Snape Gets His
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money, so you can't sue me. I think this whole copyrighted word thing is ridiculous, and J.K. is a smart enough woman to realise that people writing fanfic about her characters are only providing her series with free advertising. If she can't convince the enlightened folks at Warner Bros of that, then…
Again, thank you everyone for your reviews! It's sure nice to open up Statistic and see the number climbing. Aah.
I've made reference to Minerva McTabby here because I just read her satire of 'Pawn to Queen', 'PtQ in a Nutshell'. It's so funny I was practically rolling on the floor. If you haven't read Riley's 'Pawn to Queen', do so, it is on fanfiction.net, but only the first 12 chapters. You can find the updated version at Riley's website. I don't have the address but just type 'Pawn to Queen' in a search engine and you should find it. (Oh- and don't ask Riley for updates, she gets nasty about that.) Then read Minerva Mc Tabby's fic, which is a BRILLIANT take off. I was pleasantly surprised to know that she is a fellow Aussie. We kick ass! Or arse, to be technical.
Oh yeah, and of course the 400-year-dead guy is William Shakespeare. He also kicks ass, in troth.
Okay, I'll stop my babbling so you can read my other babbling.
c.
Chapter Four
Ailie awoke slowly, relishing the feel of the morning sunlight on her face. It had been a few weeks since she had been able to drink in the sun; her coven had felt an eye on them and had retreated underground. That had been a while ago, some weeks before she and her parents-
Ailie took a deep breath. She had to think about what had happened, what they had done to her- parents. To her coven. To her. While she ran away from it, they still held power over her. She hadn't been brought up to allow that.
Before that, however, she needed strength. Slowly, Ailie moved herself into a sitting position, cross-legged, facing the sun trickling in from a half-hidden window. Closing her eyes, she slowly spread her hands in front of her, moving her arms gradually to the side, mimicking the movement of the sun as she had been taught to perform ever since she was two. Eyes still closed, she reached forwards once more, fingers stretching to grasp the sunshine. In a leisurely movement, she cupped her hands around the sun, feeling the warmth of the light fill her hands. Ailie smiled. The sun, at least, was still willing to give its light to her, even if her heart was not. She rubbed her hands over each other, feeling the morning light sink into them, immersing herself in the day.
Ailie smiled, for the first time in a month. She had missed the morning ritual, missed the sun. Ever since she was a child, she had relished the light the sun goddess gave her. She had cherished the sun ritual, learning how to ask of the day and live in it. She was a child of the night and the day, but there was something magical in light that she had never been able to ignore.
Cleansed by the light inside her, Ailie stretched her body, making sure that there was no lasting injury. Luckily, she had been too damaged, her hurts too deep, for those wizards to want to try their concoctions on her. They had been satisfied to merely let her heal, and for that unconscious wisdom on their part she was eternally grateful. Had they interfered further, her natural healing might have been hindered beyond repair.
She frowned as she thought of the dark wizard. Not content to let his associates torture her, he had had to throw who knew what sorts of curses at her, conflicting with the intricate wards she had placed about herself. The old wizard, and the nurse- they had said that the dark one had been trying to help her. Ailie let out a 'humph'. These wizards, they knew nothing. All their meddlings, and spells, and wands and nonsense. It would have been better if they had let her alone.
Ailie completed her last stretch, pulling her leg up by her ear and pointing her toes at the sky, when she heard a soft, 'Oh!' Unhurriedly, she let down her leg and looked toward the opening in the curtain.
It was that girl from last night- Hermione, after the Greek. Ailie lent her head to the side to view her. Not anything particularly startling, in this one; a tall girl, slender, though without the fine bones that would have given her beauty. A wild mess of mousy brown hair. Hesitant eyes, peering from beneath a waft of fringe. Nice, long fingers, currently wrapped around a stack of books clutched to her chest. Dull swathes of cloth draped over her body, in much the same form as the old wizard and the dark one, efficiently concealing anything that could be of note beneath. Ailie inwardly shook her head. Even in her coven, young ones did their best to appeal to each other. Perhaps in this strange wizard culture vanity was no longer necessary.
Ailie watched as the Hermione girl forced a small smile on her face, trying to cover her nervousness. Ailie smiled slightly in return; in her coven, nervousness was vulnerability. You did not cover it up: you conquered it.
The smile apparently served as encouragement for her companion, who stepped forward.
'Hi,' she said, placing her books on a nearby table. 'I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you, only I wanted to get you these before breakfast- not your breakfast, of course, but I do have to attend and I just thought, seeing as I was up early anyway...'
Ailie watched as Hermione babbled herself into silence. She was absolutely intrigued.
'Um, anyway,' Hermione continued, 'I thought these might distract you.'
Well done Hermione, the Hogwarts teacher chided herself. Just let her know what a babbling idiot you are.
Hermione waited patiently as the bed-ridden girl in front of her thought. Ailie seemed much better this morning, or perhaps it was just the sunlight playing on her hair. The strange girl had dark brown hair with the kind of red highlights that Hermione had always wished she had, and eyes that she imagined would be described in a book as 'deep, chocolate brown.' Hermione sighed. She knew this would be a mistake. It was just, getting up at the crack of dawn, a habit that was, unfortunately, ingrained in her very soul it seemed, she had looked around her vast personal library and thought with pity of the secret patient in the infirmary.
Now, of course, the idea that the girl might not like books had finally occured to her. After all, as Ron had told her innumerous times over the years, not everyone was as crazy about books as she was.
By the look on the patient's face, she obviously wasn't.
Hermione sighed. It seemed that with age, unfortunately, did not come brilliant social skills. Just because you're not at school anymore, Hermione, doesn't mean you're not still a nerd. Blushing to the roots of her hair, yet another affliction that didn't pass with age, Hermione made to leave.
'No, don't go,' the other girl smiled. 'I was just wondering what you wanted me to do with all of- those.' She indicated the pile of books, their precarious position bravely defying gravity on the bedside table. There were at least fifteen.
Hermione shrugged. If she were hospitalized, she'd get through those on a day. That is, if someone had been kind enough to bring them to her. Which they never had.
'I wasn't sure what you liked,' she said, feeling a little defensive. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought them.'
Ailie's eyes widened, and she shook her head, in evident apology. 'No. Please don't. I didn't mean- well, I've never read that many books at one time. I was wondering if you were expecting me to prepare for a test.' She grinned.
Unable to resist the girl's sudden warmth, Hermione brought the books closer to her bed and, at Ailie's gesture, sat down on the side of the bed.
'I really didn't know what you would read, so I brought a selection of my own,' she said. Shyly, she gave Ailie a small smile. 'I didn't realise it would be overwhelming for you- I tend to go a bit mad with books.'
Ailie shrugged, and flicked back a piece of her shoulder-length hair. 'I've never really needed that many.'
Hermione's eyes widened a little. 'Really? Don't you like reading at all?'
Again, Ailie shrugged, as she began picking through the books. 'I never really saw a need for it. My coven didn't use spellbooks that much.' She picked up a copy of Great Expectations.
'Your coven?' Hermione asked, puzzled. Though she had learnt much about the wizarding world in the eight years she had been a part of it, she had never heard the word coven used in anything other than an historical sense. Traditional witchcraft had, after all, just been a step in the wizardly evolutionary process.
'Of course,' Ailie replied, her eyes skimming over the pages of the now opened book. 'We didn't practice trapping spells, and so books were rarely needed to retrieve them. What spells are trapped in these?' She held up the book for Hermione's inspection.
Hermione bit her lip in puzzlement. It almost seemed as if she and Ailie were following two different conversations.
'When you say spellbooks, do you mean books of spells?'
The other girl frowned at her. 'Of course. What other use do you have for them?'
Hermione shook her head. 'These are novels.' She caught Ailie's puzzled stare. 'You know, books with stories in them.'
'Oh, children's books,' Ailie said dismissively, putting the novel down.
'No, these are stories for adults. And, of course, biographies, and histories, and I threw in a book of myths, because I-'
Ailie raised a hand. 'You use books to tell stories?'
Hermione nodded. The feeling of surreality continued.
Picking up a few more books, Ailie frowned. 'Why do you trap words if you don't want to use their power?'
An idea began to dawn in Hermione's mind. It was an odd theory, but she hadn't become Head Girl for nothing...
'You use books to trap words?' she asked, testing.
Ailie nodded.
'And you think that if you trap words, they become powerful?'
The girl shook her head, obviously frustrated. 'No- words are powerful no matter what you do. Don't things happen when you tell them to?'
Hermione felt she was beginning to grasp the problem. 'Of course words are powerful. But they don't always contain magic.'
Ailie snorted, looking at her with disgust. 'It doesn't matter if they contain magic or not. You shouldn't waste the power of words by simply trapping them all over the place.'
'But they're not wasted,' Hermione argued. 'Words like these have power, and people read them over and over again. Look,' she grabbed a book of sonnets, one of her favourites. 'This one:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
See? They have power to everyone who reads them, or almost everyone.' Ailie grabbed the book from her.
'But why do you waste them by trapping them in books. Why didn't this- ' she looked on the cover, 'William, tell you himself?'
Hermione laughed. 'He's been dead for 400 years.'
Ailie looked unimpressed. 'Then why didn't your speaker tell you? Why trap the words where no one will ever see them?'
Hermione frowned. She remembered learning about oral histories, cultures that passed down stories and learning through spoken word. It was a tradition that was slowly and sadly dying. 'Does your coven still pass things down orally, then?' she asked.
'How else do you tell the stories?' Ailie looked at Hermione as if she was mad.
Hermione just nodded. 'Oral histories...' She looked back at Ailie. 'Wizards and muggles don't pass things down by word of mouth- speakers- any more. In the middle ages, monks began to write everything down, recording everything in books and passing them on.'
Ailie frowned. 'But you show them no respect that way.'
Hermione shook her head, having to blow a stray piece of hair out of her face. 'We do respect words, very much. By recording people's stories, we can send them all over the world. People can read something written by someone hundreds of years ago, someone in a different country who speaks a different language. Books are wonderful things.'
'Our speakers have tales from all over the world, too. Handed down for generations, handed across the lands. Our children learn them, and tell their children, so that the story doesn't die.'
'I guess we just have a different way of dealing with it,' Hermione replied, disheartened. Books, for her, were a part of life, an indispensable part. Yet the passing down of stories from generation to generation as Ailie described it sounded wonderful. 'There would be too many stories for people to remember, now. And there aren't any groups like covens here- people are spread out too far. Books help us learn those stories even when we don't have a coven.'
Ailie shrugged. She had been told some things about the outside world and how it operated. It seemed a strange way of living to her, separated from those who could help you learn, but perhaps these people thought her strange as well.
'I will look into these books.' She picked up one with a red, worn cover, and looked at the title curiously. 'What is this one?'
Hermione took it from her and smiled. It was Hogwarts, a History, the book her parents had bought for her as a present when she was invited to the school. She had read it many times over the years, fascinated with the world she had been introduced to. It was now like an old friend.
'It's a history book, the story of this school. I thought you might like it.'
The girls spent a few minutes examining the books, Ailie brimming with curiosity now that she was no longer wary of them. They were both immersed in the book of sonnets once more when a polite cough interrupted them.
Hermione glanced up in surprise, to see Dumbledore looking at her with his usual expression of fond knowing. A blush stained her cheeks when she realised she was once again where she shouldn't be.
'Headmaster, I was-'
'Just entertaining our young guest. Yes, well done.' The old wizard walked over to the bed and examined the pile of books. 'Just the thing for someone stuck in bed. Ah,' he exclaimed, picking up a book with a purple cover. 'Minerva McTabby's book of Travels Through the Wizarding Wilderness. Excellent, excellent. It has always been one of my favourites.' Opening the book for a browse, the Headmaster gave all appearance of having retreated for the day, when suddenly he looked up at Hermione with a smile. 'It was very thoughtful of you to bring these along, but I'm afraid if you don't move fast you will miss out completely on a rather wonderful breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, you know,' he added, to Ailie. He looked back at Hermione with a twinkle. 'I'm sure your new friend won't mind if you pop back in later in the day.'
Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione nodded goodbye to Ailie and left the cubicle. As she walked out into the corridor, she reflected that at least Dumbledore had given her, in his usual roundabout way, his express permission to visit the girl again.
***
Dumbledore watched his former student leave, then turned back to Ailie, looking thoughtful. 'I'm glad to see you looking so well today.'
Ailie looked up from the book she was reading with a smile. She could not help but like this old wizard.
'As I said yesterday, I am feeling much better, apart from being away from my coven.' A shadow crossed the girl's face. 'I don't know what's wrong. Usually I can feel where they are so easily...'
Dumbledore gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 'I am sure it is only a temporary setback. Your powers should return soon, my child.'
Ailie glared at him, shocked. 'I did not give you my permission to enter my mind!'
Dumbledore chuckled, a little taken aback. It was not often he was taken to task for his little peculiarity. 'I am sorry, my dear. I would not like you to think I would do such a thing. Unfortunately it is a gift I cannot control.' At Ailie's continued scowl, he continued, 'Be assured that I cannot actually read your mind, dear child.'
Ailie continued to stare at the old man, obviously deciding what to say next. Things had become very complicated for her in the last few weeks. Dumbledore watched in silence. He knew her story- it was one of the first things they had talked about.
Her coven had retreated into the hills after the last festival of the moon, having discerned an evil presence near them. Ailie's parents had not agreed with the decision. Ailie herself had not known what to think- the presence had been sensed by their scrier, an art Ailie had never managed to master. But even she had noticed the changes in the landscape, the subtle signs that said someone, something was drawing near. Something had stalked the coven for weeks. If it was friendly, why had it not come forward?
After three weeks underground, in the caves of the nearby hills that were the coven's winter home, Ailie's mother, Gwynnowsyn, had had enough. She had looked at the signs herself, and had not seen any danger. It was springtime, the most powerful time of the land's natural magic. Gwynn had always been a child of the air, and Ailie had taken after her. Ailie could understand her mother's feelings; her maternal line had always been headstrong, and when it wasn't possible to see the danger herself, it was hard to obey the decisions of the elderwitches of the coven.
The elderwitches were planning to spend the rest of the year in the more defensible winter caves, emerging the next spring if the danger was over. It was a difficult thing for any witch to contemplate. Gwynn had decided to leave the safety of the hills, and pursue a trail aboveground, a journey she frequently did in the summer. Her lifepartner, and Ailie's father, Micael, had agreed, though perhaps out of reluctance to be parted from his everwife than anything. Ailie, though she was well of age within the coven and a powerful witch in her own right, had followed them. Though she had a sense of foreboding she couldn't ignore.
Unfortunately, that feeling had been justified. They had been out in the fields for three days when the dark men had descended. They had been too surprised to put up much of a fight.
Dumbledore felt extremely sorry for the girl but admired her strength. Apparently Ailie had watched as they killed her parents, in the most vile of ways. She had kept her eyes open the entire time. She had not been brought up to be a powerful witch, she said, just to turn her head from things she didn't like happening. She withstood it all, absorbing the pain. She knew there would be a time when these things could be used.
Hopefully, the child would be able to use them in a way that would bring her no further harm. Dumbledore sighed, thinking of the many young ones over the years who had not been able to find that way. From the look of mistrust in the young woman's eyes, it was clear that she had not yet decided which way to go. He remembered seeing that same look, a thousand times. Draco Malfoy, Hervis Clement... Severus Snape. There was nothing he could do but wait for the outcome.
Ailie looked at Dumbledore through hooded lids. She was unsure of what to tell this man.
She had told him the details of her capture, and of the happenings there. Of course, there were some things she did not need to tell, and did not intend to. Things like, her parents, the people who had created her, had not uttered a sound when they died. After the things that had been done to them, what they too had been forced to watch, the light had simply gone out of their eyes. Things like, Ailie had known that they had already decided to die before the dark men threw their curses at them. Things like, she had felt every single stab of pain that had been inflicted on them.
That the dark men had forced her to watch later, in the field where an even larger group of them had gathered, was laughable to Ailie. After what she had witnessed, did they really think they could hurt her? Her parents' souls were free, and what the men did to their bodies was of no account. Besides, Ailie had seen too much animal sacrifice to be appalled by gore.
Ailie had known what was in store for her. She had quietly placed some strengthening and numbing wards over herself, preparing for her own death. It would almost have been a relief.
Then that... man had mumbled some words at her, and she had been trapped. Trapped in her own body. There had been nothing but white; blinding, suffocating. And an overall feeling of grief. And... something else...
When she had finally been able to fight her way through the fog, the man had been there. All she could think of was defence, though she had to admit that seeing the blood that seeped around the scissors she had put in his leg had afforded her some deeper gratification. She had tried some defensive magic, summoning powers to protect her. There had been nothing.
And that was something she had not told the old man. There had been nothing since. Her skills were gone, without a trace that she had been a witch at all. Several times, millions of times, a thousand times a day, Ailie had tried to establish a link with her coven. They were linked by blood; there should have been something. There was not.
It vexed her. Even the simplest of her skills had disappeared, sucked out of her it seemed. Nothing was as it had been before. Either she had been damaged in the ordeal, or her coven had performed a ceremony to drain her powers from her. Those were the only two options.
On top of that, she had to deal with this. This was a world that made no sense. Dark wizards flapping around, young women trapping words for fun, and now this old man who was clearly a sorcerer, dressed in the clothing of a man in dotage. Ailie was not fooled. The man may have acted with nothing but kind concern whenever he was in her presence, but she could sense the fearful power in him. If this man wanted, he could make grown men cower in fear. It wouldn't even take his looking in their direction.
Ailie did not know what to trust. She was still bearing the weight of grief, not having had time to even perform rituals of farewell to her parents' spirits. And now this man was reading her mind, and flooding her with waves of concern. Ailie felt his spell seep over her, inclining her to open her feelings to him, to confide. It was not a good feeling for a witch, this. Nevertheless, she was inclined to give in to the spell. She did need to discuss her situation, and telling him could do no harm.
She took a deep breath.
'I cannot find my coven,' she said, eyes cast down to the bedspread. 'We are linked by blood, and should be able to feel each other. I cannot.'
Dumbledore turned his concerned gaze on her downturned head. 'I know. I am familiar with the customs of your coven- I spent a short time with a Wiccan coven myself when I was a boy.'
Ailie looked up in surprise. Her people were notoriously private, covens rarely even speaking to each other. Part of their purpose was to keep out the otherworld. If this man spoke truth, he must be a very powerful mage indeed.
Dumbledore nodded. 'I am quite familiar with your beliefs. In fact, in small doses, I feel they are very wise. Isolation is an important part of learning, especially where magic is concerned.' He sighed, and sat down in a nearby chair, a reminiscing look drifting over his eyes. 'I remember the power I felt during the time I was with the coven. The oneness. I wish all the children here had the chance to experience such a feeling; we may not have had as many problems as we have...' A brief sadness flickered in his eyes, then was gone. He looked back to Ailie. 'Alas, I was not suited to your way of life. It takes a dedication, a sense of self and others linked, that I do not have.'
Ailie leant back against the pillows at the head of the bed, letting this new information sink in. The man did speak as one who had experienced coven life. She decided to air another problem that had been bothering her.
'If you have been in a coven you will know about sense of self,' she began, toying with the fringe of the bedspread. 'I do not have that. It's not just that I can't locate the coven. I cannot perform magic. I cannot feel my self in my body.'
Dumbledore nodded, then waited patiently for her to continue. Ailie felt a slight sense of relief. It was comforting to be able to tell someone who would understand; she had a sense that others in this strange wizard world would not know what she was talking about.
'When I woke up, and that man was near me, I did the first thing that came to mind. It is one of my failings; my mother...' a brief spasm of grief tore through Ailie's stomach, but she overrode it, 'always said it was one of the obstacles to my becoming a great witch. But when I tried to perform wards of protection, when I tried to summon the powers nearby, I failed.'
The old wizard looked contemplative. 'That may just be the wards around Hogwarts. We have very strict boundaries within the castle; we have had to in recent years.' He looked sad once more, but passed over it quickly. 'But there are ones that go bone-deep, placed by the founders four. Perhaps it is that old magic conflicting with your methods.' At this, Ailie shrugged. It was not an option she had considered, though if the spells the other wizard had placed on her had affected her so strongly... Her attention was regained as Dumbledore continued, 'In any case, it will take a simple walk to the Forbidden Forest or Hogsmeade to solve that question, and a walk would do you good. But you spoke of other things. Is there anything else troubles you?'
Ailie drew a deep breath. This was the harder topic to discuss. 'I'm not sure. Ever since I woke up, I haven't been feeling selfsame. I have been of myself since I came of age at fourteen. I have always been in my self. Now, I am not.'
'Your soul is gone?' Ailie knew what the old man meant. In her coven, to be a witch was to be a witch with every part of the self. Wicca could only be mastered if one was aware of every part of one's being, and if everything was in place. It was a sense of self that was all-powerful; selfsame. It was also the only way to master the magic. The concept of selfsameness was often confused with the soul by outsiders, or so she had been told in the brief talks elderwitches had had about the outside. She nodded slightly, then considered.
'It is not exactly that. Sometimes, I do feel selfsame. But there are times when it feels... almost like someone is sitting on my shoulder.'
Across from her, the old wizard's eyes sparked, and Ailie felt certain he had come across the answer. Instead of informing her of a solution, however, he rose. Patting her hand, he said, 'Do not worry yourself too much. You have been through a great deal.' Taking his leave, he headed out the door.
Ailie looked after him, a deep worry in her stomach. She was no fool. Though his last words had been full of comfort, Ailie was well aware that there had been no actual reassurance in them. With a sigh, she lay back, determined to at least enjoy the trickle of sunshine still on her bed, and picked up a book.
***
Snape was surprised to see the Headmaster at his classroom door a few moments after the last of his third years had thundered out. Though he had been taking a relative amount of interest in the castle's latest guest, he had not expected to be taken to task about it, and there was no other business to conclude.
His first idea had been the correct one, as he found when Dumbledore immediately began asking questions about the last Death Eaters revel.
'I'm uncertain of what you wish to know,' Snape replied to Dumbledore's first question. He had not mentioned his strange attraction to the injured girl, but the man had the most uncanny way of ferreting out such things.
'Oh, I'm sure you know, Severus,' the old wizard continued. 'You know, acting out of character, feeling strange sympathies, that sort of thing. Not feeling quite yourself.'
Snape's shoulders slumped slightly, as he leant back on his desk. 'I will one day find out how you do that, old man.' He shook his head for a moment, then pulled his thoughts together. 'If you must know, I have felt... slightly unusual, of late.' He looked down, and traced the grain of the wood on the desk with one elegant finger.
Dumbledore's look was sharp. 'Especially around the girl?'
Snape almost sighed in frustration. His headmaster's omnipotence could be aggravating. 'Yes,' he bit out.
'And you've feelings for her?'
Snape just barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes. He settled for a glare instead. 'I am anything but a simpering hero from some soppy romance, Albus, and the fact that you could mistake me as such makes my very skin want to putrefy.'
'I'll take that as a no.' Dumbledore looked at the ceiling, waiting. Snape knew what was expected of him.
'I have found a strange tendency to want to... check in on the girl. Against all natural inclination, I find myself thinking about her, though why on Earth I would want to do that I do not know. Perhaps the effects of the last Cruciatus curse put upon me have at last addled my brain, or the Creevey brothers' idiocy has finally driven me into selinity.'
Dumbledore sent him a wry look. 'So I am to take it that you, albeit unwillingly, have some link with the girl?'
'Apparently so.'
'Hmm.' The headmaster paced around the room idly, looking at the various items around the room, chuckling at burn marks on desks. It was a habit which particularly annoyed Snape, who hated being kept in suspense.
'Anything you want to tell me, Albus?' he enquired in a darkly silken voice. Sarcasm practically dripped from his tone.
Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled. 'Perhaps, Severus. You had several cuts on your hands the night you brought Ailie in, didn't you?'
'Yes. I cut them when I clenched my fists in pain.' Snape's tone was bored, waiting for the ball to drop. He was not particularly fond of conversational jousting.
Dumbledore nodded. 'I had thought as much. The girl had several cuts as well, you know. Between the two of you, you had blood everywhere, as I recall.'
'Yes, a particularly fine night for Poppy. Now what is your point, if you would be so kind?'
'Nothing, nothing,' Dumbledore answered, trailing a hand across a scarred desktop. 'I wouldn't worry about it. Just one of these interesting little things about Wiccans. Anyway,' he added, looking toward the corridor, from whence the sounds of students were approaching, 'I must leave you to your class. Thank you, Severus. I will see you at dinner.' With that, he left.
Snape held back a sigh as the first students began trickling into the classroom. Obviously, Dumbledore wanted him to find out for himself the explanation of his strange behaviour. Judging by the oblique reference the old man had made to him missing lunch, which was right after his class, the answer would only come with a significant amount of research on his part, and was quite important. The old wizard obviously had a wonderful surprise in store for him, and couldn't wait for him to discover it. Great.
He hated it when he did that.
***
The windows of the library were growing dark when Snape finally slammed shut the last book he was reading. He was fairly certain he had the answer. No, strike that, he definitely did have the answer, and he did not like it one bit.
The headmaster had made careful reference to the fact that Snape and the girl had bled all over each other. Obviously, the important factor here was blood. Lots of blood. And, after exposing each other to their open wounds, they now shared it.
Which, according to the texts on Wiccan culture, meant that they were bound together. And not just in the metaphorical sense, such as oversentimental heroes all too oft used as a masculine performance of their solidarity. No, by sharing blood, he and this girl were bound; mind, thought, and feeling.
Ugh. Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling. As usual, he had a headache.
Wiccans put great faith in themselves; it was, according to leading theorists, the strength behind their culture. Blood was an important factor in all aspects of humanity, especially magical communities. Wizard blood could be used in especially potent magical potions, and even muggles, in their usual confused manner, valued the strength of blood. Covens shared blood ties; not simply through birth, but through marriage and handbound friendship. When a Wiccan came of age, an open cut on the hand of every other member of the group was placed on their skin, linking them irrevocably. The blood on their skin provided a spiritual link that could only be banished through intense ceremony.
When blood was transferred back and forth between two parties, however, the link was even more intense. Those linked could sense the feelings, even the thoughts of the other person. Parents and children could communicate without words. Those who chose to be handfasted- share blood through placing their bleeding hands together- would share a friendship that would last forever. And forget about casual sex. The strength of blood bonds in this type of magic brought an entirely new meaning to the term 'sexually transmitted.'
In other words, Severus Snape was in deep shit.
But at least the strange feelings of the last few weeks were explained. Quite neatly.
Briefly, he clenched his hands on the table. The girl would have to be told, if she didn't already know. They were now linked; they were at least as close, mentally, as brother and sister. Snape avoided even mentally inserting the word 'marriage'.
Controlling his anger at the situation, he swept out of the library, his mind fixing on one dim hope. The books had spoken of ceremonies to banish the blood tie; surely, a cure for this idiotic link could be found.
***
Hermione looked up at the sound of the library doors closing. Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed someone else was even there. With a shrug, she turned back to her book.
Harry and Ron would have smiled. NEWTs were well and truly over, and here she was, still studying. Hermione had found it was a habit that she could not give up, especially now that she was back at Hogwarts. There was still so much to learn.
Figuring that, as technically neither a student nor a staff member, she would not be allowed to borrow books for non-academic purposes, Hermione had taken to spending a lot of her spare time in the silent avenues of the library. It was practically her favourite place in the castle, anyway, much more familiar than her new spacious quarters.
She sat back, and stretched her neck. She always felt better after a session in the library, after she could immerse herself in the history, the theory, the pure knowledge that the thousands of books held. To be completely honest, after her embarrassing encounter with Snape the night before, she had been startled out of her self-pity. If she was lonely, it was only her fault. Sure, the staff were still stand-offish; it was only natural. But she had her own resources, her own entertainments.
It was actually talking to that girl this morning that had made up her mind for her. When she had walked in with a huge pile of books in her arms, Ailie had looked at her as if she had come from another planet. Hermione had wanted to run away, but she had forced herself to stay. Then, as they had begun to talk, Hermione had realised that the girl had only been reacting to a strange situation, not necessarily to her.
The problem had run through her mind all day as she assisted in classes and took her own, and by lunchtime it had sunk in. If she was unhappy, no one would do anything about it but her. She was an adult now, and should act like it.
Hermione, with her usual attitude to projects, had begun to plan. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she was determined to go to Hogsmeade. If the other teachers there invited her to join them in their wanderings, so much the better; if they did not, then she was entirely capable of enjoying herself. Afterward, she had arranged to have tea with Hagrid, who had been delighted at the suggestion and had almost suffocated her in a hug. And on Sunday, Hermione was determined to begin the real Plan: she would invite Minerva McGonagall to have tea with her, and they would have a nice chat, like real adults.
Hermione let out a breath. She hoped it would work. When she had been Head Girl, she and McGonagall had been able to chat in a way that she had assumed was adult. Now, however, they rarely talked in the same way, Hermione assuming that the talks had simply been a part of the teacher's responsibilities to her students. It was part of her assumption that had guided the way she interacted with all the teachers, actually. However, when she thought about it, she realised that she had never really given it a try. It might have been her own fault if the teachers still treated her as a student. Besides, if she was to become a teacher at Hogwarts, the other teachers would simply have to get over her once having been a student.
And now it was time for another part of her plan. Dumbledore had practically instructed her to make friends with the girl in the infirmary, and she had no objection. Ailie was, after all, an intriguing sort of person, and Hermione's natural curiosity had a hard time ignoring the need to investigate. Besides, it would be nice to talk to someone of her own age for once- something she had not done in the last month.
Neatly putting away the books she had been reading, Hermione headed for the infirmary.
***
Snape had been pleasantly surprised to find the girl, for the second time in a row, asleep. For a moment, he stood over her, examining what was flowing through him.
Now that he had a solid explanation, the feelings he had were easily identifiable. He could feel the girl's worry, and her slowly ebbing grief over her trauma. He could also feel her need for revenge, quite strong, unfortunately. He sighed. Revenge had never got anyone anywhere. What was that muggle saying that Dumbledore had told him as a boy?- Something about it best being cold. He well knew the truth of it. Though it was less satisfying to bide time, waiting as the fury slowly ebbed and one barely felt anything any more, it was certainly the most sensible option. If only because those who had inflicted the harm had stopped expecting retaliation. Their guard was down. Besides, the satisfaction of heated emotion was rarely worth it.
Suddenly, the girl's eyes snapped open, and the familiar look of fury covered her face. Before she could raise her hand, Snape snapped his fingers, forcing her arms under the sheet that covered her, safely out of harm's way. She opened her mouth- Snape could see by the fire in her eye that it was with the intention of yelling at him- and he muttered a charm, designed for such situations. It would render her voiceless unless she assumed a calm tone- a spell that had come in handy quite a few times over his years as a teacher.
A few entertaining minutes were spent watching the girl noiselessly mouth words at him, her fury growing when she heard no sound. It took her a full ten minutes to calm down, and another three to realise that she could speak if she did not yell.
'Why,' she said, with a voice edged with fury, 'have you done this to me?'
'At last I get to hear your true melodious tones,' Snape said calmly. 'It was difficult to discern them under that harpy's screech.'
'Why, you-'
Another minute was spent in furious silence. Snape raised an eyebrow. The girl may not have been actually speaking, but the words she was mouthing would have made Madame Pomfrey blush, if she had been in the room to see them. Unfortunately, since the girl had switched to English, her insults had gained the clarity of technicolour.
Eventually she calmed down, forcing her voice into a low growl. 'When I get out of here, I will take a knife and-'
'I think that's about enough.' Snape sent her a glare. 'You have been suffering under some misapprehensions- and your anger is justified, I will admit. But I will no longer tolerate your childish outbursts.'
'Fuck you.'
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I think not. Now, if you have quite finished-'
Muttering under her breath, the girl stared at Snape intently. It may have been in Gaelic, but Snape knew a curse when he heard one. He was just raising his wand when a confused look came over her face, and she stopped speaking. At her frustrated look, Snape had a flash of comprehension.
'Not working, is it?' he asked with dry satisfaction. At least the little witch couldn't hex him all the way to Hogsmeade.
Ailie simply glared at him.
Ignoring it, Snape continued, 'I have come to inform you of an interesting development. Professor Dumbledore instructed me-' it was practically true- 'to research some odd effects which, apparently, both you and I have exhibited since the night of the last revel.' At that, a familiar look came over the girl's face and Snape spent another amused moment watching her facial contortions as she tried to yell at him. He held up a hand to halt her, though she took no notice. This was fun. 'I am afraid I cannot inform you of what I have found unless you calm down and cease behaving like the harpy I have no doubt you really are-'
His enjoyable speech was cut off by a loud gasp from the direction of the curtain. Startled, Snape twirled around to see the Granger girl standing with a shocked look on her face, one which was quickly turning to anger as she took in the struggling girl and the ominous Potions Master. Snape inwardly sighed. From past experiences- many, unfortunately- he knew what conclusions the girl would draw. He was just opening his mouth to speak when she beat him to it.
'Professor Snape! How dare you-' With startling speed, the girl was beside the bed, muttering enchantments to release the bedridden witch. Snape had to admit he was impressed- the hexes were ones which he had learnt years after being a student. All too soon, the Ailie girl had regained her voice, and the infirmary rang with her yells. Miss Granger simply stood with her arm around the girl, glaring at the Potions Master.
With his usual knack for knowing where the problems were, the Headmaster quickly appeared around the curtain. Snape was completely unsurprised.
In a simple gesture, Dumbledore indicated that the noise level would be better at a less than ear-splitting level, and Ailie quieted. The headmaster turned his gaze to Snape.
'Severus, I see you have informed our guest of your mutual problem,' he said.
Snape shook his head. 'Unfortunately, Miss Granger here-' he indicated Hermione with a glare, 'interrupted us before we could discuss it.'
'Discuss it!' Hermione's voice was incredulous, but at Snape's continued glare, she lowered her eyes to the floor, and remained silent.
Ailie looked from one to the other, incredulous. She turned to Dumbledore. 'That-' she pointed to Snape, 'man placed curses on me to trap me and take away my voice, and then he insulted me, and reminded me of what he had done.' She finished with a Gaelic insult that Snape recognised as something particularly unflattering. He raised an eyebrow at her, which earned him another stare. Eventually, Snape realised that Dumbledore was waiting for an explanation.
With an annoyed flutter of his hand, Snape elucidated, 'I could find no other way of talking to her.' Ailie snorted in disbelief.
Dumbledore sent Snape a knowing glance, and the Potions Master looked away. He knew what the old man was thinking, and didn't like the feeling that he had been behaving like a child.
'Well, Severus, as you now have Ailie's complete attention, perhaps it would be a good time to inform her of your discovery?'
Snape sent the old wizard an annoyed glare, and turned to the young women. Ailie still had a hold of Miss Granger's hand, though the other girl was still staring at the ground.
'You,' he managed in a cold tone, 'are a member of the Wiccan faith. When I brought you to Hogwarts both you and myself had a variety of bleeding cuts upon our persons. In other words, we have, due to unfortunate circumstances, shared blood. You should know the consequences.' From the shocked look on the girl's face, she did. 'We felt you should know.' With a polite bow to Dumbledore, Snape left. It was not required of him to make further comment.
Behind him, Ailie was grasping for words. Dumbledore looked at her kindlily. Hermione turned to her, concerned.
At Hermione's enquiring look, Ailie gestured for them both to sit down on the bed. She had trouble ordering her turbulent thoughts.
'What he just said- that dark one- means that he and I are linked. Joined.' Hermione continued to look puzzled, and Ailie looked to Dumbledore for help.
'It means that they are soulmates,' the old man said with a chuckle. 'Or, rather, that they can feel what the other is feeling, and occasionally even know what they are thinking.'
'I hope he can sense what I am thinking now,' Ailie said darkly. Dumbledore chuckled.
Hermione looked up at him. 'Is it true, though? Are they really- linked?'
Dumbledore nodded, his mischievous smile disappearing. 'I'm not sure what we can do about this, my dear. I am not familiar with the procedures needed to break a blood-link-'
'There are none.' Ailie's eyes were bleak. 'None that could be done without the help of my entire coven, and his coven. And he doesn't have one.'
Hermione automatically put a protecting arm around her new friend, and Ailie smiled at her. Hermione smiled back.
'Perhaps I can find a cure in the books in the library,' she suggested, glancing up at Dumbledore. At the shake of his head, she added, 'Or I could go to the Greater London Wizarding Archive. There's sure to be something there-'
'I'm sure you want to help, my child, but if Ailie says it cannot be done, I'm afraid we must believe her. There are very few texts on Wicca, unfortunately,' said Dumbledore in a regretful tone.
Ailie put her arm around Hermione and gave her a squeeze. 'Thank you for wanting to help, though.' She sighed, and looked at Dumbledore. 'I suppose I will just have to put up with it. Do you think that he is the reason I cannot contact my coven?'
The headmaster shook his head. 'Severus's blood is not as potent as yours. It should not affect your abilities.'
Ailie sighed. Perhaps she had been purged from the coven after all.
Dumbledore took his leave, and Hermione did her best to entertain her new friend. Ailie was grateful. It was good to have someone friendly to talk to, and to think about things that were relatively unimportant. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone who was familiar with the castle. It would help her get her revenge on Severus Snape.
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money, so you can't sue me. I think this whole copyrighted word thing is ridiculous, and J.K. is a smart enough woman to realise that people writing fanfic about her characters are only providing her series with free advertising. If she can't convince the enlightened folks at Warner Bros of that, then…
Again, thank you everyone for your reviews! It's sure nice to open up Statistic and see the number climbing. Aah.
I've made reference to Minerva McTabby here because I just read her satire of 'Pawn to Queen', 'PtQ in a Nutshell'. It's so funny I was practically rolling on the floor. If you haven't read Riley's 'Pawn to Queen', do so, it is on fanfiction.net, but only the first 12 chapters. You can find the updated version at Riley's website. I don't have the address but just type 'Pawn to Queen' in a search engine and you should find it. (Oh- and don't ask Riley for updates, she gets nasty about that.) Then read Minerva Mc Tabby's fic, which is a BRILLIANT take off. I was pleasantly surprised to know that she is a fellow Aussie. We kick ass! Or arse, to be technical.
Oh yeah, and of course the 400-year-dead guy is William Shakespeare. He also kicks ass, in troth.
Okay, I'll stop my babbling so you can read my other babbling.
c.
Chapter Four
Ailie awoke slowly, relishing the feel of the morning sunlight on her face. It had been a few weeks since she had been able to drink in the sun; her coven had felt an eye on them and had retreated underground. That had been a while ago, some weeks before she and her parents-
Ailie took a deep breath. She had to think about what had happened, what they had done to her- parents. To her coven. To her. While she ran away from it, they still held power over her. She hadn't been brought up to allow that.
Before that, however, she needed strength. Slowly, Ailie moved herself into a sitting position, cross-legged, facing the sun trickling in from a half-hidden window. Closing her eyes, she slowly spread her hands in front of her, moving her arms gradually to the side, mimicking the movement of the sun as she had been taught to perform ever since she was two. Eyes still closed, she reached forwards once more, fingers stretching to grasp the sunshine. In a leisurely movement, she cupped her hands around the sun, feeling the warmth of the light fill her hands. Ailie smiled. The sun, at least, was still willing to give its light to her, even if her heart was not. She rubbed her hands over each other, feeling the morning light sink into them, immersing herself in the day.
Ailie smiled, for the first time in a month. She had missed the morning ritual, missed the sun. Ever since she was a child, she had relished the light the sun goddess gave her. She had cherished the sun ritual, learning how to ask of the day and live in it. She was a child of the night and the day, but there was something magical in light that she had never been able to ignore.
Cleansed by the light inside her, Ailie stretched her body, making sure that there was no lasting injury. Luckily, she had been too damaged, her hurts too deep, for those wizards to want to try their concoctions on her. They had been satisfied to merely let her heal, and for that unconscious wisdom on their part she was eternally grateful. Had they interfered further, her natural healing might have been hindered beyond repair.
She frowned as she thought of the dark wizard. Not content to let his associates torture her, he had had to throw who knew what sorts of curses at her, conflicting with the intricate wards she had placed about herself. The old wizard, and the nurse- they had said that the dark one had been trying to help her. Ailie let out a 'humph'. These wizards, they knew nothing. All their meddlings, and spells, and wands and nonsense. It would have been better if they had let her alone.
Ailie completed her last stretch, pulling her leg up by her ear and pointing her toes at the sky, when she heard a soft, 'Oh!' Unhurriedly, she let down her leg and looked toward the opening in the curtain.
It was that girl from last night- Hermione, after the Greek. Ailie lent her head to the side to view her. Not anything particularly startling, in this one; a tall girl, slender, though without the fine bones that would have given her beauty. A wild mess of mousy brown hair. Hesitant eyes, peering from beneath a waft of fringe. Nice, long fingers, currently wrapped around a stack of books clutched to her chest. Dull swathes of cloth draped over her body, in much the same form as the old wizard and the dark one, efficiently concealing anything that could be of note beneath. Ailie inwardly shook her head. Even in her coven, young ones did their best to appeal to each other. Perhaps in this strange wizard culture vanity was no longer necessary.
Ailie watched as the Hermione girl forced a small smile on her face, trying to cover her nervousness. Ailie smiled slightly in return; in her coven, nervousness was vulnerability. You did not cover it up: you conquered it.
The smile apparently served as encouragement for her companion, who stepped forward.
'Hi,' she said, placing her books on a nearby table. 'I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you, only I wanted to get you these before breakfast- not your breakfast, of course, but I do have to attend and I just thought, seeing as I was up early anyway...'
Ailie watched as Hermione babbled herself into silence. She was absolutely intrigued.
'Um, anyway,' Hermione continued, 'I thought these might distract you.'
Well done Hermione, the Hogwarts teacher chided herself. Just let her know what a babbling idiot you are.
Hermione waited patiently as the bed-ridden girl in front of her thought. Ailie seemed much better this morning, or perhaps it was just the sunlight playing on her hair. The strange girl had dark brown hair with the kind of red highlights that Hermione had always wished she had, and eyes that she imagined would be described in a book as 'deep, chocolate brown.' Hermione sighed. She knew this would be a mistake. It was just, getting up at the crack of dawn, a habit that was, unfortunately, ingrained in her very soul it seemed, she had looked around her vast personal library and thought with pity of the secret patient in the infirmary.
Now, of course, the idea that the girl might not like books had finally occured to her. After all, as Ron had told her innumerous times over the years, not everyone was as crazy about books as she was.
By the look on the patient's face, she obviously wasn't.
Hermione sighed. It seemed that with age, unfortunately, did not come brilliant social skills. Just because you're not at school anymore, Hermione, doesn't mean you're not still a nerd. Blushing to the roots of her hair, yet another affliction that didn't pass with age, Hermione made to leave.
'No, don't go,' the other girl smiled. 'I was just wondering what you wanted me to do with all of- those.' She indicated the pile of books, their precarious position bravely defying gravity on the bedside table. There were at least fifteen.
Hermione shrugged. If she were hospitalized, she'd get through those on a day. That is, if someone had been kind enough to bring them to her. Which they never had.
'I wasn't sure what you liked,' she said, feeling a little defensive. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought them.'
Ailie's eyes widened, and she shook her head, in evident apology. 'No. Please don't. I didn't mean- well, I've never read that many books at one time. I was wondering if you were expecting me to prepare for a test.' She grinned.
Unable to resist the girl's sudden warmth, Hermione brought the books closer to her bed and, at Ailie's gesture, sat down on the side of the bed.
'I really didn't know what you would read, so I brought a selection of my own,' she said. Shyly, she gave Ailie a small smile. 'I didn't realise it would be overwhelming for you- I tend to go a bit mad with books.'
Ailie shrugged, and flicked back a piece of her shoulder-length hair. 'I've never really needed that many.'
Hermione's eyes widened a little. 'Really? Don't you like reading at all?'
Again, Ailie shrugged, as she began picking through the books. 'I never really saw a need for it. My coven didn't use spellbooks that much.' She picked up a copy of Great Expectations.
'Your coven?' Hermione asked, puzzled. Though she had learnt much about the wizarding world in the eight years she had been a part of it, she had never heard the word coven used in anything other than an historical sense. Traditional witchcraft had, after all, just been a step in the wizardly evolutionary process.
'Of course,' Ailie replied, her eyes skimming over the pages of the now opened book. 'We didn't practice trapping spells, and so books were rarely needed to retrieve them. What spells are trapped in these?' She held up the book for Hermione's inspection.
Hermione bit her lip in puzzlement. It almost seemed as if she and Ailie were following two different conversations.
'When you say spellbooks, do you mean books of spells?'
The other girl frowned at her. 'Of course. What other use do you have for them?'
Hermione shook her head. 'These are novels.' She caught Ailie's puzzled stare. 'You know, books with stories in them.'
'Oh, children's books,' Ailie said dismissively, putting the novel down.
'No, these are stories for adults. And, of course, biographies, and histories, and I threw in a book of myths, because I-'
Ailie raised a hand. 'You use books to tell stories?'
Hermione nodded. The feeling of surreality continued.
Picking up a few more books, Ailie frowned. 'Why do you trap words if you don't want to use their power?'
An idea began to dawn in Hermione's mind. It was an odd theory, but she hadn't become Head Girl for nothing...
'You use books to trap words?' she asked, testing.
Ailie nodded.
'And you think that if you trap words, they become powerful?'
The girl shook her head, obviously frustrated. 'No- words are powerful no matter what you do. Don't things happen when you tell them to?'
Hermione felt she was beginning to grasp the problem. 'Of course words are powerful. But they don't always contain magic.'
Ailie snorted, looking at her with disgust. 'It doesn't matter if they contain magic or not. You shouldn't waste the power of words by simply trapping them all over the place.'
'But they're not wasted,' Hermione argued. 'Words like these have power, and people read them over and over again. Look,' she grabbed a book of sonnets, one of her favourites. 'This one:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
See? They have power to everyone who reads them, or almost everyone.' Ailie grabbed the book from her.
'But why do you waste them by trapping them in books. Why didn't this- ' she looked on the cover, 'William, tell you himself?'
Hermione laughed. 'He's been dead for 400 years.'
Ailie looked unimpressed. 'Then why didn't your speaker tell you? Why trap the words where no one will ever see them?'
Hermione frowned. She remembered learning about oral histories, cultures that passed down stories and learning through spoken word. It was a tradition that was slowly and sadly dying. 'Does your coven still pass things down orally, then?' she asked.
'How else do you tell the stories?' Ailie looked at Hermione as if she was mad.
Hermione just nodded. 'Oral histories...' She looked back at Ailie. 'Wizards and muggles don't pass things down by word of mouth- speakers- any more. In the middle ages, monks began to write everything down, recording everything in books and passing them on.'
Ailie frowned. 'But you show them no respect that way.'
Hermione shook her head, having to blow a stray piece of hair out of her face. 'We do respect words, very much. By recording people's stories, we can send them all over the world. People can read something written by someone hundreds of years ago, someone in a different country who speaks a different language. Books are wonderful things.'
'Our speakers have tales from all over the world, too. Handed down for generations, handed across the lands. Our children learn them, and tell their children, so that the story doesn't die.'
'I guess we just have a different way of dealing with it,' Hermione replied, disheartened. Books, for her, were a part of life, an indispensable part. Yet the passing down of stories from generation to generation as Ailie described it sounded wonderful. 'There would be too many stories for people to remember, now. And there aren't any groups like covens here- people are spread out too far. Books help us learn those stories even when we don't have a coven.'
Ailie shrugged. She had been told some things about the outside world and how it operated. It seemed a strange way of living to her, separated from those who could help you learn, but perhaps these people thought her strange as well.
'I will look into these books.' She picked up one with a red, worn cover, and looked at the title curiously. 'What is this one?'
Hermione took it from her and smiled. It was Hogwarts, a History, the book her parents had bought for her as a present when she was invited to the school. She had read it many times over the years, fascinated with the world she had been introduced to. It was now like an old friend.
'It's a history book, the story of this school. I thought you might like it.'
The girls spent a few minutes examining the books, Ailie brimming with curiosity now that she was no longer wary of them. They were both immersed in the book of sonnets once more when a polite cough interrupted them.
Hermione glanced up in surprise, to see Dumbledore looking at her with his usual expression of fond knowing. A blush stained her cheeks when she realised she was once again where she shouldn't be.
'Headmaster, I was-'
'Just entertaining our young guest. Yes, well done.' The old wizard walked over to the bed and examined the pile of books. 'Just the thing for someone stuck in bed. Ah,' he exclaimed, picking up a book with a purple cover. 'Minerva McTabby's book of Travels Through the Wizarding Wilderness. Excellent, excellent. It has always been one of my favourites.' Opening the book for a browse, the Headmaster gave all appearance of having retreated for the day, when suddenly he looked up at Hermione with a smile. 'It was very thoughtful of you to bring these along, but I'm afraid if you don't move fast you will miss out completely on a rather wonderful breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, you know,' he added, to Ailie. He looked back at Hermione with a twinkle. 'I'm sure your new friend won't mind if you pop back in later in the day.'
Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione nodded goodbye to Ailie and left the cubicle. As she walked out into the corridor, she reflected that at least Dumbledore had given her, in his usual roundabout way, his express permission to visit the girl again.
***
Dumbledore watched his former student leave, then turned back to Ailie, looking thoughtful. 'I'm glad to see you looking so well today.'
Ailie looked up from the book she was reading with a smile. She could not help but like this old wizard.
'As I said yesterday, I am feeling much better, apart from being away from my coven.' A shadow crossed the girl's face. 'I don't know what's wrong. Usually I can feel where they are so easily...'
Dumbledore gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 'I am sure it is only a temporary setback. Your powers should return soon, my child.'
Ailie glared at him, shocked. 'I did not give you my permission to enter my mind!'
Dumbledore chuckled, a little taken aback. It was not often he was taken to task for his little peculiarity. 'I am sorry, my dear. I would not like you to think I would do such a thing. Unfortunately it is a gift I cannot control.' At Ailie's continued scowl, he continued, 'Be assured that I cannot actually read your mind, dear child.'
Ailie continued to stare at the old man, obviously deciding what to say next. Things had become very complicated for her in the last few weeks. Dumbledore watched in silence. He knew her story- it was one of the first things they had talked about.
Her coven had retreated into the hills after the last festival of the moon, having discerned an evil presence near them. Ailie's parents had not agreed with the decision. Ailie herself had not known what to think- the presence had been sensed by their scrier, an art Ailie had never managed to master. But even she had noticed the changes in the landscape, the subtle signs that said someone, something was drawing near. Something had stalked the coven for weeks. If it was friendly, why had it not come forward?
After three weeks underground, in the caves of the nearby hills that were the coven's winter home, Ailie's mother, Gwynnowsyn, had had enough. She had looked at the signs herself, and had not seen any danger. It was springtime, the most powerful time of the land's natural magic. Gwynn had always been a child of the air, and Ailie had taken after her. Ailie could understand her mother's feelings; her maternal line had always been headstrong, and when it wasn't possible to see the danger herself, it was hard to obey the decisions of the elderwitches of the coven.
The elderwitches were planning to spend the rest of the year in the more defensible winter caves, emerging the next spring if the danger was over. It was a difficult thing for any witch to contemplate. Gwynn had decided to leave the safety of the hills, and pursue a trail aboveground, a journey she frequently did in the summer. Her lifepartner, and Ailie's father, Micael, had agreed, though perhaps out of reluctance to be parted from his everwife than anything. Ailie, though she was well of age within the coven and a powerful witch in her own right, had followed them. Though she had a sense of foreboding she couldn't ignore.
Unfortunately, that feeling had been justified. They had been out in the fields for three days when the dark men had descended. They had been too surprised to put up much of a fight.
Dumbledore felt extremely sorry for the girl but admired her strength. Apparently Ailie had watched as they killed her parents, in the most vile of ways. She had kept her eyes open the entire time. She had not been brought up to be a powerful witch, she said, just to turn her head from things she didn't like happening. She withstood it all, absorbing the pain. She knew there would be a time when these things could be used.
Hopefully, the child would be able to use them in a way that would bring her no further harm. Dumbledore sighed, thinking of the many young ones over the years who had not been able to find that way. From the look of mistrust in the young woman's eyes, it was clear that she had not yet decided which way to go. He remembered seeing that same look, a thousand times. Draco Malfoy, Hervis Clement... Severus Snape. There was nothing he could do but wait for the outcome.
Ailie looked at Dumbledore through hooded lids. She was unsure of what to tell this man.
She had told him the details of her capture, and of the happenings there. Of course, there were some things she did not need to tell, and did not intend to. Things like, her parents, the people who had created her, had not uttered a sound when they died. After the things that had been done to them, what they too had been forced to watch, the light had simply gone out of their eyes. Things like, Ailie had known that they had already decided to die before the dark men threw their curses at them. Things like, she had felt every single stab of pain that had been inflicted on them.
That the dark men had forced her to watch later, in the field where an even larger group of them had gathered, was laughable to Ailie. After what she had witnessed, did they really think they could hurt her? Her parents' souls were free, and what the men did to their bodies was of no account. Besides, Ailie had seen too much animal sacrifice to be appalled by gore.
Ailie had known what was in store for her. She had quietly placed some strengthening and numbing wards over herself, preparing for her own death. It would almost have been a relief.
Then that... man had mumbled some words at her, and she had been trapped. Trapped in her own body. There had been nothing but white; blinding, suffocating. And an overall feeling of grief. And... something else...
When she had finally been able to fight her way through the fog, the man had been there. All she could think of was defence, though she had to admit that seeing the blood that seeped around the scissors she had put in his leg had afforded her some deeper gratification. She had tried some defensive magic, summoning powers to protect her. There had been nothing.
And that was something she had not told the old man. There had been nothing since. Her skills were gone, without a trace that she had been a witch at all. Several times, millions of times, a thousand times a day, Ailie had tried to establish a link with her coven. They were linked by blood; there should have been something. There was not.
It vexed her. Even the simplest of her skills had disappeared, sucked out of her it seemed. Nothing was as it had been before. Either she had been damaged in the ordeal, or her coven had performed a ceremony to drain her powers from her. Those were the only two options.
On top of that, she had to deal with this. This was a world that made no sense. Dark wizards flapping around, young women trapping words for fun, and now this old man who was clearly a sorcerer, dressed in the clothing of a man in dotage. Ailie was not fooled. The man may have acted with nothing but kind concern whenever he was in her presence, but she could sense the fearful power in him. If this man wanted, he could make grown men cower in fear. It wouldn't even take his looking in their direction.
Ailie did not know what to trust. She was still bearing the weight of grief, not having had time to even perform rituals of farewell to her parents' spirits. And now this man was reading her mind, and flooding her with waves of concern. Ailie felt his spell seep over her, inclining her to open her feelings to him, to confide. It was not a good feeling for a witch, this. Nevertheless, she was inclined to give in to the spell. She did need to discuss her situation, and telling him could do no harm.
She took a deep breath.
'I cannot find my coven,' she said, eyes cast down to the bedspread. 'We are linked by blood, and should be able to feel each other. I cannot.'
Dumbledore turned his concerned gaze on her downturned head. 'I know. I am familiar with the customs of your coven- I spent a short time with a Wiccan coven myself when I was a boy.'
Ailie looked up in surprise. Her people were notoriously private, covens rarely even speaking to each other. Part of their purpose was to keep out the otherworld. If this man spoke truth, he must be a very powerful mage indeed.
Dumbledore nodded. 'I am quite familiar with your beliefs. In fact, in small doses, I feel they are very wise. Isolation is an important part of learning, especially where magic is concerned.' He sighed, and sat down in a nearby chair, a reminiscing look drifting over his eyes. 'I remember the power I felt during the time I was with the coven. The oneness. I wish all the children here had the chance to experience such a feeling; we may not have had as many problems as we have...' A brief sadness flickered in his eyes, then was gone. He looked back to Ailie. 'Alas, I was not suited to your way of life. It takes a dedication, a sense of self and others linked, that I do not have.'
Ailie leant back against the pillows at the head of the bed, letting this new information sink in. The man did speak as one who had experienced coven life. She decided to air another problem that had been bothering her.
'If you have been in a coven you will know about sense of self,' she began, toying with the fringe of the bedspread. 'I do not have that. It's not just that I can't locate the coven. I cannot perform magic. I cannot feel my self in my body.'
Dumbledore nodded, then waited patiently for her to continue. Ailie felt a slight sense of relief. It was comforting to be able to tell someone who would understand; she had a sense that others in this strange wizard world would not know what she was talking about.
'When I woke up, and that man was near me, I did the first thing that came to mind. It is one of my failings; my mother...' a brief spasm of grief tore through Ailie's stomach, but she overrode it, 'always said it was one of the obstacles to my becoming a great witch. But when I tried to perform wards of protection, when I tried to summon the powers nearby, I failed.'
The old wizard looked contemplative. 'That may just be the wards around Hogwarts. We have very strict boundaries within the castle; we have had to in recent years.' He looked sad once more, but passed over it quickly. 'But there are ones that go bone-deep, placed by the founders four. Perhaps it is that old magic conflicting with your methods.' At this, Ailie shrugged. It was not an option she had considered, though if the spells the other wizard had placed on her had affected her so strongly... Her attention was regained as Dumbledore continued, 'In any case, it will take a simple walk to the Forbidden Forest or Hogsmeade to solve that question, and a walk would do you good. But you spoke of other things. Is there anything else troubles you?'
Ailie drew a deep breath. This was the harder topic to discuss. 'I'm not sure. Ever since I woke up, I haven't been feeling selfsame. I have been of myself since I came of age at fourteen. I have always been in my self. Now, I am not.'
'Your soul is gone?' Ailie knew what the old man meant. In her coven, to be a witch was to be a witch with every part of the self. Wicca could only be mastered if one was aware of every part of one's being, and if everything was in place. It was a sense of self that was all-powerful; selfsame. It was also the only way to master the magic. The concept of selfsameness was often confused with the soul by outsiders, or so she had been told in the brief talks elderwitches had had about the outside. She nodded slightly, then considered.
'It is not exactly that. Sometimes, I do feel selfsame. But there are times when it feels... almost like someone is sitting on my shoulder.'
Across from her, the old wizard's eyes sparked, and Ailie felt certain he had come across the answer. Instead of informing her of a solution, however, he rose. Patting her hand, he said, 'Do not worry yourself too much. You have been through a great deal.' Taking his leave, he headed out the door.
Ailie looked after him, a deep worry in her stomach. She was no fool. Though his last words had been full of comfort, Ailie was well aware that there had been no actual reassurance in them. With a sigh, she lay back, determined to at least enjoy the trickle of sunshine still on her bed, and picked up a book.
***
Snape was surprised to see the Headmaster at his classroom door a few moments after the last of his third years had thundered out. Though he had been taking a relative amount of interest in the castle's latest guest, he had not expected to be taken to task about it, and there was no other business to conclude.
His first idea had been the correct one, as he found when Dumbledore immediately began asking questions about the last Death Eaters revel.
'I'm uncertain of what you wish to know,' Snape replied to Dumbledore's first question. He had not mentioned his strange attraction to the injured girl, but the man had the most uncanny way of ferreting out such things.
'Oh, I'm sure you know, Severus,' the old wizard continued. 'You know, acting out of character, feeling strange sympathies, that sort of thing. Not feeling quite yourself.'
Snape's shoulders slumped slightly, as he leant back on his desk. 'I will one day find out how you do that, old man.' He shook his head for a moment, then pulled his thoughts together. 'If you must know, I have felt... slightly unusual, of late.' He looked down, and traced the grain of the wood on the desk with one elegant finger.
Dumbledore's look was sharp. 'Especially around the girl?'
Snape almost sighed in frustration. His headmaster's omnipotence could be aggravating. 'Yes,' he bit out.
'And you've feelings for her?'
Snape just barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes. He settled for a glare instead. 'I am anything but a simpering hero from some soppy romance, Albus, and the fact that you could mistake me as such makes my very skin want to putrefy.'
'I'll take that as a no.' Dumbledore looked at the ceiling, waiting. Snape knew what was expected of him.
'I have found a strange tendency to want to... check in on the girl. Against all natural inclination, I find myself thinking about her, though why on Earth I would want to do that I do not know. Perhaps the effects of the last Cruciatus curse put upon me have at last addled my brain, or the Creevey brothers' idiocy has finally driven me into selinity.'
Dumbledore sent him a wry look. 'So I am to take it that you, albeit unwillingly, have some link with the girl?'
'Apparently so.'
'Hmm.' The headmaster paced around the room idly, looking at the various items around the room, chuckling at burn marks on desks. It was a habit which particularly annoyed Snape, who hated being kept in suspense.
'Anything you want to tell me, Albus?' he enquired in a darkly silken voice. Sarcasm practically dripped from his tone.
Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled. 'Perhaps, Severus. You had several cuts on your hands the night you brought Ailie in, didn't you?'
'Yes. I cut them when I clenched my fists in pain.' Snape's tone was bored, waiting for the ball to drop. He was not particularly fond of conversational jousting.
Dumbledore nodded. 'I had thought as much. The girl had several cuts as well, you know. Between the two of you, you had blood everywhere, as I recall.'
'Yes, a particularly fine night for Poppy. Now what is your point, if you would be so kind?'
'Nothing, nothing,' Dumbledore answered, trailing a hand across a scarred desktop. 'I wouldn't worry about it. Just one of these interesting little things about Wiccans. Anyway,' he added, looking toward the corridor, from whence the sounds of students were approaching, 'I must leave you to your class. Thank you, Severus. I will see you at dinner.' With that, he left.
Snape held back a sigh as the first students began trickling into the classroom. Obviously, Dumbledore wanted him to find out for himself the explanation of his strange behaviour. Judging by the oblique reference the old man had made to him missing lunch, which was right after his class, the answer would only come with a significant amount of research on his part, and was quite important. The old wizard obviously had a wonderful surprise in store for him, and couldn't wait for him to discover it. Great.
He hated it when he did that.
***
The windows of the library were growing dark when Snape finally slammed shut the last book he was reading. He was fairly certain he had the answer. No, strike that, he definitely did have the answer, and he did not like it one bit.
The headmaster had made careful reference to the fact that Snape and the girl had bled all over each other. Obviously, the important factor here was blood. Lots of blood. And, after exposing each other to their open wounds, they now shared it.
Which, according to the texts on Wiccan culture, meant that they were bound together. And not just in the metaphorical sense, such as oversentimental heroes all too oft used as a masculine performance of their solidarity. No, by sharing blood, he and this girl were bound; mind, thought, and feeling.
Ugh. Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling. As usual, he had a headache.
Wiccans put great faith in themselves; it was, according to leading theorists, the strength behind their culture. Blood was an important factor in all aspects of humanity, especially magical communities. Wizard blood could be used in especially potent magical potions, and even muggles, in their usual confused manner, valued the strength of blood. Covens shared blood ties; not simply through birth, but through marriage and handbound friendship. When a Wiccan came of age, an open cut on the hand of every other member of the group was placed on their skin, linking them irrevocably. The blood on their skin provided a spiritual link that could only be banished through intense ceremony.
When blood was transferred back and forth between two parties, however, the link was even more intense. Those linked could sense the feelings, even the thoughts of the other person. Parents and children could communicate without words. Those who chose to be handfasted- share blood through placing their bleeding hands together- would share a friendship that would last forever. And forget about casual sex. The strength of blood bonds in this type of magic brought an entirely new meaning to the term 'sexually transmitted.'
In other words, Severus Snape was in deep shit.
But at least the strange feelings of the last few weeks were explained. Quite neatly.
Briefly, he clenched his hands on the table. The girl would have to be told, if she didn't already know. They were now linked; they were at least as close, mentally, as brother and sister. Snape avoided even mentally inserting the word 'marriage'.
Controlling his anger at the situation, he swept out of the library, his mind fixing on one dim hope. The books had spoken of ceremonies to banish the blood tie; surely, a cure for this idiotic link could be found.
***
Hermione looked up at the sound of the library doors closing. Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed someone else was even there. With a shrug, she turned back to her book.
Harry and Ron would have smiled. NEWTs were well and truly over, and here she was, still studying. Hermione had found it was a habit that she could not give up, especially now that she was back at Hogwarts. There was still so much to learn.
Figuring that, as technically neither a student nor a staff member, she would not be allowed to borrow books for non-academic purposes, Hermione had taken to spending a lot of her spare time in the silent avenues of the library. It was practically her favourite place in the castle, anyway, much more familiar than her new spacious quarters.
She sat back, and stretched her neck. She always felt better after a session in the library, after she could immerse herself in the history, the theory, the pure knowledge that the thousands of books held. To be completely honest, after her embarrassing encounter with Snape the night before, she had been startled out of her self-pity. If she was lonely, it was only her fault. Sure, the staff were still stand-offish; it was only natural. But she had her own resources, her own entertainments.
It was actually talking to that girl this morning that had made up her mind for her. When she had walked in with a huge pile of books in her arms, Ailie had looked at her as if she had come from another planet. Hermione had wanted to run away, but she had forced herself to stay. Then, as they had begun to talk, Hermione had realised that the girl had only been reacting to a strange situation, not necessarily to her.
The problem had run through her mind all day as she assisted in classes and took her own, and by lunchtime it had sunk in. If she was unhappy, no one would do anything about it but her. She was an adult now, and should act like it.
Hermione, with her usual attitude to projects, had begun to plan. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she was determined to go to Hogsmeade. If the other teachers there invited her to join them in their wanderings, so much the better; if they did not, then she was entirely capable of enjoying herself. Afterward, she had arranged to have tea with Hagrid, who had been delighted at the suggestion and had almost suffocated her in a hug. And on Sunday, Hermione was determined to begin the real Plan: she would invite Minerva McGonagall to have tea with her, and they would have a nice chat, like real adults.
Hermione let out a breath. She hoped it would work. When she had been Head Girl, she and McGonagall had been able to chat in a way that she had assumed was adult. Now, however, they rarely talked in the same way, Hermione assuming that the talks had simply been a part of the teacher's responsibilities to her students. It was part of her assumption that had guided the way she interacted with all the teachers, actually. However, when she thought about it, she realised that she had never really given it a try. It might have been her own fault if the teachers still treated her as a student. Besides, if she was to become a teacher at Hogwarts, the other teachers would simply have to get over her once having been a student.
And now it was time for another part of her plan. Dumbledore had practically instructed her to make friends with the girl in the infirmary, and she had no objection. Ailie was, after all, an intriguing sort of person, and Hermione's natural curiosity had a hard time ignoring the need to investigate. Besides, it would be nice to talk to someone of her own age for once- something she had not done in the last month.
Neatly putting away the books she had been reading, Hermione headed for the infirmary.
***
Snape had been pleasantly surprised to find the girl, for the second time in a row, asleep. For a moment, he stood over her, examining what was flowing through him.
Now that he had a solid explanation, the feelings he had were easily identifiable. He could feel the girl's worry, and her slowly ebbing grief over her trauma. He could also feel her need for revenge, quite strong, unfortunately. He sighed. Revenge had never got anyone anywhere. What was that muggle saying that Dumbledore had told him as a boy?- Something about it best being cold. He well knew the truth of it. Though it was less satisfying to bide time, waiting as the fury slowly ebbed and one barely felt anything any more, it was certainly the most sensible option. If only because those who had inflicted the harm had stopped expecting retaliation. Their guard was down. Besides, the satisfaction of heated emotion was rarely worth it.
Suddenly, the girl's eyes snapped open, and the familiar look of fury covered her face. Before she could raise her hand, Snape snapped his fingers, forcing her arms under the sheet that covered her, safely out of harm's way. She opened her mouth- Snape could see by the fire in her eye that it was with the intention of yelling at him- and he muttered a charm, designed for such situations. It would render her voiceless unless she assumed a calm tone- a spell that had come in handy quite a few times over his years as a teacher.
A few entertaining minutes were spent watching the girl noiselessly mouth words at him, her fury growing when she heard no sound. It took her a full ten minutes to calm down, and another three to realise that she could speak if she did not yell.
'Why,' she said, with a voice edged with fury, 'have you done this to me?'
'At last I get to hear your true melodious tones,' Snape said calmly. 'It was difficult to discern them under that harpy's screech.'
'Why, you-'
Another minute was spent in furious silence. Snape raised an eyebrow. The girl may not have been actually speaking, but the words she was mouthing would have made Madame Pomfrey blush, if she had been in the room to see them. Unfortunately, since the girl had switched to English, her insults had gained the clarity of technicolour.
Eventually she calmed down, forcing her voice into a low growl. 'When I get out of here, I will take a knife and-'
'I think that's about enough.' Snape sent her a glare. 'You have been suffering under some misapprehensions- and your anger is justified, I will admit. But I will no longer tolerate your childish outbursts.'
'Fuck you.'
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I think not. Now, if you have quite finished-'
Muttering under her breath, the girl stared at Snape intently. It may have been in Gaelic, but Snape knew a curse when he heard one. He was just raising his wand when a confused look came over her face, and she stopped speaking. At her frustrated look, Snape had a flash of comprehension.
'Not working, is it?' he asked with dry satisfaction. At least the little witch couldn't hex him all the way to Hogsmeade.
Ailie simply glared at him.
Ignoring it, Snape continued, 'I have come to inform you of an interesting development. Professor Dumbledore instructed me-' it was practically true- 'to research some odd effects which, apparently, both you and I have exhibited since the night of the last revel.' At that, a familiar look came over the girl's face and Snape spent another amused moment watching her facial contortions as she tried to yell at him. He held up a hand to halt her, though she took no notice. This was fun. 'I am afraid I cannot inform you of what I have found unless you calm down and cease behaving like the harpy I have no doubt you really are-'
His enjoyable speech was cut off by a loud gasp from the direction of the curtain. Startled, Snape twirled around to see the Granger girl standing with a shocked look on her face, one which was quickly turning to anger as she took in the struggling girl and the ominous Potions Master. Snape inwardly sighed. From past experiences- many, unfortunately- he knew what conclusions the girl would draw. He was just opening his mouth to speak when she beat him to it.
'Professor Snape! How dare you-' With startling speed, the girl was beside the bed, muttering enchantments to release the bedridden witch. Snape had to admit he was impressed- the hexes were ones which he had learnt years after being a student. All too soon, the Ailie girl had regained her voice, and the infirmary rang with her yells. Miss Granger simply stood with her arm around the girl, glaring at the Potions Master.
With his usual knack for knowing where the problems were, the Headmaster quickly appeared around the curtain. Snape was completely unsurprised.
In a simple gesture, Dumbledore indicated that the noise level would be better at a less than ear-splitting level, and Ailie quieted. The headmaster turned his gaze to Snape.
'Severus, I see you have informed our guest of your mutual problem,' he said.
Snape shook his head. 'Unfortunately, Miss Granger here-' he indicated Hermione with a glare, 'interrupted us before we could discuss it.'
'Discuss it!' Hermione's voice was incredulous, but at Snape's continued glare, she lowered her eyes to the floor, and remained silent.
Ailie looked from one to the other, incredulous. She turned to Dumbledore. 'That-' she pointed to Snape, 'man placed curses on me to trap me and take away my voice, and then he insulted me, and reminded me of what he had done.' She finished with a Gaelic insult that Snape recognised as something particularly unflattering. He raised an eyebrow at her, which earned him another stare. Eventually, Snape realised that Dumbledore was waiting for an explanation.
With an annoyed flutter of his hand, Snape elucidated, 'I could find no other way of talking to her.' Ailie snorted in disbelief.
Dumbledore sent Snape a knowing glance, and the Potions Master looked away. He knew what the old man was thinking, and didn't like the feeling that he had been behaving like a child.
'Well, Severus, as you now have Ailie's complete attention, perhaps it would be a good time to inform her of your discovery?'
Snape sent the old wizard an annoyed glare, and turned to the young women. Ailie still had a hold of Miss Granger's hand, though the other girl was still staring at the ground.
'You,' he managed in a cold tone, 'are a member of the Wiccan faith. When I brought you to Hogwarts both you and myself had a variety of bleeding cuts upon our persons. In other words, we have, due to unfortunate circumstances, shared blood. You should know the consequences.' From the shocked look on the girl's face, she did. 'We felt you should know.' With a polite bow to Dumbledore, Snape left. It was not required of him to make further comment.
Behind him, Ailie was grasping for words. Dumbledore looked at her kindlily. Hermione turned to her, concerned.
At Hermione's enquiring look, Ailie gestured for them both to sit down on the bed. She had trouble ordering her turbulent thoughts.
'What he just said- that dark one- means that he and I are linked. Joined.' Hermione continued to look puzzled, and Ailie looked to Dumbledore for help.
'It means that they are soulmates,' the old man said with a chuckle. 'Or, rather, that they can feel what the other is feeling, and occasionally even know what they are thinking.'
'I hope he can sense what I am thinking now,' Ailie said darkly. Dumbledore chuckled.
Hermione looked up at him. 'Is it true, though? Are they really- linked?'
Dumbledore nodded, his mischievous smile disappearing. 'I'm not sure what we can do about this, my dear. I am not familiar with the procedures needed to break a blood-link-'
'There are none.' Ailie's eyes were bleak. 'None that could be done without the help of my entire coven, and his coven. And he doesn't have one.'
Hermione automatically put a protecting arm around her new friend, and Ailie smiled at her. Hermione smiled back.
'Perhaps I can find a cure in the books in the library,' she suggested, glancing up at Dumbledore. At the shake of his head, she added, 'Or I could go to the Greater London Wizarding Archive. There's sure to be something there-'
'I'm sure you want to help, my child, but if Ailie says it cannot be done, I'm afraid we must believe her. There are very few texts on Wicca, unfortunately,' said Dumbledore in a regretful tone.
Ailie put her arm around Hermione and gave her a squeeze. 'Thank you for wanting to help, though.' She sighed, and looked at Dumbledore. 'I suppose I will just have to put up with it. Do you think that he is the reason I cannot contact my coven?'
The headmaster shook his head. 'Severus's blood is not as potent as yours. It should not affect your abilities.'
Ailie sighed. Perhaps she had been purged from the coven after all.
Dumbledore took his leave, and Hermione did her best to entertain her new friend. Ailie was grateful. It was good to have someone friendly to talk to, and to think about things that were relatively unimportant. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone who was familiar with the castle. It would help her get her revenge on Severus Snape.