming a tendril of blue steam, still with veins of grey running through it, twisting and forming and then dissolving to reappear somewhere else. And then it formed itself into a column that shifted, all of a sudden, into the shape of a man.
Professor Snape was right, the second image was much clearer. As human colouring replaced the blue-grey surface she found she could see every hair on her father's head, every line on his face. She could see the fingernails on his long, thin fingers, and the facets in his piercing blue eyes.
Bella was struck by the man's face.. It was a cruel, hard, bitter face. It was a face that had seen and suffered terrible things, but had also done terrible things. Though he didn't otherwise look very old, there was grey in his hair, and a sense of many years around his eyes. He gave her an unpleasant feeling, and she found it very hard to look away.
Suddenly, as if from far away, she felt someone shaking her, and heard them calling out to her. Then something gripped her left wrist and pulled her hand out of the bowl.
In a rush she felt warmth envelope her and all the little sounds and smells of the room came flooding back to her. For a moment she looked around, confused. She looked down at the bowl, which was clear again, the two figures gone as if they had never been.
It was Professor Snape, of course, who had pulled her hand out of the bowl and brought her back. And when she looked at him, she found herself becoming even more confused and unsettled. He was staring at her in unmasked disbelief like she was some bizarre hallucination, his breathing rapid and shallow.
"What?" she asked, still very dazed. "Professor? What's wrong?"
As she watched him, his composure returned, slipping over his face like a mask being pulled on inch by inch. He straightened himself, and then said, "Stand up."
Bella obeyed, confused and growing more unnerved by the moment. With a grim expression he went to the bowl and touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the clear fluid, and then waved it over the bowl. "Evanesco," he said. The clear liquid vanished, and the bowl slowly refilled itself.
Snape turned to her, his black eyes narrow and glittering and his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "Miss Thorne, I'm afraid I cannot keep my word to you."
"What?"
"We are going to see the Headmaster."
Her heart leapt into her mouth. "Why, sir? What happened?"
"We are going to see the Headmaster," he repeated flatly, and then added in a very severe voice, "Bella Thorne, you will not breathe a word of what just happened between here and Professor Dumbledore's office. You will not ask me in the classroom or in the halls. Do you understand?"
"Y –yes," she said, utterly confounded and beginning to be rather frightened. He tapped the globe with his wand and the wand caught light. He tapped it again and the light went out. He unlocked the door, and Bella followed him out into the corridor. She waited while he locked the door again, her mind racing with fear. She tried to think of it logically, to ask herself what could possibly be so bad. She hadn't done anything; it had been the projection that had startled him, the projection he was taking her to Dumbledore about.
She was glad they met no one as she followed his dark form through the halls of the school, walking quickly to keep pace with his long strides.
Finally he came to a halt before a large stone gargoyle. "Blueberry Thingummy," he said, the silly password seeming incongruous coming from him. The gargoyle sprang aside.
Snape led her up a winding staircase and stopped before a polished wooden door. He rapped on it and entered without a word to her when Albus Dumbledore's voice told them to come in.
As they stepped into the office, Bella watched Dumbledore carefully as his eyes swept over the two of them.
"Good evening, Severus," he said pleasantly. "I don't often see you drag members of your own house into my office at this time of night. What seems to be the problem?"
Snape took a deep breath and said, Headmaster, I've just learned something quite singular about Miss Thorne here. It concerns her father." He related quickly how he had come to take her to the Projection room.
"And what did you see? Please sit down." He still seemed unperturbed. Bella did as she was asked, but Snape remained standing behind her chair. Bella had never quite known what to make of Albus Dumbledore. He was even harder to interpret than Snape, though much more subtly so.
In answer, Snape took out his wand. "If you'll allow me?" he asked. Dumbledore made a small gesture of assent, and Snape pointed his wand at the desk. "Recanto Projection!"
A streak of blue vapour came from the tip of his wand and a paler reproduction of the two figures in the bowl appeared on the desk. Dumbledore watched them for a moment, his face growing grave. He nodded to Snape, who lowered his wand and the images vanished. Dumbledore raised his eyes to Bella.
She couldn't stand this anymore, and at last she burst out, "Will one of you please, please tell me what's going on? Who is that man?"
It was a moment before Dumbledore spoke. She got the feeling that he was reading her, trying to gauge her reaction, and she was aware that, much the way Professor Snape had earlier, he seemed to be pulling on some invisible mask. It was as though a curtain had been pulled behind his eyes. "That man," he said slowly, "is Tom Riddle."
Bella looked round at the two men. Snape's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was still looking at them both with a mild, but serious face. "Who is that?" she asked. "I really don't understand." She was getting the awful feeling that she ought never to have tried to find out in the first place.
The Headmaster wet his lips. He seemed to be thinking of how to phrase what he was about to say. When he spoke it was in the same calm, quiet voice he had used all along. "Tom Riddle is the true name of a very famous wizard. You would know him better as Lord Voldemort."
There was another moment of silence in which Bella's insides turned to ice and she saw Snape's hand tighten on the back of her chair. She opened her mouth to speak but found she couldn't speak. What could she say? What could she possibly say to that? When she heard her own voice at last it was like hearing another person talking through her, a person who sounded choked and frail. "No...that's not possible..." she said, but then stopped herself. But it was possible, wasn't it? It was true. She had seen him. Now she knew the truth, she felt she could match that cruel face to all the stories she'd ever heard about him. This wasn't a lie, this wasn't a mistake. It was just...she closed her eyes.
"Bella, I'm sure this is a shock to you."
Dumbledore's words snapped her back. Suddenly, all the things she thought of saying were tumbling out of her like gumballs from a broken machine. "I thought it was bad knowing nothing...it was all I knew for so damned long. But this is worse, this is so much worse, oh god, goddamn, goddamn!" She opened her eyes again. She was breathing hard. She looked from Dumbledore to Snape, and then said in a very quiet voice, "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Snape and the Headmaster exchanged a look, but neither said anything at first.
"Of course not," said Dumbledore at length. He sighed a little, and turned to Snape. "Severus, I wish to have a word with Miss Thorne alone. Will you leave us? I shall send for you later."
Snape nodded, looking both relieved and reluctant. "Yes, Headmaster. You know where to find me." He turned and swept out the door, but not before Bella caught him looking at her with a sharp, analytical look, one that was somehow different than she'd expected. The door swung shut behind him, shutting her in the room with Dumbledore.
"I can't believe this," she said in a shell-shocked voice. "Please, sir, tell me this is some mistake." There words sounded desperate and stupid aloud. She knew they were, but couldn't help herself.
"I could do that Bella, but you know that if I did I would be lying through my teeth." When Bella said nothing, he went on. "I know you can't be happy, learning who your father is like this."
"Happy? You expect me to be happy?" She knew she was being rude, she was acting like a fool, but she couldn't stop herself. "Are you surprised? I wish to god I'd never asked!"
"I'm sure it must seem that way now. You'll curse that knowledge a thousand times over, but some day, you will be glad you know. The most important things we ever learn are often the most painful. The answer is yours, to do with as you like. There is a choice that comes with it." He paused, as if expecting her to say something. When she did not, he went on. "If there is one cardinal fault among Slytherins, it seems to me that it is putting too much faith in the bloodlines, and not enough in the end product, in the witch herself."
Bella looked down at her hands. What he was saying was true, and she knew it. But still... "I know that, sir, I mean, I know I'm not my parents. But I can't forget it. My father is evil. People are afraid to say his name, and I owe part of my existence to him..."
"To say nothing of your abilities," put in Dumbledore.
"Yes, and..." she stopped. "What?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Voldemort is a very powerful wizard. It doesn't surprise me in the least that his daughter is a very talented witch. The very fact that you could produce a Patronus after so little practice, to say nothing of your skill as a Legilimens..."
She stared at him. "Legilimency? But I can't do that...from what I know about it –and it's not much –oh, hell." She cut herself off. That was what Carmichael had meant! What on Earth did he think she'd been trying to do? "Okay, so maybe you're right," she said slowly. "But I can't really, I mean, I can read people's faces, I've always been able to do that. But isn't Legilimency a lot more...powerful?" She had forgotten what she had been saying a moment ago. This was really too much.
"Legilimency is a thing of the mind, in this case, of mind against mind. Things like that are never clear-cut. They work by degrees. I'm sure you have a gift for reading faces, child, but I'd bet my life that you can learn more from a single blink than any ordinary witch. You absorb their thoughts as easily as breathing, without even knowing it."
"Is that why...I wanted to ask Professor Snape before...There's this thing that happens to me around dementors, I can't really explain it, but I start seeing these things, remembering things that never happened to me. It's terrible. I can't move, I can't do anything but remember." Just describing it aloud brought back the way she'd felt in that corridor in Azkaban, made her feel cold and frightened again. "I never thought...I didn't know those were real, I thought I was going crazy."
"A natural Legilimens faces trouble that someone who simply learns it will never experience. Some often think they are losing their minds. I'm well aware of your upbringing, and I believe that if you had grown up among wizard-kind, your talent would have been recognised, explained to you before now. You would have been trained to use it, how to extract the thoughts you wished to see and block the ones you did not. It would have made you a different person in a thousand different ways, but it is up to you to decide which road you would rather have taken."
"Sir, I know...I know what you must think about me," she began, but he stopped her.
"Do you? Because, in the last few minutes, it has changed a great deal."
"Has it, sir?" She looked at him harder. Dumbledore was the last person she would have thought to say that, if he really meant what she thought. "Is there someone else in this room that thinks I wasn't cut out for this war?"
"I never said that, child, but I can tell that all you've seen and heard has not sat well with your conscience."
"I can't say that it has, but that's just it, sir. I can't take sides in this! I don't want the Dark Lord to take over, I couldn't if I tried. But if I hope for the other...then I'm wishing ruin on people I love. I can't do that either, Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what I can do. I'm at a dead end."
"There is no wise and simple answer to your question, though I wish I could give you one. But there will come a time when your choice will have to be made, and I hope for all our sakes that you will make the right one. If you choose to fight, you will be an asset to the side you join and the fear of your enemies. And I know you aren't one to sit and watch. All who take sides must make this choice, even Voldemort himself made it once, long ago. Do not forget this."
She nodded. "I won't sir. But I'm still afraid."
"All that proves is that you are intelligent enough to question what you're told. What is it that frightens you?"
"I inherited this power, and whatever other ones, I don't even know, from the most evil wizard in living memory. It's bloody scary. I don't know if I'd have used them when I didn't know that, but now...I guess I could stop..."
"No, no, Bella. Don't do that. It would be a waste of talent, and a shameful one. Legilimency is not an evil skill, by any means. It can be used to very good ends. And you, with your gift, should never think that learning to use it is an evil thing."
"Yes, I suppose," she said, a little apprehensively, uncertain.
"Bella, I do not know what it will take to convince you that there is nothing evil about you if you don't want there to be. But there is something you should know about him."
"What?"
"That you have lived, up till now, a life very similar to that of Tom Riddle. He was an orphan too, raised among Muggles. His father was a Muggle. And the difference between the two of you is already greater than I could have imagined. You too have lived in difficult times, in the face of adversity. And you have come through it, without becoming bitter and cold and uncaring. Yet you are powerful, intelligent, and strong. Your similarities show your differences better than anything else could. Yes, he is a part of you. You will never forget that. But don't let that overshadow the fact that the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, and that you were yourself before you were anyone's daughter."
"That's true sir. I've thought that before, a long time ago, when I lived with the Muggles. Back then, I thought my parents were just junkies or drifters or something. I thought I'd been fished out of a rubbish bin. And of course, you know, I had those days where I wondered why I was there at all, when I thought no one had ever cared a whit for me my entire life. All that saved me back then was thinking that no one cared enough to make something of me, and I'd have to do it myself. And it's different now, I mean, I know there are people that care for me, who want to help me. But it still comes down to what I want to do. And I know I don't want to join with...with Voldemort." The name felt strange on her lips, with its stigma of mingled respect and fear that she'd been surrounded by for so long. It was surreal and eerie to know that, out of all the sidestepping, euphemistic nicknames that people had for Voldemort, she alone could call him father. It made her feel a little ill.
"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Dumbledore. "I know the choice is hard to make. You'll second-guess yourself before this is over, but I trust you to choose your path wisely."
"Thank you, sir," said Bella. She saw Dumbledore in a new light. She had only spoken with him a few times while she'd been at Hogwarts, never for very long or about anything spectacularly important. She had thought him a kind old man, good at relating to the students. She knew he had powers she probably couldn't imagine. But now there was something different that she saw, looking out of his clear blue eyes. He really did believe her. The mask was down now. He believed she was strong enough, smart enough, human enough, to look through sharp eyes at the things she was offered and to choose the right ones. It was trust that she saw looking over the table at her. Despite herself, Bella felt a little happier.
"Now, there is something that I must ask of you, Bella."
"Yes?"
"You were serious about not wanting anyone to know about this, about wanting to keep your father's identity a secret, were you not?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Then you must promise me that you will tell no one, not your closest friend, what you learned tonight. It might put you in danger from people on both sides of this fight. Do you agree?"
"Of course, sir, but..." Snape knew! He would tell Voldemort, sure as anything, but how was she to tell Dumbledore that? "I don't think you'll have to worry about me..."
"Oh, you were worrying about Professor Snape! You can rest you mind about him, I assure you, you will be in no danger from Severus." And he gave her such a look with these words that Bella almost believed him. Long ago she had read about Paddington Bear, and the special hard stares that he had learned from his Aunt Lucy. She was strangely reminded of that just then.
"If you say so, Professor, I'll believe you," she said at length. "I swear to you I'll keep this under my hat so far I'll forget it's there." She smiled wanly at the halt-hearted joke.
"Very well, then, you're free to go. Have a good night. I hope you don't lose sleep over this."
"Goodnight, sir. Oh, and thank you. Really, for everything." Bella stepped out the door, and as soon as it clicked shut behind her, she could hear Dumbledore moving around inside, and then the telltale whoosh! of Floo Powder. She went straight out, past the gargoyle, and paused for a moment in the hall.
What was she going to tell Draco?
This whole adventure hadn't taken very long. He was sure to be waiting up for her when she got back. She frowned, and chewed her lip. She knew what she would tell him. She would tell him nothing. But then, what if he found out some other way? Dumbledore had said not to worry about Professor Snape, but he didn't know about the Professor's divided loyalties...or did he? She didn't know what he was planning to do. The best she could hope for was nothing, and the worst...she didn't know where to begin. Bella hoped she hadn't brought down any trouble on Snape's head.
Sure enough, Draco was waiting for her when she got back to the common room, the only one still up. He rose when he saw her come in, and Bella smiled as he came slowly over to her, and ran a hand down her arm. "Any luck?"
"You could say that, I guess. You were right, I think."
"How?"
"I think it's just the serpent in me."