A/Ns:Welcome to the wonderful Noleme, an answer to prayer: A Snape-centric beta who volunteered to edit Principles and Honor. My heartfelt thanks for your graciously given time and thoughtful guidance, Noleme.
Many apologies for the delay. Muse unexpectedly went on a long vacation, and upon returning promptly went on strike. Muses are such flighty things. Plus, the ffn muse went crazy, disallowing additions to the original version of Principles and Honor. Therefore, this is a reposted version of P&H. The first three chapters are reposts and chapter 4 is new.
Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made by the humble (and quite poor) fanfic author, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
oOo
Chapter 4
Nadia slept fitfully. Her dreams featured a long-nosed, sneering man transforming into a fox wearing a pointed cap, and an ancient man with blazing blue eyes standing in a huge, lightning-lit room, his black robe billowing as if buffeted by a storm.
Periodically, she awoke and pondered whether what she'd experienced in this strange castle was real. It was dumbfounding that she couldn't board the train. Come to think of it, why didn't someone simply put her on a bus? She'd be willing to rent a car. Odd, now that she thought of it: There was no sign of autos in that village.
Dammit. She'd paid good money to go on vacation. All she wanted to do was to see the sites, make a few memories and go home.
Granted, she was getting a lot more memories than she'd bargained for, and money couldn't buy such an experience. If, indeed, it really was a school for witches. Was it a theatrical school, as it appeared—or a psycho ward?
The second choice made sense. Special effects had improved dramatically in her lifetime. With computers and a whiz kid, even a high school production could have impressive visuals and animatronics.
What had she witnessed in the old man's strange office? The woman—Mc-Something—really did seem to turn into a cat, and she couldn't deny that the cup and saucer had risen. But that was all smoke and mirrors, right? It wasn't proof that magic is real. If it was, it would be common knowledge. Right?
She sat up in bed, made a comfortable back rest by stacking pillows and plopped back. The old woman and man seemed sincere in their proclamations that they were a witch and wizard, which was discomforting. Professor Snape seemed … malicious, with a touch of glee about it.
A shiver tingled down her spine. Maybe they're nuts. They've gone mad in this remote place.
Reaching to the nightstand, Nadia found and quickly opened the match box, and lit the candle. Clutching the holder, she went to the closed door and listened for several seconds. Silence. Slowly opening the door, she thrust the candlestick into the sitting room and then more carefully stuck her head through the narrow opening. No one there. Quickly moving across the cold room, she checked the main door. Locked tight. Good.
Sighing with relief, she hurried back to bed. But as soon as she settled against the pillows, thoughts returned of Snape sneering at her, and the inexplicable way her bathroom was cleaned and her meals delivered without a trace of anyone. Springing to her knees, she tugged loose each of the curtains tied around the four-poster until she was surrounded by heavy fabric. It might not offer actual protection, but at least she felt safer.
With that, Nadia shifted onto her side and returned to sleep. In the dream that followed, she fell down the rabbit hole, where everything—a fox-faced man dancing with a cat-tailed woman, and a jolly codger hosting a tea party for children in Halloween costumes—made perfect sense.
oOo
Severus Snape, too, spent much of the night awake. Illuminated by two candelabra, he stood in his private lab, long fingers carefully dropping precisely cut ingredients into a smoking cauldron.
Earlier in the evening, he'd corrected the term's first piles of essays. Piles of Hippogriff dung, more like. As he sat pondering the Beasley problem over a glass of elf-made wine, the Baron reported that the eldest male Slytherin prefect, Smiteson, had put the fear of Merlin into his charges during the first weekly House meeting. That might ensure a few undisturbed nights.
Swirling the red liquid, Snape smiled. His relationship with the Baron went back to Snape's childhood. Once the ghost had taken measure of the student Severus, he'd silently signaled the boy when aware that the Marauders lay in wait. After Snape was named Head of House, the Baron had offered experienced counsel, relieved that someone capable—albeit young—succeeded the shallow, unseeing Slughorn. The two of them—pale young man, millennium-old spectre—made a good team.
Upon draining the glass, the Potions master had gone into his lab to brew and think.
Once the potion base had reached the optimal temperature, he added the ingredients in order, stirring the requisite number of times clockwise and widdershins. Tomorrow, he'd begin Legilimency on the interloping Muggle or whatever she was. He'd learn her secrets, Dumbledore would find a way to remove her, and they could get on with their work. Merlin knew he had plenty to do without her adding to the load.
If Legilimency proved insufficient to this case, the Headmaster might deem it appropriate to use the Truth Potion. Hogwarts always had a bottle protected by a lock spell. It was wise to prepare a replacement batch of Veritaserum, Ministry rules be damned. He answered to Dumbledore, not those incompetent twonks.
oOo
Dumbledore dropped by shortly after breakfast to present Nadia with a white paper bag labeled "Honeydukes Sweetshop, Hogsmeade."
"I thought you might like to try an assortment of goodies," he said while standing in the doorway. "Also, something special has arrived." He moved his left arm from behind his back to produce a large, odd-sized case.
"The lute! Thank you!" Nadia excitedly seized the case and opened the lid, pulling out the bulbous stringed instrument. "Isn't it lovely? It's made from maple."
"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you might grant me a little concert?"
"Of course! I need a little practice. They say that it takes as much time to tune the silly things as to play them," she laughed. Holding the instrument by the neck, she hugged the old wizard, then drew back sheepishly. "Oh, I'm sorry."
Dumbledore chuckled. "My dear, it isn't every day that an old wizard is embraced by a mere girl."
"Hardly," she scoffed, yet smiled at the compliment. "I'm nearly 32."
"Still, just a very young thing." Dumbledore patted her shoulder kindly.
Fixing him with a hopeful look, she asked brightly, "Is there any chance I could get out for a while today to take a walk? Look around the school?"
The old man's expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said, taking her free hand gently in both of his wrinkled ones. "I am busy with administrative duties, and the staff and students will begin a full day of classes soon." Before she could suggest roaming alone, he continued. "Many of the staircases are unpredictable, so it would be unsafe for you to explore alone. I'd fear for your safety alone outside. Our forest has many wild animals and snakes, and some may wander onto the grounds."
She started. "Snakes! I didn't think there were any in Britain."
"You're thinking of Ireland," Dumbledore chuckled. "The rest of Europe has snakes, including adders. I believe an asp killed Cleopatra," he added, thoughtfully pulling his beard. His eyes refocused on her. "Do you like to read?"
"I love a good book," she breathed.
"Delightful! I shall send some books in with breakfast. You can read about Hogwarts, if not see it all for yourself," he suggested.
"I'd enjoy that." She beamed at him. Nothing like a good book to pass the time.
oOo
The Headmaster departed, and she spent a half hour in prayer until Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris arrived with breakfast precariously perched on a stack of books. Afterward she climbed onto the window seat to enjoy the view and to read from the wizard history and Muggle studies books Dumbledore had provided.
Flipping through the books removed most of Nadia's doubts about the existence of magic. More precisely, the moving illustrations and photographs did. She gaped at the first one for a full minute before looking at it from every angle, then vainly feeling the pages and the covers for a tell-tale lump indicating a computer chip, a wire, something. How that could be faked? Still, believing in magic went against all logic.
Once that novelty waned, she began reading Hogwarts: A History. It was by turns entertaining, informative and preposterous. A case in point: Contrary to what the book claimed, she could see Hogwarts. But one question remained foremost: How to explain the moving photos? She saved the normal-looking (it lacked a "Ministry of Magic" publication stamp and moving pictures) Scottish history book for bedtime reading.
Lunch arrived while she was in the bathroom, as did tea in the late afternoon. She practiced the lute for an hour, then read from the more advanced wizard histories and timelines, plus the simply abominable book purporting to describe Muggle history and politics. Dinner, which also arrived while she was in the bathroom, was a true Cordon Bleu treat. It was accompanied by a note from the Headmaster, who apologized for being unable to join her and reminded her that Professor Snape would arrive at "half past eight."
Nadia's self-prescribed Legil-whatever pre-treatment was a nice soak in the tub. One of her dreams had Dumbledore popping lemon drops, which was humorous, but less so was Severus Snape's eyes boring into hers, which had jarred her awake.
oOo
At precisely eight-thirty, there was a sharp rap at the door. Responding to her called greeting, the door swung open and Professor Snape strode in. She considered offering him a cup of tea until noting his distinctly businesslike expression.
"Are you ready, Miss Beasley?" he asked rhetorically. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable."
"Ah. It's time for the Legal—Legla—"
"Legilimency," he finished for her. "Yes. I must check my house at ten, so I do not wish for any unnecessary delays."
"Yes, sir," she said, taken slightly aback at his brusqueness but reminding herself that he was a busy professional—of some kind. "What do I need to do?"
"Merely relax your mind," Snape instructed, "and look into my eyes."
Ah. It's hypnotism, she thought. How's that going to get me out of here? She took a deep breath and sat back into the tufted club chair."Okay. Can you do it from the other chair?"
"Across the room, if need be." Snape flicked away the ludicrous question with a shoulder shrug. He took off his robe, draping it on the chair's back, and revealing a high-collared, multi-buttoned jacket appearing to be from the early Victorian period. Just a touch of white showed above the collar; otherwise, his dress was black, like his eyes and loose, neck-length hair. While certainly not the norm, the garb suited his manners, Nadia thought.
He glanced quickly at the several textbooks on the coffee table, immediately recognizing the open volume as the First Year History of Magic text. The opened pages contained a moving drawing and the heading, "1692: International Confederation of Wizards summit meeting."
"I've been to a hypnotist—"
"This is not hypnotism, Miss Beasley," he said stiffly.
"I only want to explain that I have been to a hypnotist in trying to cure migraine headaches, and it didn't work well. I wasn't comfortable with her."
"Whether or not you are comfortable is immaterial with Legilimency. Cooperation isn't necessary—unless you'd like the experience to be at least, shall we say, tolerable?"
Swallowing, Nadia nodded, took two deep breaths and then looked into Snape's eyes. They are so incredibly black, she thought.Simultaneously disconcerted and fascinated, she maintained a steady gaze. His manner was unthreatening, and she allowed herself to relax.
Snape immediately found her mind unfolding to him. He watched as she walked through King's Cross Station, checking her ticket against the signs. Walking down Platform Nine. Looking up and around several times to the large clock and the platform numbers, referring back to her ticket.
A group of rowdy teenage boys approached on the run, knocking the unaware Nadia backward—and through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. From her perspective, she saw nothing unusual—the Hogwarts Express apparently reminded her of an earlier travel on and old locomotive. The Express' conductor was blowing the last students aboard, and Nadia dashed for the back of the train, finding an empty compartment and settling down. Snape sensed her extreme drowsiness, and watched as she rolled up her raincoat and placed it against the glass window so that she could cradle her head for sleep.
Her dreams were a mix of impressions: a cramped plane full of Muggles, suggestions of purple heather and blue lakes, checklists of places to visit, the moon reflected on a lake far below a northern trestle, the faint sounds of children laughing and shouting, a woman's voice hawking flavored beans, the ever rhythmic clack and sway of the train.
Snape witnessed the conductor awakening the adult stowaway, her clambering off and striking out for the lake. There was no thought or sense of Hogwarts or of magic, only that of excitement for a castle, yes, but a Muggle one turned hotel.
He went another direction, searching for background. A reception room in a Muggle office. Visitors completing forms. Using a computer and other electronic equipment. A hurried lunch, shopping, alone at night with a book. All mundane memories, all easily counterfeited, as he so well knew from his experience and expertise.
Pushing past, Snape sought something more personal and found it: A man with two young women who resembled him. On a casket before them were photographs of a woman, one of her with the man, another with the girls, the older one sharing the mother's blonde tresses.
The fair-haired girl grown up, in a wedding gown, quickly followed by images of her with one, two, three babies. The family packed into a car outside a house displaying a "For Sale" sign and waving at Nadia as they drive away.
Another wedding. The father, grayer now, stands holding hands with a woman on a shaded veranda, palm trees in the background. Next, the man hugs his two girls at the airport, admonishing them to "Stay in touch with each other, and don't forget me down here."
There were repeated impressions of monotony—the office, cooking, a small apartment with feminine décor, going to and from church and a musical organization with little socializing. All very quiet, very safe, revealing nothing.
It was time to delve more deeply into her mind, searching for secrets she might try to be obscuring from his nimble intellect. Do not attempt to deceive, Snape thought. You cannot. As his mind bore insistently, he felt the woman tense but he would not release her. Moving swiftly past a fog of other thoughts, he penetrated like an expertly handled drill, coming to a door, a knock, an opening revealing a gathering of men and women, some in robes and hoods, who were—.
Nadia broke away from him, dropping her head to massage the temples.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm getting a migraine." Reaching for her purse, she fumbled through it, pain etched on her face.
Snape quickly moved around the low table separating them and lifted her chin, looking directly into her eyes. He could see then that she was not feigning; the brown eyes were becoming unfocused, and she was involuntarily trembling, not from fear, he knew, but from physical debilitation. Releasing her, he left the sitting room, returning with a glass of water. She placed a pill in her mouth and with unspoken gratitude accepted the glass, taking a long draught.
"I'd hoped to avoid these on this trip," she said, slumping in the chair, her eyes closed and head resting against the back. "They're devastating."
"How long have you had these headaches?" Snape asked, his baritone voice low and soothing.
"Years," she said feebly. "Usually brought on by stress, but sometimes a low-pressure weather system. Other times from no apparent reason."
Snape took the bottle from her to read the label. "Do you find this remedies the migraines?"
"If I catch it right away, this medicine usually works. If I wait too long, it's no use."
"Have you tried natural remedies?"
"No, they're unregulated," she replied, "and too much like old wives' tales."
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched dangerously, but he did not reply. Putting on his robe, he closed the drapes with an unsaid incantation. "I will leave you to your rest. If you require anything—."
"I'll pull the bell pull." She managed a weak smile, her eyes still closed.
Shutting the door behind him, Snape determined that a migraine would not stop his mental interrogation the next time—and he knew exactly where he would start.