Sorry for the late update!

What you can recognize isn't mine, HP belongs to Rowling.


Chapter 22

30th May – 9th June 1994.

(17)

Professor Snape wasn't sore. No. Such an understatement wouldn't have been worthy of the flaming rage that encompassed his generally harsh and foreboding self, that was now mutely unleashed against his wayward Slytherin and, by proxy, the classroom full of fourth-year students trying to finish their tests by the still warm cauldrons, feeling underprepared for the upcoming end-of-year exams. The two weeks since Anne's birthday party meant one long bout of fury and suffering Snape's displeasure, even if the groundkeeper was lenient and grooming the Thestrals didn't only mean shovelling their dung.

The good part was playing with an invisible Thestral foal and stroking the surprisingly soft, leathery muzzles of its parents while "looking" after them. Anne looked up drawings in the library to have an inkling about whatever she was dealing with because although she had seen a lot of things she wished she hadn't, watching someone die was not one of her unhappy memories. Sensing the creatures' emotions that came in a surprising range from hunger through affection to playfulness helped some. At least she was marginally prepared for their presence and the direction they approached from. Hagrid scribbled it all up to some latent talent in dealing with magical creations and praised her brother's skill.

Professor Hagrid seemed to be a much better company outside of class anyway… he was less insecure and more caring. He even invited Anne for tea once, which taught her the precious lesson of refusing his baked goods in the future. He was also in an abysmal state of mind, and it was easy to sense his sufferings and worries for his beloved hippogriff. It was still better than the untampered ire and disappointment that rolled off Snape even when bumping into him in the corridors. Because that bastard of a wizard was only too aware of an Empath's sensitivity to his rabid emotions. He didn't bother to Occlude them even in the classroom, making Anne's focus waver. She'd second-guessed herself with this test at every question until time slowly slipped away, and now she struggled to even finish with the parchment.

Meeting him in the Common Room was not better either. No matter how a month had already slipped by since the fateful last match, Slytherin was hurt for losing the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor. With her friends busy cramming, the only way forward was hiding in the dorm whenever the Professor decided to perform his usual visits. And at the Infirmary? Anne was suddenly glad to always have a closed door on the Brewing Room that divided her from the fuming presence that brewed the wolfbane. Getting better with the Healing Charms and theory Poppy prescribed for her to learn gave little comfort when even the mediwitch could only offer a grimace of pity.

Madame Brunswick's letter about securing her a place and being happy about receiving a hand among the assistant nurses gave mixed emotions, for neither knew how to proceed without Professor Snape's approval.

"Whatever did you expect?" – Argus' question and shrugs didn't help with her dilemma. Although Anne suspected that he had tried to soften the rock, the Professor persevered in annoyance and refused to listen to their plan. Not that Anne had the courage to try and even mention it, no matter how much Madame Pince insisted that was the only way.

She was stuck. Anne admitted to her cowardice and planned to use the opportunity at St. Mungo's for the summer and decide later about returning to Hogwarts. Of course, she would miss the OWLs and possible NEWTs, but she wasn't the only one in the wizarding world without qualifications. Within a decade or two, it wouldn't matter much…

The first morning of June began with cramming in her tower, and Anne already turned back time once before she joined her housemates for breakfast. The last thing on her mind was to receive owls, but when she saw Singer, her father's little grey owl, she quickly put down the fork to catch her. However, the owl flew past the Slytherin table and dropped a letter into Snape's plate, knocking over a toast. Anne swallowed embarrassment and was too late to catch the barn owl's missive before it landed in her juice. She pulled her wand to dry the letter and had only a second to see it come from Gavin when a spurt of magic swiped it out of her hands and carried it up to the High Table, neatly into her House Head's hands.

Anne lost patience and glared at the man. It was enough he gave him the silent treatment and the torture of his disapproval. She didn't expect to miss correspondence for a vice that was a month old! Hell, she'd even finished with her detentions already, which should count as being adequately punished!

Snape returned her hostile glare with guarded eyes. Not a spark of his emotions disturbed the air. He slowly got up and walked by the tables, only indicating the command with a slight jerk of his head. "Rosier, my office. Five minutes," – and he was gone. She wasn't sure whether her housemates heard him.

Losing her appetite, the order wasn't hard to follow. The only surprise was the popping sound from the office that reminded her of an elf leaving for duty before she knocked.

"Enter!"

Anne was no longer surprised to see Snape's hearth sealed with magic, the lack of a portrait, or the silence enhanced with careful charm work, but she noted that the Professor, this time, failed to cast wards on the door she closed.

"We shall wait for Mr. Filch to join us," – Snape answered her unsaid question. "Make yourself comfortable, Miss Rosier!"

Well, that she felt alarming. Why ever would he suggest that they were supposed to be at odds! And what did Argus have to do about this meeting in the first place? Anne lamented her chances of talking to him now. She could only incriminate herself if she brought up her plans and misgivings. It was plain that she would ask for her letters in vain.

Snape sat by his desk, looking at the closed envelopes while the minutes ticked away. Anne was more comfortable standing behind a chair. When Argus finally arrived, Snape cast a lazy spell on the door, sealing it nonverbally, and the caretaker seemed as perplexed as Anne felt. Then Snape lifted one of the envelopes, and she saw the black ribbon in the corner.

"Who?" – she only asked but already knew the answer. Her brothers were her eternal worry, but their grandmother had been ill for months now. She wished there was any other way to face this! She wished either of these men could understand what Rose had meant for her! Gods, she was thinking about her in the past tense already! She was such a horrible witch!

Strangely, Snape swallowed with sympathy before he evenly uttered the name. "Your father informed me that your grandmother, Mrs. Rose Brown, has sadly passed away yesterday before dawn, Miss Rosier. I imagine you've been aware of her illness."

The words weren't harsh at all, the irrevocability still sent tears to her eyes, and constricted her throat. "Yes," – she forced out softly. It didn't really matter, she mused. There wasn't anything to prepare her for this moment or life in London without her Gran. Argus's strong surge of sympathy only made it harder to keep her composure. She wouldn't break down crying in front of Snape! She wouldn't!

Anne took a shaky breath. "May I see the letters now?"

Snape glanced at the envelope on his desk and looked uncertain. He stroked a finger along the black ribboned one in his hand as if debating his decision. Anne thought it was ridiculous. Those were her letters! She should be able to read at least the one from Gavin!

"What's up with the missives, Professer?" – Argus rustled in. "I appreciate you'd sent for me, but you can't expect us to deal with what we don't know!"

Snape grimaced. "Miss Rosier, I understand you have a delicate situation in your family. As much as I acknowledge your right to read your brother's words, I've also been informed about his formally exiting your close family circle and your father's expressed wish for you to cease correspondence with Mr. Gavin Rosier."

Anne lifted her gaze to meet his with disbelief. "Sir-"

"Happen to be the same fellow who'd left the lass to be kissed by the gates?" – Filch barged in with the question, making Snape snort derisively.

"The very one," – he agreed, barely hiding his strong opinion. "As I have no intention to bother with my students' complicated home affairs, I believe I will not follow such instructions. Such a precedent would cause any number of restrictions on student correspondence. The school is unprepared and underpaid to inspect all owls flying about the premises," – he waved even such an abhorrent thought away and looked Anne in the eye: "You don't need to trouble to relay my sentiments on the matter, Miss Rosier, I will make sure that your father understands them all."

Anne nodded, hazily understanding that Filch and her House's Head stood up for her in more ways than one, and peeked at her brother's letter on the desk again. Snape's hand seemed to follow her gaze, and his fingers delicately touched the envelope.

"However, your father also mentioned that your grandmother's funeral was to be, as he phrases it, a Muggle affair, and forewarns you and me," – he added with distinct distaste – "of presenting yourself at such a scene," – he uttered the last words in a way that implied it was a direct quote from Monty's letter. Anne felt torn between her embarrassment and outrage.

Filch cursed under his breath, and Anne saw Snape's eyes glint dangerously: "Are you preparing to present yourself at such a scene, Miss Rosier?"

"I have every intention to do just that, sir," – she said with her chin held high, not caring if that betrayed her less-than-pureblood origins. But then she glanced at Gavin's letter and faltered. "Even if my brother warns me to avoid it."

"Let us find out then," – Snape decided and handed her the letter from his desk.

For a short moment, they stood with both letters above the desk, only one offered to Anne, Snape holding the other close to his chest. It was tempting to reach out and try to grab that, too. Her ire was strong enough to mask her pain, and Anne doubted she would be seriously punished for such a dare in her present state of mind. Snape looked at her expectantly, and she remembered how much she owed this horrible man. Her sanity. Her Time Turner. Even her friendship with Poppy and Argus in a way… and a chance to know Pince like no other, having visits with her for months in the past. Anne let out a long breath and took Gavin's letter, missing the spark of appreciation in Snape's eyes, unlike her friend, Argus. He nodded to Snape slowly with a ghost of a smile.

Dear A-bee,

Sorry, I don't know how to say such things in a decent manner. I guess there's no way this wouldn't hurt. Rachel came over yesterday to tell us Gran died before dawn. I'm sorry, A-bee. The Smiths are so kind to her; I wish you had seen them! She hurts but accepts their friendship and tells things to them I've never heard about… like the Muggle's war and all… You knew about this? I'm freaking out!

Anyway, it's just as well. It seems to help Rachel. Like sitting with Gran's body… now it's Caleb's turn. Funny how we keep her company and you're away… makes no sense at all. Rachel and Gran practically brought you up, so you should be a part of this farewell. I'm blabbering, sorry, I don't really know how to do such things; we haven't really had anyone to die on us, now have we? You know what I mean, we grew up since then, so you can trust us too, okay?

The funeral is at six this evening in the Fulham Road Cemetery because Grandpa Brown would like that – or whatever Rachel thinks. I don't even know if she believes it, but apparently, Gran did, so… meet you there!

I'm so sorry, A-bee!

Love you,

Gavin

Oddly, the letter didn't make her cry. Instead, Anne found she was trying to swallow a smile. She could almost hear Gavin's embarrassed voice and see him shrug. She knew they loved her and was glad bout Gavin didn't attempt to mention their Father. He had no place in their grief. What was more perplexing was that he omitted their mother's plans… because she had to be there, hadn't she? Had she?

"My brother and my mother's part of the family are requesting my presence, sir," – Anne finally looked up. "It's today… this evening…" – she hesitated, unsure how to phrase her request. It wasn't a request in the sense she would have broken any rule to get there, but she very much asked for a chance not to be pressed to do so… "Are there any school rules I should observe to attend?"

Calculating eyes narrowed at her with a hint of disbelief simmering in Snape's gaze. It took a moment for Anne to realize he wasn't about to say no. He only started at how she acquitted him from deciding on her family matters.

"Hogwarts grants you three days' leave from your usual duties and a chance to join your family via the Hogwarts Express or the Floo Network. As today is Wednesday, and classes aren't to recommence before September, I suggest you use this reprieve wisely. Exams will begin on Monday, and you are not acquitted of those."

When Anne nodded, understanding, he went on: "We have no train convenient to carry you, and given the circumstances, I doubt the Floo Network is a viable option–"

"A guardian could escort her by any means of transportation, or so I recall," – Argus readily offered. He didn't care if Snape's lips pushed into a thin line of disapproval.

"I wonder how you are planning to Apparate, old man," – he let it slip as raw as it came to him. "That passage obviously-"

"With respect, sir, I can Apparate Mr. Filch," – Anne interjected. "I haven't yet tried Side-along, but I'm confident I wouldn't Splinch you," – she looked at Argus with what she hoped was reassurance.

Before he could nod to her plan, Snape straightened his shoulders and strode past his desk, stepping between them. "One would think you two merry plotters had already had enough of the madness!" He eyed Filch with unmasked annoyance.

"All three siblings are lying through their teeth for eight years straight, and now you would have her at a Muggle cemetery with a Squib! So much about tactical acumen, sergeant!" – He turned and looked at Anne: "And you? Risking a so-called friend as if you had that many! Whatever business you have within the family, you are not entitled to upend others' lives like the other over-pampered brats of this House!"

Anne tried to think quickly despite the dark eyes glinting anger and threat at her. "Poppy is a pureblood," – she risked suggesting, but Snape shot her down with a word about her duties. "Madame Pince," – she began, but Snape turned against her fully and towered above her head:

"You will exclude her from your dubious dealings for now and for all, am I understood?"

Strangely, his outrage called up a memory of panic. It was a short moment in Anne's second year: Madame Pince had offered her assistance, and she'd turned to Snape, but instead of protesting, he'd been taken aback. Anne had had the impression that he'd been frightened for some reason… especially when she'd said something about Pince admitting to being into yoga. He obviously had misunderstood her, and a short moment of panic had reached through his defences.

Snape had always protected Madame Pince – oddly, they didn't seem close friends, unlike he was with Argus, who was now fuming but didn't argue. Anne realized Snape tried to protect him too, and if he knew about them being half-bloods, he had done the same for Caleb and Gavin and even for her since the boys had entered Hogwarts!

Why? Hadn't Caleb told her he had been lined up to be tried as a Death Eater? Wasn't he friends with people like her Aunt Duvessa's enemies from back in the war?

"Yes, sir," Anne said softly, holding Snape's gaze, knowing she hadn't given this promise to her Head of House. She made a promise to Severus Snape, whoever the man was. She tried to talk to him instead of her Professor: "But I will be there at six. I must."

Snape took a long, shaky breath through his nose, but then he nodded. "You will," – he agreed. "As long as you'd wait in the caretaker's office at half past five sharp and appropriately dressed."

Before Anne could thank him, the office's door popped open, and Argus inclined his head for her to go. There was no place for argument or dawdling. Especially not because she had a lingering feeling that she had yet to understand the true meaning of whatever had just happened.

"Please be assured of my sympathy, Miss Rosier," – she heard just when her hand reached the doorknob, and Anne turned back to stare at Snape with surprise. He stood still and calm, watching her leave with severe and sad eyes. Grey eyes – she noticed, and her tentative touch in the air and magic revealed his honesty and regret.

"Thank you," – she said against her constricting throat, then turned and fled quickly because the tears suddenly threatened again.

The day was a blur, mostly hiding in her tower, playing her guitar and occasionally miming reading a textbook. She rarely saw a word on the page. About lunchtime, she washed and regained enough composure to see Poppy and tell her the news. Oddly, the mediwitch's reassurance didn't make her wish to cry, but it felt good to be hugged for a short while. Luckily, Anne also popped into the library because Pince already waited for her. She shooed Anne into her small office, offered condolences, and assured her that she'd be all right. She decided that Sophie or Miranda could wait and returned to her tower for a nap and a snack.

About four she realized she had nothing appropriate to wear. There were her jeans and her band tees, maybe the long skirt her father preferred, which she quickly eliminated from the possibilities, and the tee with the daisy she had received from Kelly. And her school robes. Dammit! She remembered the dresses Rose had drawn for her and the promise to let her see her wear them, and she broke down crying in the dorm.

She was such a disappointment! Rachel didn't write because of her father, her father didn't write because she made herself clear about her Gran, Rachel, and Gavin. She sent Paul away in a freakin' letter! He would have deserved so much better! She hoped he did better! Better than a girl whose mother was just a Sara anyway… "She's just there," – she remembered telling the boy. Whatever did that mean?! All the same, because she wasn't anymore, so she'd probably better return to the problem at hand…

At half past five, Anne knocked on the caretaker's door. In a pair of black jeans and a tee, she cleaned off the word Metallica with magic, hoping she could salvage it later… If it was only winter, she could at least wear that beautiful green cloak, as it was, she supposed this had to do for a day in June.

The door popped open, and she faced Snape sans teaching robes, dressed in understated elegance, black trousers, black shirt, black tie, and black suit. He didn't look like a Muggle in all Muggle gear, for sure!

Then it hit her. "Sir, are you planning on escorting me?"

He didn't find her surprise entertaining and peeked at the door towards Filch's quarters. Anne followed his gaze until her eyes widened with amazement. Argus looked – well, dashing. Freshly shaved, in a black suit, and with his white hair clean for a change and neatly tied back with a leather string.

"That would be me, lass, if you accept it," – he said smugly, looking at Snape with the confidence of one who won an argument. "Your professor will provide the means," – he added with a mocking undertone.

She heard Snape grinding his teeth and couldn't fault him. After his diatribes, he was now reduced to a limo. It would have been funny on any other day.

The route through Filch's quarters and the adjacent low corridor to the side of the castle was familiar, even if it called up bad memories. They walked down to the gates in silence. The birds chirped in the Forbidden Forest, and the sun was still warm enough to make her sweat. Surreal.

By the time they stepped out of Hogwarts' terrain and she sensed the Dementors, nothing seemed remotely real anymore. Snape grabbed Filch by an arm, and offered a hand for Anne. She hadn't been to Fulham Road since she was but a little girl, so she accepted it gratefully, and before she could register the calloused hand under her palm, they swirled away.

"A-bee!" – she heard her brother's cry simultaneous with Kelly's shriek.

Anne couldn't spare a thought for her surroundings. She only hurried to Gavin, worried about the Apparation. He held his girlfriend close, but his gaze was steady on his sister.

"Relax, babe, it's just the magical way. I told you, remember?"

Kelly nodded into his shoulder and peeked up at Anne. "Sorry," – she attempted a smile without much success.

"It takes time to get used to," – Gavin stroked her back. "A-bee, I'm so glad you came!" Anne stepped into his reached-out free arm, and Gavin held them both for a second. "Rachel will come shortly. We came ahead to arrange things," – he explained in a murmur. "Caleb's with her and Aida. Mr. Smith is talking to the rabbi. Professor. Mr. Filch."

Anne stepped back, hearing the greetings. Argus looked a little green in the face after the ordeal, but he nodded to Gavin, who introduced his girlfriend.

"And Professor Snape was the Head of my House at school," – Gavin explained. "How are you doing, sir?"

Snape only raised an eyebrow, which Gavin found surprisingly amusing.

"It's nice of you to come,"- Kelly finally found her voice. "I know Gavin wished to have a word, Mr. Filch; I can only say thank you," – she smiled at the old man. Snape's covert surprise didn't escape Anne's notice, but before she could watch this awkwardness unfold, Kelly grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her towards a short building. "I thought you wouldn't have a dress. Come, you can change in the loo."

Anne let her urge her into the building and gawked at the fat backpack she produced from under a sink.

"Kelly, you don't need to give me your clothes!"

"But this isn't mine, silly!" – she pulled a sketchbook from the backpack, and Anne recognized it instantly. "Remember you showed me this? I found a seamstress! Well, Mum found her, but anyway… she was amazed by this dress, did you know Rose drew all the details? As if she was planning to have it made!"

Until Anne stared at the drawings, Kelly fumbled with the backpack, then nudged her with something soft and black. "Here!" – she urged her. "Get changed. We only have minutes!"

Surreal – something kept screaming in her head on Alanis Morrissett's voice, and Anne gave up to even try and deal with the day. She pulled off the black tee and changed into the dress. She took off, folded her jeans, too, on Kelly's demand, and sat into a cubicle to force her legs into black stockings while the other girl stuffed her belongings into the backpack. Her trainers didn't match at all, and she wasn't confident enough to transfigure them, but at least she could change the colour and the size of the flatties Kelly could offer.

"Jesus, just like in the sketchbook!" – Kelly cried out, and Anne stood on her tip-toe to catch a glimpse in the mirror. She hoped the effect was more subdued than the one she peeked at.

"Isn't this too much?"

"She wanted to see you like this," – Kelly argued. "You don't get to choose. You will regret it later if you don't keep your promise now."

It suddenly hit Anne how true a friend Kelly was. They hardly knew each other in the past few years, yet she understood more about her feelings and Rose than anyone she could think of.

"I'm so glad you tolerate my brother!" – she fell on Kelly's shoulders with profusely leaking eyes and didn't mind when the girl chortled.

"Come, I'll tell you I love him later and all the fuss, but now we're late already!" – Kelly commanded and put a hanky into her hand. "Wipe!" – she added while shoving Anne out of the loo.

She wiped. She stood next to Rachel and behaved like an adult whom Rose would have loved to see. She politely exchanged silent words when that seemed nice and stared at the long line of trees when no one was close enough to bug her. She refused to lament her mother's absence and was grateful for her father staying away.

It happened so quickly. She was hardly through the shock of Rose's illness, and she already died and was buried. Within two days, as it was tradition. Her emotions were too slow to catch up. Unlike Rachel's. Of course.

Anne found herself avoiding her great-aunt's emotions, focusing on others. Gavin was sad and mournful, as it was expected. Caleb was a little bewildered and more worried than touched. The old ladies she cursorily knew were adequately mournful, more than some of them honestly shaken and a few disturbed and afraid. She guessed they faced the unavoidable yet again and were old enough to think about themselves, too. She couldn't fault them.

One lady she hazily recalled to have visited frequently before her Hogwarts years, stepped to Rachel and seemed honest and caring. It warmed Anne's heart. Her gaze travelled behind her to avoid Rachel. Mr. Filch was touched but also amused. She found that intriguing and tapped deeper into his emotions. It was a strange mix of sadness and worry for her sake, some worry addressed to Snape at his side and a hearty batch of gloating impish glee whenever he glanced toward his friend.

Snape was his usual void, but his face wore a peculiar hue of pink at the edges. His lips parted as if in surprise, and the glance that met hers betrayed a dawning understanding of something that must have left him bewildered. She couldn't hold his glance, so she slowly turned away, sensing that odd attention drilling into her side before serenity took over.

She didn't hear the voices around her anymore, only the sound of the wind rustling with the leaves above her head. The row of those trees seemed endless, with the sky slowly turning a shade darker in the distance. It was still warm, and the wind softly touched her bare neck above Rose's dress, making her smile. Wherever Heaven was, she was sure her Gran had just entered, and the caress through her hair was her goodbye.

After a moment when gratitude closed her eyes, Anne finally wanted to accompany Rachel. She had something to share, and she was happy to do so. She stepped to her aunt and hugged her lightly, not bothering to hide her lingering smile. Rachel looked at her first with some surprise, but then her eyebrows rose in a question.

"I'm so lucky," – Anne whispered to her. She meant she had both of them, and Rachel understood.

"Would you believe she'd told me the same not long ago?" Anne's watery smile widened, and Rachel's features smoothed out, too. "I don't want to be alone, is that selfish?" – she asked.

Anne shook her head. "I need a place to stay for the summer. Might make it even longer," – she suggested.

"Well, it seems I have an empty room," Rachel told her bitterly, letting her rare tears flow down her cheeks. Anne squeezed her hand with as much reassurance as she could give in a touch.

"You wouldn't be alone, Rachel. And you're not selfish. You're human. My favourite human, okay?"

Rachel let her eyes fall and hid a smile. "Good," – she said briskly. "Because it's mutual, you know."

This time, when Anne hugged her, she hugged her back like rarely since she joined them in London as a little girl. Maybe it would have been better for her relatives if she had proven to be a Squib. She lamented this when Mr. Smith stepped to them, and suggested they walk over to the pub he reserved in haste.

"We could sit and talk. Your friends seem to need a seat already," – he jokingly glanced at Rachel's and Rose's acquaintance. The youngest seemed well into her seventies, and some had already taken leave.

Rachel was surprisingly ready to accept George's attempt to cheer her. Anne tapped into air and magic and made sure her aunt's friendship wasn't wasted on the man. It seemed Mr. Smith was honest in intentions and, although a tad sad, not overly dramatic. She could sense his caring nature and some determination to do what he deemed right. It seemed he believed helping his daughter's family by proxy was right, and Anne doubted he had ever thought about the issue after arriving at this conclusion.

Aida was his perfect match. Anne made time to observe her when they settled down in the pub. She didn't bother putting up a farce. She hadn't known Rose. Instead, she took the trouble to listen to everyone, encouraging them to share stories and thoughts. She seemed such a sociable woman Anne had to suppress some envy. And their daughter took after them to the tee.

The buzz of the conversations felt too much, the emotions draining, and Anne struggled to find balance and enforce her defences among them, so she excused herself to hide in the loo. Thankfully, Kelly stayed with Gavin. Anne found a cubicle with a window onto a garden, opened it for fresh air, and began her breathing techniques to calm.

Would have begun… but the garden was obviously occupied by the smokers. She leaned closer to peek at the bastard who couldn't find himself a better place when familiar voices hit her ear:

"That all might be so," – the older voice rustled. "I still don't mind seeing you still not made of stone."

"Meanin'?"

"Saw ye gawkin', lad."

"Bobbins," – the word flew derisively and soon got followed with a snort.

"I know what I saw."

"Do one already, ol'man! I don't gawk at students! Never had."

"I didn't mention a student," – the old voice chuckled. "But if you insist…"

"I –" Anne heard a huff and the noise of some agitated steps. "Stop mithering me! How old's she anyway? Just a feckin' child!"

"A child past seventeen and aging," – Filch's voice rustled. "Ye should know why. And she looks it today."

"I don' give a damn and ye know it!"

Filch hummed noncommittally, and Anne saw a fag landing in the grass. A lighter soon clicked.

"Were ye any less mardy ye knew she's about to get done."

"For what?" – Snape snapped a tad too quickly.

"She should be the one to say."

"Just fuck off, Argus! I know you all are plotting! Ye get her into it. Ye get to pull her out!"

"Nah! I've given her no lessons or means to get there! I'm not bein' funny, 'tis yer fault, lad, and gonna get ye back in the arse!"

"Cause she's aging?"

"That too," – Filch allowed.

"And?"

"D'ye reckon she's sorted at her father's gaff?"

Anne heard Snape sighing. "So what's the buzz?"

"Make her talk and listen! That's all I'm sayin'."

Snape didn't say a word, but soon she recognized his hand reaching for the cigarette butt in the grass. He probably put it on an ashtray because Filch seemed ready to leave.

"I'm gaggin'''" - he sighed.

"I bet," – Snape's voice replied, sounding sore – "and I don' gawk!"

She could hear a door creak and Filch snicker, "The hell ye don't," then it was silent.

So much about calming down. Anne didn't believe Filch's gibberish for a moment, but it was disturbing if he found it funny to mock Snape with her! She guessed it would be inevitable to spill it to Snape as soon as he got her alone. She was only supposed to talk with him when no one was around, guessing by his office, not even a portrait. Heaven forbid to pick at his persecution complex! Although, with all that happened to Caleb and Duvessa she began to question if that was an illness or simple common sense.

Strangely, she felt calmer. She would move to her aunt's at least for the summer and Filch made Snape listen to her if she ever dared to try to talk. She walked out from the cubicle, not bothering with the window, and saw herself in the low mirrors above the sinks. The black dress hugged her delicately, showing off more curves than comfortable, but her stomach seemed flat – probably because she was starving. It also made her tights look longer, just like in her Gran's drawing, and her gaze and features looked soft from crying but also firm with her newfound resolution.

Could Rose have been right about her? Could she be the woman she dreamt of her to become? Anne stood for long minutes before the mirror, and for the first time in her life, she decided she liked what she saw. No, she wasn't like her mother and would never be. But that didn't feel like a loss anymore. Mostly, she felt curious to get to know this witch. She could be useful to some, and she wanted her to be. If she couldn't be a Squib, at least she wanted it to be worth it. She wanted to do something with her wizarding heritage that would be worth the trouble and Rachel's sacrifice, missing her for the better part of the year, for not being present when Rose fell ill, for leaving Paul…

Now, the young woman in the mirror looked sad and Anne couldn't like that, so she walked back to the guests and the family. Just in time to get a minor heart attack, spotting Caleb deep in discussion with Snape. The only word she could read from his lips was unforgivable before Snape's gaze snapped to her, letting her sense his fervent surge of worry, regrets, and foreboding coldness.

Anne swallowed nervously. If Caleb told him about her father cursing her, all those feelings mixed into a silent promise. Nothing nice for their Father, and at least a chance for her to explain herself. She knew he saw she was unnerved, and he turned his gaze back at Caleb.

The rest of the evening Anne spent sitting on pins and needles, alternating between trust and courage and a need to run and hide. She either trusted now in the most outlandish plan, risking the face and station of good people who cared about her, as Snape's protectiveness for Madame Pince had reminded her, and made a breach with her family, leaving Hogwarts… or she could be very very brave.

She hated that choice.

Not only because the plan was bizarre, or because Monty proved himself more frightening by every passing month, but also because deep down she craved those OWLs and NEWTs she helped so many to achieve and she also dreaded hurting the people who liked her. And she made a promise to Snape that she wouldn't hurt Madame Pince. As if she needed to. She had already chosen against their plan, she was only reluctant to admit it and face the consequences.

Just make it worth it, whatever you decide – she told herself. Make it count!

She desperately chanted this in her head when she promised Rachel to meet her soon and even when she stood by Snape to Apparate back to Hogwarts. He lifted a hand towards her but seemed hesitant.

"You know the way, Miss Rosier," – he said politely, his voice even deeper than usual. She somehow missed his Manc, and nodded quickly before she betrayed herself.

Snape grabbed Argus by the arm, and they swirled away. Anne took a calming breath, focused, and popped just beside them by the Hogwarts gates. Snape quickly opened the gate before the Dementors appeared. He looked up at the sky, and Anne followed his gaze nervously, reminded of the werewolf, but the Moon was days from full.

"I would accept assistance in the Brewing Room tomorrow after dinner. …if you're available, Miss Rosier," – Snape mentioned with a strangely exaggerated sense of politeness before they entered the corridor at the side of the castle.

Anne later was embarrassed that she first gaped at him before she understood he was trying to give her an out if she didn't trust him. She tried to sense something in the magic around him, but Snape was tightly closed like a shell. It would have been so nice to at least know if he really lamented if she trusted him. Any minor sign of discomfort would have been reassuring, proving that she dealt with a wizard, a man, a human being. Alas, he let none slip. Maybe that was the weakness she'd been looking for. Why would he hide? Why now?

"Thank you, sir, I'll be there."

When Snape nodded, she saw him swallow hard, as if he was nervous. He didn't look back at her when he took his hurried leave of Argus and strode out from the caretaker's office, donning his teaching robe as he walked.

Thursday morning was early and distasteful after a night Anne tossed and turned with various thoughts. She should have tried to meditate and calm her mind. She knew that. Her mental landscape must have worn the signs of her shock and grief already, but tidying up felt like an enormous chore, and she felt completely drained.

Sophie started the day with a squeak of fright, looking at the calendar and noting the small number of days she had before the OWLs.

"You'll do fine," Anne told her. She tried to turn to her other side, but Sophie sat at the edge of her bed.

"I'm not so sure about that," – she said, rubbing her cold hands against her arms in a picture of discomfort. "How do you do it, Annie? How can you stay so calm? I haven't even seen you in the library yesterday!"

Anne reluctantly sat up. "I'm not having OWLs like you do," – she gruffly reminded. "Anyway, I'm not calm," – she yawned. "Snape wants assistance in the evening, and I doubt I should brave the Brewing Room."

"Well, after his latest pique, I cannot say I'm surprised… you never told me what was bugging him."

"His knickers in a twist?" – Anne shrugged. "Maybe also his socks ran down. Why would I know?"

Sophie grinned. "Because he told you to assist him," – she nudged her. "C'mon, you witch! Give me something to think about so I can have breakfast without throwing up!"

Anne sighed and rubbed her face to wake up. "You won't like to hear this." She falteringly told about her Gran, carefully avoiding giving too much detail. "I guess he wants to see if I'm doing all right, so he offered to have me assist him."

"Sounds like Snapey…" – Sophie deemed deep in thought. "The man is a menace, but he does own a heart… somewhere… in a jar…" – she playfully nudged her friend again. "You should have told me. I would have stopped whining to listen."

"I know you would," – Anne smiled weakly. "But there's not much to say, really. I just hope things won't go tits up when I move in with my great-aunt. My Father wouldn't like that."

"Sucks being him then," – Sophie shrugged. "You should do what makes you feel like you. I know my Mum wasn't over the Moon when I asked her to visit Uncle Luis for a month in the summer, but that's the way it goes. She can't give me a job, and curses pay better than the soaps."

"You just want to be closer to Mr. Burke," – Anne teased.

"That too," – Sophie admitted with a grin. "And he's far enough from Eleonore Fawley. Can you imagine the fit she will throw when Miranda doesn't go home after the exams?"

Anne shuddered. "We should say our goodbyes properly. They don't even know when they'd come back."

"Well, that's something to plan," – Sophie agreed and finally stood up from Anne's bedside to prepare for the day. "I'm sorry for your Gran," she said when she returned from the bathroom in her school robe and was ready to leave.

"You know, we don't mention it because of the deal you made…"- Sophie added hesitantly, "but even Milan can see that you made Snape like you somehow… I don't mean he is lenient or anything, but he's always been aware of your things. The boys in your year also say he can't find fault with your potions, which is kind of a big deal, believe me!"

"Nah, he's just…" – Anne tried to shrug it away, but Sophie shook her head.

"He would never let me assist him. Perhaps would call me to his office or let me cry on him like Maureen Elbert when her father died… the goddess only knows how he survived that! But he wouldn't let me within a mile of his brewing. And even Lee didn't have to shovel Thestral dung after he almost burnt down the Common Room."

Anne stared at Sophie. She'd always understood Snape's demands like additional chores, but the way she'd put it, it sounded as if that was Snape's way to care.

"You just take care not to blow it, will you?" – Sophie smiled. "And if you find his heart in that jar, you have to tell me where he keeps it," – she finished with a wink and was off quickly before Anne could hit her with her pillow.

Anne fell back on her bed and felt for her wand. She lazily swished it to close the curtains and curled up into a fetal position to comfort herself while the morning dragged on. There was too much to feel and think about, and her mind escaped into slumber. When she woke to the unusual silence around her, she felt less drained, and that strange sense of serenity that surprised her in the cemetery returned.

She finally felt ready to tidy up her mind, and the new addition to her house in the woods was a mirror. She stood in front of it like she had stood before the mirrors in the pub's loo the night before, and the witch looking back at her was the same her Gran had drawn. She lamented why Rose had to die for her to embrace her wishes and opinion. Why did she wait this long to realize her Gran was a part of her? Like Rachel and all she'd ever learnt from, Madame Pince, Poppy, or Argus… She never understood why they would help her. When she'd once asked Poppy, she'd replied they might have missed the chance to help one another and didn't mean to make the same mistake again.

She tried to envision that "other" person… how she or he could fare without friends like she had? The only image she could conjure up was Snape's dissatisfied grimace that all Slytherin recognized as a show of his bitter mood and avoided. Suddenly, she was thankful for Argus for being Snape's friend, but she was still bugged by his mocking him with her.

She wouldn't visit with the old man that day to punish him. She washed and dressed instead and got ready for lunch and a few hours to revise Transfiguration afterward. She also made some Library time to look up details of the Goblin wars and felt Pince's tender sympathy before she joined Poppy at the Infirmary, carrying her Divination notes. She could sense her silent sympathy, too.

Too much sympathy. It kept reminding her of being sad, and she would have preferred the serenity and the memory of the wind caressing her hair. Snape rushed through the ward just before she lost her patience, greeted Poppy with a nod, and shut the Brewing Room's door behind the storage. It didn't seem especially inviting, and Anne found herself smirking. Trust Snape to keep his usual attitude in all storms!

She braved the door.

"Pick the petals!" – Snape said in place of a greeting, and Anne followed his wave on the hydrangea, lavender, dandelion, and carnation lying on the workbench. He was busy chopping the valerian roots, and she was reasonably sure they were to make the Wolfsbane.

She found the stone bowls and filled them with the petals before she asked whether she should chop the lily roots.

"In diagonal, and make them even!"

Anne nodded and set to it, also slicing up the dandelion roots and the lion's teeth.

"The dandelion roots are to be chopped in cubes and made small! Don't touch the aconite!"

Anne finished with the lily roots and watched him ignite a flame to make the valerian tincture before she readied the dandelion cubes as he requested.

"Shall I powder the bezoars?" – she asked, afraid if she didn't use her voice, she would lose the courage to talk the whole evening.

"Four of them, and lay out two more!"

She did. While the valerian simmered, Snape crushed some Moonstones and mixed them with something that looked like natural oil; she couldn't surmise what plant.

"Softer, or it wouldn't blend," – Snape grumbled.

Anne pushed the pestle harder.

"What is the reason against using Skele-Gro to mend the joints?"

It took only a moment to drag her mind from her hazy memories of the Wolfsbane ingredients and reset to discuss Skele-Gro.

"It may restructure the tissue. The joints should be flexible, which may alter the arm bone added at the third stage of brewing."

"How would you avoid this?" – Snape peeked at her from above the copper cauldron he just set up with a base for the lion's teeth and the bezoars.

"I would add spider legs or add joints instead of bones. Either way–"

"You just messed up the balance. Your brew shrunk to jelly."

"– either way, I would add the red spider's net to avoid messing up the balance," – Anne finished, careful not to let irritation seep into her voice.

"Perhaps," – Snape nodded. "A dead man's joints certainly wouldn't hurt."

Anne wiped the pestle and walked over to the copper cauldron to carefully place the softly powered bezoars in arm's reach for Snape.

"I wouldn't expect anyone to consume it. I would apply it as a salve."

"How would you stop the Chinese Chomping Cabbage from dissolving if you expose its brew to air?"

What little confidence Anne had had now left her system with a rush. "I think I should modify the base to accommodate it… but…"- she looked up and found herself eye to eye with the best potioneer she'd ever heard of. "I don't know, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed on her, but then he nodded. "Leave this and prepare your base!"

After two hours of the most careful preparation and finally producing a base, she modified the lotion recipe she'd found in the summer, Anne finally had a moment to muse about Severus Snape's particular way of grief counselling. It certainly worked; she hadn't had a thought to spare for her emotions in the process, so she felt more energized and focused than at any time of the day.

"Why did you use vanilla essence?" The question came from closer than she anticipated, and when Anne looked up, she saw Snape leaning above her workbench; three cauldrons with different addendums to the Wolsbane simmered behind him.

"I– " Honestly, she had no idea. It never occurred to her not to… "It was part of the original recipe I modified. It didn't seem to react with any part of the brew, so I think I just left it in…"

One raised eyebrow – she noticed. She either did well or worse than ever.

"Have you done the Arithmancy on the Chomping Cabbage and the vanilla essence?"

Anne froze. "No, sir."

Snape gestured for her to do it, and she eagerly pulled out a parchment. Within half an hour, she was more confused than ever. The numbers pointed to a bad match, but also, it seemed as if the damned cabbage's sensitivity changed by the vanilla. She couldn't make heads or tails of it and wasn't shy to tell it to Snape.

"The essence might not spoil your base, but it reacts with the later stages of brewing. Essential oils can alter the characteristics of an ingredient. You should find the right one for the Chomping Cabbage."

The realization parted Anne's lips into a surprised huff that somehow pulled their edges into a smile. Which grew without her approval or notice until she beamed at Snape like a mad firstie at the Halloween Feast.

"I will," – she breathed, already turning towards the storage door, but Snape stopped her:

"Not tonight, Rosier."

She looked up at him with confusion and a little hurt. He wouldn't insist on curfew when she'd finally reached a breakthrough, would he? He couldn't!

Snape must have been enraged by her rebellious stare because he suddenly turned and smashed a bottle of rat spleen on Hippochrates' portrait above their head with a quick wand move. The poor old doctor fled his frame.

"What business did Poppy arrange for you in St. Mungo's?"

"Sir?" On second thought, it wasn't even surprising he figured it out. What else could they've been up to? She knew he sensed the meddling, the plotting. She also knew he wasn't an imbecile… "Madame Brunswick accepted me in the trainee program for wiz-nurses. My hours as an assistant nurse would count into the practicals, and I could also make a living, which I need," – she admitted with a hint of embarrassment. It wasn't heartening to tell about her financial problems.

"I thought you had funds aplenty. You just repaid the caretaker your debt."

The realization that Argus apparently broke and told about their business was startling enough, but being prompted to discuss her hardships was disconcerting. Anne swallowed nervously.

"That's just it, sir. I ran dry. I need to take care of my school supplies if I am going to return, and–" She wanted to mention food and accommodation, but Snape's eyes turned thunderous, and her breath stuck in her throat.

"If?!"

Anne averted her eyes and tried not to fidget. "I cannot expect St. Mungo's to put up with a nurse in training who can only participate a fraction of the year. They need someone to rely upon… and I need a job or…"

The goddamned brews on Snape's bench should have boiled over if they only had a modicum of tact. Their brewer, indeed, didn't have any. Alas, nothing happened to save her, and soon, there wasn't a new point to stare at in the Brewing Room. Eventually, Anne pulled herself together and looked Snape in the eye.

And she saw there regret.

She closed her eyes in shame. "Sir, I'm sorry, I– …I cannot see a way… and using the Time Turner to hop between London and Hogwarts seems just nuts! I know Poppy doesn't want to lose me, and I will miss those qualifications, but I–"

"Return to your dormitory, it's well past your curfew!"

She opened her eyes. "Sir?"

"I will not argue with you, Rosier. That was enough!"

She followed his angry gaze to the portrait, where Hippocrates was just edging back to his stone bench. "Sorry, sir."

Her walk of utter humiliation back through the ward didn't get better by Poppy's questioning eyes or her long-suffering sigh. The mediwitch must have hoped they'd cleared the air between them, and Anne was in no mood to explain to her why that seemed impossible. It took one more half-an-hour of masochistically over-analysing every word of the evening until it finally occurred to Anne that Hippocrates might have been at fault for their talk being cut short. Could it be that Snape drove the doctor away from his portrait to create some privacy? She dared not hope.

Whatever the reason, she had no solution for her problem, so Anne took her exams like she was doing them for the last time. To make it count. It became her mantra through the Transfiguration problems, Lupin's insane practical test (she finally faced her boggart uncle turning into a werewolf and mauling Caleb. Thankfully, it was surreal enough to cast a Riddikulus, though that didn't make her less shaken), the usual Charms and History of Magic essays, and the Herbology practice.

The late-night Astronomy exam drained the last of her energy, so on the last exam day's morning, she couldn't do any more to comfort Sophie but squeeze her hand and force a smile. She had Potions, Care for Magical Creations, Runes, and Divination ahead, and then Poppy promised her a treat to celebrate – she was afraid of that too.

Right after breakfast, Anne headed out to the groundkeeper's hut and successfully identified a knarl, even if Professor Hagrid kept weeping into a tablecloth-sized hanky, distracting the whole class, not only the Empath among them.

Potions were better. She could have brewed a Strengthening Solution with an arm tied back at this point, and the test questions were chosen from the compendium from the end of the fourth-year textbook.

She was almost proud of her discipline when she forced down some of her lunch before Runes, took some time for her meditations in her tower and let yoga refresh her before turning back for Divination. Trelawney's Teahouse couldn't look more alien to an exam situation, but test sheets were placed on all the small tables beside the astrology charts and a deck of cards.

Most of the questions were possible to answer only by remembering the explanations of Unfogging the Future, but #6d asked for a detailed description of their table partner's probable success in love, foretold by their astrology charts. It meant she had to draw up Hufflepuff Trisha Buttermere's birth chart, and she had her Mercury retrograde from her age of twenty-four, changing all she'd established until that point.

She hardly had enough time left to throw cards for question #27, blissfully the last one, asking for the imminent future of a loved one. Anne was afraid to specifically think about Rachel, her brothers, or her friends. Instead, she focused on the imminent part of the question and anyone who might like her in Hogwarts.

The first line showed the problem that was to occur: The Wheel of Fortune – which meant a change of cycle and inevitable fate, paired with one side Justice, and the other The Chariot, only those both were reversed. So, instead of an inevitable fate of being in control and having clarity and truth, the imminent future's problem seemed to be dishonesty and unfairness, diminishing control, and lack of direction…. Sweet Nimue, who did she think about when placing these cards again?

Anne turned the three cards in the second row, working on the problem: Lovers, The Hierophant reversed, and The Tower. Whomever this was supposed to be the reading, the solution for their unavoidable fate of suffering unfairness and diminishing control would come through partnership, rebellion (or at least new approaches), and broken pride or a disaster.

She turned the last row in a flourish, suddenly disturbed by horrible premonitions: The Hanged Man meant sacrifice, even to the point of martyrdom. The Death – an end of cycle, maybe only in a superficial way, like metamorphosis. The Sun – reversed. It was depression and sadness.

Anne quickly collected the cards, not being able to suffer their sight. If anyone who liked her was to reach this through the offered "solution," she was glad she hadn't had anyone particularly in mind. She didn't even want to know if the cards were right!

With only one thought in mind, how to avoid this? She quickly reshuffled and threw a single card on the table. It lay there face-down, menacing. With a silent prayer to any spirit with a compassionate heart, Anne reached for the card, hoping for the one whose fate she'd read to have a way out. Lovers.

The imminent future promises challenges, with diminishing control and suffering unfairness, which are part of the inevitable fate of the subject of this reading – she wrote under question #27. However, partnership, a different approach, and subdued pride would help them; nothing can make sacrifice and pain avoidable at this point, eventually resulting in the end of the cycle, either physically or through the soul's metamorphosis. The secondary reading suggests strengthening the partnership that may come the subject's way. Unity and balance can still be achieved, so they might avoid the worst.

She hoped she was either wrong or the worst was truly avoidable, but before she could lament much longer, Trelawney sailed to her and gathered the parchments. That was for the best. She still left the North Tower in a daze and bumped into the first Gryffindors under the ladder, who had already begun lining up on the spiral staircase for their third-year exams. Anne recoiled into her mental safe ground and quickly left the corridor behind.

Retreating to her side tower for a bite and a short nap, Anne's last thought was regretting using only the Major Arcana for the reading. She doubted Trelawney would mind that when she would be grading her exam, but the reading felt raw and unprecise. She didn't know why it bothered her, and she wasn't even sure whom the cards referred to, but it was troubling to imagine anyone liking her at Hogwarts and facing such a fate. The Wands, The Cups, and The Swords might direct her one day about the identity of the subject of her reading, and if that ever was to happen, she would make sure to learn whether she had any chance to ease their burden. With that thought, she finally fell asleep.