Chapter 25

Severus believed no student, especially in his own house, could truly surprise him. He believed himself to be jaded and to have seen it all...So when a fifth year Slytherin knocked at the door to his office Monday evening and said that one of the Prefects was upsetting everyone in the Slytherin common room with her singing, he rose with puzzlement along with annoyance in his heart. He and Nightshade were enjoying a snack at the time, so he gave the fifth year an annoyed frown as he regretfully left his turkey sandwich on the desk. Nightshade rode along on his shoulder, for once not under the chameleon spell due to them having been basically walked in on when the day was supposed to be over.

When they entered the common room, the fifth year pointed an accusing finger at Magritte Westcraven.

"Her lyrics are awful. Dark and twisted beyond belief and upsetting some of the younger students...and a few of the older ones," he said, obviously being one of those older ones.

Severus felt his brows rising at this, and he was unable to suppress a withering look of contempt even if the boy was in his own house. What could Mag possibly sing that was so bad? She hadn't looked up from her fiddle, so he stood listening rather than commenting in order to see what the fuss was about. Her fiddle flowed between melodic and shrieking which he found oddly fascinating. The song was an old one he'd heard before about an insane asylum, but other than the chorus, he'd truly never paid attention to the words...until now. Mag's voice was clear and high, commanding attention and full of power. In spite of the dark tone, one's feet wanted to dance...If one happened to be Severus, however, one did not feel one danced well at all, so one remained completely still instead as Mag sang.

'For to see mad Tom of Bedlam, 10,000 miles I'd travel

Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes, to save her shoes from gravel.

Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,

Bedlam boys are bonnie

For they all go bare and they live by the air,

And they want no drink nor money.

I went down to Satan's kitchen, for to beg me food one morning

There I got souls piping hot, all on the spit a turning.

There I picked up a cauldron, Where boiled 10,000 harlots

Though full of flame I drank the same, to the health of all such varlets.

My staff has murdered giants, my bag a long knife carries

For to cut mince pies from children's thighs, with which to feed the fairies.

Spirits white as lightning, shall on my travels guide me

The moon would quake and the stars would shake, when' ere they espied me.

No gypsy slut nor doxy, shall win my Mad Tom from me

I'll weep all night, the stars I'll fight, the fray will well become me.

It's when next I have murdered, the Man-In-The-Moon to powder

His staff I'll break, his dog I'll bake, they'll howl no demon louder.

So...'

And here Severus made himself step forward to interrupt the song, though in truth he was reluctant to do so. "Miss WestCraven...While I feel you're doing a grand job, and that you could make a living performing in any darker style tavern if ever you take a mind to, you are frightening the children." His discomfort rose as Mag's cheeks flushed with anger or indignation or...gods he hoped it wasn't embarrassment. HE knew well what it was to be made a target, and didn't want the girl to feel uncomfortable when she wasn't the problem. He hadn't ever been the problem either, and it wasn't right for one to be made to feel in the wrong simply because one was darker and fools were frightened. It was a shock to him that in this case even Slytherins were frightened of some song lyrics, but many of the younger children and indeed some of the older ones did look truly shaken to the core for whatever reason.

/Wow what little bitches,/ Nightshade thought. The owl sent off mental waves of affronted shock and Severus related.

/Indeed./

The situation was truly not one he'd been expecting.

"I didn't write the bloody song," Mag said in a shocked tone. "It's an old English song."

Severus nodded. "I am aware." /Nightshade! Please tell her that I don't have a problem and that I am as baffled as she. Tell her...tell her that it's a very nice song./

/Ah,/ Nightshade thought back. /I'm touched...sort of...and I just told her...She's cool./

/Thank you,/ Severus replied, relieved.

Mag stood, bending to slip the gleaming red fiddle into it's case.

"I'll just go out side and sing there," she said quietly, giving a shrug.

Severus hoped the sympathy he honestly felt showed on his face as he gave a slight shrug in return. /Tell her I truly am sorry but if some of those prats complain to their parents, the last thing Albus needs right now is the board of education on his back along with whatever Voldemort is planning,/ Severus thought to the owl.

/Message sent,/ Nightshade replied. Mag left the common room and Severus headed back to his office with Nightshade. The two returned to their respective turkey snacks without a word, but the mood was ruined.

/I noticed Mr. Malfoy even looking afraid and Lucius would just love any reason to make trouble for Albus,/ Severus thought to the owl after a few minutes of silent eating.

/It's cool, Prof. She was cool with you. She was just shocked the students really got that rattled over the words. I guess one expects Slytherins not to be such wimps./

Severus nodded. /If they're so bothered by a song, I can't wait to see how those like Mr. Malfoy think to make it in Voldemort's ranks,/ he thought dryly as he polished off the last of his turkey sandwich.

Mag was shocked that supposedly big bad dark Slytherins acted like insane little babies over her song. Just wow, she thought darkly as she walked in angry strides toward the lake. Not to be allowed to sing in peace in her own bloody common room certainly wasn't what she'd expected. At least Severus hadn't seemed to mind her song...Though. That was something even if she'd rather pictured singing to him under vastly different circumstances. If Kereston or Millicent or even The Bloody Baron had been present, she'd have had some support, but they were all elsewhere when she'd taken it into her head to practice her fiddle in the common room on one of the comfortable sofas. Once near the lake she found a fallen log on which to seat herself. Opening her fiddle case, she lovingly drew out her instrument. The fiddle had quickly become another friend to her along with her owl and her new twice as strong crystal chakra wand. At least here at the lake no one would be about to be offended, she thought wrathfully as she ran the bow over the strings. She was rapidly learning what a grand form of expression music could be. The indignant scream she drew from the sympathetic fiddle was soothing to her jumbled and affronted feelings. As the words about Mad Tom of Bedlam pored out of her, she imagined directing them at any sluts who dared to eye her Severus. Lost to the music, the sound of rhythmic clapping and foot stomping caused her to look up suddenly. The Gryffindor girl stood at the edge of the lake dancing Irish style to her song. Parvati her name was, Mag recalled. "Why'd you stop," Parvati exclaimed. "It was just getting interesting! It's about old Bedlam, right? My people have their Indian myths, but you Brits have some rather interesting stories of your own, so many based on history."

Mag nodded, smiling. Funny a Gryffindor wasn't bothered by her song while those of her own house of Slytherin were so disturbed they had to call Severus in to make her stop singing.

"Yes, The Bethlehem hospital, they called Bedlam because it was a mad house."

"And the way they treated the mentally ill back then was a horror in itself," Parvati said, dark eyes round at the thought.

"Mostly because they didn't know anything about psychology, but yes, they did only end up making things far worse in Bedlam," Mag agreed.

Parvati tilted her head curiously to the side. "So do you know about psychology then?"

Mag nodded. "Actually I do. My family has a huge library. It sort of prides itself on that fact, has for generations. The WestCravens have spent centuries collecting books, each generation making their additions to the manor's library. My parents were the first to add some Muggle texts. Those mostly being psychology along with some of the Muggle fantasy fiction and a bit of Muggle science because...as my dad always says, knowledge is power."

"Your library sounds amazing! Whatever is Muggle fantasy fiction?" Parvati giggled, placing a hand over her mouth. "Is it sex stuff? My people have this Tantric thing, but my parents won't allow my twin sister and I anywhere near any writings about it!"

Mag shook her head. "No...They call the fiction books they write about our lives fantasy...because it's like make believe for them as they don't know it's all real. So anything about magic or wizards or dragons is called fantasy."

Parvati made a disappointed face. "Oh so anything about real life."

Mag nodded. "Precisely."

"So will you finish the song," Parvati asked and Mag smiled. She played and Parvati danced. Mag enjoyed playing for a dancer. It gave the music an extra life somehow and Parvati was a good dancer. When the song was over Parvati gave a final twirl then bowed to a mock audience as Mag flourished her bow. "I come out here to walk by the lake when I need to give my brain a rest from studying for my O.W.L.S," Parvati said. "If you'll be out here tomorrow so will I," she concluded a bit shyly and Mag nodded.

"Sure."

Parvati grinned. "Good. Because I have more questions about Muggle psychology and science and who knows what else! Say do you have a boyfriend?" Before Mag could decide how to answer that, the younger girl was rushing eagerly on. "For me there is this boy from Durmstrang...I met him at the Yule ball last year. I don't know if I'd call him a boyfriend but I like him quite a lot. We write one another often."

As it was beginning to get dark, it seemed a good time to head back to the castle. Standing, Mag carefully replaced her fiddle in its case. "Durmstrang is a good school," she said. "It's hardly fair only boys get to go there," she added, not bothering to keep the note of honest resentment from her voice. Were it not for Severus she'd very much prefer Durmstrang over Hogwarts had she the option.

"It's definitely a mysterious school," Parvati said with another shy giggle. "But what about you," she asked as they began walking back toward Hogwarts. "Do you have a boyfriend? You're so pretty you've likely had lots."

Mag chuckled, shaking her head. "No. There is only one man for me and I don't have him yet."

"Man," Parvati squealed. "He's older then!"

Mag nodded. "A bit." Gods was she blushing? "I won't tell him how I feel until I've graduated. It wouldn't be right."

"Because he's older? He wouldn't like dating someone who's still a student," Parvati asked.

Mag glanced around carefully then said,"I should think not. It could cost him his job. I know he'd not consider me so long as I'm a student."

Parvati stopped in her tracks, eyes wide with shock and the glee of good gossip. "He isn't a professor! He can't be...None of the professors are hot now Lockhart is gone."

She gave a wistful sigh at the name and Mag made a face of distaste.

"He's been gone for bloody years and he certainly wasn't hot," she proclaimed.

"He was so hot and the passage of years hardly matters. He was the hottest of the hot and there have been no hot professors since." Mag tossed her long red hair and continued to walk, forcing Parvati to hurry to catch up. "Aren't you going to tell me who it is? I swear I won't tell."

Mag shook her head. "When he's mine I'll tell you. I promise." She couldn't risk her feelings getting out to every girl in Gryffindor house if Parvati even accidentally let something slip. Severus would likely never forgive that even if he didn't get into any sort of trouble. Nothing had happened between them, after all. Still, he'd never forgive her for spilling her feelings needlessly to anyone who could let it slip to others. Having grown up with Kereston and Millie she knew they'd never talk but she just couldn't risk it with anyone else. Author's note:***** English folk song, Bedlam Boys, Mad Tom of Bedlam