Chapter beta read by Forty-Two Dreams. All remaining mistakes are mine.
AS IF NOTHING HAPPENED
When he entered the Great Hall, Snape immediately noticed the enchanted ceiling reflected the outside weather on this early March morning: cloudy verging on rainy. Just the perfect weather for Quidditch, he was sure the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff players were absolutely thrilled about it. It could be worse though: it could be a driving rain out there - but Snape didn't lose hope, it could still turn into a driving rain…
Snape sat at the teachers' table, managing to ignore Ursaglow's invitation to sit next to him, and settled instead on the opposite side of the table, between - Merlin save him - Hooch and Trelawney.
If Hooch was usually of rather enjoyable company, she was to be avoided at all costs on the day of a Quidditch match - her over-enthusiasm could be quite disturbing sometimes. For instance, as Snape was about to sit, she gave him such a strong pat on the back that he had to grip the edge of the table tightly so as not to stumble over.
"Hey, Severus! Lovely day, isn't it?"
Snape nodded sharply.
As for Trelawney, she was always very keen on dispensing all sorts of wise - or so she thought - pieces of advice about one's future, especially early in the morning, since that was when she would tell all about the prophetic dreams she had had the previous night.
"I saw terrible things coming for you, Severus… Yes, terrible…" Trelawney said with an eerie voice.
"Oh, really?" he mocked.
"Yes, I did… And the inner eye never lies…" she continued.
Snape rolled his eyes and started to eat his breakfast, doing his best to ignore both Hooch's eager stamping and Trelawney's apocalyptic foretelling.
It was only a few minutes after, while everyone was busy eating, that Snape's attention was caught by a bright colour falling on the table. He paused and noticed there was now a red stain on the wooden surface.
Intrigued, he took a closer look, only to see another drop of red liquid fall a few inches from the other. The usual commotion produced by hundreds of children eating seemed to soften as the students too began to glance around with looks of wonder when more drops fell all around the Great Hall.
Snape looked up to the magical ceiling. He almost jumped when a drop fell right on his cheek. He wiped it with the tip of a finger and examined it. He frowned. Could it be…?
Snape brought the tip of his finger to his tongue.
Oh Merlin…
"It's blood! It's raining blood!" a student cried, standing up before running to the door.
It wasn't long before the Great Hall turned into a real mess as students started panicking and screaming. The ceiling turned a dark shade of red as more blood rained on them. All students stood up with terror and ran to the door, jostling anyone in their way.
This was going to turn into a stampede.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, keep calm!" Dumbledore urged worriedly. "Do not rush!"
For once, Dumbledore didn't manage to pacify them, and his words were lost in the turmoil.
"A blood-red sky…" Snape heard Trelawney mutter with her prophetess voice. "Bringing the terror back to our world…"
"All the prefects, lead the other students back to your common rooms; your Heads of House will come talk to you shortly!" the Headmaster called above the brouhaha. "As for you," he went on as he turned to the teachers while some of them were transfiguring their forks or knives into umbrellas - but others were still too shocked to even think about it, "follow me to my office."
Once all the students were out, the teachers managed to leave as well. Snape noticed Dumbledore staying behind and casting a spell on the charmed ceiling. A few minutes later, they were all standing in the Headmaster's office, dripping with blood. Filch muttered something in a reproachful tone about having to clean the whole castle.
Dumbledore sat at his desk with a thoughtful expression on his face and remained silent, his gaze far away.
"So? What just happened down there exactly?" Vector spoke, voicing everyone's concern.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "The magic protecting Hogwarts is weakening…" he muttered with worry. "The enchanted ceiling is a symbol of the school's power, and if someone managed to alter it…" his voice trailed off.
A noticeable shiver ran among the teachers.
"But who? Who could do that?" Sinistra queried. "Could it be You-Know-Who himself?"
Dumbledore hesitated for a second before answering that it was probably someone else, and Snape thought he knew the reason for this hesitation.
The Dark Lord needed someone inside the school to pull that sort of trick. And someone very powerful in Dark Arts. But who, then? One of the teachers? This was highly unlikely. Most were trusted witches and wizards that had been teaching for many years, and the last two to join the staff - namely Wilson and Ursaglow - just didn't sound like the type to be able to do something like that.
Actually if there was a teacher that would sound like the type to be able to do something like that, it would be himself - Severus Snape.
Snape met Dumbledore's gaze for a second before the Headmaster turned another way.
"What about the game?" Hooch asked. "Are the school grounds safe? Should we cancel the match?"
Dumbledore hesitated briefly. "No, I think we should maintain it. I believe we could all do with some entertainment these days. And seeing how only the Great Hall's ceiling was affected, I guess the school grounds are just as safe as any other part of the castle…"
Some teachers exchanged looks, obviously thinking it was a dangerous decision. He could just as well have said the school grounds were as unsafe as any other part of the castle.
"So… You want us to act as if nothing happened?" one of them asked unbelievingly.
"Exactly. We all have enough to worry about. I will take care of the Great Hall, and everything will be back to normal soon. All the Heads of House, could you please go talk to the students of your Houses and reassure them?" Dumbledore asked, and Snape, Sprout and Wilson nodded. "I will go talk to the Gryffindor students on behalf of Minerva…" he continued sadly. "And Severus, Endora, keep working on the cure."
When Snape reached the Slytherin common room several minutes later, he was surprised to see the mixed attitudes of the students. Some were sneering, some looked frightened. Some were oddly silent, while some others were having everyday conversations. In any case, most hadn't cared to change and were still covered with blood.
Snape wondered if some of them could be involved with the Great Hall's incident when he caught Draco Malfoy exchanging a smug look with Crabbe and Goyle. Some of these students were very cunning, and most weren't averse to Dark Arts…
Dismissing the thought, Snape spoke to them briefly, explaining that they shouldn't worry about what happened in the Great Hall, that everything was under control now and that the Quidditch match would still take place.
Once he was done with them he headed for the Potions classroom where he and Wilson had to keep working on a cure for the Dormant Poison. The witch arrived a good half hour after he did, probably delayed by her ever inquisitive Ravenclaw students.
"What a hectic day, hey?" she said casually as a greeting. "Well honestly I could have done without the extra stress today…"
Snape briefly wondered what she meant by extra stress before focusing on the work at hand, and realised that their eternal issue about what should be Charmed was, again, in the path of progress. They could spend ages on this if they didn't come to an agreement.
"I think we should decide once and for all what to Charm, the ingredients or the potion," he said bluntly.
Wilson looked up to him. "I thought we had agreed on this already."
"No, as a matter of fact you stubbornly decided that you were the one who was right about this point," Snape objected.
Wilson sighed heavily. "I didn't think we'd have to go through this again, but here goes anyway. Potion, singular. Ingredients, plural, hence more possibilities."
"So tell me, are you going to Charm each of the ingredients of each potion I make? Then, if it doesn't work, try to Charm all but one?" Snape said on a mocking tone. "Or just Charm a couple? But what couple will you chose to Charm among a dozen of ingredients? The combinations are exponential!"
"That's exactly my point!" the witch cried out.
"But for each potion I want to try you will Charm the ingredients in a hundred different ways!" Snape argued. "Which will turn into a hundred potions to brew instead of one!"
"And so what?" she asked. "We're looking for a cure, aren't we? We have to experiment!"
"To experiment, yes. To lose lots of time on tests bound to fail, certainly not," he retorted firmly.
Wilson sighed. "Oh, fine. Whatever," she eventually said bitterly with a shrug.
Snape stared at her with surprise. What was wrong with her? Couldn't she at least argue a bit? He had known her to be much more vehement.
"The potions I already prepared are up there in that cupboard," Snape indicated. "I labelled them. There are several flasks of each potion I made so you can try to Charm each of them in different ways."
She nodded unenthusiastically and headed for the cupboard, while Snape resumed his preparation for his next experiment. After a few minutes, she still hadn't returned. Annoyed by her attitude - as if they had more time to waste - Snape turned to see what the heck she was waiting for.
He found her standing in front of the cupboard, several flasks in her arms, staring intently at the Pensieve with an odd expression on her face.
"Don't you think it's high time you started working?" Snape suggested sarcastically.
Dragged from her reverie, she came back and started working at last. However, Snape noticed she wasn't concentrating very well. All morning she kept glancing towards the Pensieve, every now and then with some kind of longing look.
When the afternoon came, Snape carefully locked the Pensieve's cupboard before heading for the Quidditch pitch. As he left, Wilson informed him that she'd stay there and keep working.
Even if Slytherin wasn't one of the teams playing, Snape found the game to be quite entertaining - maybe it was precisely because Slytherin wasn't playing, considering how pitiful they were this year.
At first, the mood was quite awkward, everyone over the pitch or in the stands still remembering very vividly what had so recently happened in the Great Hall. But after a few Bludger hits, several goals and a couple of fouls, the Quidditch mood was settled.
Dumbledore had been right, the game seemed to cheer everyone up.
When Snape came back to the Potions classroom to keep working on the cure and saw Wilson's faraway gaze and watery eyes, he instantly knew something was wrong with her - and the fact there was a half empty bottle of Firewhisky on her table had absolutely nothing to do with his sudden insight about female psychology.
He decided he didn't want to know, and started working as if he hadn't seen anything. However, after a few minutes, he couldn't help but notice she was staring at the Pensieve again - she didn't even pretend to be working any more.
Snape almost jumped when she spoke up with a hesitant voice.
"Is it… Is it really effective? The Pensieve I mean. Are the memories really that clear?"
Snape scowled at her warily. "Why?"
"If I shared a memory with someone through the Pensieve, would that person be able to see exactly what I saw, even if the memory were several years old?" she asked with a weak voice.
"Why?" Snape asked again.
Wilson cast a quick look towards the Pensieve again. "Do you know the other Death Eaters well?"
Snape was tempted to ask 'why?' again. What was she getting at exactly? "Enough," he replied slowly.
"Would you be able to identify any of them?"
"Most," Snape answered cautiously. He didn't like the turn this almost one-sided conversation was taking. "Will you tell me what it is you want to know exactly or would you rather keep it cryptic?"
The witch hesitated once more, for almost a full minute this time. When Snape began to think she would remain silent, she spoke up at last.
"I need a favour," she said.
"You already owe me one," Snape reminded coldly.
"Then I'll owe you two," Wilson retorted.
Snape tiredly gestured her to go on.
Wilson took a deep breath before talking. "As you certainly know, I lost my husband and my son a couple of years ago. Well, actually, exactly five years ago today…"
Oh. At least this explained the faraway gaze and the watery eyes. Probably the alcohol too.
"Five years…" she repeated and sighed. "Five bloody years and I still have no idea whatsoever about who killed them… And the Ministry is so incredibly incompetent…"
Snape was beginning to get what it was she wanted. She wanted him to take a look at her memories through the Pensieve and try to identify her family's murderer for her.
"So I thought, maybe…"
"No."
She looked up to him with surprise. "But – "
"No," he persisted stubbornly. Nothing good could come from this.
Wilson now looked as though she was about to cry.
Oh no, she wasn't about to pull that one on him again, was she?
"Please," she begged. "I need to know… It's been five years…"
Snape sighed heavily. "You do know that it is advised to avoid drinking before using a Pensieve because of the – "
"Oh come on, I'm not that drunk!" she exclaimed.
"Right…" Snape mocked.
He wasn't sure this could work at all considering the conditions. Alcohol prevented one from sorting and ordering one's thoughts. The memories she would put into that Pensieve - if she managed to put in any at all - would be messy at best. Putting only the one memory she wanted him to see would be quite an achievement, and Snape wouldn't be surprised to end in the middle of an odd assortment of irrelevant recollections.
"I can't guarantee any results," he concluded after a few seconds.
Coming Next: Back in Time, part 1