Chapter 13: The Strategy Session
To her surprise, Addy found that she was nervous. This was the moment she'd been looking forward to for two days, yet suddenly her palms were clammy and her stomach was in knots. The memories aroused by Neville Longbottom were still flooding her mind, making it difficult to concentrate on Snape or her work.
She was so lost in thought that she missed the turn for his office. She looked up and realized she'd gone too far, yet when she tried to double back, she got herself even further disoriented. She finally made her way to the Potions Lab a half-hour later, feeling none of the confidence she'd had earlier in the day. But when she knocked on the door and he grumbled, "Enter," she discovered that the sound of his voice, although not at all welcoming, brought the present moment into sharp relief and, oddly, gave her strength.
She entered the dungeon classroom, ready to take on Snape. He was seated at his desk on a dais at the back, and appeared deeply engrossed in reviewing some notes on pieces of parchment. Addy was reminded of their first meeting, but quickly tried to put the embarrassing memory out of her head.
Snape didn't waste a second, but, without looking up from what he was doing, started in immediately.
"I'm quite busy these days, Miss Mayhem. I don't like to be kept waiting."
Oh, so we're back to 'Miss Mayhem', thought Addy. That simply won't do. So she accepted the challenge, responding:
"So am I, Mister Snape. And I don't like to be postponed."
That got his attention. He looked up at her, eyes as dark as the bottom of the lake on a moonless night. He said slowly:
"I am a Professor of this school."
"So am I," she growled back.
"Just barely."
"Nevertheless…"
His nostrils flared, but after few seconds of glaring, he simply said, "Fine." Score one for Addy.
She finished with, "Anyway, why don't we return to less formal monikers, since we will be working so closely together. And don't forget about our deal."
He immediately averted his eyes, returning his gaze to his parchments, and writing notes in the margins as he spoke.
"Yes, um, about our work…The start of the school term is, well, can be a difficult time for a new teacher. There is much to do…more than you realize probably. For the students, I mean. So, um, I think it would be best if we, well, held off on our sessions, for a while. At least for a few days, or maybe even a week. Or two. That will give us time to…well, that way you can get yourself settled."
Snape couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth. He was one of the best liars he knew, had looked Voldemort right in his beady red eyes and spun webs of fabrications, yet here he was stammering some ridiculous excuse that he knew sounded insincere, just to stall this lovely witch a little while longer. 'You sound like a First Year, for Merlin's sake!' nagged the voice in his head.
For many years now, Severus Snape had been afraid of only one thing. It was not death, not pain, not Voldemort. The only thing he had feared since coming to Hogwarts was letting Dumbledore down. The only things he had were his Headmaster's trust, respect, and friendship, so they were all he feared losing.
But now, there was a new fear. Adelaide Mayhem scared the living daylights out of him. He was afraid of the way he felt about her, how she might feel about him, and mostly what she could do to him. For example, only she, it now seemed, had the power to turn him into a stammering fool. He was afraid of being alone with her—he wasn't ready for that yet. He was afraid of what he might lose if he let her in, and what might be forsaken if he didn't. She was a mystery recipe, a problem with no solution, and that, more than anything, frightened him.
Meanwhile, Addy was annoyed, but not surprised. She had come prepared for this.
"We should wait?' she repeated calmly, from across the room.
"Yes," he responded, still looking down at his parchments.
"A week or two?"
"That's right. Maybe three."
"I see." Addy sighed dramatically, and put on her breeziest air of nonchalance.
"Well," she continued, "if that's what you think is best…Professor. I had hoped to discuss with you the next two Death Eater attacks. You see," she purred, "I know all about them, and I have some ideas for stopping them. I had hoped you and I might work on the plans together, but I guess I'll just have to come up with them myself. You can read all about it in the Daily Prophet when it's over. Let's just hope my ideas are sound and successful," she added, making an exaggerated "crossed-fingers" gesture, before turning on her heel and heading for the door.
Snape stood up. "Wait!" he commanded. Practically against her will, Addy stopped short. It was as though Snape's voice had spoken directly to her nervous system, and her feet obeyed instantaneously, on their own. She had not wanted to appear so eager to stay.
"You know of two impending Death Eater attacks?" he questioned.
She turned slowly to face him across the room. "Mmmm hmmm," she said innocently.
"What do you know?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
Her eyes shone and she held his stare. She crossed her arms and responded slowly, relishing the moment.
"When. Where. How. Whom."
Snape just looked at her for nearly a minute. Addy could see the debate raging within him as though it was casting shadow puppets on the candlelit wall behind him. Finally, he said two words she knew couldn't have been easy for him. He spoke them through gritted teeth, yet they melted her heart anyway.
"Don't go."
A shrewd strategist, Addy played her advantage for all it was worth. She shrugged casually, and started walking slowly towards him.
"Sit," he barked.
She stopped short, crossed her arms again and arched one eyebrow at him, pursing her lips.
At first Snape looked confused, but then he got the message. Sighing with great vexation, he rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Won't you please have a seat?
Addy smiled and said, "Thanks, but I don't think so."
Snape frowned.
"This is a classroom, and this seat is for students. I'm not one of your students. I appreciate your help and guidance, certainly, but I think we should have our meeting in your office, like colleagues."
Snape took a deep, temper-moderating breath. Then he held out his arm toward his office door with exaggerated gallantry, and said, "After you, m'lady."
As she brushed past him, Addy flashed her brilliant smile and said, "Really, Professor…'Addy' will do just fine."
Snape's office astounded her—it was not at all what she had expected. As it turned out, he was really something of a pack rat.
Covered from floor to ceiling with shelving that held mysterious bottles and jars and all manner of strange instruments, the room had a rustic style that she found surprising and genuinely charming. It was clear that Snape had made a home for himself and his work here, and Addy had a million questions on the tip of her tongue: what does this do? Where did you find that? How does this work? But she knew she was trying his patience as it was, so she wisely kept quiet and didn't touch anything. Perhaps she could get Snape to show her around at a future date.
The room was pleasantly cool and the earthy smell of it somehow reminded her of her home in India. The only sound was that of a clock ticking faintly somewhere, although she couldn't detect its source. Torches blazed from sconces on the wall, casting the room in a warm glow that bounced off the strangely shaped jars and decanters.
Snape seemed embarrassed at the state of his office, cluttered as it was with items both professional and personal. This was the first time he'd had a visitor here in a long while, aside from Dumbledore or an errant student. He put a few logs into the wood stove to warm the room, and spent a few minutes uneasily moving things from one place to another, then often back again. Addy walked around, gaping at his possessions, her footsteps creating a gently padding rhythm on the stone floor.
He watched her from behind as she ran her hands over a carved windowsill, then leaned on it and gazed out over the grounds. When she turned round and beamed at him wordlessly, he immediately looked away and went to clear off the old, round wooden table in the back where they would work. When it was ready, he cleared his throat as a way of inviting her to sit down.
Addy came to the table and spread her notes out in front of her. Snape sat down uneasily, adjusting his chair first closer to her, so he could see her papers, then away from her, after realizing just how near she was, then edging a bit back in her direction. He coughed a few times, straightened his robes, and finally started them off with, "So, what about these attacks?"
Addy began telling him what she knew. "OK, the first one is scheduled to take place two weeks from today, so we don't have much time—"
Snape cut her off, abruptly realizing that it was customary to offer a guest something to eat or drink. He blurted out, nearly shouting, "Do you need tea?"
Addy jumped at the sudden, strange interruption, nearly knocking over a jar of quills on the table, and said, "Excuse me?"
Snape ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, would you like some tea? I could make some."
"Uh, yes, tea would be nice. Thanks."
He got up so forcefully that he tipped over his chair, and knocked heads with Addy as they both reached down to right it. Glad to put some distance between them, if only for a few minutes, he went to the stove to put a kettle on. "Please continue," he said. "I can hear you from here."
"As I was saying," said Addy, rubbing her sore head where it had made contact with Snape's, "the first attack is going to be an explosion. Do you know a Death Eater named Marlin Pugh?"
"I don't think so," he replied, fumbling with the teapot.
"He's a big gorilla of a guy, not too bright. He's been assigned to create a large explosion in the London Underground at 8:00 Monday morning, exactly two weeks from today. Voldemort is hoping to kill a few dozen Muggles, wound many more, and cripple the city's transportation system for at least a few days. It's just a stunt to him—he's hoping to get the Ministry's attention and generally cause a commotion."
Snape paused in brushing away the tea leaves he'd spilled and gawked at her. "How do you know this?"
"I told you already," replied Addy impatiently. She wanted to get down to strategy, not waste time with endless explanations. "Before I came to Hogwarts, I gained Voldemort's confidence and he would frequently boast to me about his big plans for bringing the Ministry to its knees. What I couldn't get from him I got from my father, some of it directly and the rest overheard. Plus, my patients helped to fill in the details under the influence of Veritaserum and various painkillers. Contrary to what you believe, Snape, I didn't just show up at the Hogwarts doorstep whining for forgiveness!"
For a fraction of a second, Addy saw a look in Snape's eyes—part guilt and part hurt. She realized that she had sounded harsher than she intended.
"Anyway," she continued, softening her tone, "I'm figuring that we can intercept and capture Pugh before anyone gets hurt. We just have to figure out the particulars."
Snape nodded, and Addy could see that his wheels were already in motion, conjuring plans. He returned to his seat at the table, and leaned in to her, now eager to hear the rest. "You said there would be two attacks. What's the other one?"
Addy gleamed at him and gave him a mischievous smile. "The second one is a poisoning."
Snape's eyes widened and his mouth opened, and Addy was distracted for just a moment by how soft his lips looked. Her hand twitched unwittingly, wanting to reach out and lay a finger on them.
"What kind of poisoning?" he asked.
"Three days after the Underground incident, Voldemort is going to poison the Minister of Magic." She shifted her position so that she was sitting in the big chair on her knees, her legs tucked under her.
"Fudge?" Snape asked, excitedly. He couldn't believe that she had all this information, and here she was spelling it out for him. His thoughts raced ahead, realizing just how much she could help their cause. Dumbledore had been right when he'd referred to her as "invaluable."
"Yep, Fudge," she replied, nodding with excitement. "I don't know whose got the assignment, but it doesn't matter. All we need to do is be ready with the antidote."
"What is Voldemort using for the job?"
Addy frowned a bit and said, "I don't know exactly what it is—couldn't get the formula out of anyone. But it's Voldemort's signature potion—he calls it "The Snakebite." I'm hoping you know it?" she said, looking up at him optimistically.
She saw Snape's back straighten, and he looked down at his hands morosely. There was a moment of silence, filled only with the small sound of that ticking clock.
"Yes, I know it," he said quietly, his voice choked. "I made it for him."
Addy wanted to slap herself. Of course! In her excitement about her news, she never once considered that The Snakebite might be one of Snape's old recipes.
He was still looking down, his interlaced hands clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. She knew he was facing a powerful demon inside, so she laid a hand gently on his forearm, saying softly, "Snape, try to think about what's true here…now…today."
He looked up at her with a far-away expression, and she continued:
"If you hadn't been the one to make that potion, we would never know what's in it, and we'd have no hope of coming up with an antidote in time. We'd just have to sit here, knowing what was about to happen, but powerless to do anything about it. But since you were the creator, you alone have the power—and now the knowledge—to stop this thing." She hesitated. "You can come up with an antidote, can't you?"
"Oh, there will be an antidote," he replied gravely. "With time to spare. Let there be no doubt in your mind." His eyes flashed with a fervor that, indeed, left her with no doubts.
"OK then," she said, squeezing his arm. She saw his hands relax and some of the darkness lift from his stare, and her heart leapt to know that she had been able to relieve a tiny bit of his pain.
Severus' mind weaved between mixed emotions. Normally, this kind of ugly reminder of his past would have sent him into a spin of guilt and self-loathing. He had been alone for so long, yet here was someone now who had said just the right thing, at just the right time, to refocus his energy on a solution. No one had ever been able to do that for him in just this way.
Yet through his feelings of gratitude and relief, the Voice in his head cut a biting swathe. It was a voice of Fear that said, 'Have you grown so weak…so pathetic…that you need this witch to keep your mind on the job? You shouldn't have needed to hear it from her! What if she is not here the next time you begin to sink into self-pity? Or do you intend to follow her around, hanging on her robes, waiting for her to dispense words of encouragement for you like a baby searching for the breast?"
Suddenly, he realized that she was still talking…she had carried on, unaware of the inner condemnation that, of course, only he could hear. At that moment, the screeching whistle of the kettle mercifully overcame the horrible Voice. He stood up and went to the stove.
When he returned with two cups of strong, black tea, he asked her if she could repeat what she'd been saying, and she obliged, if somewhat impatiently. Addy had turned her attention back to the first attack, and had started drawing a crude map on a piece of parchment. He set the tea down, placing his hands on the back of her chair and leaning over her shoulder to see what she had drawn.
At once, she got a whiff of his scent that hurled her insides into a mad flutter. That caused her to again splatter ink on herself—for the third time that day!—which in turn caused her to jerk her hand away, overturning her cup and spilling tea all over her map and herself.
"Bloody hell!" she swore, jumping up and nearly knocking Snape over. She hated how much she sounded like her father when she swore. She wiped her robes with her hands and then unconsciously rubbed her face—another old habit she'd picked up courtesy of Iscarious-- smearing a dark, inky stain across her forehead and down her cheeks.
She quickly unclasped her robe to see if the liquid had penetrated to the clothes she wore beneath (another set of black tank top and linen pants). She was shaking out her robe and mumbling to herself something about being such a damned clumsy idiot, when she became aware of a strange, new sound coming from nearby. She looked back at Snape, realizing with irritation what it was.
Snape was laughing. It had suddenly dawned on him that she was nervous too—perhaps as nervous as he. This new insight flooded him with relief, and drove the critical Voice in his head even further away. It was a beautiful night, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle and roses was snaking its way through the open window, and he slowly felt himself drowning in her charms. She had helped him—he couldn't deny it. She was beautiful, and she was here, and she had helped him. She had kept up her end of their deal, at least through this first test, and moreover, it seemed as though she genuinely cared about him. And, besides, she did look ridiculous, with tea and ink smudged all over her face.
"It isn't funny," she said, sulking. "I'm so damn clumsy. My father is always calling me a "butterfingers" and he's right. About that, anyway."
"Well then," he said, still chuckling, "remind me not to send you out on any bomb defusing missions. Here, let me take that," he said, whisking her robe away and performing a quick spell on it, and on the table and the map, until everything was clean again. Well, almost everything.
"Thanks," she said, relaxing yet still scowling at herself.
"You, um, you have something…" he said, gesturing at her face.
She looked at him questioningly and wiped her face with a still dirty hand, smudging it even more. Snape bit his lower lip in an effort to suppress his laughter. "Here, let me."
He reached his hands out to her face, and Addy leaned backwards, flinching involuntarily. "It's okay," he said, gently. Then he placed his rough hands on her cheeks. Addy closed her eyes. As he whispered an incantation, he ran his hands softly over the grime on her face, and when he pulled them away, it was gone. She opened her eyes and he took her hands in his, turning them upwards so she could understand the mess she'd made.
When she saw them, she too had to laugh at herself. Snape held her little hands on top of his large ones, and tenderly spoke the incantation again, rubbing her palms with his thumbs. The stain was now gone, but he did not let go. They stood there, looking at each other for a few moments, their breath growing shallower with each second. Snape continued to rub her hands softly, as he looked deep into her soul. She could see the deepened creases at the corners of his eyes, left behind from his silvery laughter. She took a step toward him.
At that second, the pain came to her. She drew in a deep breath and yanked her hands from his. Her left hand clutched her chest, while she supported herself with her other one on the back of the chair. It had started as a stabbing pain at first, as though someone was sticking needles into her heart. Yet it was progressing quickly into an icy, sharp, throbbing sensation that caused her to double over.
"What's wrong?" asked Snape, grabbing her arms for support.
She looked up at him gravely, tears of torment springing to her eyes.
"It's Voldemort. He's calling me."
To be continued…