CHAPTER THREE: DUNGEON EIGHT

It wasn't until late Wednesday afternoon that Hazel discovered, to her extreme annoyance, that her mp3 player wasn't working. She was very tempted to fling it across the room, but decided against it as she wasn't sure the Repairing Charm would work on a complicated piece of Muggle technology and wasn't willing to test it out.

She pulled her laptop out of her trunk, where it had remained since her arrival at Hogwarts, intending to look up Dell product information. Hazel pressed the small silver button to turn on her computer. Nothing happened – no brightening of the screen to the blue welcome screen, no fading from the blue screen into her outdoor Phish show background accompanied by that cheery Brian Eno-Windows scale of descending notes.

An impatient snort escaped her nose before she could prevent it. Damn magic. All she'd wanted was to listen to Wilco and chill on her bed for a little while, but she'd forgotten the effects of magic on Muggle electronics.

Well, wizards had radios, and if it was possible to create a non-electric equivalent of a wireless, Hazel was certain she could charm her mp3 player into working while at Hogwarts.

Hazel poked around in her study shelves for a while before deciding that it was in fact a room filled entirely with scripts, tomes of theater history, and biographies.

She'd been meaning to visit the library anyway.

It didn't take too many minutes traversing Hogwarts' halls until Hazel reached the library's great doors. They whined slightly as she pushed her way into the room.

The library's walls were lined with shelves that stretched all the way to the high ceiling. Instead of the warm chatter of the professors and the aromas of fresh bread and the meal of the evening, the library had the sweet, musty smell of old parchment and was completely silent, deserted except for the aging librarian behind her desk. She looked up as Hazel entered, her pinched mouth pursing disapprovingly at the door's squeal.

Hazel gazed at the large gold letters marking each area of study within the library's book collection. Charms and Spells might yield the information she needed, or perhaps Muggle Studies. She seized a likely-looking reference manual from the Charms and Spells section entitled Basic Spells for Students, took her squarish black-framed glasses from her pocket, and began reading.

Two hours later, Hazel was still sifting through pages. Books lay scattered across both her table and those to her left and right, some still open where she'd lost interest or realized they didn't have anything remotely related to the information she wanted.

"Would you like some help?"

Hazel looked up from ­Misuse of Muggle Artifacts: What To Do When Your Muggle Neighbor's Tabby is Unexpectedly Devoured by the Flowerpot You Gave Her for Her 47th Birthday to see one of the professors she hadn't yet formally met standing before her table, an amused look in her sharp grey eyes. She was in perhaps her early thirties, tall and slim, and had long black hair which hung to below her shoulders.

Surprised, she replied, "That would be awesome. But I have to warn you, it's strictly non-academic. And if McGonagall asks, I've already finished my lesson plans."

The professor smiled. "Term doesn't start for another four days."

"That is an excellent point." Hazel shifted some of her books so the professor could have a clear working area, and then realized she hadn't introduced herself. "I'm Hazel Farren, Professor of Dramatic Art. Though I don't really feel like professor of anything right now," she added dryly.

"Olivia Vector, Arithmancy. And don't worry, it always feels that way right out of university."

Hazel handed her one of the large books she hadn't yet started sifting through. "I'm just afraid I'm going to do something completely stupid and humiliating my first day, and then none of the students will take my class seriously."

"Don't worry. It can't possibly be as bad as my first day teaching." Hazel raised an enquiring brow, and Olivia laughed. "Spilled tea across my lesson plan and all down the front of the brand new robes I'd bought owl-order from Madame Malkin's especially to make a good impression, and was so surprised I turned one of the legs of Ernie McMillan's desk into a hedgehog." She smiled wryly. "He Transfigured it back, but to this day I've had at least one student per year complain that desk is a bit wobbly."

Hazel laughed painfully hard, fighting to catch her breath. "Jesus. And I thought my imagined mishaps were embarrassing. That's horrible."

"Yes," agreed Olivia. "But it's nothing compared to some of the stories about McGonagall when she was at the University of Edinburgh." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "She apparently was at some club back in Forty-two and only found out afterwards that the wizard she'd been dancing with all evening was the Dark wizard Grindelwald."

Hazel's disbelief couldn't take the pressure. She giggled, an activity she had often despised in many of the gossipy females of her high school and university. Professor McGonagall, swinging with Grindelwald three years before his defeat by Dumbledore?

She had a sudden mental image of McGonagall in all her tartan glory, doing some strange high-stepping Scottish dance with a wizard clad in a black kilt, while in the background three men with bagpipes attempted to play "As Time Goes By."

That had come out in 1942, hadn't it?

"So, what are we looking for?" asked her companion abruptly, turning the book Hazel had handed her so she could read the front cover. "Somehow I don't think Adapting to Life with Your Muggle Spouse really fits under your subject matter."

"It doesn't, which is why I told you what I'm doing is non-academic," Hazel explained again. "My mp3 player doesn't work inside the castle, which is why I'm trying to find a way to enchant it so it can run on magic." She sighed. "I'm sure the Muggle-born students found a way to charm their electronic things ages ago, but I can't seem to find anything in any of these books."

"None of these titles really seem to suit what you're searching for, anyway," Olivia observed, glancing quickly over the books spread across Hazel's tables.

"True." Abruptly, she asked, "Are you planning on taking my adult class?"

"I think Dumbledore may have mentioned it at the start-of-term staff meeting. Eight on Fridays, right?"

"Yes."

Olivia nodded. "I'd like to, if I don't have too many papers to grade. It could prove useful."

Useful? "Sure. I'm definitely counting on it to get me through my first week . . ." She turned back to her books with a sigh.

"You know," said Olivia, after several silent minutes of searching through books, "you could probably just ask one of the Muggle-born students after they get back from break."

"I'm not sure I can make it through four days without my music," Hazel exhaled with more than a hint of theatricality. Olivia snickered.

"Actually . . . I've had this idea for my adult class. I just wanted to run it by an established staff member first. Would you mind hearing it?"

Olivia listened with interest. When Hazel had finished explaining her idea, the Arithmancy professor nodded eagerly.

"It should go over very well, I think. And I'll definitely have to show up for that particular lesson. But unless you have the drive to do it yourself, you'll want to speak to Professor Snape immediately."

Hazel had been expecting this. "Where can I find him?"

The further down she went into the castle, the colder the halls and staircases became, the walls devoid of tapestries and paintings to show the plain bare stone of the castle's exterior. Hazel found it not unpleasant. It was a nice contrast to the rest of the castle which, while warm, was often a little too warm and stuffy.

". . . two . . . four . . . six," she counted the doors on her left down the hall until she reached Dungeon Eight. The bolts and metal bindings on its door seemed to be better reinforced than the other doors she'd passed on her way down the corridor. Raising her fist, she knocked firmly on the large oak door.

A few minutes later, the door still hadn't opened. Olivia had said, "Don't leave if he doesn't answer immediately. Knock again. It'll annoy him to be interrupted while he's working, and he'll probably begin taking the piss out of you immediately, but ignore it. If you want him to do something for you, you'll have to get past it. It's how he is."

She knocked again, this time a bit louder and more solidly. After a few more moments of waiting, the huge door swung open.

"Yes?" The hook-nosed, lank-haired Potions Master eyed her with distaste.

Hazel quickly decided brevity would be the best policy. "Professor Snape, I need to speak with you."

He raised an eyebrow, then turned and walked to his desk, leaving the door slightly open for her to follow. "Sit," he ordered.

She sat, in a high-backed wooden chair facing his expansive desk.

"Professor Farren, what is it you need?" he inquired coolly, leaning over the stacks of books and papers on his desk to examine one more closely as he spoke.

"Polyjuice Potion," she said without preamble. "Enough for perhaps thirty full-grown adults."

He leaned back in his chair, studying his notes, then said abruptly, "Professor, I understand that, as an electives teacher, your skills are not necessary to the running of this school. Perhaps you are not aware of the amount of work I am required to accomplish before the start of term. Perhaps you assume, incorrectly, that I have the time to deal with every off-hand request from faculty without the skill to produce the potion they desire. Let me assure you, it is far more imperative that I complete the medical potions Madam Pomfrey requires for the hospital wing than any questionable mixtures you may require for your class."

Had her acting training been any less successful, Hazel was sure she would have reddened deeply at the Potions Master's sharp-tongued rebuff. It took a good deal of willpower to remain composed.

"Professor Snape, I apologize for my ignorance," she replied. "But I believe you misunderstood my request. I did not solicit your assistance. I would appreciate a working area in the dungeons – which I understand are under your jurisdiction – in order to complete the potion myself. The other areas of the castle are too warm. The potion could easily become unstable if brewing were attempted in the upper rooms."

He looked up at her, for the first time since he'd answered the door. He seemed to be considering her, weighing her. "Very well," he muttered, returning to his papers. "Dungeon Three will be left open for your use. The school potions stores are the fifth door to your right from the staircase." He rose, strode to the door and held it open slightly wider as if to indicate that it was time for her to leave., which she did silently.

Hazel heard the door screech shut behind her as she walked back through the frigid hall to the staircase. Jesus. She shivered briefly, mentally reminding herself to bring a sweatshirt when she began work on the Polyjuice Potion the next morning. It was freezing down here. The Potions Master's temperament fit his icy dominion well.

"Well? Was it horrible?" Olivia Vector inquired as Hazel seated herself at the High Table for dinner that evening. Hazel looked up and down the table, but the greasy-haired Potions Master didn't seem to be present.

"Only moderately," she answered, pausing to tuck a strand of auburn hair out of her face so she could eat without getting it in her mouth, as was often the case. "Snape's a real ice queen."

"You're not kidding," Olivia said thickly, as she shoveled a large helping of spotted dick into her mouth. "Intense, though. Get the man into tight cords and he'd be positively simmering."

"Jesus!" Hazel snorted. "That wasn't exactly the image that came to mind."

"What, S&M? Snape?" Olivia chewed thoughtfully. "It does seem like a distinct probability."

"Okay. Now this is just getting weird."

Olivia laughed and nudged her with her elbow. "Relax. As far as anyone here knows, Snape isn't even interested in sex. And if he were, we wouldn't be talking about it. Nobody would want to know."

She paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Except Filch, perhaps . . ."

Hazel made several loud gagging noises, attracting the concerned attention of the professor to her left.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"She's fine, Remus," called Olivia from Hazel's other side. "We were just talking about Snape's sex life, and, well, she reacted in a most acceptable – and predictable – fashion."

"Remus Lupin, Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

"Hazel Farren, Dramatic Art." Despite his youth, the professor seemed a bit grey around the edges – his shaggy light brown hair was traced with silver lines, his forehead more wrinkled than expected for a man of his age.

"Don't tell me you're one of Snape's many admirers," Remus joked, gently applying butter to his sourdough roll.

"God, no. Just another unfortunate victim of his personality."

Olivia paused to snicker before taking another swig from her goblet, thankfully avoiding spraying the rest of the staff with pumpkin juice. The conversation turned from the Potions Master to a discussion about her new colleagues' histories.

Olivia Vector was thirty-two and in her tenth year of teaching at Hogwarts, having been recruited right out of university as a replacement for the retiring Arithmancy professor. "I did consider taking some time off for a while, if I ever met a bloke worth settling down with," she related, "but I never did."

Remus appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties and admitted to having spent a good deal of time not employed in his profession of choice before he was offered his Hogwarts position. "I traveled around a good bit, did many unrelated jobs for different businesses. I think my longest time in a single place was the two years I spent working as an assistant for Flourish and Blotts in their Paris location."

The doors of the Great Hall banged open swiftly and Professor Snape strode in, his face its usual mask of carefully controlled disdain. Olivia let loose a small snort. Even Remus allowed himself a small smile.

Hazel's shoulders shook from barely concealed laughter, but she straightened as Snape passed her seat. "So," she whispered quietly to her colleagues when he was out of earshot, "are we chipping in for the leather pants or the corset and whip set for Snape's Christmas present?"

Remus and Olivia couldn't help it. They howled.