Good day, readers. Thank you for your kind reviews, which are like catnip to writers. They are VERY MUCH appreciated. And a shout out to my far-flung readers, from Alaska to Australia, the Maldives, Romania, and so many other places. It's a real honor to know that readers around the world are enjoying and following along.
I got a note recently that my version of Sedona was worthy. I couldn't be more pleased. I've only visited a couple of times. If anyone has feedback to offer to make the story better, pipe right up!
In my house, we call it "winter psychosis." About this time of year, we've all been inside too long and everyone is starting to get squirrelly. I think Hogwarts must be the same, those long Highland winters difficult to endure. We've had a nice respite from that this year, but Hunter and Snape are not so lucky.
Enjoy! DN
From that point forward, it was agreed that everyone would keep as close an eye on the Headmaster as waking hours permitted, with night watches out the windows of Gryffindor Tower every night. It was incomplete, of course, the tower not having a full view of all the grounds, the nights being generally overcast and pitch black, and the general difficulty of students staying awake. More than once, upon waking, they'd find the evening's observer fast asleep in the armchair by the window. At first, Harry had been angry. Then it was his turn.
The first few hours were ok, kind of nice, actually. Looking out across the frozen snow and the ice-covered lake on a clear night gave him a chance to clear his head, quiet time alone to think over things. And he had a lot to think over.
He'd made up his mind to at least give university a try, if he was accepted anywhere. The worst that could happen was he'd drop out. He might still be able to make a go of the national Quidditch team, or maybe coaching. Auror training was another option. And McGonagall had suggested teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, though Harry wondered if Snape might eventually take that over and find someone else for Potions. And even if he didn't, the likelihood that he would hire Harry seemed small. Between his desire to avoid any appearance of favoritism, a goal he'd fully achieved, Snape didn't seem to regard Harry's abilities highly. Professor Jones was doing well and hadn't shown any signs of being cursed or hexed. She'd probably be there for a while anyway.
Ginny was on his mind, too. And the Headmaster's words. She was a witch of uncommon distinction, she did tolerate him, and he was certain there would, indeed, be any number of wizards lining up at her door should they part. But marriage, that was a big deal. An eternal Binding. When he thought about life without her, or with anyone else, he felt empty and lost. But when he pictured her being there, wherever "there" was, it felt right. He would to "have a conversation" with Arthur and Molly Weasley. And Snape. He supposed he knew what Snape's answer would be, given their most recent exchange of words, but he would probably need help with whatever legal consultation would need to happen. The thought of the pile of parchments marriage would entail, given what was required for a godparent, was daunting.
The thought of talking to Snape to understand what a marriage entailed was daunting in itself. He grinned slightly, imagining what sage advice on marriage his godfather might issue. But his amusement turned to anger when he considered what Snape's plans for himself might be, that he might not actually be present for whatever lay ahead for Harry and Ginny. He felt a burning rage that he hadn't felt in a long time, but reminded himself that he didn't really know what Snape plans were, that they were just making assumptions and they could easily be wrong. He turned his thoughts back to Ginny.
What would she say? Harry pictured his proposal in his mind, trying to figure out when, where, what he would say. Then all the possibilities for what she might say (or do). The next thing he knew, Dean was shaking him awake, the predawn light just beginning to peek through the trees. He'd fallen asleep, for who knew how long. He immediately jumped up with a start and scanned the visible landscape for any tell-tale footprints.
Hunter was certain she was descending into madness. She could feel it, but seemed to be unable to do anything to halt its progress. After her talk with Minerva, she'd made every effort to right herself, in mind and body. Pepper-Up potion had long since ceased to work and her St. John's Wort tablets were as useless this time as they had been the last. She threw the vials to the floor in exasperation, the sound of the crystal smashing and the look of the shards all over the stones giving her what amounted to the only thing like pleasure she's felt in months. She cleaned up the mess with a wave of her wand, then returned to her chair. She needed to go to the library, to get another book to read, but couldn't work up the energy, nor a notion as to what she'd want to read.
Tomorrow was Thursday, which meant that Parse Winder was likely to make his now-weekly visit. If not Parse, then at least his deputy. Even if Parse couldn't make it, Hypatia was always there. I have no idea why they drag me into these discussions, she mused. Check that, she knew exactly why, but it had little to do with the incident with Janiss.
These weekly visits were incredibly difficult for her. It took her nearly the week after to recover, for this was the only time she ever saw Severus any more, as he'd withdrawn from attending staff meetings, leaving that to Minerva. Seeing him only made her feel even more that she was slipping over the edge. It was bad enough that he had rejected her, but now she was an unwilling witness to his growing interest in Hypatia Alexander. The weeks that Parse wasn't able to attend, Hypatia was always already in the room before she arrived, looking a little too relaxed and pleased to be there. The tone certainly shifted with her arrival, as would be expected. She and Severus would rise from the sofa where they had been sitting together before the fire and return to the more appropriate setting of the Headmaster's desk and chair. Those weeks the meeting was mercifully short. Alexander seemed to have reached the just conclusion that Hunter had very little to add to the Ministry's efforts at oversight. But when Parse was there, it was a whole different story.
Then the tone was a strained attempt to be jovial, as though they were all just a group of friends having a Firewhiskey after long day of work and sharing stories. Parse and Hypatia would be waiting in the hall outside the Headmaster's office, he blustering loudly, she listening silently with little emotion.
"Dr. Hunter! So good to see you!" he'd say, turning to her as if her appearance in the corridor outside the Headmaster's office were some happy coincidence and not ordered by him. He'd clasp her hand and cover it with his other, the handshake drawing her closer to him than she wished to be. She was certain at some point this might escalate to a clap on the shoulder, or, worse still, a hug, but her chilly demeanor seemed to have slowed this progression of familiarity. "Hypatia and I just arrived, perfect timing. Shall we go up?" He'd bow then and open the door with the password of the moment ("odollam"), then gesture gallantly for her to enter first. He'd follow, leaving Deputy Alexander throwing him daggers as she came in last.
These visits had become so routine, it was like a well-choreographed dance. Severus standing formally upon their entrance, listening to whatever story or joke Parse was telling, then gesturing for them all to sit, each in their now proscribed chairs. Refreshments would have arrived from the kitchens already and be served. Whichever cake Hypatia took the week before would be present in double portions the next week. Wine of a variety she liked would be served. She would make particularly appreciative noises while eating and drinking, casting approving looks at the Headmaster.
Then it was time for business. Hypatia would ask her about the previous week, did she have anything to share? She never did. The Deputy would then dismiss her. And within about 15 seconds, Parse would appear in the hall after her, with some small thing he'd "forgotten" to ask or tell her. He showed excessive concern for her health, given that she'd cancelled the lecture she was supposed to give to the Ministry in February, claiming to be under the weather. Then he would attempt to confirm a date for another lecture in the future, but Hunter always declined, citing her busy teaching and research schedule. She contemplated telling him what she speculated was going on with the Headmaster and his deputy, but couldn't manage to lower herself to the level of gossip instigator. She still had some pride.
No, she didn't. She'd left that behind before the holidays. Whatever scope of thoughts and responsibility she'd had before, with teaching, lecturing, research, publishing, and advancing her profession, she had reduced her attention now to one thing, to one man. She'd become the kind of pathetic witch she'd held in contempt before. Spending all her waking time mooning over some lost love.
She was becoming paranoid. Was there something going on with Deputy Alexander? What about Aurora Sinistra? She'd seen her coming up from the dungeons more than once, after having never seen her there before. Hunter had considered sharing some of her current distress with her new friend, but now thought the better of it.
There were rumors of every imaginable kind on the subject of just what was taking so much of the Headmaster's time these days. College recommendation letters, a new capital fundraising campaign, failing health, a slow-acting curse or hex. There were other, less savory ideas, as well. Brewing poisons, making Veritaserum to aid the Ministry's interrogations, writing up memoirs that would reveal the truth about members of the Wizengamot that they might wish to keep secret. And love affairs. It seemed that hardly a witch on the staff was spared, with the exception of herself and McGonagall. Aurora Sinistra, Hestia Jones, and now Hypatia Alexander. It seemed there were daily new rumors. Having little else to occupy their thoughts and time, with the outside weather still forbiddingly cold and windy, the students were spending an unhealthy amount of time gathered around the house fireplaces, weaving elaborate stories on the shaky foundations of tiny observations.
Hunter resolved to ignore these wild speculations. She said her goodbyes as curtly as she could to Minister Winder and returned to her office in the dungeons. Casting a warming spell that never seemed to be quite strong enough, she drew her woolen robe more tightly around herself, glad that she'd treated herself to a Christmas gift of this heavy robe. It was grey and patterned with alchemical symbols in black embroidery. It was expensive, but now seemed worth the money. In Sedona, she'd never needed to be particularly good at warming spells. Just a bit for chilly desert nights. Now that gap in her repertoire of charms was yet another aggravation. She was improving, but not quickly enough. By the time she could master a sufficient one, it would probably be warming up anyhow.
Now sealed behind the door to her office, she set to her work. She had neglected to assign the homework the previous week, twelve inches of parchment on the value of agate in Potions. She was not in a mood to grade. She finally tested the third-years' Salve of Salvation from the first week of January and found it universally wanting. Not a single creature had come back to life from any of them, even the samples from the more promising students. Rubeus Hagrid would be disappointed. Another generally useless Old World potion. At some point, she might make some herself to test. Or perhaps they could use it in their research, find a better way….
Or not. There was no "they" anymore. More than anything, Hunter simply wanted to move on, to stop brooding over him, to fill her brain with other thoughts. But her brain would not cooperate. Like water in a sink, it seemed as though it was all aiming for going down the drain and returning to thinking of Severus. Who clearly was NOT thinking of her, but thinking of every other witch on the staff or at the Ministry.
What had she been thinking? He read one absurd article in the newspaper, a newspaper he himself had told her not to trust, and believed the worst in her. All that he'd known of her from months of collaboration and more personal interactions had been tossed aside. He clearly was not that man she'd believed him to be. Nor the man Minerva McGonagall believed him to be. She wondered now the same thing she knew others had wondered at the time: What did she see in him? It made sense to her at the time, but now?
She felt herself slip one more rung down towards losing it completely. She couldn't trust what she was seeing anymore, didn't know who she could trust, didn't know if anyone trusted her. She had no one to talk to, given that every other witch on the staff was now rumored to be Snape's new lover. Or hopelessly deluded, like McGonagall.
Instead, she took inventory of the stores. With the vernal equinox only a few weeks away, she might request a harvest from Pomona Sprout. The stores of castor beans, passion flower leaves, hellebore root, and jequirity seeds were in need of replenishment and it would give her a good reason to get out to the greenhouse. Perhaps she could talk to Professor Sprout, who had yet to become the subject of a rumor of romance with Severus.
Eventually, she managed to carry herself from her office to her rooms, deeper in the dungeons. She requested dinner there, picked at it slightly, then put herself to bed, heaped over with four blankets and another weak warming charm. As she shivered, waiting for her own heat and the charm to make her bed comfortable, she allowed herself another round of tears, for if she had no such release, she might have simply spontaneously combusted. As she did most nights, she thought back to better times, in the desert, the heat of the sun on her face (which was now as pale as it had ever been), the warmth of the air through her hair, the energy from the earth running through her feet. And Phillipus. Like most nights, she resolved then to be more active and engaged in the morning, to finish her year here, then return to Sedona, whether to teach or simply to run her business. After so many such resolutions, she knew she'd feel tired and unrested in the morning and unwilling to mount a vigorous resistance to apathy. But for now, the thought was pleasant and calming enough to deliver her to sleep.
Upon waking, she felt yet again she was losing her grip. Her dreams, always yearning, searching, pursuing, now had her in the desert. With Severus.
The weather had technically improved, the snow giving way to intermittent rounds of cold rain. The snow piles melting created mushy grounds and fields, the rain beating the piles down more. The sun shone through weakly from time to time, only to be obscured by clouds only minutes later.
At last the fires of Hogwarts castle seemed to be able to keep up with the temperatures, so warming charms were less used, though many students were now prepared to demonstrate one perfectly, should they be asked to for N.E.W.T. exams. The heaviest cloaks and robes were packed away with the woolen socks, though hats and scarves remained, both for warmth and house spirit during Quidditch matches.
Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall for an all-school assembly first thing on a Monday morning and were looking for places to sit at the Gryffindor table. Ginny and Luna waved them over, where there was space next to Dean and Seamus.
"What's this about?" wondered Neville idly, thumbing through a seed catalogue.
"Getting ready for spring planting?" Seamus asked. Neville nodded silently, immersed in his task. "Grow some gillyweed for me. I'm going to the Great Barrier Reef after I graduate. I'll need it." Neville looked up, impressed, and began to consider graduation plants for all of his friends, making notes in the margins.
It had been since the Christmas feast that the Hall had been this full, every seat taken at the staff table, as well as the house tables. All but one. Even Filch and Madam Pince were there. Harry looked around until McGonagall began to speak.
"It's time to talk about the schedule for exams and graduations this year. They are coming sooner than you think…." McGonagall began, casting down an admonishing glance that seemed to take in everyone at once.
As she continued to drone on, Harry attempted to depart as discreetly as possible. "Where are you going? They said this was required," Hermione whispered urgently, her hand on his elbow.
"Snape's not here," Harry said simply, shaking off her arm and continuing out a side door. Once outside the hall, he ran up to his dormitory and grabbed the Marauder's Map off his desk. Why hadn't he taken it with him today? Opening, he searched the castle for the Potions Master, without success. With all the staff and students gathered in the Great Hall, it should have been easy. Even Hagrid and Madame Pomfrey were there. Where could he be? If he'd already done himself in, would he disappear from the map? Harry unfolded it further, looking out across the grounds, until he saw it. Severus Snape, walking away from the castle, down towards the Black Lake. Harry threw on his cloak and took off down the stairs in a barely-controlled fall, jumping the last few steps on each floor.
He burst out the back door, consulting the map again as he ran across the soggy grass.