Hello, patient readers. Thanks for staying with me. Busy times here, as well as at Hogwarts. I've been enjoying your reviews and I look forward to more. Please keep them coming! -DN
"You had a vision, I take it?" Snape asked, once they'd settled into chairs by a roaring fire in the Headmaster's office. He'd sent the house elves scurrying, with commands to stoke the fire in the Gryffindor common room and a set of orders to Neville and Ron to assure Harry's continued recovery, and to alert Madam Pomfrey at any sign of trouble, on threat of experiencing his displeasure. What shape that might take against wizards fully of age was anyone's guess, but the admonition served to underscore the urgency of their duty. Messages were sent to teachers to excuse their absence from afternoon classes.
Trelawney nodded in silence as he tossed into the fire several pieces of parchment securely sealed with a green silk cord and a green wax seal. Each scroll released a shower of green and silver sparks as it burned, leaving behind no trace.
"The girl again? In the lake?"
"Yes, Severus."
He watched the fire intently, lest any portion of the scrolls remain, then drew his heavy woollen cloak around him, trapping the warmth from the blaze in a futile effort to drive out the memory in his bones of the coldness of the water. And the coldness from Harry. He would eventually need to approach him for some kind of reconciliation, some kind of forgiveness, but the way to start was not at all clear. A gift of some kind, chocolate frogs? A particularly interesting or useful potion? A magical instrument? Twelve inches of parchment on the proper relationship between a godfather and godson? He could easily summon him to his office, but a different approach, a more equitable approach, seemed in order. Though their relationship was to be as father and son, Harry was hardly a child anymore. He was both older than a student should be, and far more experienced, having lived through these times.
And Morgan. The path ahead wasn't clear with her, either. If he really was to face his future, and on this point he no longer had a choice, he would have to attempt to win her back, whatever it took. He no longer believed she was seeking him only to secure her fortune, for if that were so, she would have either continued her pursuit of him or sought another, and he'd seen neither of those. She had kept her distance since their parting, tolerating his presence only for the necessary visits from Winder and Alexander. She no longer traveled, nor did she visit Hogsmeade on weekends. Most importantly, she had said it wasn't so. He despaired to think how much damage he'd done with his accusations and invasions, how few reasons he'd given her to trust him, and how little he had to offer her.
Poor, ugly, greasy, damaged schoolmaster, locked for the next 50 years in a prison disguised as a school in the Scottish Highlands, seeks companionship and commitment. Ineloquent, suspicious, surly, solitary, demanding, but good with a cauldron. Handy to have around should you need to duel.
He would seek her out as soon as he regained his strength but before he lost his nerve. His stomach turned at the thought of venturing into this territory yet again, one in which his skills and talents were poorly prepared and little used. And never successful. Manipulation, deception, insults, these he had mastered. Pathological ambition, hunger for power, disregard for others he understood well. Even with Dumbledore, every discussion was another move in Wizard Chess. But attraction? Loyalty, yes. Friendship, not as much. Possessiveness, yes. Love? Only from one side.
Why not make use of his talent, a potion of some kind to smooth the path? Perhaps some Felix Felicis minor? Ah, but the luck would fade, and a witch with her skills would be likely to notice the traces of it. A Boldness Booster seemed a bit amateurish and difficult to mask. Even his most potent potions wouldn't do what really needed to be done. They might affect her mind for a short time, but he needed to move her heart. He would map out a course once his head cleared. And his belly settled.
What to do with the remaining vials of poison, now sealed in a locked and charmed cabinet? Destroy or reserve? Certainly not for his own use, but powerful potions like this one were rare. He didn't need to decide now; the decision could wait. He had other things on his mind, other plans to put into place as soon as he could think them through.
Trelawney had waited as long as she was able before being moved to speak. Her voice was uncharacteristically steady and strong, her features and shaking hands belying anger rather than nervousness beneath the control of her words.
"I will not pry into your personal affairs, Severus, nor ask you why you did this," she began tersely, echoing the tones more common to Minerva McGonegall. "I know you had your reasons, despite the efforts that were made to save your life by so many, including myself. I will only say this: Had you been successful, you would have ruined the future, and not just for yourself. You must not know how much respect you have here to think that you could simply be replaced." She paused before her rising tone became a screech, considering whether to stop here or continue. She poured herself another generous glass of wine, wishing it were sherry instead of Bordeaux, as Snape looked away with a silent glare cast elsewhere, his jaw clenched in displeasure. After allowing a swallow of the ruby-colored liquid to sink in, she continued, her voice more quiet now.
"You aren't the only one, you know." Snape cast his steely glare back to her, but she continued as though she didn't notice. "Several of us get together in Hogsmeade from time to time to try to figure out what to do with ourselves. How to stop the nightmares, how to stop the thoughts about those we've lost. How to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives." She leaned forward, trying to meet the eyes of the headmaster, who returned his pointedly to the fire. "It's especially difficult for Madam Pomfrey, you know. She cared for every person who was injured and tried her best to save every person, witch, wizard or elf, who died. You were one of her few and greatest successes in days filled with losses. Even now, students come to her for help with depression and nightmares, so she's still treating the casualties of the war."
Snape remained impassive. "She hasn't asked me for Pepper-Up or SlumberBliss potions."
Trelawney held back a dismissive snort by turning it into a sniff, which failed to disguise its original intention. "She doesn't treat them that way, by simply masking the emotion or delaying their effects until the next morning. Her treatments involve friends and family, talking about how they feel, and finding others who know what it feels like. Once they feel like they can talk about these feelings and find a willing and supportive circle to trust, it goes a long way for their recovery. But it takes time."
He pondered this as he took another sip of wine, the liquid warming him from within. Indeed, he did not know what efforts had been made nor by whom to aid in his overcoming death. He'd been too focused on the mermaid girl and what her presence meant to give much thought to the specifics of what had occurred. He had woken to several students and staff, but what they had done in his aid, he had been too spent to ask at the time and too focused on the things ahead to ask later. Clearly, Poppy had been instrumental in his long recovery in the Hospital Wing, more so than he wished at the time. To ask what had come before, between Nagini's fangs and his regaining consciousness in the Great Hall, seemed intrusive. He doubted he would truly want to know himself. Few wanted to talk about the past, but instead to simply move on to better things ahead, to resume an air of normalcy.
But this was an illusion. Despite the resumption of classes, teachers teaching and students learning (to some small degree, as usual), everything was transformed. Even if the castle were to be fully restored, leaving no trace of the damage visible, every witch and wizard within would still know what had happened, would still retain within their own healed exteriors the wounds of war. Given enough time and money, the walls and windows could be repaired, but what would it take to heal those within?
His plan, had he completed it, would have served to further the trauma of those around him, Harry to the greatest degree. He'd been a fool, self-absorbed to such a dangerous degree that he'd neglected the core of his Binding, to be as a father to Harry, which should mean a good deal more than signing forms. Yes, he would need to go to Morgan, to see if it were possible to heal what he'd broken between them. But it was Harry who needed him most, to whom he owned the greater debt.
How to heal himself? To reach out and open himself to others as Sybill was suggesting was impossible. Clearly, not doing so carried risks of its own. Where to even start? He took another sip of wine and allowed the heat from the fire to gather further.
"I shall take your advice into consideration, Sybill," he said, still staring into the fire as though reading a book on its flames. "And thank you for your spells and transfiguration. Had we been left with only mine, Harry and I would likely both be frozen fish fillets."
He would seek out Harry as soon as they both had thawed, tonight if possible. Schoolwork could wait. Perhaps over a meal here, lacking any other private but more neutral location. What he would say he hadn't yet planned, but the truth seemed the best option. He prepared to endure Harry's righteous rant, to the point of predicting his words ("after all we did to save you" "ungrateful" "her blood" "cowardly"). His stomach yet again turned at the thought, at the truth in such words. The thought of a meal with Harry began to have a bit less appeal.
Next, he would go to Morgan. He would tell her everything, beg for forgiveness (again), do anything she asked. Anything. Just to have a second chance. Well, a third chance. He'd bring wine, flowers.
The chill in his bones was beginning to subside with the passing of time and his beginning to bring his plans into sharper focus. First, he would need to clean himself up considerably, get the smell of lake slime off himself. He finished the wine, set the glass aside and stood.
Just as Trelawney stood, there was the sound of the door opening and quick footsteps up the spiral staircase. No one, it seemed, even simply allowed themselves to be elevated by the stairs alone. And whoever this was, they certainly did not feel the need for an invitation to enter.
Minerva McGonagall noticed the presence of the Divination professor with mild surprise and the condition and smell of the Headmaster with raised eyebrows, but asked no questions, for she was far too intent on her purpose to be put off.
She held out a large scroll of parchment tied with a dark forest green ribbon that had been sealed with wax that Snape recognized. "This just came in the morning owls, from Arboreus Hobble."
"I see that," Snape noted. "What does he have to say?" It seemed rather bulky to be anything relating to he and Harry and the college situation, or about his own fortune, which was nearly non-existent. Perhaps something about his sentence? But why would Minerva have opened anything intended for him?
"Read it for yourself, Severus," she said enigmatically, thrusting the parchment to him.
He took the scroll in hand. He considered seating himself at the desk, but still the lure of the warmth of the fire was too great. With a wave of his wand, he drew a third chair up to the circle by the blaze and they all sat. Cautiously, he began to read the scroll aloud.
Despite the large size and thick weight of the parchment, the message was a short one.
"To the Attention of the Deputy Headmaster and Treasurer of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:
I have the pleasure of communicating my receipt today of a gift to Hogwarts in the amount of 19,601,900 galleons. The donor wishes to remain anonymous.
The gift is given with no specifications as to a particular purpose, no request for naming, and is currently residing in the school's depository at Gringott's Bank.
Should you wish to discuss further the disposition of this sizable sum, I remain ever yours,
Arboreus Hobble, Esq."
It was an incredibly short letter summarizing an incredible sum of money.
He felt the ribbon and examined the wax seal. Certainly Hobble's, or a remarkably good forgery. He ran his hands over the ink and felt the familiar jaunty vibe of the young advocate, clearly pleased to be in possession of good news for once. "Do you have any idea who the donor is?" he finally asked, after silently re-reading it three times to be sure he hadn't left out any words.
McGonagall smiled while shaking her head. "None. I don't know of any family, allies or Dark Wizards, with this kind of money to give," she replied.
Snape concurred. "I doubt even the Malfoys can claim that much, and they have been rather chilly towards Hogwarts of late. They favor Durmstrang these days…" He took a couple of breaths. "And you've verified with Gringott's…"
"Of course," she replied.
All three sat in silence, in wonder at where this windfall had come from. Snape's mind raced ahead. It was the solution to all his problems. Not only could he now finish the repairs on the school, he could offer Morgan a permanent job and at a far more respectable salary. He could repair Slughorn's old classroom and give her more space. A better apartment, rather than her small rooms in the dungeon. This would be a brilliant way to begin their conversation, for he now had a perfect reason to summon her. He would start with the offer, then offer his apologies, beg for her forgiveness, whatever it took. But at least this would get her attention, get things started.
McGonagall broke the silence. "Shall I summon the builders?"
Hunter had decided. Her time outside, connected to the earth, had helped order her thoughts enough such that her swirling thoughts subsided. She would endure until the end of term, then it was time to go. How Hogwarts would manage to teach potions next year was no longer her problem. She needed to take care of herself and move on.
Once she'd made her decision, things seemed to get better from there. She was now focused on the next stage of her life, her next adventure. Every action got her closer to that goal. She dedicated herself to her work, locking herself in the dungeons, grading papers, assessing potions, and finishing what had been started but incomplete from before. She inventoried her stores, tapping charms onto her personal items for easy summoning when the time came. Cauldrons lined up by size. Equipment cleaned. Books, dwarfing her up the walls of this tiny, closet-like office, organized and catalogued. Everything just waiting for her order.
In her small, dark apartment, she glanced over the new clothes she'd bought for the year, the heavy robes, hats, and thick-soled shoes. They were beautiful, but now unnecessary. Perhaps she'd leave them behind or make a donation. Some witch would be very lucky. She went to her trunk that contained her desert robes. Soft fabrics, thin and airy. Turquoise, rose pink, lime green, some with flowers, some with the symbols of minerals, many with holes worn through from years of wear and miles of walks by cactuses and spiny scrub. It would be a simple matter of "Reparo" to fix them, but she liked their worn personalities, each tear reminding her of who she'd been with and how the day had been when the fabric was rent. All of them well-worn and comfortable, their colors muted from many seasons of washing followed by drying in the desert heat and sun. Her hats, broad-brimmed, made of straw, hadn't fared well in the dampness that was Hogwarts. This damage she felt no desire to retain or treasure. With a sharp snap of her wrist, the weave righted itself and stiffened, back to it original curve. She pulled the orange ribbon under her chin, tied it, and took a look in her mirror. The hat looked great, but the witch underneath was pale, with contrasting darkness under her eyes. But this wouldn't last long, not once the days warmed up. Her teaching plans evolved to include outdoor activities, like harvesting plants, gathering minerals, and capturing bugs, worms, and other creatures. As little that required time in the dungeons as possible and as much time spent standing on dirt as possible.
Once she got back to the desert, she imagined herself rising before dawn, the first rays from the east striking her skin. She would stay out until nearly mid-day, warming herself like a snake before retreating to the shade to study, write, brew. Then rest until nightfall and take in the sounds and sights of a desert alive. She set the hat aside in a large hatbox and put the cover on.
She wrote a series of short, uninformative letters, notifying her friends of her plans and reasons.
"Dear Cassie,
I shall be returning to Sedona very shortly, but not to teach at the academy. Things here at Hogwarts have not turned out as planned, despite my hopes. The desert is the best place for me to be to take the next steps in my journey. I hope you'll find time to see me when I get there. I'll arrive in June.
M.H."
She wrote a series of letters in a similar vein, rolled the small scrolls, and sealed each with her turquoise wax. She would send them just after she gave her notice, prior to the weekend. By the end of the school year, she would need only wave her wand to pack her things, and go.
The desert. The heat and sun would warm her, the energy from the earth and her friends would heal her. She might not wear shoes until the winter. Thinking of summer days spent in the cool of a stone house with deep walls and nights under a carpet of stars. The Sedona school astronomy faculty would be done teaching in the summer and spend their time observing, planning, and recording. She thought of Phillipus and his maps. She'd carry one, share it with them, and let his presence, still within it, fill her. She got out one of his maps from her most secure case and held it. She could still feel his magic in it, though it was beginning to fade a bit. She rolled his wand in her hands, noting its mourning its owner. She would return to his grave, plant the wand there, reunite them. She'd been selfish to take this piece of him with her, but she couldn't see that at the time. She would return and make it right, set the stars back into alignment. Severus was an amazing wizard, but there would be others. It was time to move on.