Chapter Eight-A Pointless Fascination
That same evening Sprout met Snape in his office.
"Where is Celeste?" she asked, looking around the small dungeon room. Snape made no reply. "She is supposed to be in on this, Severus" Sprout reminded him, her voice rising angrily.
"Oh, very WELL" Snape shouted. He went to the service panel, summoned a house-elf, and very shortly Lonnie appeared. "Ask Miss Lavelle to attend a meeting, here, immediately" he said curtly.
"Yes, sir" Lonnie replied and disappeared.
"What is it with you and her?" Sprout asked Snape. "Why do you keep cutting her out?"
"I don't know what you're talking about" Snape replied icily, and he would say nothing more on the subject.
Sprout's hat was slipping sideways on her unruly grey hair. She took it off and looked for somewhere to put it down. The desk top was bare but the rest of the office was crowded, atypically every bit of shelf space seemed to be occupied – vast tomes on Potions stood alongside Herbology texts, copies of the journal The Master Herbal, and specimens in jars. The Herbology clutter was her own fault. Not wanting to keep all her most precious text books in the greenhouses, and with her own office already bulging at the seams, she had asked Snape for some temporary shelf space in his office. As Herbology provided a considerable selection of potion ingredients, the two Professors worked quite closely together at times, and Snape was uncharacteristically relaxed about sharing space with Sprout. Just lately they had both dragged out extra text books and journals from the library in their search for new ideas for remedies.
"Shall I take that for you, Amy?" Snape said tetchily, irritated by her dithering movements. He took the hat from her, opened the side door that connected his office with his sitting room, and hung the hat on a wrought iron coat stand that stood in the corner just beyond the door.
Five minutes later there was a knock at the office door. With a glare at Snape, Sprout got up to open it and found Celeste, in navy track suit and grey trainers, waiting outside; her notepad and pen in her hands.
"Come in, Celeste" Sprout said. "We have decided to have that brainstorming session Albus requested. Take a seat."
She indicated the chairs drawn up around Snape's desk. They all sat down, and as Snape appeared to have lapsed into a sullen silence, Sprout chaired the meeting.
"We've been asked to come up with ideas" she said. "Well, let's start with what facts we know. What facts do we know?"
Celeste read from her notepad. "As of half an hour ago we've got fifteen cases in the hospital wing. That's seventy five percent full. Symptoms are coughing, breathing difficulty, backache, weakness, sweating, no appetite. Could this be an air-born bug?"
"Brilliant" Snape sneered.
"Probably it is" Sprout agreed. She turned on Snape. "It's not definite, Severus! You know that – we're talking probabilities. Keeping an open mind is important."
"Yes, alright" he conceded wearily.
Why do you have to be so mean, Celeste thought savagely. Why can you never be supportive? You wouldn't behave like this in front of Uncle Albus. "We don't know the source or the nature of the problem yet" she continued, determined not to be intimidated by Snape, "but I think we should bear in mind that any visitors may be a source of infection. I've had a look at the routes to the hospital wing. We could isolate a route for outsiders so that their contact with the rest of the school is kept to a minimum. Here's my idea…"
She spoke for several minutes, outlining some significant points and Snape began to get interested.
"As to treatments" Sprout said, "if it's a breathing problem and if Pepperup or Horehound won't work, I'm a bit stumped. Can we alter the atmosphere the patients breathe?"
"As if they were in an oxygen tent" Snape suggested.
They talked this over and Celeste scribbled many notes, but they concluded they didn't have the means to create an oxygen-rich atmosphere, and that it was too dangerous.
"It isn't our type of treatment, is it" Celeste said. "It doesn't fit our lifestyle. We are used to candles and torches and open fires in our hearths. In an oxygen-rich atmosphere that could be disastrous. And I'm not sure about 'making' oxygen. None of us are chemists, are we. Molecular oxygen is vital to life but atomic oxygen is actually poisonous. And I believe the blood has to be slightly acidic to take up oxygen. That's achieved by the CO2 content – it's a balance. No, we're out of our depth here, aren't we."
"Miss Lavelle is right" Snape said at length. "That type of treatment belongs in a hospital, not our amateur attempts in a school. We must stick to what we know. Nevertheless we might do something with some type of inhaled fume that can alter the patients' physiology… I was reading recently about a variant on the basis of the Wit Sharpening Potion. Using Stipa macropungens in place of ginger. It can be used rather like a Basil camphor inhalant."
"Stipa macropungens?" Sprout asked. "It grows very slowly at this time of year. I've got some in Greenhouse One. I could encourage it – heat the greenhouse and divide the clumps, try to promote new growth."
"While you're doing that, I might be able to get the ball rolling with dried supplies from Diagon Alley" Snape said. "I might even be able to acquire some fresh plants for you. I think we should try it as a potion and perhaps also get some patients to inhale it. It is said to assist with oxygen take up, and looks promising as a variation to the traditional Wit Sharpening Potion. But presumably it won't kill the 'bugs' if these are 'bugs'. Miss Lavelle, help" Snape looked suddenly irritable and tired. "What do I mean by bugs?"
"Well, traditionally that term used to mean a bacterium" Celeste replied, looking surprised at his question. "But it's often used more generally now, and there are many types of disease agents. We could be dealing with a bacterium, a virus, a microscopic 'animal' such as a protozoan, or even a mould. There are some even more exotic things such as protein-based replicating molecule fragments – prions and the like. I hope it's not anything like that, because they are quite new to science. Muggles don't seem to be using antibiotics against this, so possibly it's not a bacterium. A virus such as a new 'flu' strain seems to be the most likely cause." Her enquiring mind ranged over more possibilities. "Could it even perhaps be something like a poison – I mean a chemical or a metallic poison; or even a gaseous poison?"
Snape regarded her intently.
"Wild idea, but worth stating" Sprout said. "Personally, I reckon not" she added moments later. "I feel this is being 'transmitted', the way an infection is transmitted." She fell silent and they all lapsed into thought. At length she began to voice her thoughts. "The victims are weak and they can't breathe very well. And they cough. They don't want to eat. Coughing takes energy. They are weak because of their poor breathing and the coughing makes it worse – drains their energy."
"They cough because their lungs are full of diseased tissue" Snape remarked.
"If we could get nutrition into them they'd gain energy" Celeste said. "If we could stop them coughing they'd save energy" she added, thinking out loud. "No, that won't work – if this is like 'flu' they have to cough up the dead cells; they'd drown in them otherwise." Sprout looked slightly disgusted. "It's true" Celeste insisted. "The 'flu' virus hijacks the biochemistry of each cell it infects. Makes it turn out more viruses. So the victim's body frantically sheds infected cells, which need to be coughed up. The victim's body also tries to find a way of stopping the virus gaining entry to healthy cells. It's a race."
"Yes … OK" Sprout said thoughtfully, needing to slow Celeste's over-exuberant flow of ideas. "Celeste, run through what you've noted down."
The trainee read from her notes. "Rope off route to hospital wing. Notice boards. Disinfectant mats – parking bay, West Door, Main Door. I've crossed out enrich oxygen. Stipa macropungens – Diagon Alley – potion and fumes. What is the agent? – bug, virus, protozoan, mould, prion, inorganic? Antibiotics? Energy gain/loss/nutrition/coughing."
"That's not bad for a start, surely" Sprout said. "We've kicked around a lot of ideas, and that was the point of this. Can we now sleep on it? I've had a really busy day and I'm just about done in."
"Yes, let's" Snape agreed. "Amy, I think Miss Lavelle should attend the House Heads' meeting tomorrow evening. Don't you?"
Sprout was almost speechless. "Severus, you astound me sometimes" she whispered. "Well" she exclaimed more pointedly "I don't see any reason to keep Celeste out of any of our meetings. Do you Severus?"
"Err, no" Snape agreed. "Miss Lavelle, can you bring these notes to the Heads of House meeting tomorrow evening? We will want you to explain your ideas."
"Yes of course, Professor" Celeste replied.
Snape hesitated for a second. "Would you like some tea, Amy?" he enquired a little stiffly.
Sprout paused, but then decided to refuse. "No thanks, Severus. I'm gonna get my head down. Thanks anyway. May I have my hat, please?" Snape stepped into his sitting room and came back holding the witch's hat in front of him as though offering a crown to a monarch. "Thank you. Good night everyone" Sprout said, clamping it on her head. She gathered up her papers and left the office, Snape holding the door for her.
"Well, I am going to have some tea" he said. "Miss Lavelle? Peppermint tea? Can I tempt you to a brew?"
"Err, yes; thank you, Professor" Celeste replied cautiously.
"Come this way" Snape commanded imperiously, and without a backward glance he lead her through the side door from his office. "Mind the step he called" to warn her of the high threshold. "Leave the door."
How could I refuse such a gracious invitation, she smirked.
As she entered Snape's sitting room, Celeste was taken aback by its simple splendour. She could feel herself sinking into the deep pile of a luxurious, unpatterned dark green carpet that spread almost wall to wall on top of the flagstone floor. The ceiling, like her room, was of stone and barrel vaulted. From the centre of its arch a black iron ring suspended on six chains held a dozen stumpy, pale candles. The walls were stone; most of them panelled to three-quarter height in mid-brown oak. The few pieces of furniture were lovingly cared for. Apart from the chairs, all the furniture stood against the walls, leaving the room spacious and uncluttered. Snape waved his wand and the candles lit at his silent command. He then pointed it in the direction of the hearth and the dim fire blazed into life.
"Sit" Snape directed, indicating the hearth rug.
Celeste suppressed a grin and was tempted to point out that she was not a dog, but she realised Snape probably hadn't quite intended to imply that. He had merely waved his slim hand in the general direction of the furniture designed for seating. Grouped around an emerald green oriental rug were two wide armchairs and a Chesterfield sofa long enough to seat four people. All the seating was of deeply buttoned, dark brown leather. The sofa bore a couple of loose, green velvet cushions. The two chairs were high backed and winged. They would have looked at home in a gentlemen's club rather than the average sitting room, but then this wasn't the average sitting room.
Nothing about Snape was average, Celeste realised. She removed her trainers and found a suitable place for them under the coat stand, leaving her pen and note pad alongside them. Then she selected an armchair and folded herself into it so that her stockinged feet were tucked out of sight. Snape fussed to and fro behind her, moving between his office and his bed chamber while she surveyed the room.
Why did I say yes to tea, she though. I haven't got Amy's company now, only snide Snape's. Still, if he gets too bad I can always leave. Mmm, this is a very luxurious dungeon…
Her attention was caught by a pewter framed photograph that stood on a bureau in the chimney recess beside the other armchair. She could hear Snape fiddling about in the office so she got up to take a closer look at the photograph.
The bureau's drop-front was closed. The photograph on its top was of two people; a slender, green eyed witch seated in a high backed, carved dining chair and a tall, black haired, sallow faced wizard standing behind her left shoulder. The witch's beautiful face had a rather dreamy expression. Straight, copper-red hair fell almost to her waste. Her willowy grace was accentuated by her sage green summer gown. A silver necklace glinted at her throat. She looked quite young, pale, and oddly vulnerable. She smiled kindly at Celeste.
The wizard looked a good deal older than the witch. He stood tall and proud, gazing haughtily down a long hooked nose. He was dressed in black and his black eyes glittered with something akin to hate. His right hand and forearm rested possessively along the top of the chair above the witch's right shoulder. He did not smile. Celeste shuddered with cold, and stepped back to the fireside.
The emerald rug felt like silk beneath her feet. It was patterned with silver serpents and its short edges were fringed with silver grey silk. It lay before and imposing mantelpiece of black marble. The high mantle shelf was empty except for a large Drocourt carriage clock in a gilded gorge case. Above it, the wall of the chimney was bare.
To her left, the chimney recess held a large portrait of a very young and beautiful witch. Celeste compared the painting with the picture on the bureau, but was not sure whether she was looking at the same person. The witch in the painting had masses of red hair, but it was not absolutely straight, nor of such a copper hue. Once again, brilliant green eyes shone out of a kind face. The young lady in the portrait did not move, and Celeste soon let her gaze travel on round the room.
Some distance beyond the portrait and exactly opposite the door to the office was the door that she assumed lead to Snape's bed chamber. It stood ajar and she resisted the temptation to peer in. Beyond that, and at right angles to the bedroom door, was the wall that bordered the corridor. A tall bookcase took up much of the wall space. The texts were mainly alternative medicine, alchemy, history, biography and English classics but there were a few modern novels including some by John Buchan, Erskine Childers and Conan Doyle. Next to those, were a group of six books by J. R. R. Tolkien. They looked like first editions. At the side of the voluminous bookcase was the main door from Snape's quarters to the corridor itself. Celeste continued to swing left. In the corner between the main door and the office door was the ornate wrought iron coat stand beneath which Celeste had parked her trainers. The stand held Snape's black cloak.
Her gaze wandered on to the third wall and past the office door. Roughly opposite the Chesterfield stood a large desk with a wastepaper basket beside it. Its surface contained an ink bottle, a quill and several piles of homework, and she noted that even though he had a desk in his office, work intruded into Snape's private life. The piles on the right were marked; those on the left unmarked; nothing stood half-done in the centre. Snape was methodical about his paperwork. Worn and wobbly, an oak, swivel chair stood thrust back from the desk as though vacated it in a hurry. The rest of the wall-space was occupied by a wide but shallow oak cupboard, on top of which were a few ink bottles, spare quills and a stock of candles.
The exterior wall of the dungeon room contained only one item of furniture – a sideboard. It was a long, low piece of ancient oak cabinetry. Carved panels decorated the front. The top was bare except for two items – a selection of fruit in a wide, shallow dark grey pottery bowl stood near to one end, and towards the other end was a silver tray holding several crystal decanters. They were of varying shapes and were filled to different levels with tempting-looking liquids.
The wall behind the sideboard was of bare stone and had an etched glass, semi-circular window tucked high above the room into the curve of the ceiling. From it, cold air seeped downwards; the high window was not curtained. The only hanging on the wall was a huge tapestry, suspended above the sideboard, and depicting an ancient battle scene. Celeste stepped back to the centre of the room to be able to get it properly into view. She fancied it depicted Alexander the Great looking west from the Indus valley at the vast Persian empire he now controlled…
"And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept; for there were no more worlds to conquer" Snape said softly.
She turned and saw him standing in the office doorway, holding two dark grey beakers. They match the fruit bowl, she said to herself; Prinknash Abbey's famous black glaze.
A nervous smile darted across Snape's face but was instantly suppressed; in a split second the carefully crafted mask was back in place. "Plutarch's Life of Alexander" he added, as he walked slowly forward. He held out a beaker. "Tea?"
"Thank you." Celeste took it and resumed her seat, folding herself into the armchair again, as she wanted to hide her socks from view – they were bright red with twinkling gold stars – a joke Christmas present from Madeline Hooch.
There was a moment of awkward silence broken by the gong of the Drocourt clock sounding the half hour.
"You have quite a grasp of Muggle science" Snape said, regarding her coolly.
"Not as much as we need for this" Celeste admitted. "I did a Muggle degree – Physics with Applied Mathematics. But it was with the Open University. Had I gone to a traditional university I would have made more contact with people in other disciplines. As it is, I met a few at summer schools and so forth, but the whole point about the Open University is that you can study on your own."
"And is that what you wanted?" Snape enquired. His cold and unfriendly manner was off-putting, but Celeste decided to take his question at face value.
"Yes, because you know how difficult it is being in the Muggle world!" she replied. "If you hit a problem it's almost instinctive to resort to magic, and that can cause more trouble that it solves. I didn't want to slip up like that, nor to have to lie too much about my background. And although, before Beauxbaton, I went to a Muggle Primary School, I didn't want Muggles noticing I didn't know simple high school stuff they would take for granted. So I played safe and studied alone. I had a lot of catching up to do anyway, to get my degree."
"So you think your science doesn't help us" Snape mused, returning to her first point.
"Well, my degree was designed to help with understanding machines and forces; processes; fluid flows and electric currents" Celeste explained. "Actually, what intrigues me most is quantum mechanics."
"Which is what exactly?"
"The science of the very small" she replied. Seeing Snape's head tilt to one side as though he didn't understand and wanted to hear more, she continued. "Our perception of the world is geared to the level at which we operate. We perceive a world of 'things' – trees, mountains, animals and seas. From a survival point of view, any other perception would be of no use to us. We have learnt to model the world in terms of what we call 'substances' and 'forces' acting on those substances. (Celeste was, as ever, entirely caught up in the enthusiasm of the topic, now – unconsciously she stopped being aware of Snape's cold manner and thought of nothing but the evolving history of scientific thought.) That modelling reached it height with Isaac Newton. Using his brilliant and simple equations, you can predict what will happen to a 'thing' if you know where it starts out and the strength and direction of any forces to be applied to it. It's like seeing a game of Quidditch and being able to predict where all the players and balls will be in, say, two seconds time or ten minutes time, or an hour's time."
Fascinated, Snape nodded. Celeste continued. "That concept works well for our normal world. It can also be extended to larger scales – to describe the movement of planets and stars. Relativistic effects have to be considered then, but Newtonian mechanics are still valid – they are simply a special case of Einstein's later and larger discoveries."
"And quantum mechanics?" Snape asked.
"Below the molecular level, the Newtonian concepts don't work when you scale down" Celeste explained. "When you scale down as far as what atoms are said to be made of – protons, electrons and so forth, and what they are said to be made of – quarks – it's of no use to talk of 'where things are' and predicting where they will end up if a given force is applied to them. They don't behave in that way. They behave as if sometimes they're there and sometimes they're not. Even though we are made up of these things ourselves, it is a world we are, in a sense, not part of. We can only infer it indirectly and we can only describe it statistically, in terms of probabilities – if you do such and such, twenty percent of protons will be found in state x, eighty percent in state y. It is a strange and very fascinating world, and the only way to get some sort of handle on it is by using mathematics."
Snape looked into his beaker and thought. "So, in the real world – the world of everyday experience – if I hit a Bludger with a bat" he said thoughtfully, "with a predetermined degree of force, and knowing how strong any cross wind is et cetera, I could calculate in advance where it will come to rest."
"Yes" Celeste agreed. "And the point really is, the more precisely you know all those factors, the more accurate your prediction will turn out."
"But if I took the bat and hit a – proton? – I cannot predict where it will end up?"
"Exactly so" she agreed again, impressed at his rapid appreciation of the paradox.
"What if I know the starting point very, very accurately, like a grid reference down to the nth degree?"
"It won't make any difference" Celeste replied firmly. She finished her tea, watching him think.
"Then, what if I know to the nth degree how hard I am going to hit the proton?" he ventured.
"It still won't work. In fact there's a trade-off between a particle's position and momentum; the more you know about one, they less you can know about the other" she explained.
Snape considered this for a few seconds. He drained his beaker. "No, I don't believe it" he concluded.
"That is, in essence, the strangeness of the quantum world" Celeste pointed out, smiling happily. "But to be fair, protons are not structured like Bludgers. We don't know what protons 'look' like – they are too small to be 'seen' in any sense we can ever mean. But as I say, all this doesn't help us with the present problem."
"No. But I agree it does have a certain fascination" Snape whispered. "A certain pointless fascination" he couldn't resist adding, as her face held him spellbound. "Would you like some more tea?"
As he spoke, the single gong of the Drocourt clock began its midnight chimes.
"Oh! No thank you, I'd better not. I didn't realise it was so late" Celeste gasped.
"Oh, it's not that late" Snape said sourly. "Not for me. But we do want to see Mr Filch early tomorrow, do we not? So I had better let you go."
He relieved her of her empty beaker and Celeste knelt on the carpet to lace up her trainers. Finally she retrieved her pen and note pad, and they stood facing one-another. Snape put out his hand to the door handle.
"I was very surprised" Celeste admitted, "when you asked me – what were your words – what do I mean by bugs, Miss Lavelle."
"Oh …yes …well, to use your terminology, sometimes my brain goes temporarily into overload" Snape replied, with a momentary weak and nervous smile.
His teeth are definitely less yellow than they used to be, she thought. And his hair is always clean these days; has been for months. What a captivating man he can be. Why am I running away? Be careful! You know why! This man is dangerous and you know how spiteful he can be! "Do you want to speak to Argus tomorrow?" she asked. "I was going to talk to him about roping of the special route and putting down the mats. But just now it sounded as if you wanted to see him too."
"I want to be sure he co-operates" Snape said gravely.
"I've never had any trouble with anything I've asked Argus to do" Celeste pointed out. "Do you think he'll make difficulties?"
"Mmm? No… No, I suppose not" Snape conceded thoughtfully, looking down at his shoes. A sly grin spread over his face. "After the, err, swimming lesson you taught us before Christmas, Mr Filch will probably be even more anxious not to upset you."
Unembarrassed by this, Celeste couldn't resist grinning in return. She recalled that at the time Snape had been the one who had seemed embarrassed, or at least perturbed. The Head of Slytherin opened the door and she walked into the corridor. "Goodnight, Professor" she said.
"Goodnight, Miss Lavelle" he replied. "Um, thank you for an interesting discussion on quantum physics." There was a trace of something approaching sincerity in his voice that caused her to pause and turn.
"I though you found it pointless" she said.
"Pointless can nevertheless be utterly diverting" he explained, bowing slightly and giving her a cryptic half smile.
Pondering this, Celeste turned and walked away. She did not hear his door close.
Within twenty minutes she was settling down in her bed and thinking over the strange events of the long day.
In his own bed Snape was also considering those events. He hadn't wanted Celeste at that meeting yet she had made a useful contribution. By the end of the meeting he had wanted her to stay for tea so that he could talk to her on her own; yet he couldn't summon the courage to ask her, and paradoxically he found himself asking Sprout instead. How ridiculous! Then Sprout had declined and Celeste had accepted, which was what he wanted anyway. How strange! He had considered touching Celeste's hand when he handed her the beaker, then fought shy of the idea. He hadn't meant to sound so dismissive of Muggle science. He remembered her studying the tapestry, looking strong and muscular in her track suit and ridiculous socks. He recalled her in her carmine satin gown three hours earlier that same evening, her hair slicked up onto her head, a glint of gold near her sharp jaw line. He remembered her erupting naked from the prefect's bath, water streaming from her flawless peach skin and dripping from her breasts beneath those large dark nipples.
What is happening to me, Snape wondered. Why is my head in such a turmoil? All the witches I have had! All the enemies I have fought! How can some … some … slip of a young girl, turn my brain into a whirlpool?
He was, of course, in a mood for being self-pitying, unreasonable and inaccurate – Celeste was not a slip of a young girl; a fact that in reality he knew full-well. Indeed he had already observed so when, in the previous August, he had described her to himself as a calculating woman of twenty-seven!
Author's Note:
The quotation from Plutarch's Life of Alexander was obviously inspired by Alan Rickman's portrayal of Hans Gruber in the film Die Hard.
Prinknash (pronounced Prinnidge) Abbey near Painswick in Gloucestershire, England, does produce a very dark grey glazed pottery.
