9/8/1989

Minerva watched Abigail move around the room with agitated jerky movements as she put away the assignments she had been grading and pulled out her tea set, a plate of beignets, and a bottle of Bushmills. She had to suppress a smile at the younger witch's flustered behaviour. The girl had been out of sorts since the Start of Term Feast and her mood had not improved since. Two diamond shaped rocking tumblers joined everything else on the table and Abigail finally dropped into the other armchair.

"What has you so vexed girl? You've been storm cloud all week. I don't think I've ever seen the students clear a corridor for you before now."

Abigail didn't reply. Instead she uncorked the whiskey bottle and poured them each a measure of the amber liquid. Minerva swirled her glass lightly and gave her colleague a surreptitious look.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain potions master would it?" That earned a dark look. "My, my how alike you two are. Fierce tempers, prideful, tightlipped when irritable; you are two peas in a pod."

"Too alike I think. Instead of oil and water we're like sodium and water. We explode violently when together."

"Yes. Professor Flitwick did say you two exchanged some very heated words at the feast. What happened? You seemed to be getting along so well by the end of last year."

Abigail sighed heavily and drained her glass in one long sip. Minerva stared.

"Forgive me. I'm a stereotype. I play the violin, I river dance, and I looove my whiskey." She poured herself another glass. "You might as well dress me in green and call me a leprechaun."

Minerva laughed.

"Snape is such a confusing man. He pushes everyone away with his wretched behaviour and says he doesn't need friends. Just looking at the surface he seems like a solitary individual who dislikes people and has no desire for relationships of any kind. However, if you pull out your magnifying glass and then a microscope you can see that isn't the case.

"He took quite readily to the idea of weekly chess matches with me even if he tried to hide it; and his eyes certainly look brighter when he comes to my office for them. Then there's the fact that he allowed me to start helping him collect ingredients in the forest again. He seemed almost relieved when I surprised him that night. His shoulders were less tense afterwards anyway.

"Then I told him at the end of term last year that I would like to write him this summer. He looked at me like I had three heads, as if he couldn't fathom why I would want to do so. In the end he agreed in his own way. Of course it didn't happen and I think I may have hurt his feelings. I think he might have actually been looking forward to it, even though he probably wouldn't admit it even to himself."

Minerva tilted her glass back and forth between her fingers.

"Severus is a complicated man. I can't pretend to know what he's thinking sometimes. There's something there like an invisible wall that just keeps him apart from everyone else. I'm not sure if it's self imposed or…"

"I probably didn't help at all in that regard. My temper got the best of me and I called him needy." Minerva gave her a sorrowful look. "Yes! I'm terrible! When I'm on the defensive I always go for the jugular. Whether I mean it or not I always say the most hurtful thing I can think of."

The older witch gripped her hand as she tilted her head back.

"I told him I'd appreciate his advice on my summer events, told him why I couldn't write, and he told me I only bother with him when he's of use, which is completely untrue. I don't know how he doesn't realize that after last year. Then I just blurted out those horrible words! If he really does want friends and I want to try and figure out this wall he's built I'm never going to get anywhere this way."

"Well I have a feeling if anyone can do it you can, my dear. You're going to have to be the one to keep their temper in check though if you're going to have any hope of getting through."

"I know, I know." Abigail sighed and slouched in her chair. "He just makes me so angry and I just snap back so fast."

"Try some breathing exercises as soon as you feel yourself starting to get angry. Take a deep breath, hold it, and count to ten."

"I'll try Minerva. I'll try. I just wish I knew why he's so angry and scathing."

"I don't know much about the man outside our interactions at Hogwarts. I'm sure the years between graduation and Voldemort's defeat have a great deal to do with it; but I don't believe he's had the easiest life from the get go. His robes were always very second hand looking when he was a student. He didn't get along with many of the other students either."

"That could be a part of it. However I feel like there is one big piece of this puzzle that's missing. I just wish I knew what it was."

"You and Abigail seem to be having a rough start to the year." Albus watched Severus pensively, moving his Rook forward as he did so. The younger wizard replied with a non-committal sound deep in his throat. "You two were getting along so well just three months ago. What happened, my boy? I rather thought you two were becoming friends."

Severus fixed him with an agitated glared and sighed heavily in exasperation.

"I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you Albus, I have no intention of being her friend. She is a capable colleague and a skilled chess partner. Nothing more." He moved his Bishop back three spaces to the left.

"Forgive me. It was my mistake." Eyes twinkling Albus moved his rook sideways. "You were amicable in June. Now you're acting much the same as you did last September and October. Satisfy an old man's curiosity. Did she accuse you of being untrustworthy again?"

Anger, irritation, indignation; all fought for dominance in the young man's gaze. He swiped Albus' bishop from the board.

"She dared to come here and make such assumptions about my person; to call me untrustworthy for not baring my soul before her when she herself keeps such secrets! To think I foolishly trusted her so readily, especially now that she…"

Severus trailed off, suddenly remembering their first time speaking in her office and how he had kept the secret of her wandless magic to himself, wanting to keep Albus on the outside for once. Had that been a good idea given what he saw in the forest just a few days ago? Her words after their fight with Winters came back to him.

"I was told some months ago that I should trust my gut instincts because they've never steered me wrong before. It's true. I've often reacted without thinking in some situations and it's always put me right where I need to be, physically and metaphorically."

It had started a dialogue in which she told him she was giving him her trust because her instincts told her to. Now his instincts were telling him not to mention what he saw to anyone; to trust her. O'Connor believed in him now despite everything she knew he'd done. So shouldn't he afford her the same courtesy? Hadn't she mentioned wanting to tell him what had happened over the summer? She wanted to let him in on another one of her secrets.

I've let my temper get the best of me again. I should have listened to her and just asked her about what I saw.

"What is it, Severus? Did something happen?" Albus moved his Bishop forward. "Did she do something? I wasn't aware she was keeping any secrets."

Severus' concentration on the game was ruined. He was on the defensive now and pulled back his own Bishop. Thoughts of his blunder kept him from coming up with a counter move. The headmaster had no idea what went on in O'Connor's office so he was unaware of the secrets of which his potions master spoke.

Dammit…

"No. She hasn't done anything. I just don't like being on the outside looking in." A pointed glare was sent Albus' way. "As she said, she has let my secrets lay. I should do the same for her. It's just her lack of participation in the war. She wouldn't tell me why she didn't fight. It's none of my business really."

It was the most innocuous of her secrets that he could come up with.

"My, my. Now this is a side of you I'm not used to." The Headmaster's Rook moved forward. "You must have gained quite a good deal of respect for Abigail if you're backing down this way."

"I'm not backing down. I'm simply affording her the same courtesy she has given me." He pulled in his Rook. If Albus moved his own Rook again he could take the man's other bishop.

"All the same, if you feel something is wrong let me know. Even I am not infallible. You must tell me if you believe I have made a mistake in my choice of spy. I do not have the same guarantee to her faithfulness that I do with you."

The bonfire and the Dark Arts books flashed to the forefront of his mind. They were followed by her words at the feast Sunday night. Albus watched him, his blue eyes intent.

"Nothing is wrong Albus."

"Very well. Know that you can tell me whatever concerns you have. I trust you to bring anything important to my attention."

Severus bit back a groan when his mentor directed his Bishop to E7. The tall white piece smashed the Black Knight to pieces, leaving him in check mate.

9/11/1989

O'Connor sat at her desk feeling anxious. She and Snape had decided at the end of last year to move their Monday meetings to the breakfast hour rather than disturb any classes they may have. That meant that she was two hours closer to sucking it up and apologizing to the dour potions master. Minerva was right after all. It wasn't as if he would do so. So if she wanted things to go back to the way they were she would have to take the hit even though they were both at fault.

The knock on her door startled her so much that she almost sent her tea set and serving tray flying. Hastily steadying the food and drink she sat up straighter and bid her guest to come in. Snape entered carrying his potions bag and a scowl as usual. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as he set the bag on one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and came to stand before her desk.

Oh dear. What now?

"It has come to my attention that I may have acted irrationally at the Welcoming Feast. I am willing to hear what you have to say about your summer if you still wish to tell me."

His eyes refused to meet her own and she stared at him mouth ajar. Was he trying to apologize?!

Minerva will never believe me.

"Uh, yes. Of course." She pushed forward the Jaffa cakes and the pot of Earl Grey. "Before that though, I need to apologize for my harsh words. I never should have called you needy. It was untrue and uncalled for. It's no excuse, but I was stressed and exhausted and I lashed out. I hope you can forgive me."

"The incident is already forgotten."

He's so dismissive. Does he even believe me?

"I have a question or two I would like answered as well, after we have discussed your holiday."

"Oh. Ok?" Now she was really confused. What could he possibly want to know? The year had just started.

"You said something about a family member on the run if I remember correctly." He seated himself in front of her desk, gesturing for her to start her story.

O'Connor nodded, suddenly looking solemn, and went to her bookcase. Snape watched her from the corner of his eye as she retrieved something from on high where it was hidden behind decorative molding. Cradling the object in her arms she leaned against the front of the desk to stare at him with eyes that looked over bright. Slowly she slipped the item from her grasp and set it on the desk. She appeared to move in slow motion and sound seemed to reach him from the other end of a long tunnel. The large silver thermos settled on the desk with what sounded like a distant bang reverberating from the other end of that tunnel.

What's happening?

"It's called Steam."

Was it getting harder to breathe? He couldn't tell. His breath seemed overly loud and his heart thundered in his ears. Had he made a mistake? Had he come to the wrong conclusion during his talk with Albus? Perhaps she had seen him in the forest after all and was making sure he never told anyone what he saw. He needed to stop whatever the hell she was doing to him. His fingers grazed his wand and O'Connor reached forward to take his shoulder in a vice-like grip that could rival his own.

"Severus Snape!"

The spell was broken and he drew a long breath through his nose. Green eyes were staring at him with worry and the younger woman looked apologetic. The canister had disappeared and he wondered when she had done that. Had he really been that out of it? Just what the hell was that canister?

"I'm sorry. I should have thought of the affects before doing that. You may be versed with and have been exposed to dark magic, but nothing like this. Good thing too or I might have had to pick you off the floor."

"Dark magic? I've never experienced any dark magic like that before. What the hell kind of dark magic are you playing with?"

"I haven't been playing with it. Someone else has. Don't you remember last year when I told you that my family knew of Dark Arts that were so vial they could change you physically?" Snape looked ready to hex her if she didn't start explaining faster. "This is knowledge my family has guarded for centuries. We put an end to such practices long ago, but one of our people discovered it and fled. We haven't seen her in well over two centuries."

Clarity passed over his face.

"You caught wind of her over the summer."

"Yes. We couldn't catch her and her group though and we refuse to let this knowledge fall into anymore hands so we haven't sought aid from the Ministry or MACUSA. We don't trust them to keep it secret or to refrain from using it. It needs to stay with us. If word got out I know at least one person who would stop at nothing to acquire it and I fear what he would do to get it."

"The Dark Lord."

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"It's called Steam. As long as you partake of it you stay youthful and strong. As long as you continue to take Steam you continue to live."

"A means for him to live forever. Something he's sought for a very long time." The "thinking line" as O'Connor referred to it appeared between his brows. "What is Steam exactly?"

A haunted look entered her eyes and he knew what she was going to say wouldn't be good.

"As witches and wizards we can use magic to move things or read minds. We talk with ghost as if it's an everyday occurrence and we have all manners of ways to see the future. Muggles on the other hand have none of that. Or do they?" He gave her an annoyed look, urging her to get a move on.

"Some muggles are born with abilities that allow them to do these things without magic. Some are more gifted than others. There are the ones that can make things move. Those who can commune with each other through their minds, even over long distances, and create mindscapes just like Occulemency shields. There are mediums who can talk with the dead and see them just as they see you and I.

"Then there's that husband who always knows when his wife is in a bad mood and brings home flowers. The dosser who never gets caught by the boss because he always seems to know when he's coming. They're the friend who always knows where you left your keys and calls when you're sad. They know when to swing in cricket, they know which horse is going to win the race, they know when something bad has happened or a relative is going to die."

"You are talking about psychics. From what I hear it's not very common." He gave her a skeptical look.

"More so than you think. For most people it's nothing quite so grand. Mothers tend to have a bit of Steam. Intuition so to speak I guess. Kids tend to be the most prevalent with the gift. It fades as you get older and your mind gets cluttered with everything else. Some people keep it through adulthood though. They're usually the mediums that will read your fortune for gifts rather than money and are usually always spot on."

"So if I'm following you correctly you are saying that this family member and her group travel around looking for people with Steam. They then take that Steam and use it to live forever."

"I wish it were so simple." O'Connor swiped a hand over her mouth to hide the tremble of her lips and the crack in her voice. "Steam is strongest in children. And the way they acquire it is by torturing the children until death."

Snape blanched, he face paling slightly. She couldn't possibly be serious. The glistening droplets on her eyelashes told him otherwise. He swallowed thickly. Dark Arts that altered your physical body took on a whole new meaning for him now. Just how far did these magics go? He had always been fascinated by the Dark Arts and probably always would be, but this was madness. Just what kind of people was her family and who did they associate with?

"You can relax. I know what you're thinking and I already told you we don't practice it. We just have a history with it." She sighed heavily and carefully pulled the thermos from where she had tucked it into her robes.

"Just what kind of history?" Snape's dark eyes glared suspiciously at her.

"Think of it like Scotland. Here they have clans made up of different families. It's kind of like that. My clan fought with another clan that practiced these Dark Arts. They weren't bad people per se but this was something we couldn't allow to continue. So we stopped it and locked away the knowledge."

"I will again state that you speak as if your people are a separate entity from the rest of wizarding society. Why wasn't the Ministry involved?"

"A story for another day."

"And you said you trusted me." He mocked. O'Connor's green eyes darkened and she leaned down so she could stare into his eyes.

"There are many different kinds of trust Severus Snape. I trust that you're on our side of the war and showed you one of the things You-Know-Who wants most. I trust that you're the kind of person who can keep this a secret because no one should have this; because it's just plain evil. If you want more than that you have to show me that I can trust you with more. You'll understand what that means in time."

Snape glared at her wondering what she meant, but O'Connor seemed done with the conversation. She set the thermos back on her desk.

"I need to come up with a way to track either them or large amounts of Steam. They seem to keep extra on hand in these containers. It's probably a way to revitalize them in the event that they can't find their next source for awhile. We found this at a campground. Brace yourself and don't breathe it in."

Snape looked surprised and wary as he pushed his chair back from the desk. O'Connor twisted the lid of the thermos and it snapped open. For a moment nothing happened and then a small sliver of silvery-white mist escaped the container carrying with it the faintest sound of screams. The same strange feeling as before washed over him but he was able to push it away this time. O'Connor directed the haze back into the container and closed it with a snap.

"Do you think we can do it? Track them or the Steam?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, tracing his bottom lip with one long finger. His brows drew together as he stared at the thermos.

"It should be possible to modify a tracking spell to lock onto a specific type of magical signature or type of energy."

"Not a magical signature. I forgot to mention. She does have some type of black magic but she's not a full on witch. None of them are. They're all just psychics, powerful ones. Even we should take care in dealing with them."

"They same theory applies. Everyone has their own specific type of energy. Our bodies generate it every day just from the simple intake of food. If we can identify theirs we should be able to track it. The Steam would be more difficult. It seems to be raw energy and the essence of the person it came from. We would need to find a way to lock on to just the type of energy it is rather than who's; like finding a human's signature versus an animal's."

"Will you help me do it?"

"I must admit you have peaked my interest. I will help on one condition."

O'Connor's eyes darkened again and she eyed him warily.

"The questions you wanted answered when you walked in here."

"Yes. What did you do to that tree in the forest last Sunday and what was that bonfire?"

For a moment everything was quiet and still. O'Connor had frozen and was staring at him with open shock. Then a tension began to fill the air like a thick fog and Snape realized he'd made a mistake. Her eyes were darkening and filling with a predatory gleam. She leaned forward towards him and he leaned back until he could go no further. They were almost nose-to-nose with her practically in his lap, her hands on the arms of the chair.

"What did you see?"

"Everything." He met her gaze unflinchingly despite the sweat gathering along his collar. She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to contain her anger. Behind her the plants in the window began to wilt. His eyes widened and she whipped around to see what he was staring at. When she saw them she released his chair as if burned. "Don't practice them, do you?"

"No. We don't." She hissed acidly, turning away from him. "This is a burden I must bear. As for the fire it's a special mode of transport. Prove to me I can trust you with more and I'll tell you more. Now get the fuck out of my office."

He knew better than to argue and left the room in silence, an unbidden and unwanted realization coming to him. She reacted the same exact way he did when someone got too close to something too personal. He wandered what made this secret different from all the others though, and what she meant by "a burden she must bear". What power was it that made her able to kill off plants in such a manner? She seemed almost unable to control it in her anger. Perhaps that was what she meant by burden.

Whatever she meant, whatever this is, I'll just have to find out.