Hi,

All you recognise is Rowling's, of course :)

I'd like to thank excessivelyperky for her patience with this (and me). Good news: I think I managed to correct the mistake I made, so the regular updates will probably return by October. Until then, I can only promise that there will be an update in September, too. (At least one.)

TJ, Thanks for the nice words! Here you go, my friend :)

Please try to enjoy!

TN_Chapter 31.

7th-8th September 1994.

(18)

Anne slowly put down the letters, slid her chair back from the desk in her tower, and tried to take a deep breath. With that last measure taken to calm down, she gave up the fight and threw up into the paper basket.

There were neither thoughts nor words. Nothing she could match to submerging into these two people's life. And even more, to all those others whom they kept mentioning.

Like her.

To be thankful for not being raped before her first birthday because of another witch's jealous rage…! Anne leaned over the basket and retched again.

Her trembling limbs gave up keeping her upright, and she fell on the floor by the desk. She cursed a string between sobs and attempted to gather her anger to hold her up, even if courage was lacking. Because she came off lucky…. She well-remembered those sparse memories of Uncle Evan from those visits he had apparently wisely kept to himself. For a wizard appalled by her mother and her like, he spent time enough at their little estate to introduce her to a mongrel puppy, try to get in touch with her about her two-year-old self, and apparently amuse her with dark magic since her fucking cradle!

Of course, she had never developed a healthy defence against darkness! The bloody Dementors were the epitome of all she was introduced to as a baby! A freaking hag could appeal to her sense of serenity and belonging because she lived and fed upon all she'd been amused with before she learned to talk or walk!

Thinking about it, she was unsure if remembering the Dark Mark on her uncle's arm was a regular occurrence among the Death Eater kids. Should she ask Flora Carrow or one of the fourth years? For some reason, her body responded with spasm-like trembling, but at least it couldn't produce anything to cough up anymore.

She cast a hasty Evanesco, lamenting exactly how screwed up she must be to feel a measure of sorrow over Lucinda's last letters being left without reply. She was disgusted with herself for the half-second she pitied the witch.

And her Uncle Mordred… She'd never known he had been such a sought-after wizard! Apparently, Duvessa did not exaggerate when she told her how he'd taken over the family after her grandfather's death, even taking the time to introduce Darling Evan to his youngest brother's breed! The nerve of that bastard! It was his fault, and her father's, and Evan's, and all-around fucked-up Duvessa bloody Travers', who not less but loved that pathetic excuse for a man and whom she had saved!

Shit.

Anne Rosier bitterly regretted helping her aunt, being born into such a family, and she struggled to recall what on Earth could have made her steal and read these letters.

There weren't answers here, only pain, and rage, and pain again, until her tiny world was swimming before her eyes, and she couldn't wipe her angry tears quick enough to get rid of them. And the Baron showed up diligently some minutes before curfew, and she still could not fathom how to walk down to the castle in this state.

The ghost hovered for a while, this time refraining from nudging her. Whether he thought her ill or hurt, Anne couldn't tell, but she wasn't in the mood to contemplate the problem. It was the ghost's problem. She had her own aplenty. What she would never have foreseen was the Bloody Baron deciding to join her. He sank closer to the floor and silently waited for her to gather.

"Are we friends now because I helped you save the House's Head?" – Anne asked in bitter amusement.

The Baron shook his head slightly, picked up one of his chains, and rattled it above her head. Anne stared at him.

"I don't get it," – she told the ghost, now feeling only tired.

The deep voice seemed to have rumbled from the floor stones, and the pronunciation was hard to decipher, but when she heard the sound, she was astonished.

"I helped you, maiden." The house ghost spoke to her!

Anne stared at the Baron for a long time, her mouth inelegantly hanging loose. "Well, thank you, then," she finally managed to utter, and he levitated an inch higher and produced a formal bow.

Anne looked up at her desk and suddenly worried about the letters. She had pilfered them, and now they were at Hogwarts, where—even in her tower—anyone could get to them and have a chance to ruin the lives of many. She dared not leave them alone, but taking them to her dorm was also unthinkable.

Mr. Filch would help her, but she didn't trust even him to hide this. At a castle where even Snape's quarters could be searched through, she had no idea where to turn with something so sensitive.

"Listen…" – she began explaining to the Baron. "I think I'm in trouble."

The ghost readily nodded and hovered closer to the stairs.

"No, I– It's not about the curfew." This won her a raised eyebrow, but that didn't help much. "Do you know a place where something may get hidden and would never be found?"

To her surprise, the ghost bowed again and gestured toward the stairs. Anne hastily gathered the letters and put them back into their paper box, sent another Evanesco and a Scrougify to the basket, and hurried to follow him. The route took them down to the fourth floor, where the Baron chose a small spiral staircase instead of his favourite hunt, which led them up to the seventh floor's abandoned corridor. He stopped before an abysmal tapestry and waited as if Anne knew what she was supposed to do.

She dared not talk to the ghost out in the open, and her thoughts wandered with all that she had read. Moments came and gone, and she was yet to understand why she was standing in the darkness, looking at an empty wall.

"I'm sure you intended well," she eventually whispered and turned back to the spiral staircase. Sensing something cold and furious, she looked back at the Baron, who now faced an ancient lady dressed in what must once have been the fashion, although her hair hung loose. She seemed ready to attack.

"We are going," Anne said, trying to appease the female ghost she suspected belonged to Ravenclaw. "Are we, Baron?"

When the ghost failed to reply even with one of his usual hints about his intentions, Anne rushed back down to the sixth floor and searched for the snake passage's entrance.

Clunk. Clunk.

Anne quickly lifted her wand above the paper box and silently cast the first spell that came to mind. Thank McGonagall for her unhealthy obsession with pincushions! She hardly had a second to slip it into her pocket when Moody's raspy voice reached her:

"Who's walking there? Show yourself at once!"

"Good evening, Professor Moody! I was on my way to the Common Room!"

"A Slytherin! My, my… Rosier, is it? Tell me, girly, is it Slytherin that prides itself in never being caught, or is that only your father?" When she swallowed with alarm, the retired Auror mercilessly went on: "There are all kinds of tales around about dear Montgomery. Was he the sneakiest or the family's coward? Either way, he should have taught his daughter better. What will he say hearing you're breaking curfew?"

Anne tried hard not to think about Evan's last letters. Lucinda's despair when Mordred died, Evan's mad lust for revenge when he went on with Dolohov and Karkaroff to face off against this man… and Karkaroff would soon be around again, and her father wanted her to befriend him…

Moody's magical eye kept rolling and scanning the corridor in all directions, and he reached for his pocket to have a long swig of his flask.

"Tell me of your father, Rosier." Moody leaned closer, frightening Anne even more. His tongue lashed to the corner of his mouth to lick it, and his breath smelled of an unfamiliar mix of herbs. "I haven't heard about him for a very long time. Perhaps I should visit him while I'm teaching her daughter."

"I only broke curfew, sir. My father has no time for my childish pursuits."

"And what pursuits had you after hours, girly?"

Anne thought quickly about an excuse, but nothing sensible came to mind.

"I just…only forgot about the time…." Oh, it was too lame, and she knew it. There was no chance to get around this… Moody wasn't just a teacher. He already showed he had more in his repertoire than detentions and point loss when he transfigured the Malfoy kid.

"Meow!"

Mrs Norris came from a side corridor and gingerly placed herself between the Auror and the girl. Anne didn't dare to show off their friendship, and Mr Filch must have had a similar thought in mind because although he appeared at the top of the main staircase, he didn't come any closer.

"Filch, what are you doing here?" – Moody asked harshly from the new witness.

"I thought I heard noises, Professor. That brat should be caught and punished for wandering about. Is she, my dearest?" – Filch turned to his cat.

"Meow," Mrs Norris seemed less vengeful, and Anne was grateful for that. She also sensed Moody losing momentum, his hungry curiosity giving way to disappointment and then resolve.

"I'm dealing with it!" – He waved Filch off and turned back to Anne. "You will have a nice little detention with me, Rosier. Just the two of us. Tomorrow."

Anne sensed Filch's determination to stand his ground at the top of the stairs. Now that she wasn't alone, it was easier to think, too.

"Yes, Professor. Can I be excused now?"

Moody's damaged face approached a smile morphing through a snarl. "Now," – he repeated. "Get away to your quarters!"

Anne didn't wait to hear it twice. She fled to Filch and was glad when his blessed presence was finally between her and Moody, and the staircase moved under their weight. Argus only spoke on the Ground Floor when he could be sure no one overheard them.

"Have you lost your plaything, lass, to be caught like this? Your Professor will not praise your madness!"

"I will talk to him,"- Anne promised. "I was supposed to have detention with him tomorrow already."

"Just don't make him cross wands for you! It wouldn't be healthy," – Filch warned her, then nodded towards the dungeon stairs. "Off you go, lass! And don't let this happen again!"

"I won't. Thank you, Argus. Good night!" she whispered, scurrying away like a good little Snake. The transfigured pin cushion seemed to burn her pocket, and she trembled long after she reached her dorm and hid behind her bed curtains.

"Silencio!"

She rather thought than uttered the spell and broke down sobbing in secret, never knowing when she fell asleep.

Monday woke with the weather improving as if it tried to mock her. She should have gone to her tower and prepared for the insane workload, but she was too afraid to approach the fourth floor. Moody's tower on the top of the steep spiral staircase was only steps away from Nimue's tapestry. What used to be her safe haven was now threatened by the mad ex-Auror's twisted curiosity. And she was supposed to refer about all that to Professor Snape!

Choosing the coward's way, Anne first went to her Arithmancy double class and turned back time, as usual, but she was still afraid to approach her tower. She was worked up to the verge of nausea, which made having breakfast out of the question. Instead, she stole up to the Charms classroom and waited for her classmates.

Flitwick was his usual self, only demanding the practice of the banishing spell and giving homework what she had written in two dozen versions for various students over the years – to compare the Banishing Charm to the Reductor Curse.

Potions class wasn't avoidable any longer. Anne sat down feeling a stick in her throat, but she wasn't ready for the flood of emotions that washed her out of her mind as soon as the door banged closed, and Snape swept into the room. This same man had once been mocked for being a softy, hurt, and humiliated for being a swot like she was. Yet, he was the wizard who got down before all the Death Eaters of Evan's circle and proved himself worthless in front of the Dark Lord so as not to poison a town full of nameless Muggles!

Anne stared at the man as if she had seen him for the first time.

No one who'd ever seen a cauldron could watch this man brew and believe he would botch a simple display! Poisons were not brewed on location. That must have been deliberate and entirely intentional if he had botched his work. She tried to imagine the mindset of a wizard, not much older than she was, on his way to a gathering that could only end with his public punishment by not a lesser wand than the Dark Lord's!

Snape's wand swished toward the blackboard's relative location, and the recipe for the Invigoration Draught appeared in even, spiky letters. Anne's tears gathered in her eyes, and she couldn't make out a word. Evan doubted he would ever walk again. Gratitude rushed through Anne, and then unbearable shame.

This man had denied the fucking Dark Lord a poison of mass destruction for the price of perhaps never walking again, and she casually accused him of poisoning his one-time classmate! Gods! How could he talk to her after that? How could he even stand her sight?

The pincushion pressed into her thigh through her robe's pocket, and Anne found she was struggling for air. The dungeon's walls seemed to have gotten closer, and the air had become so warm and sparse that it was suffocating! Sweet Nimue, how could she talk like that?!

"Miss Carrow, put your stirring rod away, you obviously can't make use of it, and escort Rosier to the Infirmary!"

"Yes, sir."

Flora's voice seemed relieved, and Anne hazily sensed her readiness to oblige. She hardly had a grab on whatever was happening to her, yet she kept mumbling that she was sorry and ashamed. Snape must have walked headfirst into his fall with eyes open wide and was spared only as a joke, then sent to the enemy to die.

"How can he even bear my sight?"

"I don't know who you're talking about, witchling, but I hope you can walk because I can't climb the stairs holding you up."

"I have to tell Snape that I will ditch his detention," – Anne breathed, trying to turn back, but Flora held her still.

"You made enough of a scene for him to get that," – she told her. "Here are the rails. Grab onto them! What the hell has come over you, witchling? I thought you were over your oddness."

Now that she didn't see Snape around, Anne slowly let herself think about other things than what the letters had said about him. She leaned over the rails and panted while Flora held her balance. She finally realised she was defenceless against a Carrow girl and tried to calm down and find peace in her mind. Unfortunately, that looked from the outside as if she was losing consciousness.

"Witchling, hold on! Merlin, what a mess! I can't leave you here to get help, can I? Witchling!"

The words sounded urgent enough to make Anne open her eyes again. "I'm fine!"

"Oh, yeah, I can see that!" Flora huffed, and her impatience and disdain finally felt familiar. "Can you move at least?"

Anne tried. The climb to the Hospital wing was horrible without feeling enough strength to breathe normally, but they got there, and Poppy took over without missing a beat.

Anne's next memory was about trying to convince Poppy she was okay. She looked around as if waking from a strange dream and saw a Diagnostic Charm hovering above her, and Flora Carrow wasn't anywhere in sight. If she believed in that dream, Poppy lay her down and sent Flora back to class with a slip to cover for her lack of classwork. She even seemed happy about that. And someone said something about Snape probably visiting or asking after her later. She couldn't let herself cause any more hardship!

"Poppy, I'm telling you, I'm fine!" – she tried again. "I missed breakfast and maybe dinner last night. I don't remember. I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

"Your charts say you were under great stress. What did your Professor make you do in class again?"

Anne stared at her with a fright. "Nothing! He did nothing wrong, Poppy, it was me! I'll grab some lunch. Just let me go!"

The mediwitch looked at the Diagnostic Charm for the last time and dropped it.

"All right, but you will eat, duck. Don't let me see you here in this state again!"

Anne promised and righted her clothes, climbing out of the hospital bed.

"What could make you skip meals? Are you feeling down, duck?"

"I was only reading," – Anne plastered a smile. Poppy smirked at her oddness and thankfully let her be. That is, until the Infirmary door opened, and a tall black arrow of intent speared through the ward, followed by her House's Head agitated self.

"What happened?" – he demanded.

The mediwitch regaled her tale about lacking nourishment, and Anne wasn't brave enough to lift her gaze from her toes.

"And why is she just standing there? You should have put her to rest and fed her!"

"Are you questioning my professional choices? The girl has no greater problem than that she loves to read. Certainly, she's not the first one. Now, if you're through teaching me my job," – Poppy turned away to look after her next task, and Anne would have felt relieved if not for the worry and offence she sensed from her professor.

Snape wasn't hiding his emotions, and he seemed strangely worked up.

"She fainted in my class! Poppy, at least look at her! Her skin is almost bluish, and she's still trembling. You can't let her go!"

Poppy was palpably affronted. "I can and I will. She promised she would eat, and soon she would return for our afternoon class, anyway. We will talk then."

Oh, no, she most certainly will not! – Anne thought she heard while Snape looked between her and Poppy. Eventually, she also sensed the moment when he reached a decision. "Rosier, to the Brewing Room!"

"Severus!" Poppy was appalled.

"I thought you said she's unharmed. Rosier, get a move!"

With horrible premonition, she obliged. Her hands and face felt cold, and most of her focus was on occluding out everything about those damned letters. The Brewing Room closed on them with an ominous thud, and Snape's wand re-enforced the privacy with his usual wards.

Before Anne could manage a coherent thought, she saw a chair sliding to her side.

"Sit."

She couldn't have felt more awkward if he tried to make her.

"Sir…"

"Sit down, dammit!" – strangely, the last word only sounded in her head, and Anne sat gracelessly, led by sheer surprise.

Snape heaved an enormous sigh and rowed up three phials on the nearby prep table. Then he pulled himself halfway on the table's edge and weaved his arms together in front of his chest.

"Vitamins, Calming Draught, and… a potion for bad days. You will drink two out of the three while I can see it." It wasn't a question or an invitation. He simply stated the fact.

When Anne reached for the small phial full of that familiar blue liquid and drank the Bad Day Potion, he seemed to calm. It hit her how tense he'd been before. As if he didn't feel less awkward than she did….

"We've been at this point once already," – he began, and Anne's memory readily presented the image of her falling off a chair in her House's Head's office all those years before. "I want you to tell me what's going on now."

"I'm so sorry, sir!" – It bubbled up from her, but the apology was hollow and only worth covering her eyes with a strange mist again. How could she possibly say the same words as if she'd only stepped on his toes? She was a horrible person, and now she was only required to take vitamins and medicine! It was madness!

But Snape slowly covered his face with his palms, then rubbed them down to his chin. "Rosier!" he began warningly, but he must have thought better of it and only gestured at the phials: "One more, girl!"

Anne swallowed her despair with the vitamins. The Bad Day Potion must have kicked in because her horrible sense of shame slowly gave way to a determination to right the wrong, and she began to feel more like herself.

"I cannot attend the detention you have prescribed for today, sir," – Anne started, fearing the reaction, but when Snape kept silent, she hurried to spit out the words: "I would love to… but Professor Moody caught me out after curfew last night and punished me by giving me a detention for this evening."

Snape's eyes turned heavenward, and she could see his lips moving, but there was no sound.

"I received news about my family," – Anne pushed on, edging the truth and hoping for a strike of a miracle that would stop him from asking questions. "It's private… sir. The news… I hid to digest them and lost track of time. Argus – Mr Filch saw me caught and escorted me down to the dungeon stairs. He asked me not to get you involved."

It wasn't that far from the truth- She knew better than to lie to Snape. Still, his eyes widened with sudden alarm, and his lips pressed together as if afraid to say a word he wasn't supposed to, which was not what she'd expected in reply. Then his gaze bore into hers, and she felt his attention prickling at the edges of her mind like always when he wished to surmise her thoughts and intentions in the past in vain. Wishing to prove the honesty of at least her intentions, Anne rallied up her emotions for him—despair, regrets, a hint of panic, and lingering nausea. Snape wasn't an empath, but even he had to understand those feelings.

He quickly cut the connection when his naked eyes tempted her senses to reverse the Legilimency.

"You will find a way not to expose yourself tonight," – he said almost calmly, although Anne suspected he was fuming inside. She slowly nodded. Her stubborn urge to apologise was madness. It wasn't a mess to clear up with a simple sorry.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't!" – Snape warned her with all seriousness, and then the wards fell off the room.

Anne fled, feeling like a liar, a coward, and a fool. The whole castle was preoccupied with the lunch break, and she quickly slipped through the portal into the tunnel, changed out of her school robe, and hurried on to the edge of Hogsmeade and from there to London. She Apparated to the park close to Rachel's and only turned back time there. Now, she had a whole morning to rest and calm down before her shift at St. Mungo's, and she hoped that would suffice because things couldn't proceed the same.

She made too many mistakes and rushed others into danger. She was unjust and hysterical since the summer began, probably longer… she wished she knew why…

For a start, she picked up her yoga practice and meditations where she'd left them in June, then counted all her duties she'd also neglected. Like taking real care of herself, not just grabbing a sausage roll on the run or having a few hours of kip whenever she felt she would fall over. She should have also thought more about Caleb and how lonely he was. She should calm down before she threatened Argus and Snape in a school packed with creeps for the year… Moody, who killed her uncles… Karkaroff… She should have calmed down before joining her classes and figured out what was truly going on.

She untransfigured the pincushion and read through the letters again, focusing on the information instead of the novelty. Her uncles knew about the Knights of Walpurgis, but nothing indicated that her father had ever heard about them, too. She remembered that Haemophilus Macmillan recruited him after the war and that he told Duvessa he owed a debt to Malfoy. Her precious calm was already tested when she thought about her father's duplicity. No matter how and why, it seemed that her foolish relatives managed to join and then betray the oldest secret society the Dark Lord had initiated, and the consequences were unforeseeable.

The logical step would have been to either ignore the whole issue, let them rot as they were supposed to, or give a final shot to being a decent offspring and try to learn what was to come. Upon some contemplation, she suspected that it wasn't a choice. Whatever their father had devised also determined how Caleb and Gavin were viewed in the Ministry, so they couldn't escape consequences by sticking their heads in the sand.

She looked at the time and realised Caleb still had to be at work. She wasn't omnipotent. It was better to wait for him. Anne crumpled her Manchester United scarf into her bag, went for her next duty, and got herself to St. Mungo's for her afternoon shift. This job didn't only offer her the money she so thoroughly needed, but with the alias they devised, it also presented her with a rare chance to escape one day.

Anne turned back time and joined her colleagues at the St. Mungo's. She cleaned up the Brewery after Bert prepared the medicines for the Thickey Ward and got on with Blatant because that was her job. Eight hours in the hospital and a dinner necessitated another turn, and she dutifully rested at Caleb's place, waiting for his return from the Ministry. Predictably, he wasn't happy with the tale she told.

"Old Haemo Macmillan?" – he lifted his eyes at her after Anne cautiously listed some of the facts. "I mean, I knew he was a mugwump and all, and I remember when Father accepted the place on the Wizengamot it was on his call, but –" He stopped and watched his sister calculatingly for a few short seconds. "How would you come by such a tale at Hogwarts anyway? Who told you about Haemo and the old Malfoy playing on different teams?"

Anne fixed her gaze on her nails and tried to shrug the question off. "I just hear things… you know what the Common Room's like and all… Bloody gossiping lot the whole of them!" – she finally peeked up, trying for a smile, but Caleb seemed almost angry.

"Like hell, the Common Room!" he huffed, shaking his head. "Nobody's gossiping about Haemophilus Macmillan, and there's a reason! Whatever I heard about the man in my fourth and fifth years can't be forgotten soon enough either, I'm telling you, and especially you should never take his name on your mouth, A-bee! I'm not kidding here!"

"What did you hear about him?" – Anne asked, greedy for details. She was way too young to understand politics back in her first year, or sooner, and if their father had been open with Caleb…

"Isn't it more intriguing why you'd like to know?!"

Anne gasped in annoyance. "Can't you see it?! Father used to be in his circles, and then he told Duvessa he owed the old Malfoy! Whatever you heard about him, would that suggest it's healthy?"

"You also heard him telling us he wanted to escape the Macmillans' clutches for long!" – Caleb dismissed her worries, and it was plain to sense how much he wished her to change the subject. It was not to be.

"Eleonore told me and Sophie in the summer that the Fawleys, the Travers and the Macmillans allied with the Rosiers in the Wizengamot. She detests the Malfoys, and –"

"Sis, these fronts are never that clear in the real world, believe me!" Caleb sighed. When Lucinda first came near me, she used to talk about the Macmillans and their need for a wizard in the Ministry. Then Lucius bloody Malfoy popped up, helping her case until I lost my wand!" He reluctantly explained just to make Anne drop it all.

"But –"

"No "buts," A-bee. They are all creeps one way or another, that's all I recall from back then. And I don't have to know more, and so don't you."

Anne hung her head. It didn't make any sense, and she just couldn't shake off the feeling she was missing something crucial again. She wanted no more mistakes. Snape said some were not allowed to make mistakes anyway, and she knew with all she was that her father made a huge one that would influence them all.

"You know, A-bee, the strangest is not even that you heard about these things at Hogwarts," – Caleb carried on in a tone that mostly sounded placating. "Which sounds like bullshitting, but I will not press you for the source…"

"What is the strangest?" – Anne softly asked him, grateful for any hints.

"Do you still remember what we were told as children? That Father wished to stay away from the whole mess, and so Mum and the Muggles came to live with us for protection, and all the creeps only appeared to get healed and never to bug us?"

"Yeah." Anne felt the same nostalgia for those easy lies she sensed her brother was also consumed by.

"I'd just like to point out that it didn't work!"

Her lips ran sideways into a fond smile, and she patted her brother's arm. "You're right, it didn't," -she agreed, ready to change the subject for her brother's comfort.

Strangely, the air around him slowly shifted while they discussed Gavin's Muggles and some harmless gossip from the ministry corridors… as if Caleb had been calmed and strengthened by their short discussion. It didn't make sense, but she was happy she sensed something other than his melancholy.

Before she returned to Hogwarts, she had one more errand. When she stepped into his shop, Mr Borgin looked up from the counter, and if he was surprised to see her during school hours, he refrained from showing that.

"Miss Annabella! What can I thank for the pleasure?"

"I've been fondly thinking about our afternoon together. How is Mr Burke, sir?"

"Doesn't enjoy the weather, I'm afraid. The news about the Hogwarts staff didn't lift his spirits either. We just received Sophia's owl this morning."

"Professor Moody is planning to test Unforgivables on the fourth years," – Anne nodded. "Some of us are wondering what he would come up with on a detention for Slytherins."

"Is that what he threatens with?" Borgin straightened behind the counter. "His curiosity should be curtailed, I dare say! The Ministry cannot support such a loose cannon sliding through Hogwarts!"

"Is this the same Ministry that is planning to send old Mr. Crouch over by the end of next month?" Anne asked back with a studied air of innocence. It worked better than she expected. Mr Borgin's colour changed to resemble a plum's.

The old shopkeeper drew a deep breath and glanced at a shelf full of silver gadgets. "These are Malice Detectors, Secrecy Sensors, Sneakoscopes and other playthings," – he began. "Although, I'm rather afraid we have foregone the point of their usefulness. There are, of course, charmed objects linking this realm to the non-being one, providing hiding places for dubious possessions… I might advertise in the Daily Prophet for your peers' interest…"

"That would be wonderful, Mr Borgin!"

"Mmm…" the old man nodded. "Those won't protect anyone from more malicious intent."

"Is there anything that would, sir?"

Borgin stepped out from behind the counter, brightening up. "Why, of course, dear Annabella, we have various talismans, some of which work."

He picked up a pair of gloves and reached for a refined rock in the colour of freshly fallen snow. Anne was surprised to see something as clear and beautiful as this in such an establishment.

"Charmed quartz," – Borgin explained. "The user should transfigure it to their chosen use, and the applied magic will serve as the master's imprint. Following that, every malicious attempt against the quartz's master will be absorbed into the rock. Of course, the quartz has a saturation point, and an Unforgivable curse would push beyond that. However, smaller curses and hexes would be gracefully absorbed. Then, the owner will need to ask for a replacement after the quartz's colour changes, or they could use the collected malice for other purposes."

His brightened face left no question about his preference, and Anne was convinced. She graced the shopkeeper with her brightest smile. "How much would you want for a handful of these, Mr Borgin?"

"Well, considering the package price, I could discount a Galleon by half a dozen, which will leave us with –"

The sudden movement caught Anne's eyes, and her attention turned to the tiger swiping its tail in the shop window.

"Excuse me, sir, but would adding another item give me more of a discount?"

Anne left the Borgin and Burke's seventy-nine Galleons and eight Knuts poorer but as a proud owner of two dozen charmed quartz crystals and a centuries-old Thai porcelain tiger purring in her pocket with satisfaction. She half-regretted trying to bargain with Borgin without Sophie as her backup and seriously believed that the old man should have become a highwayman as it was the same profession.

"I will name you Overpriced," she whispered to the tiger. "Now stop swaggering your tail because it's ticklish!"

Overpriced purred again, and then she felt him curling up in her pocket and leaning its head on its paws. She was finally ready to return to Hogwarts for her afternoon classes and detention.

Astronomy and the History of Magic posed no problem, but before she turned back time again for Care for Magical Creations, she carefully stole up to her tower and placed the tiger on her desk to protect him from the Blast-ended Screwts.

"Here. I will find you a better place as soon as possible," – she promised. "But for now, you must ensure no one sees you but me."

Overpriced swept his tail, and she could sense his approval.

"You need a job, do you?" Anne asked the tiger.

His eagerness was all over the place.

"I have something I want to hide. It is important. If anyone knew I had it, I would be in trouble, and many people dear to me would suffer. Do you understand that?"

The porcelain tiger watched her with both ears perked up and fully alert. He was so expectant Anne felt a nudge in magic to go on.

"I know you were made to protect and to threaten those who don't belong to you. Can I be sure of your alliance?"

The tiger swept his tail and lowered his head as if he was nodding. His small fangs viciously glittered under his curled-up lips. He looked ready to fight but also small and fragile. Anne wasn't entirely sure what to expect, and Overpriced sensed her attitude.

Before she could voice her doubts, the porcelain figurine vanished in a puff of smoke, and all that remained in its place was a curiously foreboding air. When she tried to reach the place the little tiger abandoned, her senses were assaulted with a detonation-like hit of magic that sent her backwards with such force that she struggled to get up from the floor.

She reached again, and her hand began to burn. Tapping into magic, she saw pictures of unknown wizards and witches, all dressed according to their age's various fashions. They lost their hands and received cuts on their faces, throats, and chests until they retreated from whatever the tiger used to protect from them.

"All right, all right, I believe you! I'm sorry!" she cried, concerned about losing a hand. The tiger returned to the material world, smugly licking his paw and slowly blinking. "Well done, Pricey! I will never doubt you again."

The tiger swished its tail, and Anne had the impression he was laughing at her. Not that she minded. He was just what she needed to protect the letters. Placing the paper box in front of her new friend, she explained what she needed, and Pricey lazily climbed onto the box and nodded to his newest mistress.

"Thank you," – Anne smiled at the tiger. "Here, do you need this?" She tapped into magic like other times when she wished to get a sense of the surrounding emotions, but this time, she tried to relay something… her trust, power and intentions… she lifted her hand towards the figurine in an involuntary gesture. It licked the magic off the tip of her fingers. It was ticklish, and she laughed up. Pricey happily rolled on top of the box of papers.

She would have played for hours, but her wand buzzed with the time.

"Got to go, Pricey. I want you to hide it and not show it to anyone but me! And for now, I would also like you to hide yourself. I'm not very good with wards, so this tower is almost unprotected. Can you puff away like you did earlier? When I'm here, I don't mind if you're visibly around."

The little tiger rubbed its jaw to her hand and disappeared in a puff of smoke, taking the paper box full of letters with him. He left no foreboding air behind this time, only a strange sense of a powerful presence. Anne found this calming and hurried to Hagrid's class with a smile.

She ditched Poppy's afternoon training at the Infirmary, thinking that the mediwitch would rather have her eat dinner with her peers. The Great Hall was buzzing with noise and emotions as always, and she saw Snape's eyes glance at her only for a second before he turned his head away. She followed his gaze to the Gryffindor table and wondered what he could find there so bloody entertaining all the time.

Later, Anne took a stroll towards the Lake before her detention, trying to prepare for whatever Moody had for her in mind. She was sorely tempted to sneak up to his tower and spy on her future self through the Auror's door, but if he could see through his skull, she was afraid he could also detect her somehow. She transfigured one of her quartz crystals into a potion phial and hoped for the best.

On her way up to the fourth floor, she had an idea and detoured to Filch's office to convince the caretaker to spy in her stead. However, Filch wasn't alone. She smelled cigarette smoke as soon as she pushed the door in and heard Snape's voice from the kitchenette:

"…not that it matters. I can't suffer a liar. And you can stop making excuses for her!"

Anne sensed his dissatisfaction roaming around the place, but Argus seemed calm and mildly entertained.

"Did she really lie, or did she just avoid you?"

"What's the difference?" - Snape barked almost defensively.

"Lad! You confuse her as much as she-"

"I Am Not Confused!" – Snape thundered. "And what would confuse her? The only thing I've ever done–"

"–was leaving her for Poppy," – Filch finished for him. Anne was close to retreating, but the word stopped her. "Don't start it! I heard you already. We are an insufferable plotting lot. I got that. You still blew up Hippocrates for her, then searched high and low until you found her unharmed after the skirmish. Do sit down, lad. You make my neck hurt!"

After a few steps, Anne heard a chair screeching on the stone floor. "She got all my damning notes out of Moody's way," – Snape's voice carried more his reluctance to admit that than anything resembling gratitude.

"That's a bonny lass! I told you so, and I don't mind saying it!"

"Say it as long as you can, old man. Because if her father also writes to the Headmaster, I can't keep her around anymore."

"Why don't you make the old coot keep her 'ere then?" – Filch offered, eliciting a thunderous eruption of fear in magic.

"Over my rotten corpse!"

Suddenly, Anne felt an unforgiving thread of attention lashing out from the kitchenette. "Who is there?!" – she heard Snape's voice while closing the door.

She didn't wait for him to discover her eavesdropping, only ran headless to the passage's entrance, hid behind an armour, pushed the snake's head, and jumped into safety.

Anne panted and grabbed the quartz in her pocket. It took effort to mute her shame and questions, but she had learned her lesson in the morning. She occluded it all, and Annabella, walking up to Moody's office, didn't care about old Filch or her Head of House. It was enough she could recognise there those various devices she saw on Borgin's shelves — malice detectors. The air was abuzz with multiple intents, mostly vengefulness, determination, expectations, some glee, and a strange streak of suffering, shame, and fear she couldn't put her mind's finger on… She tried to keep her interaction with the Professor as meagre as possible, and thankfully, Moody was also preoccupied with his expectations when he showed an object on his desk… an object.

It was an object, not a vase, as she probably should have recognised it with its telling shape and simple design. But staring at it on Moody's desk, Annabella had to give back the lead to Anne. There was a lazily blowing dark grey fog around the item, almost as wide as the desk and spreading, and Moody didn't seem to notice it. He presented it as her evening's work.

"We are to dive into blood curses and magical items of doom. You are to have a head start, Miss Rosier. Let's see whether the family line will show!"

Anne knew she should have stared at him with confusion or demanded another exercise, telling him she had no way to dissect a curse as a mere fifth year without previous knowledge. She also should have thought about her mixed grades in Defence classes or only about the perverse injustice of it all… Yet all those would have been a vain attempt to win time and only get more of the attention she had never wished for.

Her father had never been famous for his talent in magic, Evan was the celebrated favourite with maybe duelling to recommend him, and Mordred… She knew little about her Uncle Mordred and wasn't ready to contemplate him in the Auror's presence. The only more-or-less safe member of her family she wished Moody to compare her with was her grandfather, the cursebreaker.

While Professor Moody explained the work before her, she hardly heard a word but still got the gist. The swirling grey fog menacingly curled around the vase and her curious senses, luring her with the sparse sparkles in the centre, where she wished to reach, but wisely stopped herself. She believed she vibrated on the same frequency as the fog. Or did it only want her to think that? Did it have an intention of its own?

She had no recollection of when or how she stepped closer and also failed to notice when Moody fell silent and began eagerly licking the corner of his mouth, his emotions encouraging her to reach out and try to dispel the curses. The swirling fog seemed to whisper in a sweet, soft voice, using a language she had yet to learn but had heard enough spoken… earlier. This wasn't foreign at all… Anne's head tilted to the side, and she smiled at the fog like at a childhood friend.

"A nonverbal revealing charm!" – Moody hungrily celebrated behind her back. "Go on, girly, show off what you know! Show what you are!"

The words finally caught Anne's single-minded attention, and she felt a shudder running down her spine. The hag wasn't different from this wizard, demanding she show herself – her true self. What could that have meant?

Listen here, Rosier, your abilities must remain hidden. Whatever may come, wherever you go, you are to maintain your defences and hide who you are at all costs. Snape always demanded she hide who she was. They wanted to see the what, not the who… What was she?

In his book, Pagadow said that Mind Magic was dark, and naturals in the Art were as dangerous as dark creatures, but she knew from Paracelsus and Hippocrates that they misused the term. She also owned a dark wand since she was eleven, although Ephsos told a different tale about talent and balance, and Pince showed her Colour Magic, which never considered Ebony as the carrier of darkness. She wasn't obliged to bow to dark magic. It was only someone else's intent.

If her father also writes to the Headmaster, I cannot keep her around!

The memory of Snape's fear came without a warning and almost broke her was his issue? If he had been ready to sacrifice himself for Muggles or plead for a Mudblood, he was only a Death Eater in name, yet he didn't trust the Headmaster to show him what she was…

I take no joy in ensuring your abilities stay hidden, but I will not watch anyone take advantage of a natural Empath.

Eyewash! Anyone who thundered, "Over my rotten corpse!" was speaking of something bloody personal!

"What do you see, Rosier?" – Moody's voice was luring, just like the sparkles she noticed in the fog. "Describe what you see!"

"It's beautiful," she replied honestly, but her attention was divided between what the fog wished for and what Snape had pressed onto her to do.

"Dissect it!" Moody encouraged, but now it was the killer's voice that had deprived the family of Mordred and thus forced her inept father to stand up and ruin them all. What did he want from her?

"It needs the caster's blood," Anne said, lifting her head and preparing to face whatever Moody had in mind to punish her. "My grandfather was a cursebreaker. We all were told he believed the best person for dissecting a curse was the one who cast it."

"What makes you believe it needs blood?" – Moody purred.

Anne looked at the brown side of the fog, which sparkled in ruby red, and she decided to lie. "You told me when I entered that blood curses are the next in class," she said.

The sudden hit of disappointment from behind her was a treat and a prize for her strength. "You are to dissect it, Rosier. It is your detention!"

When Moody pushed her shoulder, she lost balance and involuntarily put a hand before her to hold her weight before falling on the table. It landed in the fog, and the ruby sparkles lashed out, frightening her. The next she felt was that strange warmth in her pocket as if the quartz phial was burning. Then she forced herself to hold her maple wand above the vase and cast Finite.

The fog didn't evaporate, but the swirling slowed, and she saw no more sparkles.

"That's all I could do, sir," Anne turned to face Moody, who stood indignantly at the table.

"Show me your hands, girly!" he demanded after he pushed her out of his way and cast a spell that curiously resembled the Diagnostic Charms Anne routinely used. She held her wand with only her thumb and showed both her palms. "How?!" the wizard demanded.

"I never cared about the family drama, but I love my grandfather's library," – Anne smoothly lied, hoping this would get the Auror off her back.

"Old Felix Rosier was a well-known dark wizard," – Moody remembered gleefully.

"Also, he never had a problem with the law," – Anne stated, hoping it wasn't only her lack of understanding. Felix might have been among the Knights of Walpurgis for all she knew about him, but nothing indicated that Moody had heard about those people, and she doubted Mr Burke would have called any of them a friend.

To her relief, this put the retired Auror into a good mood, and after some words of encouragement to stay on the safe side and not breach curfew, she was let on her way.

The spiral staircase leading her down from the defence tower made her dizzy as she hurried down in circles. At the bottom, she stopped and panted, feeling all the exhaustion of this endless day when the challenge was behind her. She had the impression that she had won a battle, but whether that meant good or called for future conflicts, clashing with the mad old Auror, she couldn't tell.

Anne pushed herself away from the tower's wall and was ready to find the shortest route to the dungeons when, close to the Baron's passage, a shadow divided from the wall. Anne gasped but fell silent as soon as she recognised her professor. Snape lifted a finger to his mouth and nodded to the side to make her move down the corridor. She felt but couldn't hear him follow her steps.

"Portifix," – she heard the whisper, and she obediently stepped through the mirror with Snape on her heels. "Move on, girl," – he nudged her, and she walked through the rambles and climbed up to see the stars at the other side of Hogsmeade. "What happened?"

Anne turned towards that soft voice. It was Snape's, yet it wasn't his… not like in class. She already knew his voice rumbled with more dissatisfaction or tiredness than with demand when he spoke at the Infirmary, and she enjoyed his Manc whenever he let loose, but this voice was different enough for her to search his gaze, checking if she knew him.

"He wanted me to break a blood curse on a vase and see if I could do it." Even in the starlight, she could see Snape's eyes widen. It was probably for the best that he hid his emotions. "When I told him it should have needed his blood, as the caster, he pushed me onto it, and so I cast Finite. I told him that was all I learned from my grandfather's library. He used to be a cursebreaker. But it was a lie."

"He pushed you- Where are you hurt?" – Snape's voice didn't lose its previous softness, but now it sounded urgent.

Anne's lips ran into a smile, and she reached into her pocket to show the quartz.

"What is that?" – Snape stepped closer, losing patience, and she readily held up the sharp shreds of the broken crystal on her palm.

"It absorbed it! I felt it, sir! I could sense it!"

Snape grabbed her wrist and held her hand to the moonlight, examining the shreds as much as her unharmed skin. When he was sure she had suffered no injuries, he took the shreds and weighed them on his palm. They were dark grey and blackened at the edges.

"Charmed crystal?" – He sought Anne's gaze incredulously.

"I had a bad premonition," she explained, trying not to shrug. She feared what he would make of her preparations, but his face pulled into a rare smug smirk.

"Good girl. Now, you will avoid him."

"I will, sir. No more mistakes," she promised.

This seemed to surprise him. After gazing into her eyes as if he wanted to make sure she meant what she said, Snape finally nodded. "This wasn't badly done."

Anne beamed at him, bathing in the rare praise until she remembered her resolve to change her ways about him.

"I heard you in Filch's office, sir. You were worried about my father sending a letter to the Headmaster. I usually don't eavesdrop. It was an accident. I felt ashamed when you noticed me and ran away. I'm sorry, Professor. It was me out in the corridor. It won't happen again!"

When his attention swept back to her, his glance was so disbelieving that she almost wished she hadn't spoken up.

"Are you just telling me all that?"

"Sir, I will not lie to you. I haven't done so once since I was a first year and botched my first potion."

The phrase called up the story in Evan's letter, and her eyes filled with the mist she hoped wouldn't leak this time. Strangely, Snape didn't react at all. He stood motionless, staring into her eyes so long Anne was preparing for his Legilimency, but it never came.

Finally, he shook himself and turned away completely. The moonlight slipped on his long hair where it hit his shoulder, and the breeze brushed it to the side. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with emotion. It was strange to wonder blindly about the nature of those feelings.

"I received a letter this morning, Rosier. It came from your father, demanding your imminent return to the family home. He wished to let me know that your presence at Hogwarts is without his consent, that you have passed the age of sixteen and thus are not required to receive further education by the law."

Anne stared at his back but could not sense anything to direct her. She saw him lowering his head but couldn't decide whether that was an act of surrender. At a moment like this, to be denied her full capacity to understand and cope seemed cruel and unjust.

"Sir, I wish you would stop Occluding!" she cried out, surprising herself with how desperate and demanding her voice sounded.

He promptly glanced back at her, showing his shock, too. "Believe me, Rosier, there's nothing I could show you that would make this easier. Even if he's mistaken about your age, even his estimation –"

Without thinking Anne let her despair cut into his words: "I don't need it to be easy… I just want to know!"

He turned back to watch the moorlands, and for a while, nothing happened. But then Anne began to feel it… worries… dissatisfaction, disbelief, a strange sense of hope – squashed with fears and discomfort… some spite… and more fear… so much fear she was shocked he could hide it. The man was terrified!

"Sweet Nimue!" Her whisper dissolved into the starlight, and Snape hung his head again with a rush of shame. That was the last emotion Anne could pick up before he virtually folded into himself and closed his mind like a shell. It was disturbing and left her unbalanced.

"I don't understand, sir," – she finally managed to say. "He wanted me to write about Igor Karkaroff when he gets to Hogwarts. I hated the idea, but that's what he asked me to do when I visited him in June," – she added when Snape turned with a gaze that promised no good. "If I figured out what made him change his mind… or…"

Snape's eyebrows ran up in surprise, and his tone almost sounded mocking when he asked, "Can you figure something out on that scale, Rosier? Within mere days, too?"

His amusement got the better of Anne. "Wouldn't be the first time, sir, but even if I fail, I have enough to blackmail him into leaving me for my own devices. Or maybe only at Hogwarts if you finally decide to tell me what's so important about my presence at school?"

This time, her boldness made him openly smirk. "You like theories, Rosier," – he began, stepping closer. "For the sake of one, let's say I tell you, and you blackmail your father. You should choose your threat well, girl. It is unlikely you could pressure him otherwise."

She betted he wished to know what she had on her father, but even if she learned from Evan's letters to trust him, sputtering the family secrets into the night felt foolish beyond measure.

"I know whom he betrayed more than he does. I could tell on him."

Snape's glance relentlessly examined her face as if he waited for something to show there.

"And what would your telling on him – cause?"

Anne lost her momentum because she wasn't sure about that. "I only know that would harm him," – she admitted. Maybe kill him... it's really… he wouldn't want to risk it, and so he would give up this madness! Which is enough!"

When Snape turned his face away, his eyes filled with something that looked like pity, she already knew what he thought of her. She must have seemed so foolish that it didn't even amuse him anymore.

"I probably shouldn't. It isn't worth it," – she tried to save face, and his eyes swept back to her promptly.

"Oh, no, Rosier, it would be worth it. You should fight for your safety, which is still at Hogwarts." Anne stared at him with disbelief, but he had never looked more serious. "You keep asking why, although I once promised to keep you safe and unharmed. And you receive this answer because you should never threaten a soul with something you're not ready to go through on. Do you understand me?"

Anne was surprised by a hazy memory about standing with him above a strange string of chambers in her third year, learning about Professor Quirrell and the gossip's truth about the Dark Lord. She was high on his potion and asked him to be her friend.

"You denied me your friendship then," – she recalled. "Which I never understood because otherwise –"

"I'm a horrible choice for a friend, Rosier," – he cut in, shaking his head. "What I will do, instead, is to amicably warn his new allies against someone I knew was easy to blackmail." When Anne's eyes rounded with surprise, he shrugged as if that wasn't a big deal at all. "If all else fails, I can still call in a favour so you won't expose yourself, which is the point."

"You know exactly what he is doing!" – Anne told him, hoping against all odds he would say more. Alas, the shell was closed, and now even Snape's features lost animation.

"You should return to your dorm, Miss Rosier. It's late enough," – he told her blankly.

There was no use to argue. Anne reluctantly wished him good night and retreated. Still, she had the peculiar feeling that she had forgotten something important like she hadn't snuffed a candle or noticed a critical detail….