Chapter Five - The Swimming Lesson

Christmas was approaching and an end of term feeling was in the air. Celeste was helping McGonagall to make arrangements for any students who would be staying at the school over the Christmas break. The list of names she presented to the Deputy Headmistress was exceedingly short.

"No one?" McGonagall asked in surprise.

"Well, the Wilson twins will be staying for two days, but on Sunday the twentieth their parents come to collect them" Celeste explained.

"Oh well, it will be quiet this year. And what of your plans, Celeste?"

"I would like to leave on the evening of Christmas Eve, spend Christmas Day at home and return here by about half-past eleven. Molly Weasley is putting me up on Christmas Night and I'm breakfasting at The Burrow before going on."

"You can have longer if you like, a good deal longer" McGonagall said kindly. "No students on the premises. We'll have a surfeit of staff and no one to discipline. Classes don't start until Wednesday the sixth. It's up to you."

"Thank you" Celeste replied gratefully. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course. How are things at home?" McGonagall asked sympathetically.

"Not much different I'm afraid" came the sad response.

"I'm sorry, Celeste" McGonagall said with feeling. She sought to change the subject to something the trainee would find less painful. "Celeste, Friday the eighteenth; can you help to decorate the Great Hall? We usually have twelve Christmas trees and swags of holly, mistletoe – you know."

"Of course, Professor. It sounds just my sort of thing."

It was just Celeste's sort of thing. She enjoyed working with Sprout and Hagrid to collect suitable plants and with Flitwick to decide upon how to adorn them. Flitwick usually used charms to decorate the trees. Sitting cross legged on the floor in the Great Hall, they had a lengthy discussion about whether the trees should have clear glass bubbles, icicles, gold stars and moons, silver stars and moons, red bows, gold bows… Celeste said she didn't mind, as long as the decorations were all in the same colour scheme. Flitwick said they always had a mixture. Finally they decided on something he had never tried before; tiny, white-gold sparks of light.

Snape watched them as they waved their wands, bestrewing the greenery with the most beautiful minute flickering sparks. "Oh – how – pretty" he sneered, dragging out each word.

"I suppose you would have preferred silver snakes" Celeste replied with an impish smile. His eyes blazed at her. He glided to the side of the Hall to watch them at work, standing motionless like a shadow.

Celeste was suddenly aware that one of the small, blond, first year twins was at her side, tugging at the sleeve of her track suit. "Do you like the decorations, Jonathan?" she asked him.

"Yes Miss, they're great" he replied softly. "Miss, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It's about flying." His voice was steady but he looked more scared than ever.

"Hold on." Celeste spoke briefly to Flitwick, then took Jonathan to the far side of the Hall, grabbed two chairs and bade him sit down. "Now, how can I help you with flying" she said, sitting sideways in her chair, one foot tucked under her other knee.

"Well–" he seemed lost for words, "I'm just no good at it. I'm rubbish at it!" he said finally. "My brother's OK. You're really good. How do I get good?"

"Just by practice" she assured him. "Practice, practice, practice! You can't learn it from a book. It's a bit like driving a car; the more you do it, the more the machine – the car or the broom – becomes just a part of you."

"How am I going to practice, Miss?"

Celeste thought. "Well, we could use the Quidditch pitch tomorrow morning if you like. It'll be free during the holidays. Let's give it a try, just you and me, see how you get on. If you need regular coaching we'll have to work out how to fit it in. We could talk to Madam Hooch about that. But to start with, how about giving it half an hour tomorrow morning? Say, ten o'clock?"

"Yeah– Yeah, thanks Miss. Miss, can my brother come?"

"I thought it was only you that wanted the practice" Celeste remarked in surprise.

"Yeah, but I'd like him there too" Jonathan admitted.

"Well if he wants to come, that's fine. See you at ten o'clock then. By the broomshed, Jonathan. Don't be late now!" she called to his retreating back.

He turned. "No Miss. Thanks Miss."

He scampered off and Celeste returned to helping Flitwick, limping on the first couple of steps across the Hall because her doubled-up foot had gone to sleep. Snape continued to watch them; his expression as sour as ever.

The flying lesson went quite well but Celeste agreed that Jonathan could do with regular practice; David was better and more confident. As he and his brother were due to go home the following day they decided to wait until the new term before discussing Jonathan's needs with Madam Hooch.

Snape rose earlier than usual for breakfast on Sunday morning. He took the dungeon passage past the kitchen and then the back stairs up to the Great Hall. He could hear singing. As he opened the small door behind the top table the singing became markedly louder. The vast Hall had been cleared except for one long table placed in the centre of the room. To one side, grouped around one of the Christmas trees, stood Alfonso Morelli, the Italian Head Chef, McGonagall, Celeste and the Wilson twins. They were singing carols, with Dumbledore conducting. Morelli had a fine tenor voice, Celeste a respectable mezzo-soprano and McGonagall was doing her best with her usual, slightly wobbly soprano. The twins' voices were enchanting; they sounded like choir boys.

Aware of the opening door, Dumbledore glanced round. "Ah, it will soon be breakfast time and then, alas, we shall have to finish" he said. "Severus, come and join us for one last carol. What shall it be? Who has not chosen? Celeste, it is your turn. What shall we sing?"

"The Coventry Carol is my favourite" Celeste said demurely.

"The Coventry Carol! Lulley lullah, thou little tiny child. Everyone know that?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't believe I do, Headmaster" Snape said in a subtlety unhelpful way. He had glided over to stand just behind Celeste's left shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck. No ear clips today, he said to himself as he surveyed her peach-hued skin. She wore the inevitable black work robe over a grey track suit. The toes of her trainers peeped incongruously from beneath the robe.

"I think you will recognise this carol, Severus, when you hear it. It is quite famous" Dumbledore assured him. "If in doubt, just follow Celeste." His eyes twinkled. Snape looked venomous.

They began to sing. Snape found he did recognise the carol. Silly bloody feminine tune, he said to himself, yet he felt drawn into taking part. He loved music, and was possessed of a mellow baritone voice. He acknowledged that the tune, in reality, had a stately medieval grace, and he sang quite strongly, staring down at Celeste and letting the sound wash over her, relishing the fact that she seemed uneasy about his presence so close behind her…

Apart from a brown owl dropping a small package into Celeste's muesli, breakfast passed uneventfully. At a quarter-to-ten the twins' parents turned up in a carriage from Hogsmeade. They had parked their car by the carriage park at the station as it was impossible to drive right up to the school. Simple engines such as the shredder and the chainsaw worked tolerably well at the edge of the school grounds, but the intricate electronics in a car failed miserably in any closer proximity.

Mr and Mrs Wilson were Muggles. They were accompanied by a wizard neighbour, as they found visits to the school and the complex travel arrangements quite daunting. Dumbledore stood by the Main Entrance doors as Sprout, the boys' House Mistress, descended the steps with Celeste to greet the boys' parents. Hagrid and Filch manhandled the trunks, and David and Jonathan clattered down the steps, bursting with excited tales about their first term.

Dumbledore was suddenly aware that Snape was at his side. "Remember Dennis Creevey arriving here, Severus" he said quietly. "To my mind these two are something like very timid versions of him."

"I suppose they are, Headmaster" Snape agreed. He recalled the younger Creevey boy, now in his fifth year, a once tiny but typically reckless Gryffindor who had fallen into the lake during a storm and arrived at the Sorting ceremony swathed in Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. He had looked like a small, squelchy, black mountain. He had an older brother Colin, equally unsuppressible, now in his final year.

Celeste and Sprout were rounding off their chat with Mr and Mrs Wilson. The boys' parents looked more at ease by the time they set off for home. A gentle sleet fell as Celeste and Sprout stood at the foot of the steps, waving their carriage goodbye.

The school returned to an eerie quietness reminiscent of the summer holidays, and the weather turned damp and unseasonably warm. McGonagall was surprised to see that Snape had not yet left for London, but he seemed content to prowl the school and even, at times, the grounds. In the fine rain of an early morning he once glimpsed Celeste and Hooch jogging side by side down the lane toward Hogsmeade. They were both dressed in lycra and seemed oblivious of the wet weather. They gave no sign as to whether they had seen him. Ringed by a black scrunchie, Celeste's high pony tail swung as she jogged.

As they disappeared from view, Snape pulled the hood of his cloak further forward to shield his face from the rain and he headed back indoors. Seeing them together was curiously painful. He had joked about Madeline having a soft spot for him but he cared for her. There were times when he would like to make love to her – well, more accurately he would like to have sex with her – but he had always been wary of making that too plain because even if she consented it meant involvement, and his feelings towards her were just not that strong. Also he didn't want to risk her outright rejection; he preferred to tease her, and generally keep things on a light-hearted basis. As for her feelings for him? He was sure they would not extend beyond a light-hearted but guarded friendship.

And Celeste? He couldn't begin to describe how he felt about Celeste! If she and Madeline were happy together, why should it bother him? After all it is not as if I have lost anything, he told himself. But their togetherness made him feel as he always did, an outsider; a spectator to other people's happiness.

Late that night he was surprised to find Filch pounding on the door of his chamber, calling hysterically.

"What is it?" Snape snarled as he flung the door open, half-expecting to see some wretched student. A quill was in his hand; he had been marking fourth year homework.

Filch's face was bone-white and he was gibbering. "Miss Celeste– She's in the pool– Bin there ages. I can't– I think–, she's drowned!"

"WHAT? WHERE?" Snape was already running along the dungeon corridor, the quill flung aside.

"Girl Prefects' Barfroom, sir. Sixth floor" Filch whined, hurrying along in his wake. "I called 'n' listened at the door, sir; but I can't 'ear nuffin."

Snape virtually flew up the stairs.

"I can't open the door, sir" Filch called after him. "I think she locks it wiv a spell–"

Filch's cat Mrs Norris was pawing at the bathroom door when Snape turned into the corridor. She fled at the sight of his fearsomely large black shape.

A moment later Filch turned into the corridor, in time to see Snape skidding to a halt in front of the door, his wand at the ready and his voice bellowing. He hadn't wasted time with the subtle Alohomora charm; nor even with the normal Reductor curse. Filch had heard him yell "REDUCTO MAJORIS!" and as the once solid door began to evaporate into a mist, Snape was already entering the bathroom.

The scene before him almost made his heart stop. Eyes closed, Celeste was floating face up in the middle of the pool. She was naked. Her face was serene and only her eyes, nose and mouth were above the water. Her chestnut hair fanned out around her like seaweed. She looked as if she was asleep. Feet first, Snape plunged into the pool. He gasped as very warm water surged up almost to his chest. The water he had displaced poured in a great wave over Celeste, causing her to sink beneath the surface, arms and legs flailing. Snape reached out to find her but in the sudden turbulence she was nowhere to be seen. A second or so later she burst above the surface further away from him, closer to the far edge of the pool. She was coughing, spluttering, wiping her hands over her face and pushing back her hair. Water was glistening on her muscular thighs and streaming off her handsome breasts. Her chest heaved. She was alive!

She was very much alive. She stood up at the pool's shallow end, pulling soft plastic 'No Tone' acoustic plugs from her ears. Her eyes blazed at the two men as she looked from the sodden and anxious-faced Snape in the middle of the pool to the rather shame-faced Filch standing near the water's edge. Hard and dark, her nipples seemed to be pointing at them accusingly.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL D'YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT?" she roared. Her voice echoed sharply off the bathroom's tiled walls and her blazing eyes came to rest on Filch. "YOU! This is YOUR doing!" she shouted as she waded slowly forward, deeper into the pool, angrily pointing a shaking finger in Filch's direction. "You're always trying to take a peek in here when I'm swimming." Swinging back her arm, she smashed it forward across the surface of the pool. "You BASTARD!" she yelled, as a sheet of water and spray lashed across the room. It soaked Snape's hair. Some of it caught Filch.

"We though you had drowned" Snape whispered lamely.

"DROWNED? … OK" she panted, with an angry note of resignation. "Turn around gentlemen. And STAY turned around!" Silently they obeyed her, so she waded to the pool's far edge and heaved herself out. "As it happens, I come prepared in case I have visitors" she informed them.

They could hear the snap of elasticated material and her voice softly cursing, as Celeste struggled to pull a swimming costume over her wet skin. "You can get out of the water now" she called to Snape. "And you are allowed to LOOK" she added, walking to the end of the pool.

Encumbered by his saturated robes, Snape struggled to heave himself out of the water. Filch offered him a hand but Snape refused with a look so poisonous that Filch flinched and drew back from him as the Professor finally hauled himself out. He then turned and saw Celeste climb the diving board. Dimly his brain registered that he recognised her glossy bronze swimming costume from the day he had searched her room. Facing backwards, Celeste balanced for a second, and then took a neat flip off the board, somersaulted once, and cleaved the water so precisely there was hardly a ripple to be seen. She swam the length of the pool in an fast crawl, swam back all the way underwater, then something caught her eye and she headed towards the two men in a lazy breaststroke. She moved like a slim, darting fish; water seeming to be her second home, and with a certain added discomfiture Snape recalled that one of Celeste's names was Leander.

Celeste stopped at the water's edge near to Snape's feet and reached out for something that was floating at the very edge of the pool. A thin sliver of polished ebony, thirteen-and-a-half inches long.

"Your wand?" she asked, handing it up to Snape.

"Thank you" he whispered again. He tipped it up and water poured from it. "I'm sorry, Celeste" he added awkwardly. "We did– We did think you might be in difficulties. Mr Filch couldn't make you hear. We had better go." He looked at Filch. "You have a door to replace tomorrow, Mr Filch" he said acidly, as he stepped out of the spreading puddle of water that had collected around his feet.

"Yez, Professor" Filch muttered.

Celeste watched them go, Snape trying hard to recover a little dignity. She could hear his footfalls squelching along the corridor, and she had noticed that he had addressed her by her first name. She smiled...

With Filch beside him, Snape began his trek back to the dungeons, water still streaming from his winter-weight robes. He tried to dry them with his wand, but without too much success. Finally he gave up and instead rounded on Filch, herding him into a corner. His eyes seared across Filch's face and his lips curled in fury. One-handed, he grabbed a fistful of Filch's robes above the breastbone and dragged the trembling Caretaker towards him, until his own face was only inches above Filch's quivering countenance. "Don't you EVER get me into a situation like that again" he snarled.

"No, Professor" Filch whimpered. "I'm very sorry, sir."

"How long have you been spying on her?"

"I … I don't know what yer me–"

"DON'T give me that" Snape hissed. "I know your habits, Argus. I know your inclinations. That's why she's taken to sealing the door. A wizard can unseal it, but she knows full well that you can not. Doesn't she, Argus. Doesn't she–"

Filch's pallid face was starting to redden as Snape's iron grip pulled the Caretaker's robe tighter around his throat. At last Snape thrust him away. "Stay away from her" he ordered.

"But I 'ave ter work wiv–"

"You KNOW what I mean" Snape roared. "And if I catch you leering down her cleavage again" he continued in a softer voice, "remember, I don't even have to leave my dining chair to reach you with my wand."

With a last, most pointed look at Filch, Snape turned and walked slowly away, wishing his feet didn't squelch so much.

Oblivious of the comical sound of Snape's footsteps, Filch, white faced once more, stared after him, still trembling.

On Christmas Eve, Snape watched Celeste like a hawk, but her behaviour was again disappointingly normal. She went for her usual early run with Hooch, had breakfast, visited the kitchen for a chat with Alfonso Morelli, and then spent the rest of the morning working with Sprout in the greenhouses. During lunch she chatted to Sprout and Hooch. She then took another turn in the greenhouses until tea time. She worked in the library until half an hour before dinner and dined as usual in the company of Hagrid and Filch. Leaving the table early, she went to her room.

Snape flitted around the castle as quietly as he could, trying to keep track of her movements. By ten-to-eleven he was actually considering turning in. Surely she would simply be asleep by now. Whatever had been planned was not going to happen. Or perhaps Celeste had never intended to do anything herself, perhaps the grid reference and the cryptic FL H+ referred to someone else's actions.

The Head of Slytherin returned to his chamber. But he couldn't rest. His instincts warned him to be on the alert – somehow this felt different to All Saints Day. And, he reminded himself, the day was not yet over. He put on his cloak and went outside. It was raining so he raised the hood. He walked around the castle, cursing the cold east wind that struck him as he rounded the corner near to the broomshed.

He froze.

A figure clutching a broom and a gabardine bag was fastening the door of the shed. It mounted the broom and was off.

Snape rushed to the broomshed. He chose a broom at random and mounted, heading the way he thought the figure had gone – towards Hogsmeade. He pulled up at the Village Broom Park behind The Three Broomsticks, but there was no one in sight. There was, however, a school broom in a rack, neatly parked and locked by a spell. Its handle betrayed a trace of warmth.

He didn't know for certain where Celeste had gone, but that hardly mattered as he had already explored the grid reference of the likely destination. Snape parked his own broom out of sight, and then Disapparated, emerging at the grid reference at Chesholme, tweaking his Apparition point slightly as he didn't want to arrive at exactly the same spot as Celeste. He'd have to chance where he emerged.

He found himself on the edge of the village green furthest from the pub but not too far from the church. The scaffolding was gone and there was much slamming of car doors as Muggles arrived and hurried inside, hunched against the cold. The weather was awful – far worse than at Hogsmeade! The rain was pelting down and the gusty wind bitterly cold. The church clock was striking the three-quarter hour; it would soon be midnight. A single bell, tolling at a slow pulse beat, took over as the clock chimes finished. Snape watched as, minutes later, the church door closed. Celeste was nowhere to be seen.

Muted light shone from the curtained windows of a couple of cottages, but the church was the only building that looked busy, so not knowing what else to do, Snape cautiously approached its door. He eased it open and blessed his luck – it turned out to be the outer door in a porch. If he closed it before opening the inner door, there might not be too much of a draught to draw attention to his presence.

Carefully he slipped inside the church. It was bedecked with Christmas foliage and just over half full of Muggles dressed in overcoats, hats and headscarves. Most were kneeling or bent forward in an attitude of prayer. Sitting upright, in a pew to herself at the back of the nave, was a figure in a maroon travelling cloak. Her hood still covered her head so he could not see her face, but he was sure it was Celeste. Snape pressed his back against a shadowy door in a deeply inset doorway and waited. The bell stopped, and as the church clock began to strike the hour he was aware of sounds from behind the door at his back, which unbeknown to him, lead to the Choir Vestry. Crossing hastily in front of the tower's screen, Snape repositioned himself in the church's far corner, pressing his back against the west wall as he stood near to the foot of some steps that lead, via a short corridor, to the Vicar's Office, Vestry, and Sacristy.

The clock completed its twelfth chime. The door to the Choir Vestry opened fully and men in long robes paced majestically along the isle towards the altar.

Eleven Dominican Friars.

Their bare feet were sandaled and their robes were black. Centred at the front, his brothers in two columns behind him, the leading Friar carried a pale yellow altar candle in an iron black holder; its flame casting a dancing light over his face. Unaccompanied by any instrument, the Friars were chanting in Latin:

Hodie, Christus natus est

Hodie Salvator apparuit…

The slow and deliberate pace of their feet fitted the rising and falling of the Latin cadences. Once beyond the communion rail, ten of the Friars filed into the choir stalls; two with three behind them, and to the other side the same pattern was repeated. Their exquisite voices were both sad and uplifting. Among the mingling tones Snape thought he could detect one counter-tenor, three tenors and one bass to each side. After a moment of deference at the altar, the leading Friar took up a position on the step just above the communion rail. His singing voice was – like Snape's own – an arresting, mellow baritone.

Finally a chord from the organ heralded their closing Alleluias, and the chant ended.

An altar boy stepped forward to relieve him of his candle, and the leading Friar began to welcome the congregation to the service.

The service itself was meaningless to Snape. He did not understand the hymns, the prayers, the intonations, the responses, nor the taking of Holy Communion. Celeste seemed to be in a similar position; she sat as a spectator, attentive and quiet, her gaze at times wandering around the beautifully decorated church but mostly resting upon the leading Friar.

As was Snape's! He was riveted to this face even more than Celeste; for this, surely, was the face he had seen in the photograph – the face of Celeste's father. Or was it? This face was less gaunt, less haunted. Or was that just an effect of the short, monkish hairstyle that framed it?

While he spoke, the leading Friar let his eyes stray over the congregation. They rested on Celeste, and – despite the deep shadows at the back of the church – they did not miss Snape. When he felt the power of their deep blue gaze, Snape was reminded of Dumbledore.

The service was not lengthy and when it was over Snape remained quietly in his place, as, followed by the organist and the bell-ringer, ten of the Friars filed out and the congregation made their way to the door, where the leading Friar stood to bid everyone goodnight. A few Muggles glanced in Snape's direction but no one paid him any serious attention because he looked much as the Friars did, black-clad, motionless, and belonging in his surroundings.

A young Friar handed a small object to the leading Friar, muttered something to him and then left the church. The leading Friar returned to the pool of light cast by the altar candle. Celeste lowered her hood, walked forward to greet him, and they embraced. They took seats in a front pew and spoke together in low tones. A Muggle, apparently the church caretaker, approached the Friar and interrupted their conversation. It seemed he wanted to lock the church; he needed them to leave.

"Lock the Main Door, Mr Armstrong" the Friar said. "When we go we will leave via the door near the Vicar's office."

"I usually lock that too, sir; in fact I 'ave done now like. I don' like to leave it jus on the Yale lock, cos o' the Sacristy. And there's money in that office. Cash."

"Then, can you give me the key of the Main Door and I will put it through your letterbox when I leave? Turn off all the lights, and lock up everywhere else" the Friar suggested.

"Yes, sir. Orright then. Yeh won' be too long will yeh? Ony the heatin's off now, see. It'll soon be freezin'. Yeh won' forget the candle, sir." He was walking around, switching switches and checking doors as he spoke.

"I promise not to be long. And I won't forget the candle. Merry Christmas, Mr Armstrong."

"Thank yeh, sir. Merry Christmas, sir; mam."

The latch sounded and he was gone. Celeste and the Friar took up their low conversation once more.

They spoke for over twenty minutes, but to his extreme frustration Snape could not make out a word because they spoke softly, and in rapid French. He debated whether to cast a translation charm, but the rest of the church was so silent that he didn't see how he could do so unobserved.

Snape's legs were growing stiff. He was also beginning to get very cold and to wonder how he was going to get out of the church. He considered stunning the pair of them and slipping away before they awoke, but abandoned that plan in favour of waiting until they had left and then making his Animagus transformation. He could flutter in bat form through a missing section of window in the east face of the North Transept – a tiny damaged section of the leaded light the builders had overlooked during their renovations. However, as he was resolving to do this, the Friar raised his voice and spoke in English once again.

"I will need to return soon, Celeste; but there is someone I would like to speak to before I go." He directed his gaze into the shadows where Snape stood and Snape felt suddenly exposed as if by a spell. The Friar took Celeste's hands in his own. "Are you ready to travel on now?" His voice held the quality of a benediction; Celeste seemed in some way healed by it.

"Yes" she replied simply.

"Give your mother my love; and Lucien if you see him."

"I will."

They embraced briefly once more, kissed cheek to cheek, and bade each other Merry Christmas. Then Celeste raised her hood, picked up her bag, and walked quickly to the door. She didn't look in Snape's direction. The latch clicked, and she was gone…

"She has gone" the Friar called out. "I must not forget to extinguish this candle safely or Mr Armstrong will never forgive me." He picked up the candle and walked slowly towards Snape. "You cannot follow her further tonight. Are you a Professor at Hogwarts?"

Snape was taken aback, and thought for some seconds about his answer. "Yes" he replied guardedly.

"Then be so good as to light your wand; contrary to popular belief I do not see well in total darkness."

Snape pulled out his wand, muttered 'Lumos' and the Friar blew out the candle.

"Is there anything you would like to talk over?" the Friar asked as he paced slowly towards Snape. "I can see you are taken by surprise. This is not what you expected, and I do not have your trust. Very well. That is understandable. I must return, soon, to my Order; but if you ever need to see me you can find me… here." He reached inside his robes and pulled out a business card. "Have you a pen?"

Snape had a quill but no ink, but the Friar found a ballpoint pen on the table by the visitors' book. He left the doused candle there, and wrote on the back of the card; then handed it to Snape.

"That is my name, Fabien Lavelle. I am usually known as Brother Fabien. And that" he said pointedly, "is the grid reference." He tapped a fingernail on a long number he had written beneath his name. Snape turned the card over and saw, beside the emblem of a black dog carrying a red torch, the words The Priory of St Michael the Archangel. The address, telephone and fax numbers were printed underneath. Fabien watched him read. "As yet we do not have a website" the Friar chuckled. "The Priory is near the Kielder Burn. Come, we had better leave. Mr Armstrong will probably not go to sleep until he hears the key drop through his letterbox. Will you walk with me? It isn't far to his cottage."

They stepped into the dark, chilly night. The rain had virtually stopped. Fabien locked the church door; then the two men crossed a narrow lane and walked together across the green to a cottage beside the General Store and Post Office. An old fashioned black lantern hung by its front door, casting a deep yellow-gold light onto its whitewashed walls.

"Are you Celeste's father?" Snape asked, as they walked towards the patch of light.

"No" Fabien replied. "Has she not spoken to you of her family? Well, she will do. If you ask her. Her father is my twin brother Lucien." He flipped the key through the letter box and headed back across the green towards a Range Rover parked in the lane beneath a new and quite freshly-painted sign saying The Church of the Holy Cross. As he drew near to the vehicle, he stopped, pulling out the key and transponder the young Friar had given him earlier. "That is my transport home. You, presumably, will return to your home by other means."

"Err, yes" Snape replied, not knowing what else to say. Fabien's knowledge was uncanny and his mind impenetrable.

"Don't forget to contact me, should you need me" Fabien continued. "We are a Dominican order. People imagine we meditate in silence all the time but actually we are involved in many pastoral and preaching works; hence our invitation here tonight, to conduct this Mass. And our full choir is often in demand; you saw only a part of it tonight."

Snape was recovering his composure. "You are most kind" he said arrogantly, "but I cannot imagine I will need–"

However Fabien held up his hand, much in the way Dumbledore habitually did when calling for silence. " It is a long road you travel; a long and twisting route" he said, looking curiously at Snape as if seeing him for the first time. "Are you of my faith? Are you a Christian?"

"I do not have any religious beliefs" Snape replied irritably.

"Then you are of the same views as Celeste. She too has a difficult road in front of her." The Friar seemed to make up his mind about something; he held out his hand and Snape suddenly felt it would be churlish not to take it, so hesitantly he shook it. "May peace be with you, this Christmastide" Fabien said softly. "Goodnight."

His manner seemed to Snape, to be at once patronising and mysteriously other-worldly. It angered him but he also felt unaccountably charmed. Most uncharacteristically the Head of Slytherin found himself bidding Fabien a courteous goodnight. He watched the Friar walking the last few yards to his car, proffering the transponder to trigger the locks. Then, angered by his own uncharacteristic friendliness, he Disapparated even before Fabien had opened the car door.

Freezing sleet stung his face as he rode the broom from Hogsmeade back to the castle. Once in bed he lay awake pondering the evening's strange events. Fabien was a curious man. Was he a wizard? Could he foretell the future? Or did he just like to put on a bit of an act – as a man of mystery and power? Snape couldn't imagine any circumstances under which he would ever need to visit the Priory. And what was all this about the long road he had to travel? Lunatic ramblings! Annoyed, the Head of Slytherin rolled himself tightly in the bedclothes, turned on his side as was fast asleep in five minutes, without the need for any potion.


Author's Note: These really do exist...

The 'Coventry' carol – I don't know its proper title.
The 'Hodie' chant – again I don't know its proper title.
No Tone ear plugs.