Hi,
An upload by the schedule, I hope you're all proud of me! (grinning madly)
Welcome new followers to this story! I was so happy to see you joined! Thank you for the reviews too! I love them, and can't wait to read your thoughts about all that comes next!
(BlueWater5: Whether the Slytherins believe the Gryffindors standing on the "good side" or they are just too green to express themselves properly we shall see :) And about Time Turner users... yes, I believe that is unavoidable for them to meet. Whether it would help any of them or would be annoying should remain yet a secret.)
We are about to finish the introductory chapters with this one, and then the story will take up a notch. I need to warn you though, this one will flow verrrrry slowly. Maybe it will come as a reassurance that I have it all outlined and partially written till the very end. I've even finished the last scene of the last chapter and I want you all to see that, so by all intentions and as far as a human can plan: This will be finished and published in a good pace.
Of course, this is Rowling's world, and I'm still grateful to play. Whatever you recognize belongs to her or to the magnificent musicians Anne loves so dearly.
Please enjoy:
TN
Chapter 9.
7th September to 31th October1992
(14)
Compared to her fright on Friday evening or the whole infernal week, Saturday proved slow and calm for Anne. She hardly had more to do but lie down and read Lockhart's books. Which she did for five hours in the morning in her dorm, then for five hours in the morning in her side tower, admittedly nodding off at some point. Then for five hours in the afternoon in her side tower, followed by five hours of additional reading in her dorm.
By the end, she was knackered, sore and stiff, hated all banshees, vampires and trolls of the world, and swore not to ever open a book again. At least not by one Gilderoy Lockhart. The man sounded like a hero from Hestia's books, only lacking a female protagonist to harass – she reckoned that was supposed to be the reader.
When the Carrows called her to the Quidditch pitch to have some fun goading the Gryffindors, she was happy to join them. For the first time since she was at Hogwarts, she'd even left the remains of her various snacks for the house elves to throw away.
"Of course, it's only literature," – Hestia explained the Lockhart phenomenon, finally walking outside. "No one wants to see a sweaty old thug making deals with trolls! That's nonsense! But you still learn about trolls, banshees, and vampires, because he makes you read through it all. And he is a sight for sore eyes. Better to watch him in those pictures than vampires or trolls."
"So, you believe he is lying for educational purposes?" – Anne stared at Hestia. "Like a propaganda booklet or what, just for the females?"
"I wouldn't exclude anyone," – Flora chimed in. "There's Lucian in the fourth year, he is quite taken with him too. Aaaand I've heard from Sophie that Lockhart didn't do anything to… ehm… temper his enthusiasm," – she tittered with glee.
"NO!" – Hestia cried, "When did she say this?"
"Last night when you were under the shower. Would you fault him?"
"Lockhart or Lucian?" – Anne asked, confused.
The Carrow girls laughed.
"Either of them!" – Flora replied. "Lockhart is, well, Lockhart. And Lucian has those shiny green eyes that beg for daydreams. He's a good beater, too. I hope he'll get into the team again! And to watch is not a sin," – she finished twinkling at Marcus Flint, who unfortunately seemed to have better things on his mind.
Their boys arrived at the Quidditch pitch nibbling at some chocolate biscuits and a paper bag of crisps Higgs somehow made the elves do something so they would taste salt and vinegar. The second years were already there, stopping the Gryffindor tryouts. They made quite a show with Flint pulling out Snape's permission slip to expropriate the Quidditch pitch, and Oliver Wood's mouth hung open.
When the Malfoy kid showed off a Nimbus 2001, even Vaisey sighed wistfully. Malcolm practically trembled next to Anne when he looked at the broom. The boys were hilarious, and Anne laughed at them with the Carrows until the Gryffs began the shouting match.
Malfoy pointed out that Potter's friend was a Mudblood, which was no news, really, but the youngest Weasley pulled his wand. Suddenly the levity was lost, and the Slytherin third years stood up behind the second years. However, it was all for nought. Hestia was the first to double over with laughter, then the second years erupted in cheers too – the silly boy cursed himself!
"Bloody Merlin, what a dork!" – The younger Warrington cried out when his friends took the Weasley kid away.
"Just in time," - Flora pointed out, "before my appetite was lost. Did you see that slug? Sweet Circe!"
Anne secretly thought that Higgs wouldn't have minded if Flora lost appetite - at least he complained she had most of his precious crisps.
When Hestia told Malcolm they had enough of this nonsense, he and Vaisey chivalrously took the girls back to the Great Hall. Dinner had not been this cheerful for a long time. It was truly inconvenient to get that ominous feeling in the middle of it all….
Anne made good with her now usual feeble protection on her mind and could enjoy socializing more than at any time in the past year. Right until that ominous feeling surprised her from out of nowhere. It had no definite source as if it was only a warning… a threat from the walls… or…
Anne took a deep breath and closed the door of the house in her mind. Instead, she kept peeking through the window, suddenly feeling distant and detached from her housemates. Malcolm, of course, noticed the change.
"Hey, are you alright?"
"Sure," – Anne tried to make up an explanation, but Flora had to cackle in:
"She can't keep up. Let her be! The witchling must have remembered some homework or whatever, have you?"
"Yeah, you know what, I think I'd probably better look it up already…" – she told them and walked up to the third-floor corridor.
There was still time enough before curfew, and she felt lame for wanting to tell them she knew she was no fun. It wasn't true! She loved fun! She just… with a sigh, she sat down by the wall, pulled out a parchment and began a letter for Rachel. Social anxiety was something even a Muggle understood. Madame Pince had inadvertently given her a chance to finally tell someone about her life at Hogwarts, the insane number of classes, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, yoga, her embarrassment of falling asleep on Filch's desk and the mystery of Madame Pomfrey and Madame Pince trying to help her 'against' Snape. She trusted Professor Snape. Even if she saw him as a Maniac. She wrote about that part too.
Ten minutes before curfew, she was calmed by her long letter and looked around for entertainment in the corridor. A chatty portrait would have done, but there wasn't any around this part of the castle. Her bracelet shone up, and Professor Snape appeared in the hall. Anne belatedly recognized that she was at the part of the corridor restricted for students last year.
Without a greeting, her Professor approached a heavy door and held it open for her to enter. "Miss Rosier, you don't need to be alarmed. This is only an experiment about your abilities," – he began after warding the door behind them.
Anne remembered when he last used that word and thought he must have recalled the incident too. She had almost looked into his mind then. But that didn't need a particular location.
"Are you well rested?"
Anne bit her tongue because she doubted she would ever be until the time turner hung from her neck. "I hope, sir."
Snape's eyes narrowed on her, but he didn't push the matter.
"Have you practiced Ephsos' meditations?"
"Not today, sir. I had homework, and–"
"I told you, Rosier, the rule was daily practice," – he admonished. "However, your lack of discipline may be even fortuitous this time. Are you doing your visualization?"
"I'm hiding at the back of my mind, sir."
"Acceptable. Now, I want you to eliminate all your defences."
Anne stared. Was he serious? She remembered that ominous feeling at the dinner and cursed her luck for pushing her into such an embarrassment. She knew she would lose whatever meagre control she had, even if Snape would not disturb her with constant noise.
"I will stay and listen. I will not let you come to harm," – he tried to reassure her, but a Snape reassurance always came with feeling inadequate and small, which didn't help.
"Sir, I will freak out. There's something about the walls, I have already sensed it… or I just cannot stand the chatter and Flora Carrow's right, and-"
"Miss Rosier," – Snape's voice came as a warning. "I am not playing games like your classmates. You may walk away now and rely on nosy witches' assistance or stay and do as I say. Clearly, you will survive with the techniques Madame Pince is about to teach you, so you don't need my help."
First, Anne cursed his ego for obviously wishing for an answer like the hell she wouldn't need him, but then it hit her how honest he'd been. Ephsos, even doing his techniques badly, was a tremendous help. She could do all the work in class, stood her place even in Potions, and managed to outbalance Lockhart – with a minor hiccup.
She really could do this!
But there was something about Professor Snape and the void she felt: memories of times she'd been grateful, curiosity, and the potential for something…. She also remembered that peculiar feeling a year ago, when she had the impression as if Snape's tortured mind hungered for attention against the inherent pain.
She swallowed her confusion and imagined walking out from her visualized hiding. As soon as she stepped through the door, there was nothing between her and the world, giving Ephsos' words about building a boundary from elemental magic to protect 'one's innermost self' meaning again. She was yet to understand that part.
The ominous feeling that bothered her at dinner was palpable still but only like background noise. She rather felt frightened and strangely sleepy at the same time.
"What happened in this room, Professor?" – Anne asked with a yawn.
"I'd like you to tell me, Miss Rosier. What can you sense?"
"I'm sleepy," – she was quick to relate that. "Also, I'm frightened. I just cannot care…" – she took some steps into the room, and her shoe caught on some metal standing out from the floor. "I miss my aunt," – she complained, half in a daze by drowsiness. She leaned over to see that strange thing among the floorboards, and when it proved to be a metal ring, she lifted a trapdoor with it.
Suddenly excited, Anne felt the wind from underneath had blown the fatigue away.
"I feel I'm getting closer!" – she exclaimed eagerly and peeked through the hole. She should get down there, there will be what she needed!
"Closer to what, Miss Rosier?"
"I don't know, but I need that! Sir, I must go down there!" – Anne tried to explain, but the pull was so strong she couldn't wait for his reply. She tried to climb down and only came to her senses when nothing but her hands held her and her legs still didn't touch the ground.
"Help me, it's too deep!"
Snape grumbled something under his breath, and Anne felt weightlessly levitating to seemingly endless depths under the third floor. When she finally slid on the floor, she began to panic.
"I can't breathe! Shite, there's no escape! I can't breathe here! It's squeezing me!"
Professor Snape landed next to her and lit the tiny flame at the edge of his wand.
"There must also be other things to feel, girl. Focus on something else!" – he grunted, and his annoyance was grounding enough to rely on it. It was steady and solid, and Anne finally felt a little better.
Even triumphant. She can do this! it cannot be hard! she was brighter and saw and sensed more than anyone else in the castle!
"I need it!" – she decided and jumped up from the floor. She ran to a door and tore it open, only to feel her excitement rising and her blood boiling with enthusiasm and optimism. "This isn't even hard!" – she cried and ran to the next door.
The draft from that room slapped her in the face with terror and determination.
"You won't let them hurt me, sir, would you? I need to get it! I need to get through–"
"What are those that hurt you, Miss Rosier? Why do you need to be protected?"
Anne stared at him wide-eyed, then at the empty room. "Big… things… I don't know," – she shook her head.
"What do you sense, girl?" – Snape persevered.
"Something big, frightening… it wants a fight… but I need to get through because I need it!"
"What – do – you – need?"
"Sir, I DON'T KNOW!" – Anne shouted, trembling with fright and effort. "I would do anything… also… he would kill me if I didn't get it, and I can't live without it! I want to live. I must go!"
Professor Snape shook her by both shoulders, only strong enough to make her look into his eyes. "Who?" – He asked her. "Who is that would kill you? What can't you live without?" Anne shook her head, sobbing, and he let her hunch her shoulders. "That's enough, Miss Rosier. We shall leave now."
Anne jerked her head up. "No, you cannot make me!" – she exclaimed, ducked under Snape's arm and ran to the next door.
It was silent behind it. Contemplative silence, a hint of triumph, and anticipation.
"Miss Rosier, I asked you to lea–"
"A traitor will not stop me! I'm so close! I will get what I want!" – Anne tore off into a run and got to the next door that led into a strange chamber. It was almost rounded, and it felt –
Anne cried out and collapsed with a scream.
"Miss Rosier! Dammit, Miss Rosier! Don't make me pour more of this into you, girl!" – Anne came to her senses feeling strangely calm, with a face that felt cold and hollow. Professor Snape crunched beside her on some stairs, and he had a phial with a purple liquid in his hand.
"Se-sedative?" – she breathed, not sensing her mouth as it moved.
Snape nodded, and he seemed strangely wrong footed… as if he regretted something and couldn't say or wished to be somewhere else. Maybe both, Anne decided.
"I'm alright, sir. What happened?"
"You called me a traitor, ran inside here like a soul possessed, and collapsed on the stairs," – Snape drawled. "Can you sit up?"
Anne tried. It was easy, only her head felt hollow, and the emotions swirling around them seemed distant. "Death –" she breathed. "Something vile… it is angry…he couldn't get what he needed. He needed it so much he won't give up! …So determined! And then there was death and pain – and… regrets?" – She looked at her Professor, disoriented by the swirling emotions. At least this time, they were outside of her chest. "Why would I call you a traitor, sir?"
Snape lifted both eyebrows. "Who knows?"
He helped Anne stand up and let her lean onto his arm until she regained her balance.
"Hell of a sedative," – she mumbled.
"Language, Rosier, you don't want to advertise that you're drugged."
"No sir," – Anne tried to hide her grin, but she still had trouble controlling her face. Especially her lips. "Will you take house points?"
Professor Snape hid his face behind a palm. "I might," – he grumbled unconvincingly. Anne had the impression he fought against a smile.
"Sir, if I ask where we are or what we've been doing, would you answer and just fault it on the sedative?"
"You are flying, Rosier, not I," – Snape reminded.
"Please, sir," – Anne tried again. "This whole thing…I remember I was angry at you. So angry and disappointed… I don't know. What were we supposed to chase?"
It took a long time for Snape to answer. They were almost back on the third floor by some hidden staircase Anne wouldn't have founded if she had tried. Her Professor took her arm twice when she overbalanced on the steps. It was so embarrassing she'd almost forgotten she'd asked.
"The death and the fright most likely belonged to the man you had known as Professor Quirrell. You did him a favour, Miss Rosier, one that no other could: To know he had had regrets before he'd died is something none of us would have expected," – he sighed. "It shows him in a better light, although he cannot erase his sins."
"Sins?" – Anne repeated. "I- I remember I sensed something bothering in him… something awful, but not as vile as this thing…."
Professor Snape nodded thoughtfully. "Have you heard the gossip, Miss Rosier?"
Hogwarts was full of gossip. She had to think about all he'd heard after Quirrell had died. Then it came to her: the conversation she had overheard. The one when Snape told Mr. Filch that someone died and someone would return. But it was nonsense!
"People say that Harry Potter killed him. They also babble about something with the Dark Lord, but I've never believed it! It's nuts!"
"Is it, Miss Rosier?" – Snape asked with a strange expression that gave Anne pause. She suddenly remembered Trelawney and her tea leaves: death, honour, danger and a mountain.
Anne swallowed hard. "Are you my mountain?"
He stared back at her through narrowed eyes.
"Friend," – Anne shook her head to clear it. "I meant friend, sir."
She couldn't sense his emotions but saw surprise and disbelief in his gaze. Then he hung his head and stared at the floor when he replied:
"I do and will attempt to ensure that you avoid any harm. But I'm a terrible friend, Rosier," – he finally looked up. "You're better off with Mr. Filch and that worthless sack of fleas he calls a cat."
He let his gaze drop when Anne smiled at his words, thinking about poor Mrs. Norris and the probable hissing she would put up if she'd heard him now.
"This door is the last one before the Infirmary wing. I will leave you as soon as you return to the visualization technique you like to use," – she heard her Head of House's familiar tone again. "It is" – Professor Snape cast a quick Tempus charm - "a quarter to eleven. You must be exhausted, Miss Rosier. I want you to turn back time exactly twenty minutes before curfew and go straight to my office. Can you do that?"
"Of course, Professor. What shall I do there?"
Professor Snape pulled his lips to the side, a motion to convey his unease
"You will forewarn me," – he reluctantly replied, then cleared his throat. "As soon as you're ready."
Anne drew some deep breaths and tried to focus despite the sedative. Her little house looked a touch shaky for her mind's eye, but she retreated there gladly, closed the door and peeked out of the window. Professor Snape waited with unexpected patience.
"I'm ready, sir," – Anne confidently nodded.
Everything happened as her Professor described it. She was surprised to turn back almost two hours and knew she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The two-hours younger Snape was first annoyed to see her, but he let her in.
"I'm coming from a quarter to eleven, sir. You asked me to warn you," – Anne said as soon as they were safely in the Professor's office.
She could tell that he hated what she told him.
"Did I also say what this warning was about?"
Anne shook her head. "No, sir, I'm sorry," – she tried to suppress a yawn.
"Anything you might want to add, girl?" – he pushed on. His impatience was palpable.
"I– I just want to apologize… in advance, sir. I will flip out. Epically. I hope I can help you, though, with your experiment…."
The worry line above Snape's nose showed up, then with quick thinking, he grabbed a purple phial and slid it into his robe's pocket. Anne couldn't stop a little smirk before getting unceremoniously kicked out of the office and sent to her dorm.
She didn't need to hear that twice. Her last thought before falling asleep was about the surreal turn in her life: her concurrent-self hunting for noxious memories in abandoned rooms and a version of Snape somewhere in time who will only roam the halls in an hour and a half. She will think the rest of it through some other time. Now she only wished to rest.
However, Sunday morning was not for contemplation. Truth be told, Anne would have even missed it because she woke only for Sophie's gentle voice announcing it was already lunchtime and asking if she needed Madame Pomfrey. Anne shook her head.
"Could there be coffee and toast for lunch today?"
Sophie laughed. "No, but I can give you tea if you want some," – she offered.
"That would be the loveliest thing in the world!" – Anne moaned into her pillow, stretching like a cat under the covers.
She heard a strange clinking, then the reassuring buzz of water boiling in a kettle. Anne looked up with surprise. There was indeed a kettle on Sophie's nightstand, leaves circling the underside of its body, a vine-like handle, and a berry for a finial. Steam curled out from its spout until the burble stopped with a feminine sigh. Then the kettle lifted itself from the nightstand and levitated above a similar teapot. Sophie added the tea leaves, and the kettle poured the hot water onto them before it returned to the nightstand.
Sophie fished out two cups from her trunk. Their leaves pattern was similar to the kettle's and the teapot's, and a box of Vilhelm's Chocolate Miracles, one biscuit so fine Anne knew was not even sold in Honeydukes.
"Sophie Borgin, I think I'm ready to fall in love with you. What on earth have I done to deserve this?"
Sophie sat on the bed beside Anne with a severe expression. "Have you or have you not received a letter from Miranda Fawley?" – she asked.
"I have," – Anne admitted, now confused. "You don't mean she sent me the tea, do you?"
Sophie chuckled. "No, that's from my uncle. Relax, not from the shop," – she added with a naughty glint in her eyes. Everybody knew Borgin and Burkes on Knockturn was not a place you would accept edibles unless you wished to perish quickly and brutally.
Anne laughed into her pillow, but then Sophie poured the tea with so much finicking that her suspicions rose.
"White, one sugar?" – she asked absently, already fixing Anne's tea to her taste. "Take it as an earnest, or an offer for friendship if you like, although it's also true that Miranda hopes to convince you to finally decide. Since Fiona Zhang finished school, the homework business has been slack. There's a seventh-year girl with detailed notes about everything but Arithmancy and Divination, but she wants three galleons per sheet, which is just purse-snatching, seriously. She won't even look through the homework, and I know for a fact that you have at least two notebooks for essay material you've never used."
Anne sipped her tea with closed eyes. It was perfect. She wondered how and when she would make time for Miranda Fawley and her extensive circle doing all her classes, homework, and extracurricular engagements. It was also true that Slytherin had never liked those who refused friendship, and she didn't want to end up a pariah either.
"I didn't make additions to those notebooks last year. I only have the first-year stuff and some OWL notes," – she tried to bargain her way out. "And she already has those, she told me herself."
"No, your brother only let her read through them and make some copies," – Sophie chatted. "He asked her to arrange a date with a Ravenclaw girl, but Miranda couldn't deliver. So she wrote to you. Didn't you know that?"
Anne felt remiss for failing to ask Caleb about the deal. She could still do that, of course, but it seemed it was too late. The story was in the gossip mill already, and she was behind.
"I didn't pay attention. She's in Charms NEWTs, is she? There's no way my notes could help her out!"
"Well, not your first-year notes, but Milan Patel asked around, and Flitwick said you were talented. Your essays are always well-received, too. You only suck at Transfig and Astronomy, even there, you have the theory down. And last night, you were seen entering Snapey's office outside the schedule, and we also know that Pince eats out of your palm. You could do it for years, which is ideal for everyone. Ask for money or a favour, I can give you both. And Miranda is a formidable ally. You are a fool if you throw her offer away."
"I've never said I would throw it away. I just don't know how to assist the upper years!"
"Annie, honey," – Sophie took her hand with a condescending smile. "You are an upper year since you helped out your brothers. People are neither blind nor stupid. We know you have problems. There must be a reason why you've spent last year in and out of the Infirmary. You wouldn't have a chance to fight the whole House with such a weak constitution. But you could get any help you wish for if you only just obliged."
Anne rose from her bed, not missing the threat. She knew well enough that she wasn't good in self-defence and hated being talked about. She passed by the Carrows' beds and peeked out of the window. The lake was so calm… Snape wanted her to keep a confidence. The Dark Lord had been to the school in some ways, her brothers needed friends and allies outside of family, and she needed to rest and eat as if her mornings lasted a day and her afternoons lasted another.
"It's not reluctance, Sophie," – she carefully began. "I eat at the Infirmary because my nerves can't always deal with the crowd. I fainted too many times, and I can tell you that I loathe it. That doesn't mean I resent friendships, and you know I love researching."
"What do you need then?" – Sophie asked with practicality.
It evoked a memory from her first year. She'd been having butterbeers with her brothers, and Caleb leaned close with a grin: "That's the Hell of it, isn't it? What do you want, A-bee? Tell us what you want!"
She supposed this was not the time to swear everyone against blood purism. Well, Rachel would have a laugh!
"Details," – Anne decided. "I need to know how many of you need assistance, which year and in which subjects. And there will be rules, and if anyone breaks them, I'm out and cannot be faulted."
"Cool, now we're getting somewhere!" – Sophie returned to her school things and pulled out two parchments and a quill. "Bring on the rules, witch," – she grinned. "Biscuit?"
Anne took two from Vilhelm's and munched on them thoughtfully, enjoying the luxury. She could get used to that, but wishing for these lovelies would be a waste.
"First, there will be no gossip about me or my brothers. Any talebearers would be shut off and put in their places for good. My comings and goings are my own whether I spend time with a student, a teacher, the caretaker, the librarian, or a mountain troll. It is my affair, just like my presence or the lack of it at meals or at the Infirmary. If I help, you all will defend my privacy."
"Fair enough," – Sophie nodded and noted the first rule.
"Second, I don't like crowds. So you decide who will carry all the requests and questions to me, and I will talk to that one person in my free time and deliver the answers.
"Thirdly, I will have no time to see all the homework. Most teachers correct essays by keywords, I can give you those, and you may check yourselves if you missed one," – Anne warmed into the new role and almost enjoyed it. "My OWL notes are for sale. I think the price used to be a galleon, a parchment. I have enough money, so I won't raise that."
Sophie noted down all she'd said before she looked up. "That's kind of generous of you, especially knowing the competition. What would you like instead?"
Anne heard the wariness in Sophie's tone and was reminded again about the perks of being a Slytherin. Everything had a price, and no one liked to deal with imbeciles. She was determined not to prove to be a dupe.
"Small favours at request," – she replied with the sweetest serenity she could muster.
It worked! Sophie Burgis gawked at her, almost scandalized for a second before she scribbled down her last words.
"I hope your homework will be good enough, witch, this is the highest price you could name of all!"
"I will not ask for the moon, Sophie," – Anne tried to placate her. "From you, I accept a chance to Geminio your tea set," – she offered with a smile.
"And the biscuits, I reckon," – Sophie grinned, relieved. Anne took a third one and closed the box.
"I can order that via owl delivery," – it gave her an idea as soon she uttered the words. "Would you mind talking it through with Miranda for me? I think I will have lunch at the Infirmary today."
"If you're content with a twin for my tea set and an offer of friendship, I think that's the least, Annie," – Sophie laughed.
At the Infirmary, Anne finally sat down at Madame Pomfrey's desk with the knowledge of being welcome. At least Madame Pince's words in Professor Snape's office suggested she was. She felt comfortable enough to ask about life at the Infirmary, a subject Madame Pomfrey obviously liked, and thus learned about all the little details, such as the system in the storage areas. That came with an unexpected knowledge of replacement items, such as bedpans, spare beds, sheets and covers.
First, she hoped to find a way to organize her housemates into shameless theft, looting an Infirmary bed for her use in her tower, but it turned out she didn't need to bother. The spare beds were stored on a small shelf at the end of the storage room, micrified with a charm to matchbox size. She slipped one into her pocket while the mediwitch turned to show the weighing scales.
She felt the shame and a major stab of her self-consciousness until she Engorgio-ed the hospital bed in the recently cleaned room of her side tower and furnished it with her rug and pillow. Prevention must be the highest standard for any medical endeavour, Madame Pomfrey had already told her. And to prevent herself from falling over by exhaustion seemed worth the price of some stabbing shame.
Sunday afternoon had to happen twice so Anne could finish all her homework, but now she wasn't afraid of the coming week. She also owled for an additional set of textbooks for all years at Hogwarts and a pamphlet with Flourish and Blotts' catalogue. And learning from the Infirmary's practice, she stole into an abandoned classroom, shrunk a desk and a chair to the size she could fit into her bookcase, and carried them up into her side tower to use them in the other room. With Miranda and her associates accepting her rules, Anne's days slowly fell into a new routine.
Her morning happened twice from seven to twelve, taking part in all her classes and breakfast. Then she turned back time with five hours for snacks, homework, and meditation in one room of her side tower, then five hours of sleep in the other room. She was then ready for lunch, and her afternoon classes, five hours each set, a prep period, dinner and some library time, before she turned back to step through the floor to Madame Pince's cottage after a nap. When she left Snape's office each day at ten past eight, as if she spent only a few moments there, she was ready to distribute the answers to her housemates' questions and the assignment keywords. She then fell into bed exhausted, but not as exhausted as being unable to rise the next day.
She only missed playing her guitar, having more time for Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris, and reading for fun. All of those would have required an additional turn, and Anne found after two short weeks that binding time came with unexpected side effects.
She realized her nails grew quicker when one caught up on the edge of her bedcover, painfully torn in, and ruined her day. Then there was a day she didn't feel like herself in general, preceding a surprise visit from the reddest face of Mother Nature, which might have explained her horrible mood. Both occurrences prompted serious contemplations and a deep dive into mathematics. She wasn't due to have her monthly for five more days then, and it had already been regular. What the… Anne counted the hours of her last week, involving her rest and sleeping hours, and the number was astonishing enough to stare at her notebook for minutes in awe. Then with a fit of a laughter fuelled by sheer hysteria, she decided it was certainly not an issue she wished to discuss with Professor Snape.
With the new routine, Anne did about forty hours a day, divided by naptimes, snacks and regular meals. Thankfully the homework questions became more manageable with every passing week, with Madame Pince's help her focus got better and the complete set of schoolbooks she had hidden at her tower functioned as a private library. She stored those books on shelves she'd Geminio-ed one dawn from the Common Room. Better than nicking.
October came with heavy rain, which didn't relent for weeks, and Mr. Filch began to complain about his joints again. Anne made time for surprise cleaning sprees with quick wand-work all over the castle to ease his burden and smiled to herself when Mrs. Norris made a point of regular visits in her tower after each of those. The cat found her without effort and never brought her master up to the turret. She curled up in Anne's lap while studying or meditating. Other days, she purred her into sleep or climbed on her face a minute before her wand began to buzz.
Anne had to give up Infirmary meals because the cases of cold and sore throat signed the beginning of an epidemic, which rendered the place impossibly crowded. Even Madame Pomfrey suggested the students avoid visiting and not spread disease all over the castle.
The first Hogsmeade weekend approached quickly despite Anne's doubling on the days, and with that, Malcolm's insistence and odd familiarity exponentially grew. He joined Anne at lunchtimes and kept offering to carry her book bag, making rest and hiding to turn time impossibly difficult, consequentially becoming a rare nuisance. Following Mr. Filch's advice, Anne repeatedly tried to suggest to Malcolm that his over-eagerness didn't help his cause, but the boy persevered with an all-knowing smile and a condescending pat on the back of her hand. Mr. Filch had nothing to say, more to grumble, and he only warned Anne against lying to the boy.
The first Hogsmeade weekend arrived just before Halloween, and all third years lined up to show their permission slip to Mr. Filch before leaving the school. The old man nodded to Anne and fidgeted with Urquhart's slip long enough for her to walk far from the castle, almost catching up with the slowly sauntering Professor Snape. Anne bypassed him in a wide enough circle, for once wishing to enjoy her day without considering anything more complicated than window shopping.
She had a pleasant enough stroll before Malcolm ran her down at the edge of the village.
"Have you seen that? Filch didn't want to believe my permission slip was valid! Crazy old Squib!"
Anne gave him a side look. "And is it?"
"Of course, it is, my gran–" – suddenly Malcolm laughed up hard, frightening a flock of birds from a nearby bush. "You're pulling my leg! Cheeky witch, are you, Annabella?"
"Anne," – She corrected, but Malcolm didn't seem to care.
"So, where would you like to begin? We always go first to Honeydukes with my folks," – he asked instead.
"Good, I thought I would climb up to the Shack. I've read a lot about it and have never been there."
"It's too cold for such a long trip! You can see it in the spring. Have you been to Madame Puddifoot's?"
"Erm… no."
"Cool, I'll take you there. It's this way, come!"
"But the Shack–"
"You don't want to catch a cold," – Malcolm argued. "Hey, is it true that you helped Warrington with his Divination homework? I never understood why people study that shit," – he chatted, trying to catch Anne's hand until she put it in her pocket.
"Well,-"
"Although it's kinda' helpful in betting on matches. In Romania, for example…." And then Malcolm launched into a detailed explanation of wagers made or could have been made about the World Cup Finals.
Anne looked around the village and found it likable enough if she tuned him out. The cobblestones shone with the fresh rain, the back gardens still smelled of magically grown herbs here and there, the bookshop seemed large enough, and J. Pippin's Potions intrigued her. She already began mentally checking her savings in Gringotts after her various owl deliveries and possible needs for ingredients to replace just to see the place from the inside when Malcolm took her by the arm and guided her to a tearoom, pink as lady's cushion, with the apparent intent to make her enter.
"Yeah, you know what, Malcolm? I feel it's too early for tea," – Anne stepped back quickly. "I just remembered I need to replace wormwood in my potion kit. What do you think?" Taking a page from the boy's book, she started toward the apothecary and was inside before he could reply.
Blissful warmth, familiar scents, and a blessed lack of Malcolm Urquhart made her close her eyes with a sigh as soon as the door closed on her heels, so Anne had no chance to realize she wasn't alone in the shop. When she calmed down enough, she walked around with a small smile, admiring the various pots, amber glass jars with airtight lids, pretty curtains on the storage cupboards, porcelain bowls, glass phials, and bouquets of still-drying flowers hanging from the ceiling above the counter. She inspected the wicker baskets that offered dried animal parts and carcasses by the ounce and the vast glass bowl under the window with ingredients so fresh they still swam. The cabinets were as high as to reach the ceiling, and the shelves were colourful with their various content.
"Can I help you, Miss?" – a middle-aged wizard stepped out from a different room hidden by a floor-length curtain, "Jarvis Pippin at your service," – he smiled.
"Anne Rosier. Nice to meet you, Mr. Pippin. You run a lovely shop! May I just look around before making a purchase?"
"Spectators make customers. Take your time, Miss Rosier. We are open until nightfall," – he added light-heartedly, and Anne laughed.
"It may be necessary, Mr. Pippin," – she looked at the shelves again, and a small jar caught her attention with a misplaced lid. "May I?"
On the shopkeeper's nod, Anne took the jar and peeked inside to be washed over by the scent of musk. She quickly closed the lid and put the jar back in its place. She read myrrh on the next pot. Then came cinnamon, ginger, lanolin, bergamot and other oils – Anne smelled the bergamot oil with great pleasure, then peeked at Mr. Pippin, who nodded as if he understood her confusion.
"We have a lot of customers who like to mix their own perfume. The ladies' section is on that side," he said with a wave.
Anne found various flower extracts, orange, lemon, even apple-scented oils, and herb extracts, like sage, lemongrass, lavender, and all the common herbs for beauty products when Malcolm was finally bored with waiting and entered the shop.
"Hey," – he stepped to Anne. "D'you want those?"
"Lavender oil?" – Anne laughed up before she thought. "No, it would never suit me."
"Bulgarian rose then?" – Malcolm stepped closer to the shelf, and Anne shook her head, embarrassed.
"Shall we ask the lady instead of guessing?" – Mr. Pippin readily stepped in, saving disgrace for them both.
Anne felt forced, but she knew her answer. "If I was to mix a scent, I would use verbena with a hint of lemon grass and maybe lanolin. However, I have no one to impress," – she lifted her chin to make her meaning clearer. The fun was gone now, so she stepped to the counter. "I need to replace wormwood in my school kit, Mr. Pippin."
The shopman gave her a small linen satchel with a poorly hidden smirk and gestured toward the herbs that hung from the ceiling. Before she could move, Malcolm snatched the satchel and unhooked a bouquet. Anne started, and her voice trembled with embarrassment when she spoke:
"That's sage wood, Malcolm! You must put it back!"
"That's the same. Look at the leaves!"
"I did," – Anne tried to glare him down. "And so I'm telling you, it's not wormwood. It's sage wood or sweet worm. It has no thujone, so you may use it in the Shrinking Solution but not in any other potions we are needed to brew. Same family, different effect."
Malcolm finally hung the bouquet back on its hook, and Anne cut a handful from the wormwood and retrieved her satchel to place it. She tried to be quick about paying, and miraculously Mr. Pippin didn't hesitate to accept her money instead of Malcolm's even though the boy also offered the price. Anne rewarded that with a genuine smile and hurried out of the apothecary with reddened cheeks and a suddenly argumentative boy on her heels.
"You may come front, Professor. Your snakes have left," – Mr. Pippin called over the curtain, and a dark-clad figure emerged from the backroom.
"Was she right?" – he asked the shopman.
Mr. Pippin grinned at him. "Of course, she was."
"At least," – Professor Snape said with a long-suffering sigh.
"I packed your purchase while you waited, sir," – Mr. Pippin pointed at the counter. "I will send it up to the castle tonight."
"Thank you, Jarvis," – the Professor nodded. "I doubt I would get there any sooner."
"You might wanna look after those two. There will be tears before the end of the day," – Pippin offered advice with the change and endured the answering growl with a jovial smile.
By all reasonable estimation, the date should have been over, and Anne was relieved when she saw her brothers entering the Three Broomsticks. She doubled her pace to catch up with them and maybe have a butterbeer together, but Malcolm ran behind her, and he reached above her shoulder to open the door.
Gavin was nowhere to be seen, and Caleb sat with a sixth-year girl Anne didn't know by name, so she reluctantly accepted a seat and a butterbeer, determined to talk Malcolm out of further pursuing her. Kindly- she reminded herself. Filch told her to be firm and honest, and she was ready for honesty but wished to be kind.
In the name of that kindness, she asked about the Romanian beater Malcolm had mentioned in his summer letter and even tried to grab the zest of her wonderment for a quarter an hour. Then she was ready to run to the hills or back to Hogwarts, whichever was the closest.
"I'll tell you more about her next time," – Malcolm promised after he paid.
Anne's squeak betrayed her fright. "Next?!"
"Well, we'll have another Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas hols, and I can get you a–"
"Malcolm," – Anne grabbed the boy's hand to make him listen. "There's no need. Thank you for… well, for the beer, certainly, and the… experience of your company. It was… unique. And now I just want to return to the castle. Alone."
"Annabella, my gran has clearly taught me to escort my girlfriend–"
Anne took a deep breath and tried not to hyperventilate. "I'm called Anne. And here's just the thing, Malcolm, that I am not your girlfriend. I fully appreciate the opportunity to have had a date with you, and I think you will be a wonderful beau to a… more athletic girl… with more athletic interests. That girl is not me, but this shouldn't be a problem, don't you agree?" – she tried to smile. It was weak, and even weaker, when she sensed Malcolm getting embarrassed and angry.
"But you're a Rosier! What kind of options do you think you have?"- he exclaimed a little too loud for Anne's taste.
"Excuse me?"
"Well, everybody knows that you can only be pursued by one whose relatives also had… and Flora said you are always talking and asking about me, even my grandmother–"
"Yes, she's an Avery born to be a Black, which might impress Flora Carrow to the point she was lying to you, but probably you have also noticed that I am not about to date her or your grandmother either," – Anne pushed her chair back and stood with what she hoped to look like finality.
Unfortunately, Malcolm also stood up.
"Anabella, you're acting stupid, you–" – he began, and Anne had enough. She wasn't Mr. Filch's friend for nothing. If he suggested firmness, she could be firm.
"It's Anne," – she pointed out again. "And let me teach you something about girls and stupidity. If you try to follow me with so much as a step, gossip with Flora and follow her lies, or keep insisting on making me your girlfriend, I will tell my brothers that you tried to lay me and provide them alibi while your corpse would never be found. Did I make myself clear?" – she added on her most practiced Snape-tone and tried to stare the tall boy down.
Malcolm nodded, white as a sheet, but strangely he wasn't focusing on her face but somewhere above Anne's shoulder. She swirled around and almost collided with her Head of House and his blank expression.
"Sorry, sir," – she gabbled without a thought, making both eyebrow rose above the Professor's face.
"I don't see a reason, Miss Rosier. Mr. Urquhart?"
Anne didn't wait for Malcolm's reply. She stepped by her Professor and ran out of the Three Broomsticks.
The rain was heavy, but she had no patience to wait. This was the first day in two months when she didn't once use the time-turner and imagined it was a happy occasion she would like to celebrate. She wanted Mr. Filch's grounding presence and longed for Mrs. Norris to curl up on her lap. She wanted reassurance, grumbling, fake hostility, and the smell of tobacco and roasted fish. With all these thoughts, the climb with the meandering road up to the castle wasn't half as long.
She ran into the caretaker's office and made do with the familiar odours of dust, fish, and tobacco until Mr. Filch returned. She realized she was into a longer wait and tried one of the techniques Madame Pince taught her to calm down. Why was she unlucky with boys? Her first kiss, or second if she counted Amy, was not something she didn't wish for but also not wholly her idea among the older girls. Her first date now was also something she ran into knowingly, even if she wouldn't have chosen Urquhart for the part if she had a say in the matter. Had she?
Calming down, it occurred to Anne that she had just tried to play along. First, partially driven by mind magic, and now, pushed by expectations. Strangely, Flora's lies bothered her more than poor Malcolm's insistence. Whatever was he to do if he was told she wanted him behind his back? What must he have believed about her? That she had no sense or courage to show what she wanted? That would have explained why he dismissed everything she said….
Sitting alone in Filch's office Anne Rosier finally made herself a promise that she wouldn't follow again anything else but her own will. And she would demand the same from any boy who would ever agree to see her like that. She felt that Mr. Filch would approve. But where could he be?
Time clicked away, and she knew she was supposed to join her housemates for the Halloween Feast and probably the party after that… what would Malcolm say to the others? Anne was more or less ready to put Flora Carrow in her place if anyone mentioned the whole ordeal, but she knew she would panic and shut down if it came to an open confrontation. Missing Mr. Filch's advice terribly, Anne walked down to the Great Hall, reinforcing all the protections around her mind on her way.
The Halloween Feast was not as torturing as last year, although she'd felt Snape's gaze swiping over her face more times than usual. He probably was wary of some display she could make. Anne was embarrassed and sunk deeper into her mind, only avoiding closing the shutters on her little house's window so as not to faint. She had only distant impressions about the discussions around her.
Sitting with her brothers and blissfully far from her dorm mates and Malcolm, she didn't need to follow the silly jokes. She was sure she wasn't interested in heavy drinking or lighting the Common Room on fire again to commemorate what went down on Slytherin's collective memory as Lee's Great Moment. But the pumpkin and caramel cake was still good enough to be worth the trouble.
This is what her turret was missing! Cake. She would need more cake. Those made life better no matter what else was going on. Although if she somehow managed to get various cakes regularly in the side tower, she probably wouldn't venture down to the castle ever again. Not unlike Trelawney. That cunning wench must have cake up in the Northern Tower up to her ears. Enough for her to forget about all else and even normalcy! Cake must be the answer.
When Caleb finally had enough and nudged Gavin and Phil to return to the Common Room, most tables were abuzz, chairs were screeching, and the chatter became loud. The Feast was almost over, and Anne felt it better to slip out from the Great Hall before getting caught up in the crowd. She didn't see Mr. Filch by the end of the high table and couldn't imagine what had gotten into the old sergeant to just leave his post like that.
Anne ran back to the caretaker's office, where she finally found Filch. At least by all estimation, this nervous wreck must be her friend.
"Mr. Filch, what happened to you?" – Anne asked, catching the old man's arm before he could tear out more of his long grey hair.
"Have you seen Mrs. Norris?" – Filch grabbed Anne by the shoulders.
She looked around in the office. "No, I've been waiting for you, Mr. Filch, for at least an hour before the Feast, but neither you nor Mrs. Norris showed up."
"I cannot find her–" Filch sighed heavily. "She never deserts me for such a long time! I've been all over the castle, out in the rain, the Owlery, the–" He suddenly fell silent, then his eyes glinted with craze: "Have you heard that?"
Anne could only stare. "Heard what?"
"Students," – Filch grumbled the word like a battle cry and hurried out to the corridor with mad furor.
Anne ran after him, leaving enough distance to avoid mishaps. The caretaker's emotions were heightened enough for her to be wary of them, and she also sensed something tumultuous from all around. She knew something was wrong, although she couldn't be sure without coming out from hiding in her mind, and that wasn't an option.
Mr. Filch hustled through the crowd, and Anne let him go while she lagged behind until she heard his agonizing wail. Mr. Filch's pain washed through and through the halls with so much intensity Anne teetered, even shielding her mind against it, and her eyes teared up without conscious thought.
*" What have you done to my cat?!"*
Anne trembled for Mrs. Norris, but when she was ready to throw all caution to the wind and squeeze through the crowd, Mr. Filch's emotions took a turn to murderous rage. She was distantly aware that he had accused somebody and heard several people behind her on the stairs when a strong black-clad arm pushed her to the wall. She saw Professor Snape following the Headmaster with Minerva McGonagall and many other professors through the mob.
Anne tried to focus and recalled the deep breathing Madame Pince had taught her. She also tried to hold herself loosely but straight, just like the witch suggested would be calming, and she regained control. It was just in time to see the teachers taking Mr. Filch to the Dark Arts classroom, probably to Professor Lockhart's office, and the crowd then slowly began to disperse.
"You coming, sis?" – Gavin stepped to her, but she couldn't leave Mr. Filch.
"What happened?"
"Someone killed the caretaker's cat," – Gavin told her. "I'm glad you didn't see it. It was vile."
Anne felt the tears again as she said the name: "Mrs. Norris?"
Gavin shook his head.
"Come, you can even have a drink," – Caleb stepped to them, shielding his siblings from the other students trampling down the main staircase. "Phil has a bottle of Ogden's. It couldn't come at a better time."
Anne could hardly hear him. As the students left the corridor, she could see the letters on the wall. They glittered red like fresh blood and announced that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.
"What the hell is the Chamber of Secrets?"
Caleb followed her gaze and read the foul graffiti again with a shrug.
"Honestly? I'm rather concerned about that 'Heir.' Hogwarts is full of secrets, that's no news, but the other part is an obvious threat. And killing a cat for its blood should be dark magic."
"D'you think it means the heir of the Dark Lord?" – Gavin asked, white as a sheet.
"Bad conscience, young Rosier?" – Caleb joked, "I believe it should be proven first if any of us counts an enemy or not."
Anne gaped at him. "How can you say such a thing? You promised–"
"Shut up!" Caleb quickly lost the arrogant sneer. "That's nobody's business but ours. And I want you both to behave accordingly. We are going to survive. Whether it's about the Dark Lord or the fucking ruler of the Underworld. Understood?"
Anne nodded, and she saw that Gavin nodded too. He seemed almost as surprised as she was. Caleb showed a side of him neither of them knew, and Anne had a nagging feeling that he wasn't as surprised as the rest of them.
"Caleb, what did you hear at the Ministry in the summer?" She finally risked asking. "And don't tell me it was nothing or that I couldn't understand because that's just plain rubbish, and you know that too!"
This time her brother looked less self-assured. He peeked at Gavin, who nodded again before he answered.
"Just gossip, really. Some seem to believe that the Dark Lord tried to return, and-"
"Snape thinks that too," – Anne interjected, forgetting the rule.
Her brothers looked at each other.
"Does he? Well, then good ol' Snapey is as out of it as the rest of their flock, or we are into some jolly times indeed," –Caleb deemed.
"What do you mean the rest of their flock? He doesn't seem into blood like others are," – Anne whispered to match her brother's hushed tone.
"Oh, on the contrary, he was almost even tried with the rest of them. Our dear Uncle is said to have testified against him before he died, and he got away with only the Headmaster's help."
Anne could only stare, but Gavin nodded in agreement. "We didn't tell you, sis, because you like him. But you like way too many people, and it can be dangerous."
"Let's just find out who that heir is before jumping to conclusions," – Caleb suggested in a sober tone. "I'm a proud Rosier and have never betrayed blood as anyone's concerned."
"I only care about my NEWTs," – Gavin agreed. "All families have secrets, that's nobody's business."
"Good. A-bee?" – Caleb looked at Anne, and she knew they were ready to move on.
"I will wait for Mr. Filch. He shouldn't be alone with his grief," – she silently said. "I won't talk. I never did," – she added. "Will you tell me if you learn something new about this?"
Caleb nodded, and Gavin hugged her. Then Lockhart's door opened above them, and the boys hurried down the stairs to avoid any of their teachers. Anne waited, but the three sets of steps didn't approach her, then everything was quiet again.
She would never have considered Professor Snape a Death Eater! He'd helped her so much! Although he also had never talked about why he had taken her on that trip before curfew to the third floor, why he wanted her to avoid the Headmaster, or why he singled her out to help prevent madness in the first place…. She couldn't sense his emotions either, so he could be full of hate.
Anne tried to recall all the facts. There were two students Snape, and Mr. Filch had been talking about some months ago. One was the son of someone Snape loved, the other someone who would be doomed like Snape. That's it! He believed he was doomed! And Filch didn't want to accept that the Dark Lord could still be around! Anne forced herself to remember, but it was all hazy… she had put it all into a box and closed the lid… if she only could open that box without fainting….
Suddenly the door opened again, and she heard the Headmaster's voice:
"We will cure the cat, Argus. Pomona has the mandrakes, and Severus can make the potion. You have only to be patient."
"Someone hurt my cat. I want justice to be served!"
The steps approached her on the staircase, and Anne ran down a flight not to meet them. She heard Snape's voice joining in:
"Headmaster, if I may–"
"Oh, of course, my boy. I've already arrived," – all sets of steps came to a halt. "Argus, you will find me in my office. Any time of the day, my friend. Any time."
"Thank you, Headmaster," – Anne heard Mr. Filch's raspy reply, and then the steps recommenced. Two sets were approaching her, and she risked giving up her hiding.
"Mr. Filch?"
Professor Snape's hand ceased the patting of the caretaker's shoulder. Anne noticed that his gaze wasn't friendly at all, but she didn't come to comfort him, and after all that Caleb just had told her he could go and rot. Even if his mindscape didn't betray anything else but hunger and pain. Confusing, confusing man!
"Mr. Filch, what happened?" – she hurried to her friend and hugged him close. She wasn't as surprised as Snape seemed when Mr. Filch hugged her back.
"They petrified her, lass… someone petrified my cat…." Mr. Filch rasped out between sobs. "What shall I do without her?"
Anne tried to hold up Filch's old and trembling body and felt the waves of agony and loss washing over her until her tears fell freely too.
"We will conquer this, Mr. Filch," – she promised in a whisper. "You are a strong man. You are a sergeant through and through. I will stick around, and we shall weather this together."
To her surprise, Mr. Filch straightened his back and lifted his tear-soaked cheek. His ever-present five o'clock shadow hid the slight shaking in his jaw but still glinted wetly, however, his voice didn't tremble when he spoke:
"You're right, lassie. I've got carried away. Time to find the perpetrator."
Professor Snape shook his head at that. "Not tonight, old man," – he began.
"We will find him. Or her," – Anne ignored her Professor. "I'll make you some tea, Sergeant Filch, and we will make a plan."