Principles and Honor
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine but was created by the great JKR. The lowly fanfic writer receives absolutely nothing except fun and, perhaps, some reviews.
Many thanks to Noleme for so kindly betaing this chapter.
CHAPTER 11
Daybreak's light found its way to an opening in Hogwarts' foundation, and traversed ancient ducts to shine through a marble-sized glass set directly opposite of Severus Snape's precisely-placed, plain bed. It was one of several rock crystals embedded in his quarters' upper wall trim to provide natural lighting during the day. This one, however, was spelled to be especially bright, striking the pillow to awaken him.
He cracked open an eye and scowled. Though it was his custom to work late and rise early, he'd gotten even less sleep than normal due to a detentions-enlarged stack of essays, and his carefully planned curricula called for pop quizzes that day.
Sighing, Snape heaved himself out of bed, snatched his wand from the night table, and trudged to the bathroom, scratching his behind through the gray nightshirt's thin fabric. An upward tick of the ebony wood started a shower, and another sent the long-handled brush to sudsing itself from a bar, poised to clean his back after he'd disrobed and entered the stone surround. He turned his head downward to yawn, avoiding a mouthful of hot water but instead getting a flick of soap. He spat violently and grabbed the brush, resolved to finish the job himself.
Wrapped in a towel, he stepped onto the cold floor to the sink, where he shaved his still-soft facial stubble with a straight-edge razor, cursorily brushed his teeth, and hastily combed his lank hair, leaving it to dry on its own.
The armoire doors instantly flung open when he returned to the bedchamber. Several sets of black robes and suits were displayed on hangers, and white linen shirts and ties were stacked on shelves. Shiny black, dragon-hide boots lined the bottom, his single pair of excellent goblin-made footwear directly beneath the formal clothing. They'd cost a pretty Sickle, but they were an important finishing touch. He'd learned from observing the likes of Lucius Malfoy that appearance was everything. That, and protecting one's secrets.
Once dressed and his robe draped over his left arm, he glided through his living quarters, habitually glancing to be sure all was in its place. His assigned house-elf was under strict orders to return everything as it was found, but it was best to be sure. His public life was unpredictable, so he wanted his private life to be orderly and as untouched as possible by outside factors. He entered the office, hooked the robe behind the door, and settled down to an hour's work to be followed by a brisk walk, breakfast, and a tedious day in the classroom.
oOo
Crisp fall air reddened Snape's thin cheeks as he skirted the Forbidden Forest, a gust of wind causing his robe to ripple behind him like a dark flag. The quizzes were finished, magically locked into his classroom desk. He'd always found that announcement of an unexpected test was a bit like using Veritaserum: the looks on students' faces were dead giveaways as to whether they'd been studying.
The oldest students, naturally, would do well; only the very best and most studious ever made it to that level in his classes. N.E.W.T. Potions was like an oasis during the school week. Little went wrong, and then it was usually from authorized, supervised experimentation rather than the entirely preventable accidents that occurred in the First through Fourth Year courses. Most of those incidents were due to sloppy handling of ingredients, blithely ignoring instructions, simple-mindedness, or a combination. He shook his head. That Longbottom will surely destroy the school one day, Snape thought, cheered only by the prospect of the gormless Gryffindor possibly first failing out of Hogwarts.
The Potions master glanced up at the Southeast Tower, where glimmers of light shone from two fifth-floor windows. No such luck with Beasley-Beecham, he considered irritably.
Invigorated if not heartened by the stroll, Snape entered a side door and made his way to the Great Hall a few minutes before the early-rising students would arrive. Nodding to Kettleburn, whose right cheek was plastered, he took his customary seat. He hesitated only briefly before ordering a cup of tea. The only thing he considered substandard from the Hogwarts kitchen was the coffee, which he considered bitter and weak.
He'd already finished two kippers and an egg by the time Beecham hurried in, neatly dressed but appearing tired. Probably couldn't sleep from the excitement of witnessing so much magic—even poorly performed magic, he thought.
Suddenly he found himself thinking of that very first night at Hogwarts. After he'd been sorted, he'd carefully positioned himself at the Slytherin table to watch Lily Evans gleefully take in the magic on display, her magnificent, kind green eyes sparkling. They'd exchanged several smiles, happy to be at the school at last, but disappointed to be separated by house archetypes that she'd soon learn were deeply entrenched.
Lockhart's loud laughter yanked Snape back to the present. Sporting a peacock blue cutaway, Lockhart was leaning between Sinistra and Beecham, attempting to dazzle them with charm and his abnormally white teeth. Both women nodded distractedly as the DADA professor chattered, Sinistra fingering a periodical's open pages and Beecham fumbling in her tote. Had he not known better, Snape might have thought she was quite understandably reaching for her wand to shut up the Gilded One.
A shriek of surprise from the Hufflepuff table, followed by shouts and laughter, drew everyone's attention. A Third-Year sat with oatmeal dripping down his face from an upturned bowl. Snape's black eyes darted to the Hall's far end, where the Weasley twins sat eating with an angelic demeanor, oblivious to the commotion. McGonagall, too, he noticed, was suspicious about the ginger pair, but without proof she wasn't about to reprimand them, let alone deduct points.
Those two are becoming entirely too proficient with jinxes and hexes, he thought. They would have done well in Slytherin.
His next glance was to his right. Lockhart was standing back from the High Table, trying to look the authority figure as he fruitlessly searched students' faces for the culprits. Meanwhile, Beecham took advantage of the situation to grab a roll and her bag, and slipped out the side door without the blond fop noticing. Snape smirked with grudging admiration at her escape.
oOo
Nadia was swallowing the last bit of bread outside the Deputy Headmistress's office when McGonagall arrived.
"Good morning," the older woman said, nodding briskly as she aimed her wand at the door's lock. There was the sound of steel against steel, then a click as the mechanism unlocked and the door swung open. "Do come in."
"Good morning," Nadia responded. She wiped a crumb from her mouth while following the Scotswoman inside.
"Perhaps you ought to work in here today," Minerva said. "It's bound to get a mite messy with today's lesson."
The American felt both disappointment in not getting to view the Transfiguration lessons and relief that she wouldn't be in the line of stray magic. McGonagall was clearing her desk, leaving a neat pile of scrolls. A simple wand motion spread open a particularly thick batch, and the teacher motioned Nadia to join her on the chair side of the desk.
"The Ministry of Education owled this late yesterday," McGonagall sighed. "I've hardly had time to examine it, but it appears the Board of Governors is requiring Hogwarts to establish another filing system—in addition to the existing ones."
Nadia grinned ruefully. "Probably job security for someone in the government."
"Undoubtedly," Minerva snorted. Tapping the scrolls, she raised her eyebrows. "Would you please read these, and between classes this morning we can confer as to what would be the best approach. I'm afraid it contains much legalese."
"No problem," Nadia replied. "That's much of my work life."
"I shall be back in an hour," the witch said. Conjuring a cup of tea for Nadia, McGonagall left.
Other than the facts that the Ministry's missive was on parchment, written with a quill, and there were talon marks on one edge, the contents were as boring and regimented as any official paperwork Nadia had seen. She began reading the entire stack before returning to the first page and taking notes. To get to the crux, the trick was to ignore the extra wording, meant to impress the author's supervisors and demonstrate authority over the recipients. Nadia shared her initial impressions with McGonagall before the second Transfiguration class began, and finished a draft synopsis before the morning break.
In her normal life, she would have ploughed ahead, skipping a break. But there were only a few days to hobnob with witches and wizards, and she wasn't about to miss that chance.
"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said as the pair entered the staff room. He floated mugs of tea to them as he continued. "I'm afraid I was out last night when the Ministry owl arrived."
"A new set of busywork," Minerva said dryly, easily catching the mug that stopped in front of her. "I've set Miss Beecham to the task."
Nadia fumbled her catch, but Dumbledore absently cleaned up the spillage without comment. "Ah! Very good." He smiled appreciatively at the guest aide. "Pomona's forced some honking daffodils that are blooming. You might enjoy seeing them before supper."
Her brow furrowed. "Pardon? 'Honking' daffodils?"
Dumbledore laughed. "That is correct. Very similar to the ones you are familiar with, but with a delightful difference." He gestured behind Nadia, and she turned to see the frizzle-haired Pomona Sprout raise a hand, warmly twiddling her fingers in greeting.
"That sounds like fun," Nadia said enthusiastically. With a nod to Dumbledore, she hurried over to the Herbology teacher to begin chatting about the yet-to-be-seen greenhouses.
Snape observed the exchange from a corner, where he surreptitiously watched the entire room while standing with an open Potions reference and his own mug of tea. Lockhart, whom he thought of as "the DADA Idiot," had planted himself next to Sinistra, who spent the days before the initial evening Astronomy class working on charts and developing new tests for the academic year. Flitwick was conferring with Vector, presumably about a proposed combined project for their N.E.W.T. pupils. The part-time flying instructor, Hooch, had been listening to one of Kettleburn's jokes and now laughed raucously.
Before break time ended, he swept from the room, pointedly ignoring a curious look from the Muggle.
oOo
By lunch time, Nadia had prepared a system approach proposal for McGonagall, and was anxious to be back in a classroom to get a first-hand look at magic. While eating and asking Sinistra more about her summer sabbatical, she continued observing the apparent relationships between and within houses, the flirtatious glances, the challenging frowns. The younger years, especially the Firsts, were loud and happy, while the older students generally appeared more focused on quiet conversations and cramming for their next classes. She smirked when a little redheaded girl made moon eyes at an oblivious, round-spectacled boy, remembering her own schoolgirl crushes.
Finished with soup and a sandwich, she made her way into the dungeons and the Potions room, set her tote beside the side desk, and got out the quill and ink bottle, ready to work. The afternoon began with the same routine as the previous day: Students entered, Snape emerged behind them, magically slammed shut the door and revealed the quiz on the blackboard.
Once the children were at work, he led Nadia deeper into the room. A basket of brushes, and caked, dirty cauldrons and stirring rods rested next to the sink. "If you please," he murmured, turning smartly on his heel and left to watch his pupils think and scribble.
She stood several moments, fuming at his superior attitude, his condescension, his overall rudeness. It was clear that he demanded respect without modeling it, played favorites, and had no time for students who needed extra help. He didn't seem to think much of the adults with whom he worked, either.
There was no reasoning with such a person, she knew. The behavior would only escalate. She could approach the Headmaster or McGonagall, but being there for only a few more days, it wasn't worth bothering them and riling Snape. Instead, she bit her tongue, pulled on gloves and an apron hanging next to the sink, picked up a cauldron, and stuck it under the faucet. The only person to whom he seemed deferential was the Headmaster. Before she left Hogwarts, and her memory was cleaned, she would let Dumbledore know what a bully Severus Snape was.
She took out her frustrations on the Potions tools. As she scrubbed, her temper evened, and she thought more deeply about this mysterious Snape. Why would a man of his obvious intelligence and talents, and who seemed to dislike children, teach at a school rather than a university or run his own business? Why was he so mean? Who did he think he was?
Pray for him.
The words came unbidden. Not knowing the man, she had no idea what to pray, so she mentally held the wizard up, asking for whatever Severus Snape might need. She, and even Snape himself, might not know, but God did.
When the afternoon classes were finished, he silently dismissed her and she left, calmer, lighter, and sympathetic. And she thought better of reporting him to the Headmaster. Surely he already knew.
oOo
By Dumbledore's arrangement, a Hufflepuff in the day's last Potions class escorted Nadia to Greenhouse Two. She opened the door and stepped inside, inhaling the deep, pungent scent of earth and vegetation. Sprout bustled about, humming happily as she watered plants. Strange squawks came from the glass structure's east side.
"Welcome!" the Herbology professor called, waving her forward. "The daffodils are over here."
Nadia joined her at a low table covered with bulb plants, most with unfurled buds. The larger, fuller plants strained forward as they emitted blasts in varying pitches, like young geese sounding for the first time.
"They're still young, so they've not yet found their voices. In another week, these early flowers will be honking properly, and the younger ones will be starting," Sprout said, proudly stroking one plant's light green stem.
Nadia stared in amazement, and Sprout chuckled. "The Headmaster said you've probably not seen these in America." She tilted her head meditatively. "Well, they wouldn't be in the wild, of course. Honking daffodils must be cultivated, and a bit of dried Mackled Malaclaw shell in the fertilizer does wonders."
Delighted in her visitor's astonishment, Sprout took the visitor through the rest of the greenhouse, showing off a collection of colorful Flutterby bushes and the potted leaping toadstools the Second-Years would work with soon. Nadia cautiously kept her distance, nervously enjoying the experience until it was time for both to leave for the evening meal.
oOo
A satisfying dinner of chicken, roasted vegetables, and squash soufflé was served at the High Table. Nadia found herself speaking exclusively with Vector, who moved over in Sinistra's absence. She was surprised to learn that she did not actually reside at Hogwarts, but commuted daily from Newcastle, where her husband's family ran a grocery catering to magical folk living in the region.
Afterward, she met with McGonagall to outline the filing plan she'd devised while scrubbing Potions equipment. She made no metion of Snape, nor did the witch ask about her afternoon work sessions.
With moving portraits distracting her, Nadia took a leisurely stroll back to her tower, stopping to view details in particularly fine and unusual paintings. She was fascinated with the details, the subjects' apparent awareness of the human world, and how characters disappeared from one frame to appear in another.
Reaching the end of the paintings line, she continued to the Southeast Tower's corridor and trudged upstairs, very much looking forward to a long bath and an interesting book.
oOo
A confident rap pulled Nadia's attention from the Muggle Studies text. Glancing at the clock, she wondered who might be calling at nearly nine o'clock on a Tuesday night. Carrying a candle, she walked to the door, slid aside the heavy iron lock, and pulled it open.
"Good evening!" Gilderoy Lockhart bowed deeply, sweeping his arm dramatically. "I thought I might see how our delightful assistant is doing this evening."
Oh, brother. Nadia pasted on a smile. "Just fine, thank you. This is a bit out of your way," she added, tilting her head toward the circular stairwell.
"Never too far to gaze upon a lovely lady." Lockhart's teeth reflected in the candlelight.
The two stared at one another several moments, Lockhart 's attentions oozing conceit, Nadia trying to convey graciousness but busyness through a polite smile and rigid posture.
"Might I come in?" he finally asked, his eyes scanning the empty room behind her.
"Um, I'm rather busy," she replied, not moving away from the door.
"Oh, yes? Doing what?" The blond man's quizzical expression implied, What could possibly be more interesting than me?
"Reading some of the textbooks used here," she explained.
"Being a Hogwarts graduate and, of course, an author, I'm quite familiar with the British magical education system's offerings," the blond man responded, eagerly leaning forward and pressing slightly against the door. "I'm sure I can offer you valuable insight."
To Nadia's dismay, he sidled through the stone-bordered doorway. Unable to quickly think of a way to ask him to leave without appearing rude, she turned and found him waiting to chivalrously close the door. Pulling a weak smile, she walked toward the chair containing the open book. A snick behind signaled the door's closure. She sighed softly.
Lockhart crossed the room quickly. "After you, please." He gestured to her chair. Pulling out the book, she took her seat, laying the tome on her lap as the DADA teacher took the chair opposite.
"Ah! The beginning Muggle Studies text!" Lockhart observed, crossing a leg clad in perfectly creased trousers over his other knee. "Such a fascinating subject, Muggles. Can you imagine, they truly don't believe in magic! Cannot even conceive of it being real, yet it's all around them!"
"On the other hand, one would think wizards would have invented the telescope, the light bulb, and spaceships rather than Muggles," she replied dryly.
Lockhart maintained his photo-perfect smile. "And who's to say those weren't invited by wizards? I believe Thomas Edison was known as the Wizard of Menlo Park."
For crying out loud. "He was a genius. There wasn't any magic involved," Nadia stated firmly.
"The Muggles do get lucky once in a while." Gilderoy waved a hand dismissively. He eyed her up and down, none too subtly. "Perhaps I could interest you in joining me for some delightful elf wine at The Three Broomsticks sometime?"
Uh-uh. Nadia smiled apologetically. "The Headmaster doesn't want me leaving the grounds. And I'm terribly busy—just as I am tonight." She looked pointedly at the mantel clock. "It is getting rather late."
Even Lockhart couldn't fail to pick up on such a broad hint. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind you leaving with an accomplished escort. I'll speak with him." Rising, he smartly pulled down his heavily embroidered, velvet vest. "I bid you adieu for the night. Thank you for a delightful visit."
She walked him to the door, mostly to throw the bolt as soon as he was out. Before she could close the door, however, he turned and took her hand, which was not extended to him. Bending, he kissed it lightly, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin before releasing her. "Good night, Miss Beecham."
"Good night, professor." He turned to step onto the stairs, and she quickly closed the door before he could think of a further excuse to linger. Securing the bolt, she wearily leaned a moment against the door. Many women probably do find him attractive, she reflected. But he seems so … fake.
oOo
Shortly after eight-thirty the next night, Lockhart turned up again, Levitating two small bowls of ice cream. Nadia politely invited him in and listened to his one-sided conversation (with heavy emphasis on his autobiographies) for nearly thirty minutes before pleading a heavy work load.
Late Thursday, the self-esteemed DADA instructor arrived, a tray of tea and biscuits floating beside him. After sipping half a cup and nibbling on a biscuit, she apologetically pointed out the pile of work on her desk to get rid of the pest.
Nadia was relieved when on Friday Minerva issued an invitation for a nightcap in her room. Lockhart apparently spent Saturday elsewhere, not darkening her door. But he was back again at seven Sunday night, presenting heart-shaped scones from Madam Puddifoot's on a doily-lined silver tray. She gave him fifteen minutes. Apologetically stifling a yawn, she explained how little she'd slept over the weekend and that she needed to go to bed early. Amazingly, Lockhart still didn't realize she was brushing him off, and before sweeping out the door he proudly assured that he'd be back later in the week.
Having finished reports for McGonagall to review Tuesday morning, she was cleaning some spilt ink on the desk blotter as the clock struck ten forty-five. Her mind ran through the next day's tasks for the Deputy Headmistress. She didn't want to think about the afternoon in the Potions room that, as in all previous days, involved tedious cleaning and cataloging rather disgusting items he deemed untaintable by her non-magical hands.
Knock, knock, knock!
Whirling, Nadia stared at the door from which the urgent raps came before hurrying to open it. Gilderoy Lockhart stood before her in all of his sartorial glory.
"I have an exciting proposition for you, Miss Beecham!" he said, his wand-wielding right hand crossed over his chest. "I would very much appreciate your accompanying me on my rounds tonight."
"Oh, I'm not qualified," she excused herself.
"Perhaps not," he agreed cordially, "but I am highly qualified, and some company would be extremely helpful in keeping me awake. Please do come," he wheedled, tilting his head and applying a pleading expression.
Well, it would be an interesting experience.
"All right. Let me grab a sweater." While he stepped inside to wait, she quickly went to the bedroom armoire to extract a cardigan and footwear. Jamming her feet inside the leather walking shoes, she pulled on the sweater while returning to the sitting room.
"Do you have your wand?" Lockhart asked.
"Oh, um, here." She patted her left jumper sleeve, remembering that many students carried their wands thus in robes and casual clothes.
"Righto. Shall we?"
As they walked quietly through one hallway after another, Lockhart regaled her with tales about his Hogwarts schooldays and pointed out attractions, such as busts, tapestries, and rooms where notable events had taken place. Though tired earlier, Nadia was energized and alert, completely lost and dependent on Lockhart's ability to negotiate the dark Castle.
"Isn't this my floor?"
The cold voice stopped them both dead in their tracks. Startled, Lockhart smiled feebly at Nadia, then turned as she poked her head sideways to see past him.
Severus Snape stood in the middle of the hallway, now illuminated by his Lumos spell. His head was bent forward slightly, hair swinging forward, and his blacks eyes seemed to crackle. In his wand's blue light, his sallow skin turned a sickly green.
"Oh, it's just you, Snape." Lockhart's voice was filled with relief.
Snape eyes flicked him a glare, then shifted to look intently beyond the dandy. "Well, well. What have we here?" He raised his wand, pointing the light over Lockhart's shoulder, and his until-then impassive expression turned dark. He moved sideways, cat-like, to Lockhart's side, sending Nadia scuttling backward in alarm. "And what are you doing out in the corridors at this late hour, Miss Beecham?" he drawled dangerously.
"I invited her," Lockhart said.
"Whatever for?" Snape asked, never breaking eye contact with Nadia, who was feeling distinctly uneasy.
"I, er—" Lockhart began in a high pitch.
"Because he wanted to. And I thought it would be interesting," Nadia said defiantly. She forced herself to stand tall and stared back at Snape, forcing herself to keep eye contact.
The Potions master pursed his lips, somewhat amused at Beecham's unqualified bravado and Lockhart's apparent fear.
"The point of these rounds is not simply to catch straying students," Snape said, addressing Lockhart rather than the woman. "A known murderer is on the loose, and may well be trying to penetrate Hogwarts." He leaned toward her. "You probably did not know that."
At that revelation, her eyes widened more, confirming his suspicion.
Lockhart cleared his throat. "She is perfectly safe with me." Lifting his chin for emphasis, he added proudly, "I do, after all, specialize in Defense."
"So well that you did not even detect me!" the black-robed wizard snapped. "Your chattering would warn off a wanted felon, like birds signaling approaching prey."
Lockhart threw out his chest indignantly. "Really! I must object! We were not—"
Jerking his lit wand to Lockhart's face, Snape cut him off, "We each have rounds to attend to, properly. My rounds take me through your corridor," he said pointedly to Nadia. "You shall return with me. Now."
Biting her lower lip, Nadia silently complied without looking at Lockhart, following the billowing black robe all the way to the guest tower's entrance. He said nothing as his narrowed eyes watched her disappear up the lit staircase.
oOo
Snape did not speak to her, indeed made no eye contact, throughout the next day. After motioning her toward several crates of dusty phials and a pile of soft cleaning cloths, he spent the first class lecturing, followed by a tense, near-silent lab session the next period. When a phial she dropped shattered on the floor, the tinkling sounded throughout the room, he stopped in his prowling amongst the work tables but did not turn her way.
At three, Dumbledore silently entered and spoke with Snape quietly at the door. She glanced round and, seeing the old man motion to her, put down her work and joined them.
"It's a lovely day, perhaps the last fine day we'll have this fall, and I hoped you would join me for tea on the Astronomy Tower," the Headmaster said. Snape stood watching her, his hands tucked bat-like under his upper arms. "Professor Snape will have your things sent to your rooms."
The white-bearded man opened the door, and Nadia exited. He chatted amiably about the fine view from the Astronomy Tower, the first time he'd had tea on the ramparts, and his spotting a rare bird in a nearby tree. "Perhaps it will return this afternoon," he suggested.
Two folding chairs and a small round table, covered with white linen and tea things, awaited them. The sun reflecting off the stone walls provided a bright, warm reprieve from the dungeons. Somehow, the kitchen elves had obtained tasty, out-of-season strawberries to serve with gingerbread and whipped cream, which the two diners relished with refined restraint. Dumbledore pointed out key spots on the grounds, including the edge of Greenhouse Five from which Sprout was leading a group of dirtied Fifth-Years.
Dumbledore turned his blue eyes on Nadia, and his expression became compassionate. "There is some news," Dumbledore began slowly.
Nadia looked up, alarmed by his tone. Has someone in the family died? Her hand slipped from the tea cup's handle to lie tensely on the tablecloth.
"I'm afraid, my dear," he continued, placing a gnarled hand atop hers. "that you can't go home."
oOo
A/N: If you've made it this far, please review! It's nice to know you're there.
Hat's off to Noleme for quick and thoughtful betaing. You're a gem!
English lessons: For non-native English readers, sudsing is to lather, cover, or wash in soapy water or soap foam. It derives from suds, as in soap suds. * Despite what modern dictionaries say, Noleme and I agree that simple-mindedness need a hyphen.