A/N: All characters belong to JK Rowling. No copyright infringements are intended nor is money being made.

CHAPTER 5

The Deputy Headmistress was in Dumbledore's office early the next morning for the Legilimency report. Snape found them seated before a low fire and took the spare chair they'd reserved for him. He waved away the Headmaster's offer of breakfast, accepting plain tea alone.

"Any problems?" Dumbledore asked once Snape had settled back into the leather chair and taken a sip of the robust brew. Few students would recognize this Dumbledore sitting in conference. His face was humorless, his eyes piercing, his carriage steely.

"Minimal," Snape replied matter-of-factly. "The session ended when she succumbed to a migraine."

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked, her cup resting on her chair's wide, flat arm.

Snape's black eyes briefly swiveled to her, then to the fireplace. "I searched her travel things the first night she was here and analyzed the medicines. They were all legitimate Muggle products, one commonly prescribed to migraineurs."

He crossed one ankle over the other, and returned his cup to its saucer. "If her thoughts are true and untampered, she was behind schedule and searching for an antique Muggle locomotive at King's Cross when she was knocked through the Platform Nine and Three Quarters pillar by a group of rambunctious Muggle boys. She did not notice anything except the conductor waving her aboard. Once in a compartment, she promptly fell asleep and remembers nothing of the trip. She expected to arrive at a Highland hotel. Her other memories were of a mundane office job and life."

"Do you believe she adjusted her thoughts or is otherwise hiding anything?" the Headmaster asked.

"There was definite resistance when I sought to see into the memory of a meeting. All of the participants were robed."

The muscles in McGonagall's face stiffened, and the Headmaster resisted the inclination to lean forward in his interest to that revelation. "‛Wizarding robes?" he asked his spy.

"It was but a glimpse—and she shut the door as quickly as possible."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed. "Consciously?"

"Without a doubt." Snape took a long draught of the tea. His face became masked. "I plan to explore that area … thoroughly."

Dumbledore nodded his approval while Minerva's lips thinned into a straight, purposeful line.

"Carry on tonight, then," the Headmaster instructed. Fawkes fluttered, settling back into place on his perch, and his master looked at the clock. "The students will be going to the Great Hall soon. I imagine you both have plenty to do before classes begin."

The meeting finished, all three rose to begin their regular routines.

oOo

The sun had been up for some time when Nadia finally awoke. Initially startled by the unfamiliar surroundings, she groggily recalled where she was. She swung her feet to the floor, yawned, scratched her back, and then tromped unsteadily to the bathroom. The sudden contrast from the bedroom's wool carpet to the uncovered stone floor's cold wrenched her fully awake, and she hurried to start a hot shower. After wrapping her short hair with a towel, she stepped into the stream, grabbed the soap bar and white washcloth, and began scrubbing briskly.

Once dry, she glanced at the watch she'd left on the countertop. Undoubtedly, it was too late for breakfast; she would have to wait for lunch. Well, it's not like I'm working off all of this tasty food, she thought as she brushed her teeth. The morning's preparations finished with a dash of makeup and donning jeans, sweater, and socks.

To Nadia's surprise, a freshly lit fire warmed the sitting room and breakfast was on coffee table, next to the wizard books. A glance at the door showed that the bolt was still in place. While it was nice to be well cared for, knowing that someone entered to deliver meals while she was in the bathroom was disconcerting, especially in light of what she understood about the castle and its inhabitants.

The meal of oatmeal, coddled eggs, fresh fruit and tea was filling, but she barely noticed the taste as she ruminated about the previous evening. The Legil-whatever had firmly impressed upon her that magic was, indeed, real. She could actually see thoughts that Snape seem to call up at will. It was as if a microscopic medical probe had been winding through her mind. The experience was so disturbing that she ultimately sought mental and emotional refuge.

She shuddered, and nearly dropped her spoon when someone rapped upon the door.

Hurriedly putting down the bowl, Nadia moved to the door and opened it cautiously.

"I hope I am not disturbing you," Dumbledore said genially, his eyebrows raised.

"Please, come in." She pulled the door open fully, allowing the purple-robed, long-haired man to enter.

He peered at the coffee table where her dishes lay. "Oh, you're still breakfasting."

"No, no. I'm finished. There's still tea. Would you like some?" she offered before remembering there was only one cup.

"Yes, thank you," the old man said, stepping aside to allow her to the cozy seating area.

Once past him, she winced, wondering what to do. But then her eyes darted to the tray to find two, not one, cups. I'm positive there had been only one. The thought finished slowly as she alternately suspected, denied the possibility, and again suspected that Dumbledore had somehow caused the new tea cup to be there.

He smiled sheepishly at her expression. "Pardon my presumption?" His hand indicated the unmatched cup.

Nadia gaped as she slowly sat into her still-warm chair.

"Should I be mother?" he asked. The unaccustomed phrase jarred her attention back to him. A wave levitated the teapot, which drifted above the two cups, pouring steaming tea into each before the pot rested again on the tray. A flutter of fingers simultaneously sent a cup and saucer to him, hers to slowly drift to her lap.

Nadia cleared her throat. "Okay. That's real," she said more to herself than to him.

"Have you been enjoying your reading?" the Headmaster inquired, nodding to the books.

That recalled her again-drifting mind to his presence. He amiably answered her many questions relating to wizarding history, relations with Muggles, the magically gifted children attending Hogwarts, and the nature of Hogwarts' four houses. Before Dumbledore left, Nadia performed two lute pieces, earning warm compliments.

She sat back to think. The old man had kindly answered her questions, seeming to believe even the most implausible things she'd read—goblin wars and a Ministry of Magic—and had worked magic as casually as she'd flip on a TV. With a muttered word and strokes of a stick, Snape had clearly delved into her mind. Food and fresh towels appeared and her laundry cleaned without anyone obviously entering the room. It was at once intriguing, exhilarating, unbelievable, and frightening.

It was Nadia's practice to pray daily, often using The Book of Common Prayer's lectionary and collect cycle. That seemed too simple today. Going into the bedroom, she knelt before the window seat, resting her forehead against the cushion, and seriously prayed for God's protection and guidance as rain splattered against the five-story high window.

oOo

Snape knocked and entered while Nadia was practicing the lute. He did not sit, and since he'd previously displayed little patience, she quickly set aside the instrument.

"I think perhaps you should avail yourself of the chaise to help you relax. Not that you need to for me to look into your mind," he responded to her questioning eyebrow. "That is to perhaps avoid another migraine."

"Professor?" She sat on the chaise's edge. "This may be a bit unorthodox, but would you mind holding my hand? It might help me feel trust in you, and that would be the best way for me to be comfortable with this, er, thing you do."

Snape didn't bother addressing what he considered illogical. Pulling over a chair, he sat, bent forward, and took her hand as she lay back. Her fingers were long, slender and unexpectedly strong; her skin was soft and, Snape noticed, cold. That might be from the stone room—or nervousness. What might she be concealing?

"Look at me," he ordered softly. After a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to meet his intensely black orbs. They seemed to pull her into him…

With mastery, Snape swept past the memories he'd already seen, zeroing in on the one he'd barely touched when her migraine had begun. He saw her fist rise to knock on a door, an unknown man open it with a nodded greeting, and she looked around the room at the two dozen or so people. There was strong acceptance and understanding there. She found an empty chair and sat.

It was a rather plain, circular room, with chairs spread evenly around. All present sat quietly and comfortably, and no one spoke. The odd assortment of clothing brought to mind no single era, purpose or location, and there lacked sufficient stimulus for him to determine whether he might ever have been in that place.

All the while, he sensed Beasley's growing anxiety. The muscles in her hand tightened. She struggled fruitlessly to stop or slow him but had no idea how to do so.

Snape soothingly stroked her palm with his index finger even as his mind eased past her flailing opposition. He felt her confusion, her being torn between self-protection and fascination by his ability.

There were similar scenes. The next he chose to delve into, instead of entering the room, she was surprised when her hand was taken by a powerfully built man and he quickly led her through narrow halls, down several levels. All of the doors along the way were shut, and a faint light came from an unknown source. Finally, the man opened a door to a tiny, windowless room, well-lit with candles, and indicated she was to remain there alone. The door closed but although it was not locked, she obediently remained. Gratitude swirled within her.

Miss Beasley's mental opposition was no match to Snape. His eyes locked firmly on hers, he continued prizing open her mind, wearing down her resistance. Her hand grasped his more tightly and he felt perspiration from… fear? Anger? No, he easily recognized the emotion in his past Veritaserum subjects. It was… effrontery.

The Legilimens smiled at the offense taken, and enjoyed the control that he exercised. He half-expected her to tear her eyes away, but she didn't, couldn't; she seemed mesmerized. Yes, Snape thought, it is bewitching, isn't it? Almost as if you are being absorbed.. Continue looking with me…

Next, he saw her as a young girl, skipping down a sidewalk. She enjoyed the sensation of near flight, that slight holding in the air before coming down again before the next launch upward. He watched with dissecting disconnection as she stopped to pluck a dandelion, then continued skipping, silky white remnants of the gossamer ball drifting away. With a sudden realization, Snape's inner sight snapped back to the girl, and he realized that she was, indeed, hanging in the air longer than could be expected. She was not pretending to fly; it was real.

Her breathing had slowed, and her hand loosened within his. Snape continued looking in her eyes, which were somewhat glazed. He brushed his free hand over her face; the movement helped to refocus her vision, and she relaxed further.

"Who are the people in the room?" he asked quietly. He ensured now that his was a gentle, soothing clasp to lure her into trust. He sensed that now—and strong attraction, too. Her passive, almost sleepy gaze told him she was very much in the desired state.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'm sure I would, Miss Beasley," Snape replied with velvet smoothness. "I have a great capacity to understand."

"Friends. I—" Her languid eyes looked deeply into his, her breaths were much deeper, and her speech came slowly. "It's very private."

His thumb lightly caressed her warm palm. "You can tell me anything."

It was obvious to him now that she had become so mesmerized that she would welcome a kiss. He bent closer, softening his eyes, inviting her to confide in him. Her lips parted slightly as she sighed.

Wind rushed through the chimney, blowing crackling embers far onto the hearth, and the woman's body jerked with surprise. Cursing silently, Snape rose, pulled out his wand and swept back the embers. He turned to find an unsettled Nadia half sitting, one leg stretched and bent sideways on the chaise, the other foot on the floor. She looked at him, her vision wavering slightly.

"I think that-that could be called dirty pool, Professor Snape." She licked her lips, subconsciously biting the lower one briefly. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

He suddenly realized that she enjoyed what seemed to her, however briefly, a flirtation on his part. The left corner of his mouth curled further into a sneer. He prided himself on combining techniques that confused his subjects, allowing him easier access into their minds. This insufferable bother of a woman would best recover herself, if she knew what was good for her. Outside of its manipulative uses, he was not fool enough to even pretend to the delusion of romance.

"You know, Professor, it's no wonder Muggles turned on wizards if these are the tactics you regularly employ."

Snape looked down at her with deceptively lazy eyes and answered silkily. "These means wouldn't be necessary if you would reveal the truth. What are you hiding, Miss Beasley?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" She shook her head with frustration at the ludicrous situation she found herself in. "I really am a tourist. I got the wrong train. Why can't you accept that?" Her eyes betrayed a mix of pleading and what he recognized as self-anger for allowing herself to be sucked into his game.

He noted her breathing continued to be heavy, and he stepped uncomfortably close to her chair, forcing her to remain seated. "Then why the lack of cooperation?"

"Do you really think I wasn't cooperating?" she asked incredulously. "If I'm remembering correctly, you saw some things I've never spoken about with anyone."

"There are memories you don't want me to see," he said, striking a nerve.

"As if you don't have some of your own! We all do," she retorted. She looked away, waving toward the opposite chair. "Please, would you mind sitting—or leaving?"

Snape looked at her several moments before sitting, turning the chair slightly so that he could stretch his legs toward the fire. He said nothing, which he knew would unnerve her further. He noticed her examining his distinctive clothing. A hesitant attraction was mixed with her curiosity, but she immediately pushed it aside. Snape sensed an almost trained manner in her self-denial. What is that? Ah! Abstaining, are we? How very noble of you, Miss Beasley.

"I'll be frank." She sighed, still refusing to look at him. "I'm scared. I've read about the Express. Apparently, there's a barrier in London that I shouldn't have been able to get through."

He nodded.

"I was tired from the flights and airports, and slept through whatever was happening on the train. I assume the kids were being loud and playing—you know, doing magic?"

"Undoubtedly," Snape replied. "The little dunderheads can't resist, even if there is to be no magic outside of school."

She couldn't help but snort softly in agreement and finally met his eyes. "So I didn't notice I was on an 'odd' train, not just an old one. No one bothered me because I was asleep, and—." Her eyebrows lowered crossly. "Why can't you remove me? Good grief, if that woman can turn herself into a cat, surely someone can get me out of here!"

"These unanswered questions are the reason the Headmaster wished me to… visit with you," Snape said levelly. "It did appear there are areas you don't want me to see."

"Professor, what you're asking about has absolutely nothing to do with me being here. You can completely trust me on that. I swear."

Their eyes locked, hers pleading and sincere, his inscrutable.

"There is another way," he said, and waited.

"What? The rack?" she said, slightly sarcastic.

They stared several moments at each other. Suddenly, her eyes widened and her face fell as she realized what the castle's bowels might hold. Once she began squirming, Snape decided she was sufficiently chastened.

"It is called Veritaserum." His mouth twitched.

She gasped. "That sounds like truth serum!"

He nodded once, slowly, his hair swinging forward to cover his eyes before falling back into place as he straightened. She stared at him in amazement before dropping her eyes and exhaling heavily with defeat. "You know, if that's what it takes, let's do it. Ask away. Just keep the questions pertinent, please."

He bowed his head in assent. "I'll make arrangements for tomorrow night, with the Headmaster."

"And Mrs. McGonagall, if you don't mind. I'd like a woman present," she said firmly.

He gave that twisted smile, and rose.

"Professor—a question," Nadia said. "I had four migraine pills yesterday and took one. Today I can only find two. Did you take one?"

"Yes. I used it to dissect and analyze its contents so that I could develop an appropriate potion to deal with your migraines."

How dare he! "Do you have any idea how much one of those pills costs, and that insurance limits how many I can get in a month?" she demanded.

"No doubt your Muggle pharmaceutical companies are making a goblin's fortune by purveying their ineffectual contrivances," Snape replied, unmoved. "The power of suggestion—in this case, the cost—may well play some role in convincing users that such 'medicines' work. I can create one for you that will actually work."

Nadia gaped, then the words spilled out. "You know, that is one of the most conceited, smuggest things I've ever heard! You're here in the wilds of Scotland showing a bunch of children how to play chemistry, and you propose that you know far more than huge companies that have invested millions of dollars into discovering treatments for people who suffer?"

Snape pulled himself to his full height, looking down at her over his hooked nose, the edge of white collar. The long row of tiny buttons on his frock coat flashed in the firelight, mimicking his angrily flashing eyes. His wand-hand fingers itched to teachher some manners.

"Miss Beasley," he spat, and she sank in her chair, brown eyes widening. "People—magical and non-magical alike—have suffered from migraines for millennia. Modern Muggle medicine has developed only the latest 'solutions.' The uninformed and gullible are susceptible to commercialism suggesting that only the most recent inventions are safe and effective. By contrast, natural remedies that do work have been available as long as man has lived. The wizarding world has merely improved on old knowledge. I am offering you a remedy that does not have the harsh effects that artificial chemicals have on the human body. Consider it a lesson that witchcraft and wizardry"—his lips curled sarcastically around the phrase—"can be used for good—even for the ungrateful."

With a huff, Snape threw himself into the chair opposite the offensive woman and turned his face toward the fire, its blaze matching the blazing irritation within him. How dare a lesser-evolved human question his ability! And to think he had actually considered providing her any type of assistance—volunteered, no less!

"I've tried a number of migraine medicines, and this is the only one that has actually helped. Perhaps yours works for some, but it won't work for everyone," she reasoned.

"Your fear—yes, your fear"—he ended her protest before she could speak—"of what is unknown to you is clouding what little logic you might employ. Have your migraines lessened, leveled, or increased since you began using these pills?"

She considered. "Well, actually, maybe a few more. But," she added quickly, "this medicine deals with them rapidly."

"Do you experience side effects with this Muggle medicine?" Snape drilled her.

She flinched at "Muggle." "Yes. I pretty much turn into a zombie for a couple of hours—can't think, walk straight, certainly not work or drive."

"How many years do you suppose this drug has been on the market? And how strict are the guidelines before such a drug may be sold?" Snape demanded.

"I don't know specifically."

"How often," he asked, "do you learn through the Muggle news that some chemically created drug has been taken off the market because of 'recently discovered serious consequences'?"

"Too often," she admitted.

"Yet you persist in taking a drug consisting of man-made chemicals that you admittedly know very little about, which sometimes but not always works for you, which you admit always has incapacitating side effects on you, simply because a Muggle doctor recommends something that has been recently touted as the next big thing?" Snape said, lifting a scornful eyebrow. "All in all, you do not appear to be sufficiently informed about the medicine you are ingesting. That alone should be reason for concern."

"I really don't want to argue with you… "

"Of course not, because you are on very thin ground indeed, Miss Beasley. Do you have any idea why I am called a Potions 'master'?"

"I assume that you've proven yourself adept in your… profession."

"I have, Miss Beasley. Hogwarts has a rigorous program and I proved myself not only adept but innovative. I attempt to pass along some of that knowledge to the wizarding world's children attending the school, although only a few seem to have the wherewithal to achieve the highest marks in my classes."

"Well, bravo for you," Nadia said, immediately regretting the tart remark.

Snape paled in reaction to the nerve the cretinous Muggle displayed. Knowing Dumbledore expected good treatment of the defenseless "guest," he shoved down the urge to hex her or at least blast some bric-a-brac, instead clutching the chair's arms so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I am an expert in my field," he hissed, his face twisting in anger as he eyed the woman, who bit her lower lip and protectively drew her heels against the chair. "You are obtuse in the extreme to doubt my ability to offer knowledge and skill that can help someone as unworthy as yourself."

His demeanor reminded her of a small yet dangerous animal trapped in a corner. Anger and then stunned shock registered on her face, but Snape forged ahead, his voice lowered in scorn.

"If you would set aside your ignorant, biased fear," he spat, "I could provide you with a potion that would work with your body's chemistry to eliminate migraines when you have them and, indeed, eventually rid yourself of them altogether. This can only be accomplished, however, with your assent and cooperation. I cannot force anyone to be cured, and I certainly have better things to do than prepare potions for someone unable to muster the grace to accept an undeserved favor."

Annoyed and ashamed, Nadia swallowed and looked away from the black-draped man standing before her so that she could think without feeling as if he was chastising a very foolish and obstinate student. He was right, of course—she'd never approved of so-called natural remedies because she was prejudiced against them, thinking their uses had been developed in backward societies and perpetuated in Western countries by the Birkenstock crowd. But what had modern technology brought, really? Yes, treatments that could eradicate small pox and polio, techniques and equipment to replace a human heart, but also deaths from so-called safe drugs, untested additives used routinely in foods and that the body can't process, and a slew of other problems. From reading, she knew that one of the safest and most effective chemical treatments for breast cancer was derived from foxglove—a common garden flower, of all things—and that modern medicine had embraced it.

Snape stood without moving, and his eyes remained on her while she turned his arguments over in her mind. He knew that she was no longer agitated, but calmly reasoning, so he expected the assent that followed.

Rising, she extended her hand and he accepted it. "Thank you," Nadia said, mimicking the formal little head bow he'd employed. He intuited that there was no mocking intent. "If you would be so kind, I'll try it the next time."

His left eyebrow quirked as he released her hand. "Without hesitation?"

Caught, she gave a lopsided smile. "I didn't say that, professor. But I will try it."

Snape stepped away. "It is late. I shall leave you to… enjoy the rest of your evening," he said.

"Thank you, professor. It's been interesting."

His eyebrow quirked again as he looked at her, taking in the contrite smile. "Good night," she said. "And I'm sorry, professor."

With a nod, he opened the door. "Apology accepted. Good night, Miss Beasley." With that, he closed the door smartly behind him.

oOo

"I have some information, and perhaps a slight development," Snape reported to the Headmaster. "I have twice employed Legilimency on Miss Beasley, and so far it has revealed nothing about her arrival at Hogwarts other than what she has already professed," the Potions master said.

"There are two things that are of interest. First, a childhood memory. When she was very young, she believed she could fly when skipping, and what I saw indicated that she was, indeed, in the air longer than could be considered normal for a Muggle.

"Second, I saw several memories of her visiting a room full of people sitting in a circle. They were men and women, some of them in hoods"—Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in interest—"but I saw no activity indicating what was occurring. In one instance, she was taken alone to a dungeon room."

"Could that have been a dream?" the Headmaster asked.

"It was… dreamlike, but no, this was another state—clear and real. She fought the Legilimency then, and would not speak of it afterward," Snape said.

"What do you make of it, Severus? Do you suspect Voldemort?"

Expressionless to this point, Snape flinched at the name and unconsciously rubbed his left arm. "I did not sense the Dark Lord or Dark magic, and did not recognize anyone present. I cannot, however, rule that out. She only described those in the circle as 'friends,' and that what occurred was private.

"She has agreed, however, to Veritaserum. With your permission, Headmaster, I propose that it be administered it to her. She is prepared for tomorrow night—and would like Professor McGonagall present."

The Headmaster nodded. "Very well. It will be done. And I shall leave the questioning to you, Severus."

The Potions master bowed and headed to his dungeon to prepare the dose.

oOo

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Noleme, whose insightful suggestions resulted in considerable improvements to this chapter and the appropriate level of Snape nastiness. ~wink~