A/N: This is where the story picks up/starts getting good, for me, personally! I hope you enjoy it, too!
Also wanted to give a huge shout-out to a super consistent reader who's been commenting on every chapter so far (you know who you are!). Truly, your reviews make my day and I look forward to them every time I post :)
Happy reading, everyone!
Chapter 12
"I would argue that nothing gives life more purpose than the realization that every moment of consciousness is a precious and fragile gift." - Steven Pinker
A little over six months at Hogwarts, and Bex was finally learning all of the hidden stairwells and passageways that took her to practically any part of the castle she wanted. There were even secret-kept paths that revealed themselves only to members of the staff, as well as the Head Boy and Girl; meant to be used to get to emergencies as quickly as possible.
Bex used one of these paths now to skip a few floors from the second to the seventh, where the office for the Arithmancy professor resided. She knocked on the door a few times, and entered at her aunt's cheery "come in!"
"Hey, Auntie." Bex smiled tiredly.
"Come – sit down and help yourself to some of these sugar cookies. Please. They're so delightful, I haven't been able to stop eating them… just give me a few minutes to finish rewriting this rubric."
"Take your time. Dibly's minding the infirmary."
Septima smiled over the large feather of her quill. "You and that elf have certainly bonded, now, haven't you?"
"He makes for great company. Especially when I have no students in the Wing fighting for my attention."
"I imagine so." Septima's quill flew at breakneck speed, finishing up the final parts of the rubric and using her wand to make copies of the parchment for each of her students. Bex watched it all with mild interest as she chewed on the offered cookies. Finally, Septima gave Bex her full attention with the warmest smile in place. "How has your day been, love?"
"Ah – Good. It's been good, yeah."
Nearly three weeks had passed since Severus' birthday and that fateful night in the divination tent. With that much time to think to herself and ruminate over the situation, she now felt somewhat keen to share what she'd learned – particularly with someone who already knew her history.
Septima's brows drew together in a display of obvious disbelief. "Rebecca… what's bothering you?"
Her voice adopted a firm maternal tone – the same she'd spent years perfecting, courtesy of seeing dozens upon dozens of children to adulthood.
Bex wanted to answer, "So much," but instead, began with what seemed to be most pressing at the moment.
"Did you know that… my father visited Miyairi-jo right before he died?"
Brows now raised in shock, Septima fumbled for a suitable answer.
"I – I did. You were so young…"
"No, I understand why you never told me," said Bex quickly, and she leaned forward a bit to convey she wasn't upset. "I just – I want.. I need to know what he said. To my mother."
Septima looked like she was considering for a few moments. And indeed she was. Considering the young, bright, and brilliant witch in front of her. Considering that the Healer actually looked quite ill and tired – exhausted – and wondering if the information she withheld would even be at all beneficial.
Bex frowned at the long pause. "Auntie, please…"
"Okay. Okay." Septima took the deepest breath and summoned strength she wasn't sure she had. "Do you want to move to the lounge area? It would be more comfortable."
Shaking her head firmly, resolutely, Bex locked baggy eyes with her aunt, showing she would not be deterred. Septima sucked her teeth, realizing her niece would see through all of her attempts to stall for time. (She'd often wondered if the girl would've made an excellent Slytherin, had Aurelia actually deigned to listen to her elders and send Rebecca to Hogwarts.) And so, with an understanding that she could hold back no longer, she began.
"Aurelia never told me what words were exchanged, exactly. Only that she had to defend herself – and you – against Hiroya. At that point in time, it had been maybe five years since we'd seen head or tail of him."
"Six," Bex corrected in a whisper.
"Six," repeated Septima. "Love, where is this all coming from?"
"Did you know they dueled that day?"
"They d–?"
"And you're sure – I mean, absolutely positive – you have no clue how he may have died?"
"Rebecca, look me in my eyes." Septima's voice was deadly serious; her gaze unwavering for even a second. "If I knew what unfortunate fate came of your father, I would tell you. Right here and right now. But I do not. And I truly – desperately – hope you aren't insinuating what I think you are. I know you and Aurelia were never really close, but for Circe's sake, she wasn't capable of murder, Rebecca!"
For some reason, the minor miscalculation (that she actually thought her mom could've killed someone) made Bex break out into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Septima's jaw slackened with shock. In the back of her mind, as she struggled to formulate a response, Bex wondered if this is what it felt like to go mad.
"No, I already know she didn't do anything like that." Finally, her laughing had somewhat ceased, and she was able to choke out something intelligible. "My mom was many things when she was still alive – distant, reserved, unkind at the best of times – but a murderer she was not."
"Answer my earlier question, please – where is this coming from, Rebecca?" Concern was etched into every crease of her aunt's face, so Bex took a deep breath and sorted her thoughts before she continued.
"I visited the Night Circus a few weeks ago –"
"You need to stop going there, you know how dangerous it can be!"
"– and I met a Seer. He showed me how my father died."
There. That was the simplest way she could say it. Septima's stunned, wide-eyed silence prompted Bex to divulge the rest. The killing blow.
"Suicide. It was.. suicide."
Her aunt's gasp was more of a quick exhale of breath. If there were pearls around her neck, she would surely be clutching them. But because there were not, her hand simply flew to her chest in utter disbelief.
"No, surely not…"
"Yes," Bex answered swiftly. Definitively. "I saw it. There was no mistaking his intention."
At this, Septima froze, stone-faced like a Muggle statue. A minute passed and then, she got up and paced to the large windows in her office; there she stood, overlooking a courtyard. Bex wasn't sure what she could be thinking, and decided to stay put quietly for the time being.
Finally, the Arithmancy professor spoke, and Bex noted how she still would not turn around.
"How.. how did the Seer...?"
"A crystal ball conjuration," Bex said softly. "Actually quite clever."
Another lapse of silence. And then, Septima asked, "So you would have seen then… your father – he was like you. Special. Born to heal." Her voice was raw with anguish, as though she'd rather be anywhere but here.
"I saw."
"You can control this ability, Rebecca." It almost sounded like she was pleading, which was such an odd tone for her great aunt, Bex felt close to having an out of body experience. She didn't respond, tired of lying; tired of pretending things would turn out alright for her. Instead, she stared at Septima's ringed fingers clasped tightly behind her back. The professor stared out at the torrents of rain falling down, endless thoughts fighting for space in her head.
"Do you know what was said between them?" At last, Septima turned slowly on the spot. She was wearing her pondering face.
Bex shook her head. "But you have a theory just like I do, don't you, Auntie?"
She was biting her tongue – Bex could tell. Perhaps even with enough force to draw blood. They had both reached the same morbid conclusion, hence the reason for her aunt's hesitation. She met Septima's warm, dark eyes with a sadness in her own, almost equally unwilling to say the words aloud. Septima crossed her arms like she'd caught a chill.
"Aurelia told me the castle turned its allegiance and loyalty over to you only days before your father's reappearance – before they apparently.. dueled. Something that – if he was still alive by that point, as we continued to hope – could only be triggered by… by.."
"By an act of blood betrayal," Bex finished.
Septima nodded sharply. "Right. And it is only now, after all these years, that I realize Miyairi-jo rewrote its allegiance that day to – to protect you. Should it have needed to when the time came." Her voice broke at the very end, and she was no longer able to suppress the tears that sprang forth.
"Because… my father wanted to – kill me. He wanted to kill me before he killed himself – that was his plan. He couldn't handle it. He wanted to end his own life and spare me this one."
Bex wished she could summon even a fraction of the emotion her aunt was currently laden with. Instead, to her faintest shock, she found herself deliciously numb. Even when she was scooped up into a tight hug by the only family she had left on this side of the Veil, Bex could not drag herself from beneath the paralyzing apathy that squeezed around her, like a shrinking box. Growing smaller – smaller – and even smaller still.
"You're going to be okay… you're going to be okay…"
The words echoed in her mind as the week sped by in a blur, the Second Task fast approaching and leaving little room to focus on anything else but. Yet, even as the daunting weight of the Task could be felt from the champions, to their friends, to the school matron, Dumbledore was not the least bit forthcoming with more details regarding what the challenge might entail. Even when he was cornered, accosted just outside of his office by Bex, who was at her wit's end.
"Headmaster – if I could just know, perhaps, the location of the next Task so that I can be somewhat adequately prepared?"
"Oh, dear girl, I have full confidence in your capabilities should we have need to call upon them! All will be revealed in due time."
"Merlin's sake, we were dealing with dragons in the First Task! Dragons!"
"Ah!" His ridiculously blue eyes twinkled in that annoying way of his. "That should mean there will not be dragons in the Second Task, correct? I must be going now, Healer Kakudō – it is nearing the lunch hour, and I've heard the house elves have prepared a delectable sticky toffee pudding!"
His nonchalance confused her and pissed her off all at the same time. How he could be so blasé about the tournament, Bex didn't know, but she was forced to sit on her hands on the matter. Waiting, almost impatiently, for the arrival of the Second Task like the rest of the school population.
It was Thursday, and while she managed her responsibilities as matron, she couldn't escape the uncomfortable burden of knowledge only recently acquired. For the hundredth time, she chided herself. It should have been enough to know that he was gone, forever – why was it not enough? Now, she lived not only with the fact that her father ended his own life, but he'd attempted to take her along with him. She'd opened up this can of worms for herself, giving into the Seer's tempting magic, and now she only wanted to shut it tightly – store it away so that it never saw the light of day again.
Bex thought and wondered and reflected and speculated until her head was aching. She had a great deal of questions, and each one of those questions branched out to three more. She felt compelled to go to Mount Kita for answers; it was one of the few places where she could still talk to her mother, after all. Even if the portrait of Aurelia Kakudō, like her living predecessor, shared astonishingly little with her daughter.
That particular venture would have to wait, however, until she had just a shred of spare time. She was supposed to be meeting Severus in the dungeons, to help him prepare a brew that would end up being used in the tournament. That's all he would tell her, but it was enough to pique her interest; surely he didn't actually need her assistance, considering his decades of potions-making experience, so it was probably that he did not want her to be ignorant of the sort of task they were sending students into. Or, his asking for her help was simply a ruse – a ploy to keep her close, knowing what he knew now of her father. Oh, well. She would use the slight advantage to hopefully gather as much information as possible about the Second Task.
And, she admitted to herself with a faltering smile, she did enjoy being around him. Irksome, though he was.
Speak of the devil, she thought wryly.
He seemed furious beyond comprehension as he descended further into the dungeon, black robes billowing around him like some giant bird of prey. The look of contempt and fury he wore stomping down the curved stairwell to his office abated only when he caught sight of her standing there waiting for him. It was something the casual observer would've missed, because as soon as the scowl fell, an impassive expression slid into place.
"You are early," he spoke, unwarding the door and gesturing her inside first.
"What can I say?" she said, striving for an equal air of indifference. "I couldn't wait to see you."
"Nosy witch," he sneered, deliberately ignoring her quip. "This way."
She'd never been in his office before now… and apparently, he wasn't giving her time to explore or poke through anything. He quickly led her through a door that was opposite a giant bookshelf overflowing with heavy tomes. The door opened up into another small workroom.
"You get your own lab?" she said, fighting to keep the envy out of her voice. "Merlin, you're the Potions Master – of course you do. How… nice."
"Jealous thing, aren't you?" Finally, a smirk broke through that stony expression of his.
She chose not to answer. He already knew she was pining for her own lab just like his; she didn't need to confirm it, necessarily.
A large workbench took up most of the space in the lab. Along the farthest wall was a sink and a vast collection of beakers, vials, pitchers, cauldrons of all sizes, and other various glasses for taking measurement. To the right of the workbench was a big chalkboard (where every inch of black space had been covered in his neat, cutting scrawl), and a shelf haphazardly filled with all sorts of books and magical items. On the left side of the room was an empty.. bookcase…?
Bex turned to Severus, one eyebrow arched in question.
He strolled past her and tapped his wand in a repeated pattern on one of the bare shelves. Before their eyes, a large glass container of Sopophorous beans appeared in the place he'd just touched.
"Very smart," she remarked, placing her potions kit on the tabletop.
Severus gave a half-shrug. "It would grow quite tiresome if I had to fetch every ingredient that I needed from my stores. This way" – he tapped the empty shelf again in several spots until a multitude of bottles, jars, and vials took up the space – "I have everything right at my fingertips. Without compromising the integrity of my ingredients."
Curiosity taking over, Bex scanned the labels of some of the aforementioned ingredients.
"Valerian root fragments… wyrmwood… if I didn't know any better, Severus, I would say they're having you brew Draught of Living Death for the task."
She'd said it jokingly, but after glancing the rest of the stock and observing his leveled gaze, she whispered a soft, "Oh." She helped him by levitating the remaining ingredients to their work surface. When he didn't offer up further information, she asked, "Do we know how it will be used?"
Severus shook his head, clearly distracted. He began organizing mixing bowls, chopping stations, and measuring tools while Bex stood out of his way. His silence had the unintended effect of actually being quite loud. There was no way she could work like this.
"Alright, what's wrong?" Before she knew it, her hands were on her hips.
A bit discomfited by her outburst, perhaps because he wasn't expecting it, Severus grunted softly in surprise. The concern for him rang clear in her voice, and some of the stiffness left his shoulders as a result. In Bex's mind, everything had changed between them since that night in the Seer's divination tent – he'd shown a remarkable level of worry and care for her well-being. There was no way in hell she'd ever let him wonder whether or not she could be capable of reciprocating.
"Well?" she prodded.
He paused, and slowly sat a spoon down on the table. His lined, neutral face gave way to a small scowl.
"There he is."
An irritable hand pushed his hair out of his face. He then laid both palms on the table as he spoke, releasing a huff of annoyance. "It's Moody," he said hotly. "For most of this year, it has been Alastor Moody, and I can no longer tolerate the… insanity that is his presence."
Bex's brow furrowed. She was fortunate in that she'd rarely had any encounters with Moody thus far.
"What's he done? Beyond break a litany of rules by using transfiguration and Unforgivables on the students?"
Here, he paused in his preparations, and quirked a wry brow at her. "If I tell you, will you get on with the Sopophorous beans?"
Feeling her face grow warm, Bex took a moment to tie her hair back before reaching for the beans.
"Do you require a recipe card?"
"No. I'm crushing them, right?" She counted out thirteen beans.
"Correct." His tone embodied appreciation. Seeming to catch himself, he cleared his throat. "I've done my best to try to ignore the man, but he needles me every chance he gets. He's taken up the incredibly irritating habit of following me just about everywhere – the grounds, the dungeons, the Great Hall – nowhere is safe."
"The dungeons?" That certainly seemed a bit odd.
"Yes, I ran into our esteemed"– the sneer he wore as he prepped the potion base was full of loathing –"Defense professor just a few minutes ago on the eastern stairwell. I thought it was a student out of bed that I heard. As it turns out, it was just Moody… hobbling around in my affairs."
Bex frowned. She didn't answer for a few seconds, concentrating on her own task. Crushing the beans took a considerable amount of force and pressure; she flexed her forearm just so, using the weight of a glass dish to extract the liquid. Finally, when she had a measure of the milky substance in a small vial, she said, "You should go to the headmaster. It's becoming borderline harassment."
"I already have," he simmered. "In spite of my recurrent complaints, Dumbledore is all too keen to keep him on staff. Thereby making my life that much harder… but I suppose the benefit of having him here at Hogwarts far outweighs the problems he's causing."
Bex curved a brow upward, highly doubtful; it seemed as though the headmaster's motives remained largely elusive to everyone – including Severus, based on the bitterness in his voice.
She hummed in reply; a theory forming, gaining traction in her head the longer she worked. She hesitated only a split second before voicing her thoughts aloud.
"Moody.. could be the one breaking into your stores to steal your ingredients…?"
He glanced at her with a bemused expression on his face, considering if there was merit to her theory. Then, his frown deepened.
"Astonishingly, I would almost prefer that to be the case," he muttered. "I'd rather it be Mad-Eye looting supplies for some sort of paranoid delusion than the… alternative."
A small smile rippled over Bex's lips. "What's the alternative?"
Another sharp sigh. "Believe it or not, this is not the first year in which some of my rarer ingredients have gone missing. Therefore, I already have a… small list of potential culprits."
She tried to fight the smile growing larger on her face.
"Is it Potter and Company?"
His ensuing silence was more than telling. Bex threw her head back and released a much needed laugh, to Severus' utter bewilderment.
"You cannot be serious!" she finally cried, cleaning her knife.
"You have presumably seen Miss Granger's file?" he replied, adopting the same tone she'd used, with a distinctly mocking lilt. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he continued, undeterred. "Surely you know what the little cretins are capable of, if they deem a cause 'noble' enough. What's a few school rules when you are the Boy-Who-Lived?"
His voice ended on positively venomous note; for all the nougat in the world, Bex would not want to trade places with the Asphodel root being ground to dust in his mortar. She would have to tread carefully.
"So… you've decided that your suspects include Potter, Granger, and Weasley... and that's all?"
"Yes."
"I see." She diced the larger valerian root pieces slowly – meticulously. What grudge could Severus hold against a fourteen year old boy that made him so clearly blind and biased? "What did Moody say to tick you off so badly?" she asked, steering the subject away from Harry Potter.
He went quiet, harsh scowl softening, as though thinking about whether he should share. Bex's breath hitched a bit, wondering if the exchange between the two professors had anything to do with his… precarious position. At the slight sound, his eyes raised to meet hers, and something electrified at Bex's core. He sighed through his nose.
Can he feel it, too?
"The storerooms were broken into tonight, again," he said evenly, maintaining eye contact. "I was investigating when I ran into Filch screeching about Peeves."
"Peeves? The poltergeist?" Her mind raced even as she busied her hands. How convenient it was that Professor Moody seemed to be in the vicinity of this most recent breaking and entering… did Severus truly not see it? She bit her tongue against raising yet another accusation towards the ex-Auror, even though this was certainly a clue that pointed to –
"The very same, unfortunately." Bex blinked, Severus' voice bringing her out of her own thoughts.
"Filch came to be possession of a champion's egg," he said, "and deduced that it was Peeves who swiped it, rather than the more obvious answer that a student – likely none other than our resident Boy Wonder – dropped it whilst out of bed past curfew. We were searching for the little – we were searching for Potter when, curiously, we happened upon Mad-Eye. We… he offered to help investigate the break-in –"
"To which you declined, because you already have your culprit," Bex said softly, a playful smirk on her face.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his lip twitching slightly upward before his stoic expression returned. "Indeed. He believed my theory too wild... unfounded, even. And again called my loyalties into question."
"So… after that, you left."
"I left." He seized the cauldron, expertly adding essence of wyrmwood before stepping away to watch the potion change color. "He's mad. And although I can appreciate a healthy amount of skepticism, I've grown superbly fucking tired of fending off a retired Auror all year."
The urge to reach across the workbench and give his hand a squeeze was too powerful to ignore. And so, she did. His ears actually pinked a bit at the tops the moment her hand made contact with his skin, something she found quite sweet. She withdrew her hand so he would not have to be the one to do so, and said, "I would be tired, too, Severus. You're under an enormous amount of pressure right now."
He pursed his lips as though he wanted to say something, then scoffed harshly. Avoiding her gaze, he chose to instead stare into the bubbling cauldron. From where Bex was standing, however, she could see that his endlessly black eyes were subdued.
"You would know all about pressure," he whispered at last. "Wouldn't you?" There was almost something accusing in his tone. She'd heard that same voice from her aunt often enough to know that she should, perhaps, ignore it. Let it go for the time being. Deflect.
"Yeah," she said simply. "I guess I would."
He harrumphed, and motioned that the next ingredient was ready to be ready to be added. Bex had to move closer to him in order to do so, and tried to not let the faint scent of his aftershave distract her. Neither one of them seemed to really risk taking a breath. She added the sloth brain, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he was watching her. That he was a notably talented Potions Master didn't unsettle her – it was him. It was all that was still left unsaid between them. It was all that she was continuing to ignore, consequences be damned.
Severus allowed the potion to thicken and turn the correct shade – a bright cyan – before tossing in the flowerheads, and stirring.
Eventually, he found his words. "How… are you faring?"
Of course, ignoring it – letting it go – all hinged on him doing so as well.
"I'm – I'm fine."
He shot her a look of mock disgust. "If you are going to lie to me, please do it better than that."
She chuckled, eyebrows raised in surprise. "You just caught me off guard, you ass!"
He paid no attention to her insult, reaching for the valerian root to begin counterclockwise stirs. She paused, to allow him to concentrate on this more complex part of the brewing process, but to her stunned amazement, he murmured a dry, "You can speak."
Impressive, she thought, and sighed softly.
"I'm as well as can be expected." She passed the next ingredient, so that it could be added immediately after stirring.
"Ah. And how shall I expect you to be?"
"I…" Uncertainty stole her words. Had there really been any time to properly process the state of her own emotions? Yes… and, no. The revelations about her father – that he was Vītālinare, and that his plans for her were obstructed only by her mother – truthfully, it all changed or impacted frighteningly little. In terms of her sleeping habits, she was somewhere between a wraith and a zombie. Nevertheless, she gave one hundred and fifty percent of herself to the patients in her care. Having grown quite close to a good portion of the student population by this point, she now had a much deeper vested interest in their long-term health. Safety. Conspiracy to kill mediwitches and fatalistic prophecies aside – she still had a job to do. There wasn't any time to be anything but fine. Fine, well, and good, thank you.
Realizing she'd paused for awhile now, Bex took a deep breath. "Do you ever feel like you're treading water? No wand. No magic to help you. And like, you know you won't be able to continue treading forever… and you understand you'll drown if you just give up – but fear and exhaustion have begun seizing your muscle memory?"
He was staring at her now, and intensely, at that. His knuckles grew white on the stirring rod he was holding.
"That is how you should expect me to be," she continued in a softer voice, speaking past the growing boulder that lodged itself cleanly in her throat. "That's how I feel lately. Like I'm… only keeping my head above water. I'm not swimming, I can't even go on my back to float – I'm treading, indefinitely, and it's a terrifying feeling. I feel like – I know I'm going to slip away, drown, at any second, because there's nothing to hold onto. It's just me. Only me."
His lips were pressed into a thin line, and it looked like he was warring with himself over something internally. Reaching a resolution, he tore his eyes away from her to add the final piece of valerian root. The draught turned a pale pink color, indicating its completion. Severus then cast an immensely strong stasis charm over the cauldron, and turned so that Bex had his undivided attention.
"I… would not – will not –allow you to drown," he said, with a softness that rivaled her own. He wanted to say more – the furrow of his brow, the tightening of his jaw told her as much – but he swallowed instead, and then, silence took over. The only noise now was the low simmering of the cauldron, and the gentle breathing between the two of them as they regarded one another with building warmth. For now, it was enough.
The days following were busy, a whirlwind of activity as Bex found herself consumed by her responsibilities. She set a relentless pace for herself, leaving little time to ponder and reflect. Yet, try as she might, some breaks were simply necessary. It was a rare occasion that she was able to free herself from her duties for a brief respite and take a leisurely stroll on the grounds, usually lunging at the opportunity to seek solitude near the lake when such an opportunity presented itself. Today, however, as she neared the water's edge, she saw that the shores were dotted with teenagers. She sighed lightly and diverted to a large, shady oak tree near the owlry. With the Second Task looming just around the corner, there was a collective holding of breath by the entire school, and everyone sought a lull in the madness wherever one could be found. Bex remained beyond irritated by Dumbledore's insistence to keep even the vaguest details related to the task close to his chest – he declined even to tell her whether or not the draught she'd brewed with Severus would be used on the champions. (She hoped not, but she couldn't be assured.)
It was warmer today than it had been all week, and for her walk through the grounds, Bex chose to ditch her thick, green mediwitch robes in favor of a pair of jeans and a Muggle sweater. She conjured a blanket and sat heavily by the tree. From her spot there, a few meters away, she had a brilliant view of the owls coming and going from the owlry. They were actually quite noisy, she noted, despite it being daytime. Many of them simply flew large circles around the tower, swooping black inside and out again, as though they were playing. Their antics reminded Bex that she had a letter to write to Rowan.
Her gaze traveled downward and she brought her knees up a bit closer to her chest. A fissure of self-doubt curled unpleasantly in her tummy. It was probably time to tell Rowan about Severus. But... she didn't want to jinx anything.
Jinx? Are you hoping?
She bit her lip at the thought. No, there wasn't any doubt about the odd affection she held for him, but.. did he feel the same towards her? The fleeting glances he often sent her way told her… maybe? She thought about the night of the Yule Ball, where she'd laughed and danced with him, and stood close enough to really inhale his woodsy aftershave for the first time. He'd supported her tightly against him, like he was trying to relay a secret with his proximity, and Bex got the feeling they'd both sensed a… shift in the other's energy. He'd allowed her to kiss him – well, his cheek, anyhow. And his words the other night, about how he wouldn't allow her to drown, following her own admission, almost confirmed it. Severus felt.. something, if even to a finite degree.
Or was she just projecting her own feelings onto him?
Bex sighed deeply, watching Hedwig swoop against the pale, yellow sky. With the potential for humiliation being as great as it was, there was no fathomable way she'd be fessing this one up to him any time soon.
A loud, squalling cry broke Bex free of her internal monologue, and she looked up sharply at the noise in surprise. A large crow with a deep scar on its beak peered down at her curiously. The black bird made another, similar noise, but shorter and more along the lines of chirping. Bex raised a brow.
"Well, are you going to come down here and greet me properly, or will you just keep squawking at me from up there?"
The crow tilted its head as though making up its mind. It tittered, then flew down from its perch, landing on a nearby rock still a safe distance away. They studied each other in this way for awhile. The crow blinked intelligently and Bex smiled at the small creature. With a murmured "hold on," she went digging in the front pocket of her denims, and after a moment, produced some owl treats.
"I'm not sure if these will be to your liking," she said, tossing a few near the rock. The crow looked down at the pellets, then back up at the matron like it was trying to gauge her intentions.
Bex scoffed. "I'm a witch. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't use food to do it."
It blinked again, then released a long, shrill caw before hopping off the safety of the rock and pecking at the owl treats in the grass. It kept a sharp eye on Bex, prepared to take to the skies should it feel the slightest threat; just based on the rough, jagged scar across the crow's sleek beak, she could hardly blame it an ounce.
"Curious thing," she said softly. It warbled a reply, eliciting a chuckle from Bex.
Upon finishing the offered snack, the crow spent some time preening its feathers before it continued its staring. She longed for it to come just a bit closer, so she could pet the smooth feathers of its head – but it likely wouldn't allow her to, seeing as they just met.
"I've got to be going soon. And I didn't even catch your name."
If she didn't know any better, she would say that it was casting a look of exasperation her way.
"Oh, very sassy then. Edgar is too cliché, though. Plus, we don't know if you're a male crow, now do we?"
It squawked as though to say, I know very well what I am, thank you.
Bex chuckled again, standing so she could vanish the blanket she'd been sitting on; at her sudden movements, the crow flew off the ground, flapping magnificent black wings and settling on a low branch so that they could continue interacting.
"No, Edgar won't do," Bex said thoughtfully. "How about Auguste?" At its cry of indignation, she replied, "Too on the nose?"
The crow preened its feathers as though growing weary of this game.
"Hmm… Bram? Ezra?"
It paused in its cleaning and lifted its head, black eyes blinking at her sagely. Releasing a melodic caw, it launched itself into the air with its wings spread wide in flight.
"Ezra it is, then," whispered Bex, watching him disappear over the horizon.
She began her journey back to the infirmary, respite nearly over. So distracted was she with thoughts of her new little friend, hoping he would return to her someday soon, that she didn't notice Severus until he was practically upon her. His stride carried urgency, and before she could say "hello," he was snapping at her.
"Where the hell were you?" He invaded her space, and Bex felt her face flush. His hands twitched at his sides as if he wanted to touch her – he settled for folding his arms instead. Bex's eyes darted back and forth down the corridor where they were currently. Fortunately, it was vacant.
"Wh– Out. I was out." She flushed harder and became irritated with herself for doing so. It was one of her biggest pet peeves that he could evoke such a reaction out of her. "What's your problem?"
He glared with the sort of impatience usually reserved for his students, but Bex noticed that a lot of the haste and apprehension had left his body. She tilted her head in curiosity, eyebrows furrowed.
"There was another werewolf attack. Near Aranshire."
A cold lump settled in the bottom of her gut. Her eyes went wide and she was sure she was giving Severus her best impression of a dying fish. That was so close to the school.
He took in her shock, the glare fading from his face. "Come. I was just in the Hospital Wing and it should still be unoccupied."
She shook her head, a faint panic encompassing every inch of her nerves. "You were looking for me…?"
This time, he did not hesitate to touch her. With a covert glance over his shoulder, he steered her towards the infirmary. The gentle, yet firm pressure from his hands once again centered and grounded her; she could not help making the comparison when her mind flashed back to the night of his birthday.
Once he was sure they were completely alone within the stone walls of the Hospital Wing, Severus released her. He closed the doors behind them and turned to her slowly – Bex would have giggled at his dramatics had the weight of their situation not been pressing down on her from all sides.
"Who?"
"They are not releasing her name," he replied darkly, and for some reason, refused to look her in the face. "All we know is that she was a midwife, and she worked at St. Mungo's for… some time."
Was.
A brief stretch of silence.
"Another mediwitch is dead."
"Yes."
Some anxiety was alleviated knowing that the students were, perhaps, in less danger – only to swiftly be replaced by a niggling of fear for her own safety, as well as a deep sadness for the Healer's life that was cut short.
"When – when did this…?"
"Last night, during the full moon," he answered, and rolled his shoulders back in discomfort. "Both Dumbledore and the Ministry have decided to keep the whole thing under lock and key for the time being."
"Because of the tournament," spat Bex.
"Precisely."
Her lips formed a line. The more she got to know the headmaster whom everyone held in such high regard, the more ambiguous his intentions became.
"So, he won't be informing any of the other staff?"
"Not to my knowledge, no. Minerva and myself were only informed because we conveniently happened to be present when the news was delivered. He requested that we keep it all... hush for now. You will do the same."
"This is insanity," she murmured, and he gave her a pointed look in response. "What are we meant to do to keep the children safe with over half the staff ignorant?"
"Visits to Hogsmeade will be heavily chaperoned for the remainder of the year until the rogues are apprehended by the Werewolf Capture Unit – who will be conducting regular sweeps of the school grounds and surrounding hamlets."
His hands were clasped firmly behind his back now, dark eyes penetrating her to her core. His shoulders were rigid – his entire body was tense, pulled taut like a wire. Bex shivered, and it had nothing to do with the lump still lodged in her belly. There was more he wanted to say, once again, but he refused to allow the words to part from his mouth.
"Severus, what else?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
"I –" He cleared his throat. "You need to be careful, Rebecca, particularly around those of whom you do not know well. As of now, it is safe to assume the rogues are going only after Healers, for reasons still currently unknown to us. That therefore means you have a target painted squarely on your back." He'd started pacing, paranoid thoughts visibly swallowing his soundness of mind piece by piece. "And if we send you back to America, the brats are left without a matron – hardly an option – How good is your defense?"
"I – What?!" she blurted just as he spun to face her. "I-I'm not leaving. I'm afraid but I'm not that afraid, Severus. And my defense is beyond reproach –"
"Stupefy!"
"Protego!"
The stunner Severus sent hurtling her way ricocheted off of the shield she'd thrown up reflexively, and burst into different hues of red light.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?!" Bex cried furiously. But clearly he had, for he'd resumed pacing not even seconds after trying to stun her. He was muttering to himself as though she wasn't even there. Feeling brazen, Bex stepped in his path, physically blocking his way with her body. Arms crossed, feet apart, hip popped to the side. It brought him up short, just as she'd anticipated it would. She raised her brows incredulously.
"Believe me – when I have taken leave of my senses, you will know," he said, staring down at her with an emotion that couldn't be placed, no matter how hard she tried. He continued, "Poppy Pomfrey was slaughtered on the grounds of this very school – I will not have you succumbing to the same fate."
"So I won't," Bex replied, some of her anger dissipating now that she better understood his motivation for suddenly attacking her.
He sneered, but it was without any real bite. "You say that like it is so simple."
"It is. Between my defense skills and your willful, frankly obsessive determination… I'll be just fine."
She could actually see his laugh before hearing it – beginning in the crinkling of his eyes and continuing at a rumble inside his chest. His smile was boyish in quality. Almost mischievous and definitely endearing. Utterly captivated by the whimsical nature of the moment, Bex found herself exhaling a laugh of her own.
"Obsessive would be the word for it, hm?" he said, once able to regain control of his faculties. In a single movement, one of his hands came up to her ear, to sweep away a stray curl that escaped her pineapple in their brief duel. He did it so casually, like he'd been thinking of doing such for some – he froze, fingers still hovering by her ear, surprise at his own impropriety clouding his features.
"My apologies –"
"Don't," Bex said quickly, rushing to cut off the straining in his voice. Her heart slammed in her chest. "Damn hair does whatever it pleases half the time."
"So I've seen." His hand was back by his side, and instead of a sneer – another shadow of a smile that soon turned down at the sides. "There is not much the Capture Unit will be able to do until the next full moon. For the love of Circe, Rebecca – do not go wandering out at night unaccompanied."
"Severus, if you wanted another date, you need only ask."
His jaw clenched, the corners of his mouth twitching again. He seemed to be fighting back a blush, as she saw two small spots of pink appear and disappear in record time on high cheeks. With a muttered, "Minerva hopes you will join us in her rooms for a nightcap later – midnight," Severus fled the Hospital Wing with great haste, having delivered the news he'd come to bear.
But Bex still had an unimaginable amount of questions.
Why was Dumbledore being so secretive, and at the risk of jeopardizing children's lives? Why does the Minister of Magic seem so incapable? Surely, it would be safest for everyone if they knew the danger was escalating? Along those same lines, would it not be ethical to inform parents – families – of this latest attack that took place near the school, less than a year from the first? Bex frowned, refreshing the linens on the infirmary beds as she passed them. There were undoubtedly a multitude of higher political powers at play here; so she would have to be careful, and heed Severus' warning, keeping this information as close to her chest as he and Minerva.
However, no one – not even a Potions Master with heady aftershave and a hauntingly beautiful laugh – could stop her from safeguarding her only family.
Septima was, of course, stunned.
Seemingly less so that there was another werewolf attack so close to the school, and more that she wouldn't be reading about it in any upcoming issue of the Daily Prophet.
"I cannot believe they're going so far as to cover this whole thing up." Septima shook her head in astonishment.
"That poor witch's family," replied Bex. She popped a grape into her mouth, and continued scribbling relentlessly on her clipboard at her desk.
"I imagine they'll be paid quite handsomely by the Ministry for maintaining their silence," Septima said bitterly; her tone so hard, Bex glanced up from her reports.
"Are these the dark forces you were referring to in your letter, Auntie?"
The Arithmancy professor snorted. "Good portion of them, I bet."
"I can't tell if you're being facetious."
"Lucius Malfoy is on the Board of Governors." Septima gave a shrewd sniff. "That should tell you all you need to know."
Bex's quill faltered only a little bit, and she hummed a noncommittal response. For generations, the Malfoys had been (in her opinion) objectively deplorable, and Lucius was, by all accounts, living up nobly to the name. His son, on the other hand, though a complete asshole even at the tender age of fifteen, didn't necessarily strike Bex as evil. A spoiled, entitled bully, to be sure, but not a malevolent, murderous wizard in the making; on more than one occasion, she'd even witnessed his covert support for the younger Slytherins, whether that was helping them with homework or ensuring they could adequately defend against wayward bullies themselves. And with his stellar marks, Draco Malfoy was easily prefect material... if it weren't for his childish pranks.
Still, in spite of all these dubiously hopeful qualities (where it seemed nature might win out over nurture), Bex had been unequivocally shocked to learn that the young Slytherin was, in fact, Severus' godson. Over drinks some time ago, courtesy of Minerva, who'd revealed the information just as casually as if she were relaying her plans for the next day.
"That's why it always seems like Severus favors the squealing bag o' mince. Because he does."
It made Bex wonder – who was Severus when she was not around? When their magic wasn't so finely attuned to the other's, that the energy in the room danced and shifted, making her world turn upside down on its axis? Her heart pounded with uncertainty. Who was this man in those moments when he slipped away into the shadows, playing dangerous games and reaping no just reward? There was simply no circumstance that Bex could think of where the Malfoys would name him their only heir's godfather, if he was not close to the family in some capacity. The Severus she knew, the one she felt so deeply connected to, seemed worlds apart from the man who moved in the same circles as the Malfoys. Could she truly reconcile these two images, or was she deluding herself? It made her speculate harder his intentions, though she'd already told herself she would give him the benefit of the doubt.
Should you?
Yes, especially after the Night Circus.
You're being naive.
The presence of these "dark forces" seemed to loom over her, shadowing her every thought and casting doubt on everything she believed. Bex couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something crucial, some key detail that would either cement her faith in Severus or shatter it completely.
She cleared her throat and whispered, "Almost done," before she switched the parchment on her clipboard. She was in the middle of writing out multiple incident reports for an accident that occurred in the greenhouses, and Septima joined her in the Hospital Wing for the tedious task. The Arithmancy professor temporarily transfigured her niece's record player into a portable tube radio, and instead of the familiar Iron Maiden, Bex was made to listen to the Wizarding Wireless Network. They were currently tuned into a biographical feature about the world-famous Greek witch, Dorcas Wellbeloved, and although Bex would've preferred music while she worked, she enjoyed the company of her aunt – droning talk radio included, unfortunately.
"It's hard to know who to trust and with what these days," continued the elder, to which Bex made a noise of agreement. "Makes me especially angry that the headmaster is withholding news of a murder from us all. Aphrodite's name – how are we meant to keep all of these students safe with rogues lurking so near the school?"
"Severus told me Dumbledore is going to increase chaperoning detail to and from Hogsmeade – the Werewolf Capture Unit will also be combing the grounds weekly."
"Neither of which will arouse any suspicion whatsoever, now will it?" She paused for a few moments to watch her niece, the voice of Mia Hedgerow filling the silence. Bex knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth.
"So…" Septima cleared her throat delicately and reached for another candied grape in an attempt to act casual. "You seem to be growing more fond of Severus these days?"
Good gods. She chose to meet her aunt's question with a question.
"Would you call it that?"
"I would."
"Then, yes, I suppose I am. He's still an asshole, though."
At this, Septima cackled and nodded. "That he is, my dear, that he is. Although…"
"Yes?" Bex looked up sharply; she'd finished off the incident reports with an elegant signature, denoting her matron status.
"In spite of his rather prickly nature, it appears he's warmed to you considerably. I can't say I've ever seen him this way with another member of staff."
Before Bex's heart could begin properly racing at the implications of that particular statement, the lilting voice of Celestina Warbeck was interrupted on the wireless – a Special Broadcast Bulletin. In unison, Bex and Septima craned their necks toward the speaker, with the latter snapping her fingers to increase the volume.
"A public service announcement from the Ministry of Magic Public Information Services. My name is Ymir Stoneguard and I am here now to bring you a breaking news bulletin.
At 2:37 this early morning, Aurors at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement detected an unusually high amount of magical activity in a Muggle village near Lichfield; this activity was soon followed by a notice that an uncontrolled Fiendfyre was ignited, spreading to surrounding homes in the village."
Bex inhaled sharply. Her eyes widened a bit, and a large lump settled itself neatly in her throat.
Oh, no…
"Aurors immediately responded to the scene, where the burned remains of the Ministry's own Legory Naurank, his young daughter, age two (name withheld), and three neighboring Muggles were found in an apparent act of homicide, followed by suicide."
"Merlin…" whispered Septima.
"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be thoroughly investigating the incident alongside the Department of Mysteries, where Naurank was employed, to determine a potential motivation for the crime. Our Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge vows to keep the wizarding community informed as this case develops. By all accounts, Naurank was an otherwise exemplary father and laborer. However, some close to him have suggested that the intense and increasingly secretive nature of his work at the Department of Mysteries may have taken a toll on his mental health. Concerns had been raised regarding the high-stress environment and its impact on Naurank's wellbeing. He and his daughter leave behind a paternal grandmother, Anya Naurank, who stepped in to help support the family after the tragic passing of Legory's Muggle wife. According to Anya and the Department of Mysteries, Naurank and his daughter will be deeply, sorely missed. This has been a breaking news bulletin from the Ministry of Magic Public Information Services. Take care, be well, and stay safe."
There was a stillness in the infirmary, like neither witch dared to breathe. Celestina Warbeck's voice returned to the radio, clear and cheerful, as though her show hadn't been interrupted at all. Bex's stomach churned, and when she tried to swallow past the rock in her throat, she almost vomited. She pressed a hand to her mouth in a visible show that she might be sick. Septima's eyes shifted from the wireless to her niece, widening in horror at the faraway look on the young Healer's face.
"You… knew him?" She needn't say more – they were both aware of what deeper meaning her question held.
Bex flinched. The question landed on a sore spot. A wound, really. Dozens of thoughts clashed for space in her mind. Her breath came out in a shudder. She blinked. Unbeknownst to her, a single tear escaped. The warm, weathered hand of her great aunt slipped over her own, grounding her emotions almost instantly. In that moment, she was so thankful for Septima's unwavering love – so strong, it was a tangible force – that a few more tears fell from her long, dark lashes. She nodded, unable to form the words. Holding tight to the resolution that she wouldn't crumble. She could not crumble. Not here.
"Oh, Legory…" She choked on his name, the syllables turning to ash in her mouth.
RK + SS
Eight… nine. Ten.
The next time Severus thought he was being so sly as to glance the fireplace whenever he suspected she was not looking, Minerva finally had to consider showing him, perhaps, just the slightest bit of mercy. The boy rarely fidgeted, and typically only did so when he was in a great deal of distress, so the current tapping of his foot indicated something was deeply troubling him.
"She will not be here tonight, Severus," said the Transfiguration Mistress with as much nonchalance she could muster. "If that's who you're hoping will step out of that Floo, anyhow. Queen to G-4."
The fidgeting stopped. In fact, he went still as stone. Minerva resisted the urge to look up at him, instead watching the chess pieces play out their battle. Her queen stood from the throne on which she was previously sitting, and used it to bludgeon Severus' bishop to bits.
Finally, he seemed to have absorbed her words enough to formulate a reply.
"What – Did she say why she would not be in attendance?"
Minerva glanced at him curiously to see that the careful facade of neutrality was currently slipping from his face to reveal… was that sorrow, or regret? It was then that she knew, and something fierce – something warm and maternal grew eagerly inside of her.
"Ah, yes, she mentioned she'd taken ill, but between you and I – she was looking right dour. Like something quite dense was burdening the poor girl's mind."
He scoffed, but his pride could not stop his head from turning to the door, nor could it prevent the words that fell from his mouth.
"Perhaps I should go check on her…"
Minerva quirked a thin brow. "You will do no such thing. Make your play, lad."
He scowled, prepared to launch himself out of his seat. "If the matron has taken sick as she has said –"
"The matron?" Minerva smirked, eyes flashing in mirth. "Severus, you insult my intelligence. I happen to know you two are far more familiar than that."
"Rebecca is a colleague," he said, almost automatically like he'd rehearsed the line for some time. His face was hard, a profusion of thoughts brewing beyond black eyes. He knocked back a shot of Irish whiskey.
"Queen to G-7," he murmured quite sullenly.
Minerva levitated another log near the hearth, feeding it to the roaring fire in hopes of knocking the chill in her rooms down a little. She was fortunate that, because the Gryffindor Head of House's living quarters were located in one of the tallest towers of the castle, all the heat from the lower floors traveled up to keep her toes from freezing off at night. She'd long ago gotten the impression that Severus often sought her company here, in her rooms, for that same reason. It had to be so terribly cold in the dungeons.
Minerva watched him now, one long finger tapping out a soft rhythm on his armrest, glass still clasped expertly in hand as he glared down the chessboard. The tips of his ears were slightly pinked, a telltale sign he was "in his cups" so to speak. And therefore more apt to persuasion; that was her hope, at least. She desperately needed to get to the bottom of a few things.
"I'd say she's become more than just a colleague, Severus," she stated carefully, gauging his reaction, though he remained stoic as ever. "Which leads me to believe you know a great deal more than you're letting on."
Finally, a sneer. "You assume too much, Minerva."
"Oh, that isn't based on an assumption, my dear boy. You two seemed to be very… close at the Yule Ball."
"Wench," he snapped without any real bite. "We were alone. How did you…?"
An irritable look grew on Minerva's face, and she scoffed. "You and Albus are both positively insufferable with that, you know?" At his raised brow, she continued, "You are not the only ones with eyes and ears in this place, and you would do well to remember as much!"
It was his turn to scoff, and he moved his head so that some of his hair obscured his face. But she did not give him time to reply.
"You told her, didn't you?" she asked, lacking any real accusation in her voice. "Against the headmaster's wishes?"
There was a long pause, during which she assumed he was weighing all of his options. In true Slytherin fashion, of course. His posture was impossibly rigid, and his entire body seemed to clench before he uttered three damning words.
"I had to."
"I agree."
Once again, he looked at her in disbelief, racing to rationalize her words before she could even offer an explanation. She sighed in mock frustration, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking very much the ill-tempered, ill-treated eleven year old who entered Hogwarts for the very first time so many years ago. Her heart broke for that child, mitigated only by the fact that the wizard sitting before her usually carried himself with such strength, such resilience… no one who knew him now would ever suspect who he was then.
"I agree with your decision to keep her informed, as I can once again only assume the news of another Healer's death is what has her so upset in the first place. The poor girl was clearly distraught in the Great Hall this evening – she barely ate her food, just sat there picking at it."
He maintained his silence, but at the mention of Bex's distress, his hand clenched harder around his drink. Body shifting ever so slightly towards the door as though he intended to make a breath for it. However, Minerva was having none of that.
"I actually planned to inform her myself, right here and now – with both of us present. But someone was too bloody hasty."
Silence. And then, "I… did not know that was what you'd intended."
Minerva chuckled humorlessly. "How could you? You slithered out of sight before I could pull you aside to speak alone. It does not serve her well to keep her in the dark. And, loathe as you are to admit it, you are not the only one who cares about her enough to want to keep her safe."
"I –" A lie was on the tip of his tongue; he was about to insist that he did not care. But the friends had agreed once, long ago, to never so blatantly lie to one another like that, if they weren't being held at the end of an Unbreakable Vow. And so, he screwed up his face, and proceeded to pour himself another drink. Minerva smiled a small, triumphant smile before instructing a bishop to seize one of Severus' pawns. She unabashedly steered the conversation into safer, more familiar territory, bringing up Potter, the tournament, O.W.L.s. He took the bait without much luring, relaxing into the chair once more.