Chapter 32
SKETCHES
Monday evening, Harry couldn't believe how perfectly the computer was running—though he couldn't tell what was powering it. The dead generator sat abandoned in the corner. And from somewhere, he got a whiff of cooked cabbage.
Dumbledore pounded the keyboard, lobbing rocks at a Cyclops bellowing on the screen. Watching Dudley battle monsters back at the Dursleys, Harry had yearned for a chance at the controls. Now, he feinted right and left with the headmaster's surrogate Hercules until the Cyclops smashed the tiny warrior into digital dust. The scene disintegrated, replaced by a merciless, I thought you'd be a hero, but you're just a zero.
In the portraits lining the walls, several of the old headmasters appeared to groan while others shook their heads.
Dumbledore sighed. "I can't get past level three."
Harry grinned, hoping that the professor's invitation had meant he'd get a turn on the computer—just as soon as Remus finished tinkering with it. Right now, his friend was corkscrewed behind the central processing unit. Ariel Daine crouched nearby, watching with admiration. A yard away, glaring down his prominent nose, stood Snape.
"We're ready to plug in the modem," Remus said. "Let's widen the portal."
Harry squatted to peer under the table—in time to see a hole expanding in the wall. On the other side smiled a wizened old lady clasping a disgruntled Persian cat.
"Mrs. Figg," he breathed. He noticed that the computer's power cord was already threaded through the hole and plugged into an outlet in his old babysitter's living room. Now he knew the origin of both the computer's electricity and the cabbage smell.
"Spatial displacement," Professor Daine murmured. "How clever."
Noticing Harry, Mrs. Figg grabbed her cat's paw and waved it. "Hello! Tickles the Fourth says hello, too!"
"How are you?" Harry called out loudly enough for a somewhat deaf old lady.
"I'm ninety-two," Mrs. Figg responded as Remus dropped a wire with a telephone jack through the hole. When she set her cat down, it scampered away. With aching slowness, she bent over for the modem jack, then hobbled with it to her wall.
"Not the power outlet, sweetheart," Remus shouted. "The socket under the telephone stand. That's right, dear."
A yowl answered by an explosion of snarls distracted Mrs. Figg. Still holding the wire, she started to rise. Then she remembered, popped in the jack, and doddered away.
Remus poked his head through the hole, then twisted back around. "We'll have to thank her some other time. She's settling a domestic dispute." Pointing his wand, he shrank the wall opening to a size just large enough to accommodate the two cords.
"You've worked a miracle," Professor Daine said as Remus crawled out and stood to brush dust balls off his loose-fit jeans. "Wherever did you learn to do all this?"
"Minerva created the portal. I'm a bit rusty on spatial transfiguration. And the computer, well, I was off work last year, so I had time for some tech courses."
As Remus took Dumbledore's place at the keyboard, Harry saw Professor Daine starting to frown. "I heard how you lost your job. Disgraceful. Prejudice against a medical condition, plain and simple. You should have lodged a grievance."
Remus smiled faintly. "If I'd wanted to go that route, Albus would have backed me completely. But once the story of my medical condition was out, there was no calling it back. And you can't tell nervous parents they're just being prejudiced."
Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape grimace. "A misunderstanding."
Righteous indignation flamed in Professor Daine's hazel eyes. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've heard, But Professor Lupin said. The way the kids remember you says what a great teacher you were. That some anonymous gossip would maliciously bandy about your lycanthropism to lose you your job makes me mad."
Snape winced like he'd been struck. His lips moved slightly but without a reply.
Dumbledore coughed as though trying to come up with a diplomatic explanation.
Remus swiveled in his chair. "There was no malice. The person who let my secret slip did so because he believed I was a confederate of a man he mistook for a murderer. He thought us both in league with Voldemort. He honestly thought that if I stayed, I might kill one of the students. Harry, actually. The entire affair was—" he shot Snape a lopsided smile "—a misunderstanding."
"Of the most abysmally miscalculated sort." Snape passed a hand over his forehead. "Lupin's replacement was a murderer in league with Voldemort. He was instrumental in the death of one student and nearly in Potter's, as well."
"Not everything can be foretold," Dumbledore said quietly.
Harry stared at Snape, the events of the Shrieking Shack flying through his mind. Again and again, the professor had insisted that he was saving everyone's neck, that Sirius had spent the year trying to kill him, and that the werewolf had been helping him. Harry had assumed Snape had revealed Remus's secret out of pique at losing the Order of Merlin. Had he really been trying to protect Lily's son?
"We all know," Remus added reasonably, "that if Barty Crouch hadn't come to Hogwarts as Mad-Eye Moody, he would have come as someone else."
Daine nodded. "Evil thwarted from one direction will try another."
"Well said," Remus agreed. "But luckily, happiness thwarted will also find a different path. For me, things have turned out better than I ever would have hoped. After years of bumming around, I've found my niche. I'm sharing a flat in the West End, living comfortably. And I doubt there's any regret about my replacement this year." Pivoting back to the computer, he began lightly playing on the keys.
With a strained smile, Snape plodded across the room to where elves had left wine and glasses. He poured a portion and drank it. Spent, he sank into a corner chair.
Harry looked away, recalling the answer Hermione had been unable to provide to her Advanced Potions examination question about Veritaserum: The truth of any information revealed is only partial. Different viewpoints are necessary to truly understand it. In the last two days, he had seen Snape from more angles than he could have imagined. Now he was experiencing a fellow feeling for the irascible man he'd never dreamed possible. He could even picture how Ariel Daine could have taken enough pity on him to dance as she did at the Yule ball—but only because she was especially kind-hearted.
Remus paused a moment, then tapped the Enter key. Strange noises came out of the computer. "That's the electronic handshake. . . any moment now . . . here we go . . . ."
Everyone crowded around the computer—everyone except Snape. When Harry glanced behind him, he saw the Potions master rooted in his corner, somberly tipping back a second goblet of wine.
"Here's one of my favorites," Remus said, as an engraving of an old-time navigator appeared on the screen. "Her Majesty's Nautical Almanac Office—the exact dates and times for moon phase and moon rise."
After oo's and ahh's, Daine asked, "Could you find Tonawanda National Wildlife Refuge? It's a swamp in Alabama. I'm a bit homesick."
The wildlife refuge led to rare birds, to the Phoenix, to Hopi Kachina dolls. Harry sidetracked everyone into the Wudang Mountains. Dumbledore located an on-line store offering 692 styles of socks. Harry had almost forgotten the Potions master until he heard a portentous whisper: "This will kill that."
Startled, Harry and the others whipped around.
Stretching out his hand like a prophet of doom, Snape pointed at the computer. "This will kill—" he raised his long black wand ominously above his head and released one purple spark "—that."
Remus arched an eyebrow. "You're being a touch melodramatic, aren't you?"
Snape thrust out his pointed chin. "Who will go sleepless pondering obscure scrolls when typing a search term can bring up an Ask the Experts answer? Who will toil over innumerable, painstaking, hand-inked drafts when word processing is easier? Who will set out to absorb all knowledge when a computer can store it more quickly?"
Dumbledore stroked his long, white beard. "Magic can take many forms. Sometimes, we of the Craft tend to be stick-in-the-muds. Rigidity will make us obsolete."
"The opposite," Snape muttered, "is chaos."
"Oh, Severus." Daine bit her lower lip, then flashed him a cajoling glance. "Notre Dame has survived the printing press."
Snape's head lolled back as he laughed. "Muggle trivia! All right, then. Bring on this neoteric magic." Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and picked his way across the carpet with the delicacy of a man who'd had too much to drink. "Have at it! A duel to the death!"
As Harry stepped aside for the Potions master, he heard the office door creak. Madame Pomfrey bustled in, her arms full of packages.
"Hello, Albus! Everybody! I cut my trip short. I couldn't stay away a minute longer. Minerva told me you were all up here. I have gifts for everyone." When she handed Dumbledore a parcel shaped like a figure eight, he kissed her cheek. Her face was still pink when she ended her rounds by handing Harry a daintily wrapped box.
Something of my mother's! This gift couldn't wait for Christmas. Hugging it, Harry dashed over to the deep chair Snape had vacated.
Looking too flustered to face the headmaster, Madame Pomfrey followed. She hovered alongside as he ripped away the angel-patterned paper.
Inside, Harry found a bound sketchbook. He ran his hand over the washed silk cover, savoring his anticipation. "Did she like to draw? I didn't know."
The first few pages featured thumbnail sketches—flowers, rabbit ears, teapots, doe eyes, butterfly wings. Even more delightful, Harry discovered that when he touched the delicately penciled drawings, they sprang to sprightly, whimsical life. Exploring further, he found studies of faces—including one that looked suspiciously like a younger, less prissy Aunt Petunia almost daring to smile. When he came to a self-portrait of his mother, he was thrilled to hear a sweet, soft voice in his mind: James, have a great summer! See you next year— Love, Lily.
"This is wonderful," Harry breathed. "Thank you."
Madame Pomfrey blushed even harder.
The following page made Harry gasp. The Marauders! James, his black hair as shaggy as his son's, stood in the center, brandishing his wand. On one side, Remus leaned companionably against him and waved. On the other, Sirius flashed a bad boy leer over a pair of dark glasses. Little Peter huddled at their feet, content to be a part of the gang.
Harry was about to summon Remus, when the next picture made him pause. The oddness of the angle—someone's back—puzzled him. The long dark hair didn't reveal whether the subject was a boy or a girl. As Harry touched a sweeping line he heard a lilting, "The wyvern scales will keep, dear. I have an inspiration. Lie down." He smiled. But when he caught a familiar, silky soft murmur, "I'll get grass stains on my jacket," he jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned.
"Is that your father?" Madame Pomfrey asked kindly. "You can't see his face."
"Yes," Harry answered hastily. "My father."
On the far side of the room, the middle-aged Snape sat stonily at the computer as Remus initiated him into the mysteries of the Worldwide Web, unaware of his teen-aged self sharing a different kind of mystery with Lily Evans.
"I'm feeling a bit knackered," Harry told Madame Pomfrey, trying to sound more easy-going than he felt. "Could you tell everyone good night for me?"
"Certainly, child. Get to bed. A boy your age needs lots of rest."
Harry trotted down the dark, echoing corridors to Gryffindor Tower, clutching his mother's sketchbook, anxious for a moment alone. Minutes later, he burst breathless into his dorm, jumped fully dressed into bed, pulled the curtains, and buried himself under his covers. Shakily, he lit his wand and flipped to the fateful page. This time, he forced himself to hold his finger to the sketch while he stared at the animated lines.
"The wyvern scales will keep, dear," Lily Evans said. "I have an inspiration. Lie down."
"I'll get grass stains on my jacket," Severus Snape complained. "I can't afford another until I'm on my own and working. Can't we do this standing?"
Lily's light, high laughter rang out in her son's mind like mockingbird song. Her graceful hands entered the sketch, urging Snape to lie down until his head rested at the bottom of the frame and his knees jutted up at the top. "Relax," she soothed. "You're the most unyielding chap I've ever known."
"For you, I'll lie down," Snape replied, smoothing back his long, black hair. "There's no one I can relax with except you."
An unseen gust blew a single, line-drawn maple leaf across the page. The vignette was over, and Snape remained still, captured for all time, lounging for Lily.
Harry shut his eyes tight. This was a picture of Snape he wished he'd never seen.
Author's Note: Remember, this is 1995 Internet with modems and no Wi-Fi. The telephone line connections used to make funny screeching noises before the connection was made.
BTW, the Muggle trivia Snape throws out that Daine recognizes is from The Hunchback of Notre Dame where Frollo darkly comments that the printing press would kill Notre Dame Cathedral (or, at least what it represented).
Oh, yes: please review.