Chapter 8
"I'm not interested in the texture of a rock, but in its shadow." - Ellsworth Kelly
"HARRY POTTER!"
The headmaster's voice bellowed across the hall once more, and every eye in the room was immediately upon the poor child. Potter stood shakily, looking pale. And stunned. His didn't seem like the face of a boy who'd willingly crossed the Age Line to put his name in the Goblet of Fire. There was neither glee nor relief behind his striking green eyes as he slowly walked up to the pedestal, shook Dumbledore's hand, and disappeared into the antechamber with the other champions.
A split second passed, and then there was utter chaos.
"This is surely against the rules!" Igor Karkaroff spat, abandoning his seat to confront Dumbledore.
Bex watched everything unfold almost as though she were in a daze. His housemates were equal parts dumbfounded, enraged, and… cautiously optimistic? The rest of the school – from Hufflepuff to Slytherin – looked positively incensed, like they'd been cheated. Merlin only knew what kinds of conclusions they were drawing about the boy. Bex faintly heard the sound of her aunt ranting at her side, citing her earlier concern that Sirius Black may still be lurking nearby.
"…wouldn't surprise me at all if the scoundrel did find a way to enter Potter's name, somehow, some way…"
Half-listening, but still nodding along in acknowledgment, Bex soon found her eyes seeking out Snape before her brain had even given them consent to do so.
The man was absolutely livid.
She didn't think she'd ever seen him this furious before. He wore a murderous expression, a vein in his temple very visible. His movements were jerky and quick as he also confronted the headmaster. Soon, it was Snape, Minerva, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman all speaking over one another, trying to make sure whatever they had to say was heard by the Hogwarts Headmaster – and host for this year's tournament. Dumbledore put up a hand, speaking calmly and too low for anyone else to hear. Bagman nodded and took off to presumably announce to the – now four – champions their First Task.
"There's no way to keep him from playing, is there?" asked Bex solemnly, already knowing the answer. Any name entered into the Goblet of Fire constituted a binding magical contract – Potter may as well have made an Unbreakable Vow.
Septima shook her head bitterly. "It's not right. Potter's just a child."
"They're all just children."
The group – led by Karkaroff, who seemed eager to rip Potter a new one – passed the Head Table. Bex tried to keep her eyes elsewhere but, like magnets, amber met icy black. The hardness in those dark eyes dissolved for only a moment, revealing something actually quite warm underneath, before he turned his head with a ferocious scowl, all but slamming the door behind himself and Minerva. Bex frowned. Perhaps she'd just imagined the supposed warmth.
"Snape seemed exceptionally angry," she murmured, monitoring the prefects as they rounded up students from their respective Houses. The hall was still abuzz with rampant gossip, everyone sharing their own opinion about what they'd all just witnessed; many threw almost fearful glances back in the direction of the Head Table, as though they were scared they may also be summoned to participate in the deadly challenges.
Septima nodded in agreement of her niece. "He may hate Potter but if there's one thing I've learned about that man, it's that he cares for the safety of his students."
"Hmm."
Before long, the Great Hall was practically empty, except for a few girls from Beauxbatons who were clearly waiting for Fleur, and a few Hufflepuff students who again wanted to congratulate Cedric. It baffled Bex how no one from Gryffindor stuck around for Potter, not even his two closest companions; she hoped they wouldn't freeze him out – he would need their support now, more than ever. She'd noticed Professor Moody joining the party in the other room without so much as a departing word to the rest of the staff.
"How long do you suppose they'll be?" Septima wondered aloud, clearly anticipating more to unfold. Bex wasn't even able to get a word out before the door that led to the antechamber slammed open with a BANG.
Out walked Madame Maxime, swearing up a storm in French, half of which Bex barely understood because of how quickly she was speaking. Behind her, a pink-faced Fleur followed, with Karkaroff and Viktor Krum pulling up at the rear. Karkaroff was also visibly angry, though his frustration was a tad more subdued now, and Krum seemed… well, he simply seemed mildly annoyed.
The Heads of both visiting schools collected their students and left the castle, returning to their lodging for the night. When the hall was finally void of anyone else but them, Bex turned to her aunt, and said, "I think that's our definitive sign that Potter's competing. Naive as it may be, I really thought they might have somehow been able to break the contract."
Septima sucked her teeth. "If only, darling. I doubt even Dumbledore's that powerful."
Cedric and Harry emerged next, speaking quietly amongst themselves like comrades; Bex was happy to see them standing together in solidarity. Harry, especially, would need it.
The boys smiled politely, waving as they passed. Septima called out something about not going easy on Cedric's analytic charts for Arithmancy just because he was one of their champions – his laugh, in response, was good-natured. There was a beat of silence after the boys left for their dormitories before Bex finally released what had been weighing on her heart all evening long.
"This shouldn't even be happening," she whispered.
RK + SS
Severus materialized from the shadows almost an hour after the Halloween Feast ended and the damnable champions for the Triwizard Tournament were announced. Everyone in the Great Hall was long gone, all the lights extinguished except for the odd pumpkin here and there, lending to the eerie atmosphere. He moved silently down the Hufflepuff table, almost in a dreamlike state. His actions spoke to dissociation, coping in the best way he knew how without the risk of outwardly crumbling beneath the immense pressure.
Someone put Potter's name in that cup – someone who fully intended on killing him.
This fact – and it was indeed a fact, as Potter was neither intelligent nor talented enough to cross Dumbledore's Age Line – combined with the darkening tattoo on his forearm led to a sinking feeling of despair in Severus' stomach. There was no doubt in his mind the two were connected and, as such, the rise of the Dark Lord in some form was imminent; it would take place during the tournament – perhaps, even, during one of the tasks.
So immersed was he in his thoughts that Severus didn't notice a certain curly-haired mediwitch standing in the Entrance Hall until he'd nearly walked right into her.
"Healer Kakudō," he snapped without any real bite. "What exactly are you doing just standing there in the dark?"
"Waiting for you."
"– for… me?" His head did that odd spinning trick it had the tendency to do whenever she was near, and he covered it with a scoff. Since their last encounter, he'd tried probing Tilli for more information, but the elf was… less than forthcoming.
She frowned, mistaking the noise he'd made for one of incredulity. "Really. As you can see, everyone's already gone – I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm a grown wizard; I do not require anyone to ensure whether or not I'm 'alright',"
he sneered, but behind his cutting words, shock. And a budding warmth in the hollows of his belly that belied his statement. He was incredibly irritated by her presence and couldn't pinpoint why, but still, the warmth traveled to his chest, his arms. His fingers. His head. If he didn't know any better, he may have accused her of enchanting him.
"Be that as it may," she said slowly, eyes flickering about the hall as if to make sure they were completely alone – they were – "I… erm… would you like to go out for a drink?"
Severus almost laughed in her face. Clearly, she was taking the piss.
"Excuse me?" he drawled.
She chuckled awkwardly, likely realizing just how fucking bizarre she sounded, and crossed her arms. "Not in that way, Professor. I just… could really go for a drink and a change of scenery after all of that. And I'd appreciate the company of someone as ill at ease as myself."
He stared in astonishment. Was she truly this lonely for companionship that she'd sought out him specifically for a drink – him, the snarky bat of the dungeons? Or was she purposely trying to catch him with his guard down?
Either way, he was curious. What were her true intentions? Pretty as she was (…where didthat come from?), the Healer was not above his scrutiny or suspicion. If she had anything to do with Potter's name winding up in the Goblet of Fire, Severus would find out tonight. And he would make it his continued mission to uncover her motivations for being here, in the event they were not entirely ethical… but, he would need a buffer if he wanted any amount of success.
"A shot of Firewhisky actually sounds… divine," he spoke at last.
Her demeanor remained patient, as ever, through his musings. Upon his agreement to accompany her, she smiled.
"Perfect. I'll go get my cloak and tell Dibly that I'm stepping out for just a few minutes."
He nodded once. "I need to see to a few things myself. I will meet you at the front gate at, say, a quarter till?"
Fifteen minutes was all he needed to pop in on his Slytherins – ensuring everyone was accounted for – and make a quick Floo call to Minerva. The woman was, of course, doing nothing but stewing alone in her rooms, however only begrudgingly agreed that she too was in need of a stiff one. She'd unwittingly been his buffer on a number of occasions before, the two having grown close at the very start of his tenure.
She was still grumbling and ranting about Harry fucking Potter when they arrived at the front gates. Their breaths came out in small clouds but they remained unaffected by the cold, having perfected their own unique warming charms over the years. Severus tried to tune out her ramblings as they waited for Kakudō, quickly finding it impossible.
"Do. You. Mind?" he finally snapped, rounding on the mother lion.
Mother hen, more like.
"Yes, in fact, I do mind," she snapped back without even taking a breath. "We cannae even help the lad, Severus! Cannae even give him a clue,o-or any new spells to use, for Merlin's sake! Nothing beyond the current curriculum, that is."
"Potter should be the least of our worries this year," he murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a figure leaving the castle.
Minerva's sharp eyes flashed at his statement. "What is that supposed to mean, young man? And what are we waiting for?!"
"Me! Sorry!"
He turned and she was there, almost as though she'd appeared out of the fog. She walked hastily down the footpath, a wool cap pulled over her mountain of hair and a plaid scarf wrapped twice around her neck. By stiffening his jaw, he just managed to suppress the smirk threatening to take over his face.
"Bex!" cried Minerva. "Oh, thank the gods. I thought I was stuck with him all night." She jabbed a thumb in Severus' direction for emphasis, to which he rolled his eyes.
Kakudō laughed that delicate laugh of hers and they were on their way. She said nothing of his inviting Minerva; in fact, the two witches walked together side-by-side, arms looped, towards Hogsmeade. Naturally, he trailed behind them, hands buried within his pockets and eyes leaving their back only to briefly scan their surroundings.
It almost seemed as though Ozzy was anticipating their arrival, the way he grinned upon their entry even though it was getting a bit late. They say where the barman gestured – right in the middle of the bar so he could make small talk whenever he wanted. Minerva and Kakudō sat next to each other, and he chose the seat on Minerva's right-hand side, putting her in the middle. She raised her brow at him but made no remark. Smart. Severus began removing his coat while Ozzy chatted up the women.
"So, Minnie, by the look o' yer face – I reckon the champion for Hogwarts wasnae from Gryffindor then, eh?"
Minerva made a sound similar to a gagging banshee, stammering out an order for a Firewhisky.
"On the rocks, dear," she said, one arm propped on the bar with her hand covering her eyes.
"...'twas a Slytherin…?" Ozzy gasped scandalously, throwing a wink at Severus before preparing her drink.
"Hogwarts has two champions for the Triwizarding Tournament this year." Kakudō's voice, soft yet commanding, startled them all, and they each looked at her. She'd taken off that stupid hat, and her hair was slightly more frizzy where it had been pressed against her head. She seemed keenly aware that they were all staring, but wasn't phased – at least, not visibly so.
"The first," she continued when it looked like no one else would speak, "was Cedric Diggory."
"Aye. Amos' boy. Good lad." Suspicion rapidly replaced his enthusiasm.
"Would you like to take a wild guess as to who our second champion is?" She quirked a brow, and – Oh. That certainly was a new expression he'd yet to see on her face.
Ozzy searched for only a moment before he discovered the answer glaring back at him.
"Blimey! Yer talkin' mince?!"
"No mince here, I'm afraid."
Severus suddenly needed that drink, now more than before.
"Ozzy?" he interjected. "Double Firewhisky, neat. Please. And get Minerva another on my tab before she begins sobbing over her precious Golden Boy again."
"You don't fool me, Severus Snape," the Gryffindor Head of House hiccuped. A little smoke came from her ears, and she expertly belched down the flames from her drink. "You're just as scared for the boy as we are!"
He was saved from further implication when Ozzy brought two more shots of whisky and a steaming mug of something chocolaty for Kakudō.
"Here you are, Miss Bex," said the barman, levitating everyone their respective beverage. "Your favorite."
"Thanks, Ozzy." She smiled in gratitude, the smallest of dimples appearing on the right side of her face.
Severus sipped his whisky.
"Harry Potter – the lad's only but thirteen, aye?"
"Nay," Minerva answered somberly. "Fourteen. And he claims he didn't enter his name in the cup."
"Do you believe him?" Kakudō asked, and her tone was nothing but curious.
"Potter can be a bit of a wild card, but… yes. I do believe him when he says he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn't. The boy has enough going on as is."
"Which begs the question," Ozzy grumbled, "who did?"
Severus swirled the amber liquid around in his glass. Who did, indeed? His eyes slid down the bar at Kakudō, taking in the more subtle positioning of her body. Her hands clutched around the spiked hot chocolate for warmth. She was leaning slightly towards them rather than facing the bar or exit. Everything about her behavior suggested that none of her secrets or motives had anything to do with Boy Wonder's name ending up in that cup. From the earnest worry in her eyes to her hunched shoulders, she truly seemed as bemused about the events unfolding as the rest of them. Severus always did his best to reserve judgment, knowing full well the most innocent-looking of beings were also often the most sinister… but he couldn't help feeling as though she couldn't possibly have anything to do with what transpired tonight.
The uncomfortable revelation annoyed him for a few reasons. But the most pressing – this moment should have been the end of his curiosity. Instead, he found himself further intrigued with the matron. With her intentions, her background, her secrets. She'd perfected her glamour, so that it was no longer visible to a trained eye… but he couldn't forget about it. What lay underneath? What was she covering up?
"Ozzy, another, please," he said, raising his empty glass. Recalling Dumbledore's hushed and hurried words but a few hours prior, he continued, "And I would very much delight in now moving on from this topic of conversation, as it is clear if Potter did not succeed in breaking Dumbledore's Age Line himself, then he simply paid off an older student to do it for him."
If he was forced to play this part, he would have to do it well.
Minerva knew this, of course, as a member of the Order, too; she kept her mouth shut, though her eyes blazed in fury while he actively smeared Potter's name. Kakudō's brow, however, quirked upward once again, an expression of hers he was quickly becoming familiar with. A smirk stole across her face, and it nearly disarmed him.
"You're telling me you think an introverted orphan would be so bold and arrogant as to enter himself in a tournament widely known only for its fatalities? Come on. Professor Snape, you insult our intelligence."
He felt like he'd taken a hit to the chest. In spite of the potential blow to his cover, his mouth gaped but no words came out. Dammit. No one had ever left him feeling so flustered. He'd not been left speechless like this in a long time, not since…
Perhaps it was because he was obviously on the verge of leaving, but Minerva saw the thunder in his eye and laughed a little louder than the situation called for. Ever the buffer. Indeed, he was two seconds from scraping back his chair and returning to the castle; he'd gotten what he came for. Kakudō wasn't involved in the Potter situation. There was no reason to stay, especially if he was to continue being put on the spot and embarrassed.
Minerva bumped his shoulder in jest, silently telling him to keep his arse parked in his seat. "Surely you've allowed the poor girl to drop formalities by now, Severus?" she said incredulously. Turning fully on Kakudō, she continued, "Please, be a dear and call him by his given name in casual setting."
"Minerva…" he warned through clenched teeth.
The Transfiguration Mistress scoffed, waving the warning away like an irritating fly. "Pah! She's one of us now, you cantankerous old man – get over it, as the kids are saying nowadays."
Kakudō made that face she wore when she was deeply considering something, and he swallowed, preparing to snap in defense. Before he could open his mouth, however, the mediwitch smiled. At him. Not another smirk. Not a quirk of the lip. But a full, warm, rich smile just for him that made his mouth run dry – which also could've just been an effect of the alcohol.
Then she said, "Well, Professor – Severus… care to drop the formalities now? My name is Bex, in case you'd forgotten."
He had not.
"I recall your given name" – here, he shot a glare at Minerva, who ignored him – "being Rebecca."
She bit her lip and shifted a little, disquieted, before saying, "I rarely go by Rebecca these days."
"And what, pray tell, does that allude to? What dark and tortured history lies in your past?"
"SEVERUS!" Minerva scolded while Ozzy tsked under his breath.
But Kakudō – Rebecca… whatever – merely responded with an airy, most-definitely forced chuckle.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she said bitterly, and he could see the immediate regret in her eyes that she tried to hide by taking a drink from the beverage before her. He caught every action, every slight movement – no matter how minute – and committed it to memory.
"That… won't be necessary," he replied, signaling to the barman that he was ready for the cheque. "Bex makes you sound like an unhinged street urchin rather than a Healer from one of the most world-renowned wizarding hospitals. I'd much rather call you Rebecca if you insist on calling me Severus. When the children are not present."
She rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes at him. The cheek!
"Fine," she said with a very unladylike snort. "Call me Rebecca then. You only sound like my aunt and great-grandmother."
Minerva sat back on her bar stool so that she was able to watch their banter with unbridled glee. The wrinkles and smile lines around her mouth creased even further as she grinned back and forth between the two, their exchange seeming to do more to uplift her spirits than the Firewhisky. She hiccuped once more and placed a slightly heavy hand on Severus' shoulder saying, "Look at you two! This is so lovely! Oh, we must all get together again next weekend – with Filius and Pomona!"
Yes. It was definitely beyond time to return to the castle.
RK + SS
It was the first of November. She'd been putting it off for far too long now.
Bex's throat felt reminiscent of sandpaper. She stood at the foot of Mt. Kita-Hotakadake in the early twilight hours, acutely aware she was working with limited time. It was still somewhat dark outside, the fog rolling in making it even harder to see; if there were any Muggles on the trails behind her, they were taking shelter down at Nanryo Terrace or at one of the other various campsites and huts that dotted the mountainside. Right now, everyone would be asleep on their tatami mat or rolled up snugly in sleeping bags, so she didn't necessarily have to worry about being seen using magic. She Apparated near one of the southern peaks of the vast mountain range, where a stream bubbled gently and hid the loud POP! of Apparition. She could have Apparated directly from Scotland into Miyairi-jo, but she'd missed the clean mountain air and breathtaking views.
Inhaling deeply, Bex pushed on the korai mon built into the imposing stone wall that surrounded her childhood home. To Muggles, it appeared in ruin, another rocky plateau they deemed too dangerous to venture out onto; to Bex, and anyone else of magical blood, Miyairi Castle and its sprawling grounds stood as a beautiful testament to 15th century Japanese architecture. Bex passed cherry trees as ancient as the mountain upon which they bloomed year-round. Their scent reminded her of summer nights playing alone on the lawn, watching white swans swim and dabble in the waters of the moat below.
Inside, the castle didn't feel as though she'd been neglecting it for any time at all. In fact, it seemed to take a deep breath like it had been worried she would never return, and was now glad that she had. Smiling softly, Bex snapped her fingers and the oil lanterns that stood cold and unlit in the main keep immediately sparked to life, bathing the dark stone walls in a warm glow. Portraits of her younger self smiled and waved shyly back at her; she bowed respectfully to the portraits of her ancestors, her father's family, and whispered a greeting in her native tongue.
The palace, where the kitchens and living quarters were housed, was attached to the main keep via passageways that were deliberately confusing and led to other parts of the castle, including various interlocking courtyards. She'd walked this path countless times, and so had no need to double check whether was going the right direction. She drifted down one of the passageways, strengthening the wards on the ancient castle by muttering charms under her breath and touching runes that were carved into the wooden structural posts on each floor. The tatami mats were soft and spongy underneath Bex's bare feet as she moved from room to room, performing different kinds of housekeeping spells to tidy certain spaces where her previously cast stasis charms had worn off over the years. Having dismissed all staff the year of her mother's death, there was no one but her to keep everything in order. It often felt an insurmountable task, even with magic, considering just how large the castle and its grounds were; still, bound by duty, Bex maintained Miyairi-jo as best as she could, whenever she had the available emotional capacity.
"Hello, mom."
The portrait of Aurelia Kakudō that hung in the library of Miyairi-jo smiled sadly down at her before turning to the Bex in the photo – maybe fourteen – and giving her shoulder a little encouraging squeeze. They were sitting in the plum orchard, trying to do what normal families did and memorialize their love for one another. Picture-Bex glanced up at her mother, sighed, and put on a smiling face for the photographer. The scene continued looping and Bex turned away with a heavier-than-normal heart, removing all of the dust and cobwebs that made their home along the bookshelves.
The kitchens, where the chefs had once prepped and cooked delicious multicultural meals with fish, chicken, and fresh vegetables, stood barren with all its cookware glittering enticingly. Bex hesitated for only a split second before getting to work on a pot of tea; she could make time for this, she decided – a brief tea ceremony in the nearby drawing room that housed an ancestor altar. While it was barely early morning here in Japan, it was suppertime back in Scotland, so she had about an hour before needing to return to Hogwarts.
Bex watched the kettle, removing it from the fire just as it began screeching, a sharp sound that sliced through the silence of the empty space. There was something very familiar and almost meditative about making tea in these kitchens. She allowed the water to cool a bit while she added two heaping teaspoons of green tea leaves to the kyūsu and let her mind wander to potential offerings – the kumotsu. There was bound to be leftover sake in the drawing room; fresh fruit would be no issue as there was an abundance right outside. Her mother had enjoyed sweet things, but the kitchens, unfortunately, didn't have enough essentials to make anything.
"Oh!"
Bex rifled through her pockets until she grinned, producing the soft, paper-wrapped Honeydukes fudge she'd been saving for pudding later.
"Perfect," she whispered to herself.
The altar in this particular drawing room wasn't much to look at. It was a small, ornately carved cabinet mounted to the wall, upon which sat the memorial tablet, or ihai; some candles, incense, scrolls, and a photograph of the recently departed. There was something healing about ancestral veneration, and she felt it in her soul when she placed the offerings gently next to the picture of her mother. As was customary, she rang a small bell to alert the spirits to her presence, and then lit the incense and candles to guide them to the right place. Almost immediately, Bex experienced the rush of love and warmth she'd come to associate with the departed members of her family taking up their places beside her. She could not see them – though she could, if she tried hard enough – but knew they were there nonetheless.
Bex watched smoke from the dragon's blood incense dance, curling up and around the ihai, a beautiful piece of black lacquered wood with golden accents. Upon it – her parents' names written side by side. Below their names, their birthdays; below that, the days of their deaths.
Closing her eyes to the photo of her mother – Aurelia was much younger in this one, perhaps nineteen, and was eating some salty-sweet treat at the Night Circus – Bex sank to her knees. She sang prayers and murmured her petitions, letting the comfort of those long gone envelope her with the tenderness she hadn't known she needed.
RK + SS
Hogwarts seemed colder somehow, now after her brief trip to Miyairi-jo. Still, Bex took her time walking to the Hospital Wing. She'd missed supper, so Dibly was sure to be waiting with something to eat. She tried to think of an excuse as to why she wasn't hungry – any excuse at all that would keep the house elf from flinging himself headlong into a fit. Her mind, her very being, was too weighed down to eat, the visit to her childhood home having reopened old wounds even as it healed new ones made in its absence. Old mysteries, like a forgotten trauma, surfaced to the forefront of her mind, begging to be questioned and explored. The most pressing – what had happened to her father?
She knew what became of her mother, having Seen that fateful day years before it actually took place. An illness. A rare, devastating magical disease that causes the victim's heart to grow cartilaginous teeth; when the unforgiving growths fully mature, the heart begins devouring itself, leaving the organ in shreds over time. And because they live in an age where magical technology is advancing almost everyday, the Hearteater Virus was detected when her mother was only a child; there was no cure, but there had been many treatment options available to Aurelia that allowed her to remain living somewhat comfortably at Miyairi-jo with her only daughter, until the disease consumed her entirely.
Bex slowly passed a series of tall, narrow windows that overlooked the Clock Tower courtyard. Moonlight struck the stained glass, pooling on the floor in a dazzling array of colors. Twenty-something years later, and the mystery of what may have happened to her father haunted her – for better or worse, now more than ever. She was only eight or nine years old when his name had appeared on all the family's ihai with a thunderous crack. She recalled the day vividly; praying at her altar for the gods and her ancestors to return her father home; being jolted by the sudden explosion of magic around her; racing tearfully to find her mother, who'd forbade her from leaving the palace only minutes prior. He'd been gone before she could even begin forming proper memories of him, and she'd hoped with all of her being that he would someday return.
And then he had.. just not in the way she'd dreamed it would happen. She carried that guilt for some time afterward, assuming, with all the innocence of a child, that the sheer intensity of her wishing was what caused him to die so abruptly. Returning to them as a name on the ihai rather than as a whole, living, breathing person.
Nowadays, of course, at nearing thirty years old in the next few years, she knew better. Still, there was something about that day – and the way in which certain events had unfolded – that never sat right with her. Neither then, nor now.
So absorbed was the Healer in her thoughts that she passed right by the tall shadow that was coming from the direction of the library. They briefly crossed paths with one another, and he had to quickly school the startled look on his face when she didn't notice him.
"H– Rebecca."
She jumped about a foot.
"Oh! Prof- er, Severus," she stammered, both his presence and the sudden use of her given name catching her a bit off her guard. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."
"Yes. You did seem rather… immersed in thought." He crossed his arms in front of his, his stance relaxed and open; inquisitive.
Bex smiled gently. "Much to think about these days, you know?"
"Indeed." Silence stretched between them and, remarkably, it… wasn't awkward. She mapped the lines of his face – too many for someone only in his thirties. His eyes sparkled like dark jewels, capturing her own in their gaze, and soon, she was falling, falling, falling…
"Where were you?"
Bex shook her head a little to clear it. "Er, what do you mean?"
"Dinner – you were absent. And you've obviously been traveling." As if to prove his point, he gestured to the thick winter cloak she wore.
"Oh," she replied distractedly, glancing in towards the infirmary. "Just visiting the family home."
"Ah. I see. And where is that?"
"Mount Kita, in the Minami Alps."
He paused for a fraction of a second. "I do not recall any wizarding communities in that region."
"There aren't any. And our residence is uncharted."
"Our?" His eyebrow raised dramatically. "I was under the impression that Professor Vector resided near a port city in Italy."
Shifting uncomfortably – breathing sharply – Bex searched for words that were suddenly lost to her. Our residence. Her and her mother's… only except, Aurelia was dead. She'd died alone, with no one to hold her hand through those last painful moments, having sent her daughter off to Mahoutokoro as soon as she reached enrollment age. For the longest time, though, it had just been the two of them – Septima, too, occasionally – sharing supper, tea, ceremonies, and holidays together.
But now, there was no more our. There hadn't been an our in nearly nine years, and the grief was still too much to process. Whenever she thought about her mother for too long, those nightmarish visions returned, of Aurelia writhing on the floor. Of bloody foam bubbling up out of her mouth. She could see her mother as though it was happening, again, right in front of her. She desperately summoned her Occlumency shield, guiding the horrific vision away to her subconscious, and the only place left where it could torment her – in her sleep.
"Are you alright?"
His eyes pierced her, and there was no mistaking it now – there was a definite warmth lurking well beneath his icy exterior. She heard it in the pitch of his voice, saw it in the minute furrowing of his brow because of course he hadn't looked away while she collected herself. Was this – was he –? He was. He was concerned for her.
The display of worry, regardless of how small, was almost enough to physically break her in her current state. It was like the slightest break in a dam, in just the right spot. She opened her mouth to speak, to say she was just fine, and instead, out came a choked noise followed by a few tears. Snape looked justifiably alarmed by the unexpected onslaught of emotion. His eyes darted back and forth in a mild panic. He reached out a hand like he was going to touch her, then immediately retracted his arm. Lips pressed together in a tight line, he pulled a small handkerchief from inside a pocket within his robes and thrust it in her direction without a word.
Bex took the piece of satin, turning away from him in embarrassment. She wiped her face, sniffling, trying to rid herself of the overwhelming emotions before she could further humiliate herself in front of this man. But, it was of no use.
I need to decompress.
Taking a steadying breath, Bex gathered whatever courage there was inside her, and turned to face Snape. She fully expected him to be wearing a look of profound impatience, however, he simply waited for her to collect herself with an air of neutrality.
"Thank you," she said, magically cleansing the handkerchief and handing it back to him.
"You are welcome. Now. I will restate my inquiry: Are. You. Alright?"
She thought of lying, at first, but figured there was a 50/50 chance he would call her out on it… so, she decided the truth would be the better route.
A minute shake of her head. "Going home rekindled old memories. And… I.. I started thinking of my father."
He was waiting for her to elaborate. She wouldn't – and when it was clear she wasn't going to offer any additional information, he cleared his throat. He considered her for half a moment, obviously choosing his next words carefully.
"It sounds like you lived elsewhere before coming to join us at Hogwarts."
"Yes. Chicago. I still rent a flat there so I'm close in proximity to Erinlẹ's." She bit her lip, suddenly feeling a bit foolish, and like she perhaps shouldn't ask what she was about to ask. Too late now.
"If it's alright with you, Severus, I'm going to follow you to the dungeons. Brewing will help take my mind off things."
He started, taken slightly aback. "Very well," he clipped, and turned on his heel without another word. Bex knew she was getting somewhat used to his abrasive nature when, instead of feeling offense, she smiled and fell into step behind his retreating form; noticing, with a snort, he never once looked back to see if she was following.
RK + SS
Severus had determined he did not enjoy Kakudō… Rebecca… crying. Tearful women were not his forte – honestly, he found them irritating to hell, in the same way he did crying children. Hence the reason for his apprehension when he'd felt a pull to comfort the matron at the sight of her tears. What exactly would he have done – hugged her?
He almost bowed his head in shame at the thought. Had he actually touched her, he would've been deeply embarrassed when she – inevitably, understandably – flinched away from his person in disgust. No one would want someone like him comforting them, touching them.
TINK!
He watched through long stringy hair as she used the students' Potions room to continue… whatever "research" she was working on. The table at which she worked was littered with a carefully measured stock of various ingredients – fresh lavender, Acromantula silk, dragon's blood, and spleens from some small mammal. Severus had yet to inquire into her work, and he wasn't going to, based on the sheer amount of stress he'd seen leaving her body as she immersed herself in her tasks. She diced meticulously, dancing between ingredient preparation and note-taking on a muggle clipboard, with an ease that spoke to years of experience. If Severus had to wager a guess on what she was researching, he'd have to say magical blood disorders. Or, perhaps, heart disease.
He'd advised her to keep to herself as much as possible, putting on a great show of slashing A's and P's through the tower of third-year essays sitting on his desk. Really, the grading could have been put off until tomorrow, on Friday, when he usually tended to such tedious duties. He tried telling himself that it was a precaution – gathering information, monitoring her behavior, and tracking her habits. Symptoms of being a spy. But the truth of it was, like all Slytherins, he had an insatiable curiosity and took great pleasure in solving mysteries – and beyond that, he had an unquestionable, inexplicable urge to be near her. To uncover her secrets. To learn her fears, values, goals, strengths, and weaknesses.
So there he sat, hunched over dozens of poorly-written essays while she brewed at one of the student workbenches near the back of the room. This part of the castle was typically dank and carried with it a distinct musky scent from all of the fumes. Tonight, however, his classroom smelled refreshingly of lavender.
The matron worked with a similar effortlessness he'd observed of her in the infirmary, nimble fingers chopping, shredding, and weighing. Her technical ability was almost flawless, if he had to judge. At times, her quill – levitating by her ear and jotting down her dictations – would move suddenly with rejuvenated fervor, drawing his attention away from grading. His eyes roamed to her hair, which she'd tried (and failed) to wrestle into a bun atop her head. Curls stuck out this way and that, some plastered to her temples from the steam coming off her cauldron; all begging to be smoothed back down into place.
A small furrow appeared in her brow, and she bent lower over her cauldron, murmuring to herself softly. Severus strained his ears to make out what she was saying, dramatically scribbling out a scathing remark on some poor soul's homework. She seemed to be paying him no mind, but he wanted to ensure he wasn't caught staring and studying her.
Because, honestly, he had no intention of stopping.
Too soon, she was tiredly concluding one of her endless trials for the evening. She packed her things up, slowly, one by one, and cleared her workspace. Upon finishing, she began approaching his desk. It took everything in him to keep his muscles from tensing up. Somehow, by his mildly good, erratically-dispensed fortune, she stopped short after just a few steps; even at a distance, he could see the candlelight waltzing within the amber tones of her irises. If she noticed he was only perhaps a fourth of the way through the pile of parchment that so urgently needed grading tonight… she didn't mention it.
"Thank you, Severus," she said, gratitude lacing her voice. He was shocked – what had he done to receive thanks? He almost sneered in her face, thinking she might be mocking him, when she continued, "I really appreciated you holding space for me tonight. Tomorrow – same time, same place, yes?"
And then she left, slipping out the classroom doors without giving him neither a backwards glance nor a chance to respond.
What in Merlin's beard?
Severus huffed and returned to slashing through essays, trying to not think about just how long it had been since the last time he was thanked with complete sincerity. For doing… what, exactly? Allowing her to work in the dungeons alongside him? In the grand scheme of things, that seemed so… insignificant. The longer he thought about her parting words – their brief time together, her brewing, the lingering scent of lavender – the more baffled he grew. So, he put her out of his mind; intending to retire, as soon as possible, to his own bedchamber for the evening. There was a bottle of gin sitting unopened on the mantle with which he couldn't wait to acquaint himself.