Authors' Notes: This story is part of an ongoing epic involving a natural Legilimens named Sydney (Siggy) Whetstone, a first year student at Hogwarts, his cat Morpheus, Severus Snape (who has become Siggy's guardian following the death of his abusive uncle), and Hermione Granger, who is studying Morpheus, a maneki neko with unusual magical powers. It takes place in roughly 2007 or thereabouts.

A Trip To Remember

A collaborative effort by Sinistra_Furze and SadiraSnape

CHAPTER 3 – Museums and Leeches

Hi Ginny

The trip to the Museum was amazing. I wandered around in the morning in the company of a smart and very handsome young wizard Mr Valentinas' nephew Omar. He didn't say a great deal but pointed out things of interest that I might have missed on my own. I saw beautiful objects made centuries ago, and learned why and by whom. I admired many things, but the only thing I'd have liked to bring home was a little statue of Bast made from black stone.

I had lunch with Omar as Siggy and Severus had been delayed at the riverbank. Apparently Siggy had wandered off and Severus ended up muddier than anticipated when retrieving him from deep waters. According to the lecture I endured last night it's considered best practice to catch the leeches before they catch you, but…... So they arrived -in fresh clothing and foul temper.

But once we began our afternoon tour they were as absorbed as I was by the treasures. We moved into a room re-creating, in an educational way, the inside of a tomb. A group of Egyptian schoolchildren had just left, chattering about their lesson. Some of the curses they put on the tombs! Gruesome. They even categorised the curses into slow-acting or fast-acting, physically maiming or mentally disturbing, merely harmful or deadly.

It was dispiriting in a way, Ginny. Of all the horrific things we saw during the war, there was little that was new or hadn't previously been thought acceptable for use on enemies or to gain an advantage. Siggy paid attention in all seriousness, but Severus was unreadable, the way you know when someone's hiding their reactions deliberately, to not give anything away.

This evening the MOB was being unsociable, so I talked quietly with Siggy about his plans for the next few days, looking through reports and maps to help him find the place he wanted. Apparently he has been there previously with his Uncle, but without success. He's worried, I think, about failing. After the talking-to he had over his escapade this morning he doesn't want to get it wrong again.

I tried to distract him with tales from my morning with Omar. It gave Siggy the opportunity to tease me about the handsome young wizard and lightened both our moods. But not the MOB, who glared repressively over his newspaper. So it's feeling a bit subdued and reflective after a surprisingly tiring day that I sign off this letter.

Tomorrow we travel to Siggy's village, so an early night is in order.

Best wishes

Hermione.

17 July

Today I took young Siggy with me to collect Nile leeches (Limnatis nilotica), and Hermione took a day off to visit the Royal Magical Museum with Ogdoad's young nephew, Omar. For some reason, Ogdoad assured me that Omar is betrothed to a daughter of a fine old wizarding family and that, quote, "He'll be no problem for you, my friend. None at all!" And then the sly old bastard winked at me! Winked! If I hadn't known him for 30 years, I'd have hexed his ears into roof shingles…

We borrowed a couple of mules from Ogdoad, since the leech pond was quite a way and we couldn't apparate, as it's a populated area. I explained the difference between the horse leech (Haemopis sanguisuga) and the Nile leech to Siggy, as we both were going to be collecting. He was quite excited about getting to splash around in the pond, and didn't seem squeamish about picking up the leeches, even with forceps.

That was unexpected, yet appreciated. I do so dislike squealing children with misplaced senses of delicacy. It's just a leech, after all, not an aboleth or a hagfish…

We arrived at the pond, put on our protective waders, and began collecting. I had just filled one jar and started on a second when there was a splash, a gurgle, and then a plaintive, "Sir?" I turned, and to no one's surprise, discovered that Siggy had managed not only to fall into the pond, but to lose his waders as well. I cannot fathom how that child can cause so much disruption with so little raw material to work with.

I put my second jar in my pocket (closing it carefully), waded over to where he was stuck (the mud in the leech pond is quite viscous), looked at him for a moment, then took him by the collar and lifted. He came loose with a most disagreeable sound, and hung there, dripping rather noisomely and looking quite embarrassed. I shook my head and deposited him on the bank.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he squeaked. "Hm. Not as sorry as you're going to be, once you realize that the Nile leech is quite the opportunistic predator. Look at your legs." He looked down, and swallowed visibly – his skinny little legs were well populated with some prime examples of L. nilotica. He looked up at me, and I nodded. "Yes, young man, you'll have to pull them off. Gently, I don't want them damaged. Here's a jar."

I handed him a jar and he began de-leeching himself. I know from experience that it isn't pleasant to remove Nile leeches; they seem to be extremely … tenacious … and don't like to give up without a bit of fight.

I went back to collecting my own leeches in the prescribed manner, quietly watching Siggy while he worked. His chin trembled a bit, but I was pleased at his bravery in removing the leeches with care. I had looked down to collect a particularly elusive specimen, and almost had it, when suddenly a shriek of "PROFESSOR!" rent the air.

Startled, I looked up and almost dropped my jar. Siggy had stood up to check that he'd gotten all the leeches, and in the process his cotton shorts had sagged a bit, whereupon he discovered he had a lively crop of visitors in places no male would ever choose to entertain leeches. The poor child (did I just say that? I must be going soft in my old age) was standing stock still, white as a sheet, and shaking from head to toe.

I rushed to the bank, set down my jar (to hell with the lid), and hurried to him. "Calm down, Whetstone, they're still just leeches," I said. I took out my wand and with a quiet Evanesco the offending leeches disappeared. I then used a hemostasis spell of my own devising to stop the bleeding from the various leech wounds.

"There now," I said. "And we're done with leech collecting – your legs have provided quite enough." Siggy nodded with some relief and began collecting his jars and forceps. Again, I was impressed with his stoicism in the face of what I personally know is a rather shattering experience. As we were loading up the mules, he stood for a moment with his face pressed into the mule's neck. I watched him for a bit, then rode up behind him, reached down, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You did well, Whetstone. Better than most would." I couldn't believe I was saying this. Severus Snape, Potions Master, Mean Old Bat o' the Dungeons, offering encouragement and comfort to a rising Second Year? I can't say what possessed me, except perhaps a realization that such an incident with his unlamented uncle would have resulted in severe punishment.

He looked up at me, obviously startled, then relaxed and unleashed his infuriatingly sunny grin on me. I rolled my eyes, and turned away. "Oh, mount up, Whetstone. We have a long ride, then we must clean up to meet Ms Granger for lunch," I sighed.

Bathed and freshly dressed, we met Hermione at the Museum. She and Omar seemed to be getting along famously, which unaccountably plunged me into a dark mood. For some reason, Ogdoad's comment regarding Omar's betrothal brought me a measure of comfort. Why in the world would I care one way or the other about the marital plans of a perfect stranger? I was just tired from the leech adventure, I suppose, and random thoughts were drifting around.

At any rate, I managed to conceal my mental wanderings, and paid appropriate attention to the various exhibits, all of which I've seen before. Ah, but I hadn't seen them through Hermione's eyes, which made them all seem exciting and fresh again. How peculiar. I've chaperoned many a field trip for 7th years to various sites of interest, but it's always been an insufferable chore – why would accompanying a witch in her mid-20's and a child of 12 to yet another Magical Museum spark my interest and attention as if I had never been? Curious.

Siggy paid particular attention to the Hall of Pharaohs, where miniatures harmlessly demonstrated the various curses Egyptian royalty liked to set on their tombs. One could almost see the information sinking into his sponge of a brain. Fortunately, the demonstrations did not include the actual spells – simply one miniature gesturing towards another miniature, which then displayed the effects of the curse. I watched him closely – contrary to what I expected, he evidenced no revulsion, but pure fascination. Proof he belongs in Slytherin.

Hermione, on the other hand, was quite distressed, especially by the negi curse, which in my opinion is the curse upon which Urquhart Rackharrow based his entrail-expelling curse. There's nothing new in the world, just newly re-discovered. And re-attributed, if truth be told…

Finally we trooped back to Ogdoad's for a light supper and a bit of relaxation. I retired to a comfortable armchair and caught up on a bit of reading, while Hermione and Siggy laid plans for our search for the Arabian phoenix in which he is interested. At one point Siggy began teasing Hermione about Omar, and before I could stop myself I snapped my paper down and fixed them both with the patented Snape Glare. Siggy sobered up immediately, and curiously Hermione flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. Again Ogdoad's comment from this morning crossed my mind, calming me, so I snapped my paper back up, and the pair went back to quieter discussions.

While I was considering why the mention of Omar caused such a reaction and why Ogdoad's comment is so calming, Morpheus chose that moment to attack the photograph on the front of my paper, which featured a small owl flying from one person to another (some stupid story about training owls to apparate – how absurd…)

I stood up, dumping the cat on the floor, and announced that we had an early morning tomorrow and bed would be the appropriate place for all of us to be. Immediately. And then stalked from the room. I heard the pair creep past my door not long ago, so I suppose I should follow my own dictum and retire.