Chapter Four - The Timetable is a Chessboard

On Sunday the sixth of September the full moon was blanketed by heavy cloud, and by midnight the castle corridors were swathed in a ghostly blackness. The little Henri Jacot carriage clock that graced the mantle shelf in Snape's bedchamber chimed a quarter to midnight on its discrete, double-note gong. Had Snape been there he would probably have been awake to hear it. But he was not in his dungeon chambers. Unable to sleep, he was roaming the castle corridors. This was not an unusual event. Snape habitually slept badly, and too frequently had to resort to taking the Dreamless Sleep Potion to ensure a trouble-free night's rest.

But quite often – sometimes merely out of preference, on occasions because of psychological need and sometimes through concern for the safety of the school – he walked the darkened corridors. As a Head of House he shared responsibilities for discipline and security; responsibilities he took seriously. Furthermore, the school had seen very troubled times over the past two decades and Snape had born a major portion of the task of confronting this.

Snape had lived in the castle for so many years that moving noiselessly around in the gloom had become a fine art. Gliding like a serpent, he turned a corner and saw a faint light coming from a gap in the wall to his left. Soft footsteps were pattering down a narrow staircase that opened into the wall of the corridor ahead. Wand at the ready, he stepped swiftly into the narrow staircase entrance. Recognising the figure, he dodged from side to side in front of her, blocking her path. The pattering footsteps had, as he had suspected, belonged to Madeline Hooch. The faint light was coming from her wand.

"Stop it, Severus" she protested, punching his chest as he continued to dodge in front of her.

In the confined space he bore down on her, trying to intimidate her, making her back against the wall. He raised his left arm level with her neck; the palm of his hand pressing against the cold stone behind her right ear. A diamond stud twinkled at its lobe; he lifted his thumb away from the wall and ran it along the edge of her ear, watching the jewel sparkle like a tiny star.

"And why is a pretty witch such as yourself, roaming these corridors at this ungodly hour?" he purred. "You might run into goodness knows what unsavoury character."

"Obviously I just have" she replied serenely, the corners of her mouth twitching in a smile. Her yellow hawk-like eyes mocked him.

His own eyes smouldered as they raked her face. Lazily his gaze travelled down towards her feet. She wore a black silk robe and, he suspected, very little underneath it. Her feet were bare. It occurred to him that she might be making her way back from a secret rendezvous, and he didn't need much of a guess as to whom she might have been seeing. "Sirius Black" he pronounced dryly, standing back and dropping his arm out of her way. "I suppose you've been keeping him company." Snape's tone sounded cold and disapproving, and his compressed lips showed distaste as he thrust his wand back into his sleeve. His nostrils flared – he fancied he could almost smell the presence of Black on her.

"Your old sparring partner?" Hooch asked derisively. "You sure about–?" But her reply was cut short by a yell and the sound of Peeves cackling laughter.

They both turned and pounded up the stairs, Hooch's strong legs covering the ground at a surprising rate. Side by side they pelted along an upper corridor and came face to face with Peeves the poltergeist, Liam O'Grady a third year Gryffindor student, and a tray of fresh cream donuts. O'Grady was notorious for stealing food from the kitchens and Peeves had no doubt captured the tray from him. He was hurling donuts like missiles, and O'Grady, wand in hand, was trying to defend himself. The result was that cream and jam repeatedly splattered the walls and O'Grady's dark blue pyjamas.

"Peeves!" Hooch's voice sounded like a whip crack.

O'Grady froze.

Peeves looked down at the two teachers, both of whom had their wands pointing at him. Snape looked particularly murderous and Hooch was never an easy target, so the poltergeist decided it was time to withdraw. He quickly selected the biggest of the remaining donuts, let the tray crash to the floor and simultaneously launched the donut upwards. It exploded spectacularly like a grenade above the teachers' heads and with a last delighted cackle Peeves zoomed away.

Snape wiped cream and jam from his cheek and licked his fingers. "Ten points from Gryffindor, O'Grady" he murmured. "And detention. Stealing food already, and term hardly started? Don't you get fed in the holidays, boy? Pick up that tray, and those fragments of cake. We are going to pay a visit to Mr Filch. Oh, and a word to the wise, O'Grady – if you had used the Impediment Jinx instead of the Deletrius spell, even a butter-fingers like you would have been able to catch the donuts. Instead of plastering the walls with them."

In total silence they walked to Filch's office, O'Grady leading the way, Snape and Hooch exchanging wry grins behind him. Filch's door was standing open and without hesitation Snape marched the student inside.

"Young Mr O'Grady has been redecorating the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor" Snape informed Filch. "He would like you to take a look at his handiwork." He paused, thinking. "If you don't mind Filch, I would like you to deal with this and see that O'Grady returns safely to his common room?"

"Oh– Yez– O'course, Professor" Filch replied. He was slightly puzzled by this; teachers normally escorted students back to their quarters.

"Excellent" Snape said. "O'Grady, I will be speaking to your Head of House to arrange your detention. Good night to you."

In an elegant flounce of robes Snape withdrew from the Caretaker's office. He was gratified to see Hooch waiting for him further along the corridor.

"Now … Where were we?" he drawled, gliding up to her. Jam was matted in his hair. A dribble of cream was making its ponderous way from a black eyebrow down towards the bridge of his nose. Hooch could feel him motionless as a cat ready to spring, as she reached up to wipe the cream away. "Come down to my chamber and I'll let you lick it off" Snape purred softly. "Then I'll smother you in cream and do the same for you. Aawwll over."

"I'll bet you would" Hooch replied in a calculating tone. Licking her index finger, she made to turn away.

"Best offer you'll have all night, Milady."

She turned and considered him. "Second best" she concluded, and giving him her trademark impish smile she continued to walk away.

Being described as second best to Sirius Black, if indeed it was Sirius Black, was something of a blow to Snape's pride, but then the feisty Flying Instructor had intended nothing less. It would be demeaning to chase after her, he decided, and at length Snape made his way back to his dungeon chambers.

He brewed a goblet of potion and left it steaming on his bedside cabinet. Then he took off his soiled clothes, treated the spots with his wand, and piled them into the laundry basket for the house-elves to deal with. He took a hot shower, shampooing his hair vigorously to get rid of the cream and jam. Finally he sat up in bed sipping the still steaming potion and occasionally rubbing a towel over his hair. He hadn't resorted to brewing Dreamless Sleep tonight, but the concoction he had chosen would help him to relax. Finally he settled down between the crisp white sheets and thought of Madeline in her rustling black silks. He thought too of Celeste. Lascivious images of both witches crowded his overheated brain and he became strongly aroused. However that was, as always, easily and most pleasurably dealt with. Before the carriage clock chimed two, the Head of Slytherin had drifted into a pleasant sleep.

The following morning Celeste sat in silence finishing her breakfast. Filch did not usually take breakfast or lunch in the Great Hall, Hagrid tended to prepare early for his lessons and Hooch was at a pre-class Quidditch Planning Meeting with McGonagall, so for once Celeste was alone. Snape eyed her warily from time to time, but she seemed always composed and self-possessed. She wore plain black work robes and her chestnut hair was tied with a stiffly-ribbed black ribbon into a low pony tail. Unlike many witches she wore no hat. Having finished her muesli she had sliced the top off a boiled egg. A copy of the Daily Prophet was folded and propped against her orange juice so that she could read as she ate. She seemed used to eating alone. She never glanced in his direction. Finally Snape got up and walked past her.

"Good morning, Miss Lavelle." He stared haughtily down at her and carried on speaking; not giving her a chance to reply. "You have double Potions with me first thing today. Be so kind as to attend my classroom at nine-fifteen. My classroom is in the dungeons; I assume you can find it."

"Good morning, Professor" Celeste replied. "Yes, I can find my way, thank you. Nine-fifteen? As you wish." As she finished speaking Snape was already gliding away.

He's different this morning, she said to herself. He's as unfriendly as ever; that velvet purr is as cosy as a lion revelling in the prospect of a kill. Yet there's something different about him; about his appearance.

At nine-fifteen precisely Celeste knocked and was opening the classroom door as Snape called "Come in" in his bored, cold tones.

"Ah, Miss Lavelle. Come in." Snape was cool and yet almost gracious. "You may sit here." He indicated a chair set at an angle between the class and his desk, and three or four feet to the right of his own chair. "We have Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years this morning, for which I understand I must thank you." A ghostly parody of a smile appeared at his lips as he inclined his head in a bow of mock gratitude. "I intend to start them off with a solution to cure boils. It gives them an easy start."

"Do you want the ingredients written up on the board, Professor?"

"Err– Yes … Thank you." He sounded more taken aback than pleased, but it seemed he wanted it done.

He handed Celeste a leaf of parchment from his notes and she noticed his handwriting was even, but spiky and not easy to read – it had something of a tortured look. However she decided to do her best with it and only ask for his help if absolutely necessary. She pointed her wand at a stick of chalk, muttered 'Scribario', then pocked her wand and read softly from the parchment as she held the chalk an inch from the surface of the blackboard. A fine white column of dust emerged from the chalk and formed words on the board. Annoyed but impressed, Snape stood back to watch her, then when she was virtually finished he threw open the dungeon door and summoned the students inside.

He took the register, pausing sometimes to look at certain students and check their names. He looked long at a girl named Jasmina Lestrange and at a boy named Marcus Avery. Finally he laid down his quill, sauntered in front of his desk, leant against it looking utterly at ease, and began to teach.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making…" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it filled the dungeon. Everyone's eyes were riveted upon him. Nobody moved. "…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death…"

The class was transfixed. Celeste was transfixed. He was almost like a priest intoning a prayer. As the lesson proceeded, that opening speech reverberated at times in her head. Here was a man deeply in love with his subject. It was as if he had cast a net over the students and drawn them to him. It was a revelation. At the end of the lesson she supervised the students cleaning their cauldrons and putting away their excess ingredients. A thought suddenly struck her. As the classroom emptied she turned and looked at Snape. Yes, she was right! He had washed his hair! No greasy black ropes today; the jet black hair falling almost to his shoulders was lustrous, and his pallid skin looked a little healthier too.

The students had gone and Snape became aware of her gaze. "Anything wrong, Miss Lavelle?" It was a cold and imperious challenge.

"Do you always introduce your subject in that way?"

"Yes" he responded curtly. Seeing her ponder his reply, his lips creased into a sneer. "Only in the first years' first lesson obviously. I assure you the Gryffindors are far less impressed by it."

"It's quite inspirational" she whispered. She gave him an insightful look and then turned and walked slowly towards the door. "Thank you, Professor" she called, and closed the door behind her.

Snape's worst fear had so far not been realised. Celeste's presence at his classes had not been a problem and he grudgingly had to admit to himself that she was helpful, thoughtful and responsible. Furthermore, she could even read his handwriting, and never complained about it – that was a first! But even so, he would rather she was not there, so he proceeded to devise a plan. He persuaded Madeline Hooch that Celeste's assistance at flying lessons would be useful. At Beauxbaton, Celeste had played Quidditch for her House team, as Seeker in the second year, and then as she grew stronger and heavier, as Beater – a tough job for any girl. She was therefore a skilful flyer and possessed knowledge of the rules of Quidditch. Hooch had no one to cover her lessons, nor anyone usually who could act as Quidditch umpire. Snape had umpired once, but only to protect Harry Potter from being killed by a servant of Lord Voldemort. Although an adequate flyer, Snape was not the world's best and he disliked sports and outdoor pursuits of any kind.

"Just tell me why you want this, Severus?" Hooch asked suspiciously. She had posed the question for a second time and did not want to do without an answer. Her hawk-like eyes were fixed hard upon him.

"You know it's sensible, Maddie" he purred. "Just give the girl a chance."

"Give the girl a chance?" Hooch was so taken aback she spluttered her drink, as they sat together in The Three Broomsticks. "It's you, I believe, who didn't want to give her a chance! You're up to something" she added slyly. "You're always up to something."

"Nonsense; you've got me all wrong" he insisted softly, gazing imploringly into her yellow eyes.

"You forget I know you of old. You never did anything without some deep purpose. But why should I do anything for you?" she asked archly.

As he considered this Snape ran a sensitive finger around the rim of his goblet. "Because … you have … just the tiniest of soft spots for me?" he suggested.

"You? You give me the creeps!" She sat back and smiled. "I'm thinking it over. And while I am, you can get me another gin and tonic."

But as she watched Snape at the bar, ordering a gin and tonic and a goblet of red wine from Madam Rosmerta, Hooch had to admit to herself that she did have a soft spot for him. She had known Severus Snape since he was eleven years old. He could be witty. He could even be fun. He was always challenging. True, he did almost give her the creeps. She didn't trust him, and he could at times be exasperatingly childish. But there was something slightly tempting about his very dangerousness. A dark man with a dark past who dressed in immaculate black. He was taking better care of himself these days, she noticed. His hair was always clean and his teeth were not so yellow.

"OK" she said resignedly as he placed the glass in front of her. "OK. I'll sound her out about it, and McGonagall. Though why I should do you any favours, I don't know. Must be soft in the head. That's where my soft spot is for you, Severus – in my head!"

Snape grinned wolfishly and took a large draught of wine. One down, two to go, he thought.

Celeste's timetable was full. If she was to be available to assist with flying lessons, something had to give. Because of the way she and McGonagall had drawn up the original timetable, Flying lessons tended to clash with Charms. So Flitwick was the one to work on next. However Felix Flitwick, the kindly and co-operative Head of Ravenclaw House, needed no alcohol to lubricate his agreeability. He was perfectly happy to let Celeste swap her planned Charms slot for Monday mornings. McGonagall was deeply suspicious that the hand of Snape was behind this, but after much persuasion and explanation from several quarters, she eventually agreed that the alterations to Celeste's training schedule could take effect from Monday October 26th.

Snape was jubilant – he had secured Monday mornings to himself even before Hallowe'en. Celeste was pleased to be involved in flying lessons and to have the prospect of umpiring Quidditch, but she too had her suspicions. She guessed Snape had engineered this to get her away from his Potions classes. The very thought left her angry and surprised, and as Quidditch matches took place on Saturdays, this wasn't always very convenient for her.

Nevertheless, Celeste was beginning to settle in to the scholastic side of life at Hogwarts. Being naturally conscientious, she got on well with the permanent staff, particularly Vector, Sprout and Hooch whose subjects she liked, McGonagall who approved of Celeste's attitude and admired her unpretentious worldliness, and Flitwick who was favourably disposed to anyone of a friendly and fun-loving but hard-working disposition.

As Hallowe'en approached Snape puzzled more about Carmina. October 31st was his birthday and he remembered that the meeting with Carmina was scheduled for the following day, but he still had no idea who this witch could be. Meanwhile Celeste had a habit of disappearing at odd times for an hour or so. She also left the school for the whole day, regularly on the first Saturday of each month. He had seen her flying off in the direction of Hogsmeade, sitting side-saddle on a broom in her long denim skirt. During weekdays she often received letters and sometimes small packages, but never disclosed their contents in his hearing. Dumbledore and McGonagall would not be drawn into discussing her private affairs, and, apart from Hooch and Sinistra, none of the other staff were likely to know much in the way of personal details. Not that he could openly ask anyone – he didn't want his interest to be noticed.

Remembering Celeste's other cryptic diary entry, Snape looked up the FL H+ grid reference in an atlas in the library, and very early on Sunday 18th October he Apparated at the spot. He found himself in the middle of a damp village green at Chesholme. Cottages surrounded most of the green, and to one side was a church swathed in scaffolding and with builders' equipment littering the grounds. The village was dark, deserted and soaked in dew. Apart from the church and the cottages there was a General Store which contained a Post Office and also a public house – The King's Head. No one was about at that unearthly hour on a cold autumn Sunday. After a cursory walk around narrow lanes choked with parked cars, Snape cut his losses, and returned home – Apparating at Hogsmeade where he had parked a broom.

Having drawn a blank on his own, Snape decided to follow Celeste on her next mysterious journey. He didn't have long to wait. It took place on the Saturday before Hallowe'en. After breakfast she calmly walked out to the broomshed near the Quidditch Pitch, selected a school broom and rode off. He did likewise, following her at a distance and hoping she wasn't intending to travel far – although an adequately strong flyer, he disliked this as much as he did most outdoor activities and he rarely made it his choice of transport.

To his relief, Celeste flew less than a dozen miles. She landed at the farmhouse belonging to the estate that bordered the school, parked her broom and went inside. Snape flew around, unsure of what to do. Then he landed at the far side of a copse, hid his broom and began to thread his way between the trees, making for the farmhouse.

He stopped, still just undercover. A farm-hand was leading two horses around to the front door. As Snape watched, Celeste and a tall blonde witch came into view. Assisted by the farm-hand they mounted the horses and trotted off, the blonde witch in the lead. Feeling at a loss, Snape listened to the splatters of the horse-hooves in the gravel of the yard. The sound changed to deeper thuds as the horses turned down a muddy grass track. Both witches rode well. They would soon be lost to view.

Returning to his broom, Snape tried to follow, but it was hopeless. They were cantering between orderly fields of neeps and carrot, so there was no cover. He considered flying after them in his Animagus form but immediately ruled it out – a bat would never keep up with these horses and he still might be seen. Eventually he was forced to fly back to the farmhouse. He parked near the door, noticing a sign which read

Hogallen Farm

Organic Produce

Farm Shop – Vegetables – Plants – Herbs – Aromatherapy Products

Additive-Fee Meat – High Welfare Conditions – On-Site Butchery

Licensed Abattoir: licence number 25376645

-

Proprietor: Helen Kirkpatrick

-

All Enquiries to Farm Manager's Office

He was quickly spotted by another farm-hand who asked him his business, and he found himself stumped for an adequate reply. What is happening to me, he thought frantically. Am I losing my touch? Am I getting old? Am I bewitched? In desperation he said he had a message for Miss Lavelle.

"Mizz Lavelle?" the man drawled irritatingly, in a Dorset accent Snape didn't recognise. "Woul' that be the visitor who rode off wi' Miss Pennyfeather? She got an appointment wi' the Farm Manager. She won't be back for a long time. Do yer want summun ter go an' fine 'er?"

"Err, no that won't be necessary" Snape said hurriedly. "Just ask her to, uhm, see Professor McGonagall on her return to school. Good day to you."

"Ah, who shall I say call–?" the farm-hand started to ask, but Snape was already flying away.

Professor McGonagall was understandably mystified when an hour later Celeste appeared at her office door.

"No, I'm not expecting to see you about anything" she insisted. "No, I sent no message. Anyway, was your trip successful?"

"Yes. I'm confident they'll offer good terms" Celeste replied. "They're putting together the tender document now. It should arrive in a couple of days and then I can go through it with Alfonso. Once we're happy with it, we can go through it with you and draw up the contract. After that mix up about the hire charges in the summer, they seem to want to get this right."

"Well, at least we got a credit note" McGonagall said. "Sorry I jumped down your throat over that. I didn't realise you'd already got that underway."

"I learned a sharp lesson about being clear about the terms!" Celeste admitted.

Dumbledore looked down the laden tables at the Hallowe'en Feast. Happy and excited, all the students were busy tucking in to the contents of the golden platters. The food, always very good, was this time exceptional – the new food contract with Hogallen Farm was bearing its first fruits.

Quietly, the Headmaster surveyed the top table. Sprout sat, as usual, at his left. She had finished her third helping of Tricky Treat and was reaching for a Gnarled Warlock's Finger to dip in her black coffee. Beyond her, Flitwick was finishing his wine and listening to Sinistra divulging a no doubt outrageous piece of gossip; looking merrily aghast at her revelations. And beyond Sinistra, Hagrid and Filch seemed to be having a surreptitious drinking contest. In their midst, Celeste was pouring over a diary with Hooch looking on.

Dumbledore turned his head. To his right, a slight smile playing on her lips as she too surveyed the scene, McGonagall was sitting calmly at his side. At the far end of the table Black sat in silence, awaiting Hooch's return. Between Black and Snape, Professor Vector's chair was empty, and closer, just beyond McGonagall, Snape also sat in silent contemplation of the feast. What of Snape? Dumbledore watched as the Head of Slytherin pulled a small glass phial from his robe and poured its contents into his pumpkin juice. He lifted the goblet to his lips, paused as if to drink a toast – indeed Dumbledore could have sworn his lips moved – then he took a deep draft. Of course! Dumbledore left his seat and, unnoticed, approached Snape's right elbow.

"Happy birthday, Severus" he said softly.

Snape jumped and mumbled a thank you. He wasn't used to anyone remembering his birthday, not even Hooch. Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder, and then made way for Professor Vector who was returning to her chair.

Pearly laughter cut across Snape's thoughts as he drained his goblet; Celeste and Hooch were sharing a joke. Celeste snapped her diary shut; Hooch made a remark; they both glanced in Snape's direction and then looked quickly away, trying not to laugh. Damn them, he thought. His eyes narrowed as he watched the two witches. As the feast had begun to draw to a close, Hooch had dragged a spare chair over to sit and talk to Celeste – they appeared to get on very well together. They had become friends very quickly. Celeste was also annoyingly 'close' to McGonagall; the little fracas over the hire charges had quickly blown over. And she was on very friendly terms with Sprout. Could it be, Snape wondered. What was it the Beauxbaton boys had called her; Celeste the Unattainable? Could it be that she preferred female company to male? But surely the Beauxbaton girls would have known, there would be rumours, Sinistra would wheedle it out of her daughter. But perhaps Celeste had been too careful to risk physical involvement with a fellow female student. But what of Hooch and Black – had his suspicions been wrong about them?

It was getting late. The Hall was starting to empty and Snape decided to head for his dungeon lair. As he passed Celeste and Hooch, he lent over them and spoke. "Having a good time, ladies? I do like to see two pretty witches enjoying each other." They looked up in bewilderment, but he was already striding out of the Hall.

"What is wrong with that man?" Celeste asked in exasperation, glaring angrily at his retreating back.

"He's his own worst enemy" Hooch replied. "He's had a rough life, has Severus; much of it his own fault. He's a dark man with a dark past and it's just best to steer clear of him. Get involved and you're gonna end up feeling like you're responsible for bringing the world to an end. Yes, OK, he's got his good points" she conceded, seeing Celeste's questioning look. "He's tough in a crisis, is Severus. Fearless. But there's a sort of blackness in that man's soul that's destructive. Are you drinking that wine? No? Hand it over. Thanks."

"He hates me" Celeste said, passing the carafe to Hooch. "I just don't know what I've done wrong."

Hooch snorted. "You're not the first person to feel like that! Just remember kid, beneath that stone-hard exterior there's a stone-hard interior always fighting to get out!"

Snape watched Celeste as much as possible through the following day but there was no sign of anything unusual about her Sunday routine. She went for an early morning run. At breakfast she received quite a lot of post which as usual she did not open at the table. She worked in one of the greenhouses until lunchtime. At lunch she seemed a little down-in-the-dumps, but Dumbledore went over to chat to her and soon got her smiling. In the afternoon she and Hagrid went for a walk in the forest; Hagrid's boarhound Fang bounding around them. At tea time they returned from the forest and went into Hagrid's cabin. By half past six Celeste was playing exploding snap in the staff room with Flitwick. After that she went to change for dinner – gracing the Great Hall in her emerald dress and robe, and gold jewellery. She chatted with Filch and Hagrid at dinner, and then soon after ten o'clock she headed for her room. Alone. Sunday was drawing to a close and nothing special had happened.

At the end of dinner on the following evening, however, Snape got a shock; Celeste came over to talk to him.

"Professor, if you have finished your meal, may I have a word?"

"Miss Lavelle?"

"A private word?"

Irritably, he looked about as if to find something to save him from this fate. Finally he snapped "Oh … Very well!"

"My room?" Celeste pressed.

His eyebrows arched. "Is that wise?" he sneered in a tone of considerable mockery. However there seemed no denying her this, and in an awkward silence he accompanied the trainee to the sixth floor.

In Celeste's room a cheery fire blazed in the hearth. With a wave of her wand she lit all her candles and he saw a row of birthday cards along the mantle shelf. They were all there, he noticed – Dumbledore, Flitwick, Hagrid and all the other members of The Celestine Lavelle Fan Club.

He took an armchair when invited to sit but refused her offer of tea. She sat at the end of the sofa nearest to his chair, crossed her legs modestly under the long skirt of her carmine dress and draped an elbow on the arm rest. Her gold watch glittered in the firelight as she interlaced her fingers and studied his expression for a few seconds; her large hazel eyes fearlessly scanning his face.

"I don't quite know how to start" she said frankly, "so I'll come straight to the point." Her voice was calm. Briefly she looked down at her fingers and then up again, meeting his gaze. "Why do you not want me to sit in on your Potions classes?"

Although taken aback by such directness, Snape didn't flinch. "What makes you think I don't?" he countered coolly, giving himself time to think.

"I think … that is, I believe … that you manipulated my timetable so that Potions no longer fits into it. I believe you apprised Madam Hooch of my flying ability, and played a sort of chess game with Flying Lessons, Charms and Potions. Potions got knocked off the board, if you follow my metaphor." Celeste's left eyebrow arched; her steady gaze was unnerving.

A hint of colour crept across Snape's pale face. "What is this moonshine? What's Madeline been saying to you?" he asked, careful to keep his voice level.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing" Celeste replied candidly. "But I could ask her. And if I ask her point blank, I don't think she will lie to me." She paused, but he offered no explanation so she continued. "Do I need to go to the extraordinary lengths of getting evidence? I want to know why you don't want me in Potions. I want to know why you have gone out of your way to be unfriendly to me ever since I arrived here."

Yet again he made no reply. His skin had now turned as pale as Arctic snow and his fathomless eyes gazed into hers.

"Have I done you some wrong?" Celeste persisted.

Still refusing to respond, he looked away, into the fire. His mind was racing, and a vein throbbed at his temple. She saw him swallow. His nostrils flared.

She lent forward. "I have seen you teach" she continued softly. "Seven occasions. You love your subject with a passion, and can be quite inspirationally eloquent about it. Yet, you didn't want me to see that."

By now Snape was recovering his composure. When he looked back at her, his eyes blazed with an ill-concealed fury. "You delude yourself, Miss Lavelle" he hissed. "You vastly overestimate your own importance."

"Very well." She leant back again and her voice was calm as she determined to keep control. "I cannot compel you to explain why you are shutting me out, but I will remind you, Professor, I am here to train. I want to learn. And I want to do a good job of work while I'm here. I won't let a situation such as this pass unremarked. If it gets worse I will take matters higher."

"TAKE THEM AS HIGH AS YOU PLEASE!" Snape roared suddenly, leaping to his feet. "I can challenge your placement here if I choose. If need be, I can go to the Ministry."

Puzzled, she looked up at him. "Why would you do that?"

"Call it … a matter of breeding" he whispered, his voice just about back under control.

"What–? You mean– it's because I'm Muggle?" Celeste looked nonplussed. "Didn't all that pureblood prejudice die with the Death Eaters?"

He didn't understand her; she was no longer making any sense. In a whirl of robes he turned to the door, and, wrenching it open he turned back. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" he spat, and was gone.

"THAT WAS YESTERDAY!" she yelled after him down the corridor.

His hurrying figure didn't turn around and he was soon out of sight.

Relations between Celeste and Snape had reached a nadir. Celeste made no particular effort to avoid Snape, but he usually worked hard to avoid her. Everything she did annoyed him more and more, and to make matters worse he seemed unable to keep out of her way. She was studying in the library when he visited it to return back issues of the journal The Potion Maker that he regularly borrowed. And he discovered her working in Greenhouse Five when he called on Amarila Sprout to discuss stocks of dried Coltsfoot and Yarrow leaves. And early one evening in late November, as Snape sat in the staff room trying to finish his Daily Prophet crossword, he found it difficult to concentrate because Celeste and Flitwick were at a table by the window playing with two packs of Exploding Snap cards. Celeste had a red pack, Flitwick's pack was blue, and they were having a house building contest. McGonagall smiled quietly to herself as she watched Snape's mounting irritation.

Flitwick's blue house was five storey's high but Celeste was marginally ahead – she was just starting her sixth layer. Suddenly the base of her red house exploded. The blast caught Flitwick's cards and both houses collapsed in a spectacular shower, whereupon Flitwick and Celeste burst into fits of childish laughter.

"Well that's annihilated Gryffindor and Ravenclaw" Snape sneered. "Haven't got a yellow pack handy, have you Felix? Then Slytherin will rein supreme at last."

Celeste and Flitwick looked at him for a second, and then burst once again into peals of laughter.