Hi, All,
Author's note because it's been a while: HP belongs to Rowling, whatever you recognize is hers, not mine, and I'm grateful to be allowed to play in her sandbox.
Also, this story follows Harry's story from a distance, which means that soon we'll make a detour from the original plot to look around in the magical community and discover more background. I hope it will be as much fun for you as it is for me.
Enjoy,
Chapter 21.
12th February – 17th May 1994.
(16/17)
Life returned to its slow flow at Hogwarts. Anne's classes only posed the challenge of getting on with her peers, and she tried to use her time in the dorm to convince Flora that she didn't care about her father's dealings. It was a lost cause, but at least the Carrows began to believe her too dumb and dull to know anything.
Anne could tell that Sophie didn't like her game, but she made it up for her with various OWL notes. By the end of March, the poor girl was so deep into revisions and cramming that Anne had to find the time to make her loosen up a little.
"Miranda takes it easier, but Sophie will lose her mind if she doesn't have a break," – Anne told Milan one day in the Great Hall. "If you get them both to the sixth floor after dinner, I'll show you something cool to distract her."
Planning something out of her schedule was so much fun that she decided that was what she needed in her life. Of course, if she didn't wish to sacrifice her duties, it also meant some additional turns and getting sleepier than usual, but who cares? She sneaked up delicacies and butterbeers from the kitchen to an offset on the sixth floor twice that day and carefully hid all of it with a Notice-me-not Charm she had practiced on her friendship bracelet now for years. Wearing a well-cut robe for a change also added to her giddiness. Thankfully, Madame Malkin remembered her preference for a less tailored robe that didn't show off her shape.
In the evening, Anne couldn't wait to get her friends up to the balustrade between the Twin Towers on the sixth floor, and she happily chatted about her time here with Gavin and how the snowfall looked mesmerizing from this vantage point.
"You never said what's up with your brothers," Sophie mentioned, biting off a chocolate frog's head childishly. "Flora seems to think they flew off the hinges. Especially the younger one."
Anne quickly thought of all the consequences, but if she ever had friends, they were sitting here with her now. "Yeah, he's… well, you know how we are all pressed into line with our families' beliefs and all… all that they do and had or hadn't done…" – she noticed Miranda and Milan sharing a knowing look, which reminded her how much Eleonore Fawley disapproved of their friendship. "My brothers think we might attempt to think with our own heads?"
Milan grabbed his girlfriend's hand and smiled at her warmly. "Oh, I have no doubts all would be surprised one day… what d'ya think?"
"It's worth it," – Miranda grinned shyly, biting into her lips. "But I don't know about your brothers, Anne. I'm not a 'last heir' to obey or whatever… and my mum doesn't care much. She just prefers to avoid scandal."
"Well, my mum seems to prefer to avoid the family altogether," – Anne sighed with rare honesty. "She's left not long before Christmas."
"What?!" Sophie almost jumped in surprise, and she got hold of Anne's arm, turning to face her. "Annie, you okay, honey? You should have told us! That's a big deal!"
"I- I just wish she let us talk to her ever since… she doesn't get my letters, and she didn't want to talk…" – she shrugged. "I'm not that worried because she speaks to Caleb sometimes, and he says she's all right or will be… and Gavin helped her leave, so our Father is most displeased with him… you can imagine!"
"I thought she fell ill," – Miranda recalled.
"She did," – Anne nodded. "That doesn't mean she wishes for contact."
"Goddess, I wish I could invite you for summer again, but we won't stick around that long if-"
"Have you decided then?" – Sophie excitedly turned to Miranda and Milan.
"I've got the owl from Luxor," – Milan explained. "They expect a new secretary for Gringotts' administrator early in July. I only have the NEWTs to stop me," – he chuckled. "And Mims agreed to come."
"We'll get married in Hurghada. We're both of age," – Miranda told them with a grin. "And if we depart as soon as the school is off, Milan's NEWT results would find us on our way through Egypt. I have a second cousin there. I hope she remembers…."
"You haven't owled her?" – Anne and Sophie stared.
"We cannot risk it," – Miranda bit her lip again. Anne sensed her fear but also her happy anticipation. The risk they took was astonishing, but she couldn't fault them, knowing the Fawleys.
"We won't say a word to anyone!" – Sophie even motioned with a hand before her mouth how her lips were sealed.
"Of course not," – Anne quickly nodded. "I just wish I could help you be safe there!"
Milan stared down at the fields under Hogwarts, and it was plain to sense his misgivings about the situation. Anne knew him now enough to believe the plan belonged to his girlfriend. Milan played along, knowing no better, but at least he was talented enough to work his way through the life they chose.
"Safety is overrated," – Miranda clutched her hand around Milan's arm and smiled at him until he mirrored it. "I know this is not reasonable or polite like we've been taught, but do you believe it would be safer here? For us together?"
Sophie took a breath to argue, but Anne thought she knew what Miranda meant. "Not with the oldies doing their stuff in the Ministry and the Wizengamot. I know it is a mess. First hand," – she shrugged. "Milan would get caught up in their meddling within days, and who knows what you two would be pressed to do or endure."
"People whisper about the Dark Lord still," – Sophie offered. "There was that rumour some years ago with Quirrell, and now one of his followers roams the country…."
"If that one fellow alone can get Dementors to Hogsmeade, I don't want to see what his followers would get us into if they somehow got together," – Milan softly told them. "People don't think about this, but Black is still alone. I have relatives among the Muggles, and my cousin is a Squib.
"Eleonore Fawley might hate me, but she'd also risked a husband and a brother for someone who just vanished one day. Even she had to struggle to keep her head above when the shit hit the fan… erm… sorry," – he quickly apologized for the wording, but the girls shook their heads. It was only accurate.
"I hear your brother changed position in the Ministry, by the way," – Milan went on, looking at Anne. "Is he really at the Department for Transport?"
"That place is so much calmer," – Anne explained. She was relieved indeed, but then Milan asked her:
"He could also arrange us a remote portkey -"
"Milan, don't! We agreed we wouldn't get them into it!" – Miranda protested, but Anne saw the logic in the young wizard's request and could sense his protectiveness. Milan didn't ask this for himself.
"I'll ask," – she told him.
"Wow, ladies and gentleman! This is the way to have a nice little party for ourselves!" Sophie sighed and then chuckled. "I thought we were up to some fun tonight. Now look at us!"
Both her girlfriends buried their faces in their hands, shaking with giggles, and Milan pulled his mouth into a dissatisfied grimace. "Sorry!"
"C'mon, it's good we talked," – Sophie assured him. "I just wonder where all that lightness vanished since we began here."
Anne thought back to her first year at Hogwarts, and even if that wasn't a parade, she caught the drift. Miranda understood the sentiment better: "Yeah," she nodded. "D'you guys remember what Snapey said once to the firsties? That Slytherin was nothing they've been told about, and no one would tell the truth when finishing here?"
Anne grinned. It was her first year's welcoming speech in the Common Room. "He used to be more profound than the awkward warnings since then," – she deemed.
"Oh, this year's wasn't awkward in any way, people just don't remember," – Milan replied. "He quite plainly told the Malfoy gang to shut up and all others to sit on needles because something was amiss around the castle. And sure as hell, he didn't mean the Dementors."
"Yeah, he hates that Black guy," – Sophie nodded.
"I don't think he'd meant that," – Miranda grimaced. "I've been thinking about Lupin, though… Have you heard them talk? My! If that's not true hatred, I've never seen the like of it!"
Anne realized in the sudden silence that she was chewing on a nail again, and everyone stared at her. "What?"
"You know it," – Sophie accused her.
"Erm…"
"Oh, c'mon!" – Miranda encouraged, "you don't look this guilty for nothing. What have you heard?"
"I – I promised not to tell…."
"Not to tell, what?" – Sophie leaned closer, testing Anne like never before. She sighed to win time, but it wasn't enough to find a way around it.
"Lupin is a – dangerous fellow. More so than any other, even perhaps Black, because he would just kill you, but Lupin…" – she sighed when she realized she couldn't do it. She had no idea why, but somehow, following Snape's rules was sacred in her mind since he pulled her out of the darkness in her second year.
"Look, I'm sorry, but I promised…" – she looked around helplessly. "Just stay far away from the guy, especially when he's under the weather, will you?"
"You bet," – Milan nodded thoughtfully, and Anne could see him pulling Miranda closer by her arm. "No worries, Anne. If you keep that to yourself, I'm convinced you'd keep everything else the same."
She flashed him a grateful smile and sensed Sophie's turbulent emotions smoothing out to affection.
"Annie never babbles," – her friend smiled at her. "It's okay. I never liked him anyway."
With Sophie's shrug, the issue was closed, and Anne felt grateful like never before. They drank what was left of their Butterbeers in silence and decided to return to the dorms to avoid mishaps. But Anne was bugged by the revelations, and although she couldn't do much about Miranda's planned elopement, she was determined to find out something about Snape and Lupin. The whole story didn't make sense. Why would Snape keep his silence?
Driven by a sudden thought, she said a hurried goodnight and stole up to the abandoned side of the sixth floor, believing that The Ladies at Picnic were chatty enough to talk about anything people wished to conceal.
"Oh, the Professors are a forbidden topic!" – the Lady in Yellow giggled, letting her hair fan out in the painted sunshine after Anne tentatively asked about her teachers. Then she leaned closer to the frame: "Who would you want to hear about?"
"Erm…. I recently had a funny conversation with Professor Lupin, and –"
"Professor Lupin!" – the Lady in Blue chuckled. "God, if this doesn't sound like irony on wings!"
"Hush you!" – The Lady in Green swatted at her arm. "Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly."
"Serves him right, both the feigning and the folly. Unlike the Black boy, his precious friend, my! Did he look impressive!" – The Lady in Yellow simpered.
"D'you mean Sirius Black?" – Anne stared at the portrait, astonished.
"Mmmm," – the Lady in Blue nodded. "'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst."
Anne gasped and tried to come to terms with the change of topic. "Lupin was friends with Black?! Did Professor Snape know him, too? Is that why he is so adamant to find him?"
"No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; revenge should have no bounds," – the Lady in Green recited with raised eyebrows as if she tried to suggest even more than what she said.
"Oh, you mean gossip!" – the Lady in Blue swatted her fan playfully at the Lady in Green. "The Snape boy came around so nicely. Haven't you heard that voice and seen that robe collar! A pity he banned us from the lower-level portraits."
"He's my Head of House!" – Anne scolded the Ladies.
"O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r/Dost hold time's fickle glass his sickle hour" – the Lady in Yellow smiled. "Look through the mundane, young lady!"- she encouraged.
"What's the greater picture?" – Anne asked the portrait ladies.
"But he who filches from me my good name/Robs me of that which not enriches him/And makes me poor indeed," – the Lady in Yellow recited instead of an explanation.
"Shakespeare again?" – Anne tried not to roll her eyes. "D'you mean Snape won't rob Lupin of his good name?"
The Lady in Green looked at her as if Anne had difficulty in understanding and shook her head. "Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows/Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;/And therefore from my face she turns my foes,/That they elsewhere might dart their injuries-"
Anne frowned at the painted ladies. "Jilted love? Whatever do you mean?"
She hazily recalled a conversation she had once overheard in Filch's office. Snape and Filch were arguing because Snape had made a promise Filch disagreed with. It had been something about the Dark Lord, and then Snape said he loved a woman who had died.
"So… you're telling me that all of them, Sirius Black, Professor Lupin, and Professor Snape… knew each other, and also… there was a woman?"
"Isn't it the way of the best old stories, to be there a woman and a man?" – The Lady in Blue asked, and the Lady in Yellow giggled and replied:
"Or a woman and four men? If you're ready to call them that way… and one more to shake up the tale?"
The portrait ladies nodded and giggled, and Anne was ready to give up quizzing them about the past before she confused herself even more. Her bracelet shown up, reminding her of the curfew, again. She should have been in her Common Room already.
After a hasty good night to the Ladies, Anne walked down the main stairs in a daze, and she only looked up from her thoughts when she saw the Bloody Baron levitating above the second floor. Before she could open her mouth to greet him or apologize, the ghost shook his head and demanded her silence with a finger across his mouth, then stretched an inviting arm to the left side corridor.
She followed the Slytherin ghost with more annoyance than anticipation until it turned behind a suit of armor, awakening her curiosity. But when she tried to follow, she faced only a stone wall. Anne was about to tell the Baron what she thought of pranking innocent students hurrying back to their dorm after curfew when she heard footsteps from the main corridor.
"Remus!" – The voice sounded old and friendly, unmistakably the Headmaster's greeting. Anne froze.
"Albus, I've only taken a stroll around the Greenhouses," – Professor Lupin sounded apologetic. "Is something the matter?"
"Not at all, my friend, not at all. I'm sure your health benefitted from the visit," – the Headmaster replied. Then the Baron stuck his pearl-coloured head through the wall and looked so impatient Anne couldn't eavesdrop any longer. Soon, she also noticed a pearly finger sticking through the stones, showing a carved-in snake.
Anne touched the snake's head, which didn't feel like stone.
"…Severus takes good care of it," – she heard from the direction of the main staircase.
"Ah, so you put aside your youthful differences," – the Headmaster jovially replied. Anne could sense how much his voice of approval was in strange dissonance with his suspicions that lingered in the air.
"I wouldn't say we both did, but probably he does his best," – Professor Lupin answered, and Anne's blood ran cold.
She wouldn't have talked about anyone disapprovingly, especially not in front of the Headmaster, or wasn't that what Lupin meant? The Baron's hand lifted impatiently, pulling her attention back to the wall, and she finally noticed she stood in front of an elaborately made tapestry door. She pushed at the snake harder, and the door slipped inside, admitting her into a corridor only illuminated by the ghost's dim shine.
The Baron nodded with some satisfaction and floated down the hidden foyer while the tapestry door slid back to its place, closing out all the noises from the main staircase. Anne tried to focus on avoiding the cobwebs instead of being lost in thought about what she'd just overheard. It rhymed with everything she'd established about them, taking the hostility to the next level and proving that Snape wasn't the only one to nurse ill feelings. Lupin might just hide them better.
The Baron suddenly stopped under a cresset, and she obediently lighted the flambeaux. Now, she could see the backside of a similar door her House Ghost had shown her on the second floor.
"Thank you, Baron!" – she whispered, not knowing where he had taken her, nonetheless appreciating the favour. She shuddered to think about the implications of meeting with the Headmaster when roaming the corridors after hours. After a short bow, the ghost left, and she carefully pushed the tapestry door open.
What she saw wasn't less intimidating than the Headmaster and almost worse than a possible meeting with Professor Lupin. On the right, she recognized the abandoned classroom where Hestia had held her ill-fated birthday party, so the door on the left must have been for Snape's quarters.
She tiptoed out to the corridor and scurried up to the Common Room, not slowing down when she heard her House Head's voice behind her after she turned the corner. Sweet Nimue, just don't let him see her!
She heard Snape's steps on the stairs before she turned to the Common Room, got through the portrait before being caught, and ran to her dorm without hesitation. Only in her bed did she dare to think about how stupid she had been! She should have turned back the time after she'd left the portrait, but the Ladies confused her so much she didn't even think about doing so! The gods bless the Bloody Baron for turning up and helping her out!
In the coming days, she tried to solve the riddle about a werewolf, a murderer, and a witch her House's Head might have loved, but neither Mr. Filch nor Madame Pince even listened to her questions. Also, the Ladies mentioned there were more whom she couldn't identify, and her friends were reluctant to help her if they could. She also thought about Miranda's folly and planned elopement and concluded that her friend's situation wasn't that different from her own, all things considered.
They both had to find a way around society's expectations, and especially around their families' insanities. The Fawleys would never accept Milan, being a half-blood of a family they considered to be a stranger, and the world wouldn't see her for what she was. Miranda decided to change her circumstances. She wondered how she could do something similar.
The issue became more pressing after she received her mother's long-awaited letter with the morning owls by the end of March.
My Dearest,
I know I hurt you when I refused to meet in December. I tried to keep you far from my failure and the consequences. The last one of you I've ever expected to offer me kindness was your brother Caleb, and I admit I revelled in the knowledge that I didn't have to lose him from my stupidity. I always knew that you and Gavin have a loving heart, but my dear Caleb became a son I thought I would lose, yet he found me. I can't explain this better. Perhaps I needed someone who knew me less to tell more.
Anyway, you'll be relieved I'm writing this from my old room at my Aunt's. My mother sadly won't make it much longer. We keep visiting, but sometimes I'm unsure why. She doesn't recognize me and keeps talking about you, calling you by my name. It must be my fault, too. You've always been a better daughter than I would ever be; she deserved the experience I couldn't give her and loves you above all, I believe.
It is only just. I'm not complaining, and I no longer regret the life I chose. I loved every minute of my youth, Anne. I don't know if you will ever understand what that means. You're such a goody-two-shoes little thing. You've always been that way. You don't rebel, you don't quarrel, and had never had your clothes torn or mud on your shoes! I wouldn't have had a friend like you, yet I have you as a daughter, and I failed epically in bringing you up. I also failed as a wife, at least Monty believes so, and I find it only just to step off and find a place for myself to begin again. Maybe I could be the one I am and still not hurt all around me? I have to try.
So this is a farewell, my dearest, and I hope you can wish me luck. I would be happy to see you (and perhaps get to know you better) someday, but I don't want you to defy your father. He is a dangerous man, Anne, and I can't see you get hurt like I did. It was Hell, but I'm clean at the moment. No potions, no drugs. It shouldn't feel like such an achievement, yet I'm proud of myself. (A little.) I'm not proud of the way I leave you to him, but I cannot fight his powers. And I don't mean magic. He's confused and vicious when he feels trapped. All I can do is to alleviate a part of his entrapment. Perhaps that will make him simpler to deal with. Let's hope.
I also hope that you forgive me someday, dear. I wasn't a good mother, but at least I gave you to mine, who was. I'm too young to remain a failure. Please try to understand that. I hope we'll meet someday when things smooth out. Please hold off on the owls and other spooky things. I'm planning to travel. A school seeks someone to teach fine arts, and I thought I would give it a shot. It's in Malta, so Monty wouldn't be tempted to drag me back.
After all these years, it might sound cheesy, but I love you. Please take care! Your great-aunt Rachel will persevere here, and although she doesn't say, I know she loves and misses you a lot.
Sara
Anne folded the letter and regretted about half a dozen things. First of all, that she'd hastily opened such a missive in the Great Hall at breakfast. That was an obvious mistake.
Then she regretted not opening it at all.
She bitterly regretted going back and rereading paragraphs that were carved into her memory and gave nothing but pain and anger.
But all her regrets fainted in the face of untampered anger over the signature. Sara. She should have at least the decency to sign it as her Mum!
She had no mum, she had a Sara. Perhaps she never had a mother, judging by the words this woman thought best to share! She was a fucking traitor and a bloody coward who didn't think about any of them but her own precious self!
Wishing Sara to the seventh depth of Hell, Anne kicked herself up from the Slytherin table and, giving no thought of her housemates or her classes, she hurried out of the Great Hall and the castle, showed two unceremonious fingers to the troll guard when it tried to stop her in the great door, and ran headless to the greenhouses. The troll roared and followed for some steps, but eventually, it stopped for some reason she couldn't bring herself to care about.
Sprout saw her enter Greenhouse Five, and she said nothing. That was for the best. Anne thought she would burst into anger, and she knew she would never have a clear thought like that, so she ran to the Wiggentree and threw herself at it, hoping for relief.
As soon as her chest and arms hit the bark, the dark emotions left her body with a whoosh, but the poor plant couldn't be faulted for the abyss in their wake. Bottomless emptiness.
Anne stood there, clutching to the tree bark, and tried to convince herself to give the letter a calm thought. It took longer than she would have ever guessed, and she suspected newer and newer bouts of outrage got swallowed by the magical tree, but eventually, she managed to grab that her mother had given up. That she wasn't a fighter. That she wasn't a good person, and she didn't have to be one. That she had to have a right to say no, stop, and change her circumstances. Just like Miranda. And that she at least wrote, albeit she didn't have to. If she thought of herself as Sara and not her mum, she had no reason to write, yet she did. Because she still cared - a little. Because she still wanted to be a better person – only not for her sake. And why would she?
This woman had hurt her, yet her words came from someone who admittedly didn't know her. She was someone who thought she was a goody-two-shoes dull little girl, best to satisfy her grandma because she always tiptoed into line. Anne realized this person didn't know her grandmother either. Sara gave no mind to Rose's drawings; she was preoccupied with her own paintings. She gave no mind to Caleb's struggles but accepted his help in her own hardships. She thought she was defenceless as a Muggle and did not give a thought to the Smiths, who stood their ground for Gavin.
Emptiness. It probably signified another bout of anger.
Giving up had never been in the cards for Anne. No wonder she was surprised her mother just did that. She clung to the tree like a lifeline. She had never experienced such anger and hurt before, and she honestly was afraid of what those would do to her if she let go.
Her arms began to shake by the time she heard the Greenhouse's door open. She tried to silence her breathing so anyone came; they could believe she had left already, even Professor Sprout. But the steps she heard approached slowly, and if she didn't wish to let go of the bark, she had no way to hide.
"I haven't been around here for almost a decade," – Anne heard a soft voice from nearby. "I hear you showed up the troll guards, duck. Your Professor almost seemed impressed," – Poppy hit a friendly note, keeping her tone light and just giving enough food for mild curiosity.
Anne turned her head slightly to the side but couldn't see her.
"Professor Sprout?" – she asked back, noticing the slight tremble of her voice.
"Professor Snape, duck. He said he saw you making a run for it… whatever it was. The classes are on, anyway, so he couldn't follow, but popped in to mention I might want to find you here."
"Why?"
Anne didn't even know which why: why would he care, why would he tell, or why would he be impressed by her bad behaviour? Why did Poppy come?
"Because we all should be found now and again, don't you agree, dear?" Poppy's voice was mild and caring now. Anne didn't risk letting go of the tree. "I know I am," – the mediwitch added with a sigh, and Anne heard old leaves crunching as she probably sat down somewhere. "Take your time, duck. It's a slow morning," – Poppy added and fell in blessed silence for a while.
Anne heard a paper rustling and then a silent question. "May I?" She couldn't decide what to answer and the mediwitch must have taken her silence as approval. Fear, pain, and probably a bunch of other emotions got swallowed into the tree. She started to worry about the precious plant. That got swallowed up, too.
"Sweet Merlin!" – she heard Poppy sigh. "Duck, you do know that this is untrue, do you?"
She tried to turn enough to see her without letting go of the tree. The helpless plea for help that Poppy saw in her eyes then was unintended. And Anne was blissfully ignorant of it, although the bark would have swallowed her embarrassment even if she wasn't.
"Anne," – the mediwitch sighed again. "It's none of my business, so stop me as soon as you wish. But I can't have you believe what is said here. I have known you for far too long for this to even make sense. How could your family fail to see the fighter that you are?"
"I've never-"
"Whatever people believe about a hospital, that's not a gentle place, duck, and you know that already. It's a battle, and I saw you fight it, grounding your teeth against fatigue late at night, doing the boring jobs along with learning, and holding first years when they cried for their mothers in fever. I saw you in the private ward on a Valentine's Day, I saw you rebel against the world and scream your rage at me, and I saw your care. This," – she shook the letter in her hand, "is a lie, Anne. You've never been a tame one. Your manners are not meekness, they are a part of your armour, and I would fight this woman to my last breath to prove this to you."
For Anne's bewilderment, Poppy's eyes glinted with tears of outrage, and she angrily wiped them before they fell. It was so astonishing she let go of the treebark.
"She's gone," – she summed up all with trembling lips, and Poppy's eyes glinted with unforgiving force.
"Well, good riddance, I say," – she told her, holding her chin high, daring Anne to argue.
She only nodded slowly. It hurt. Poppy got up and sat by her side, offering an embrace, which she greedily welcomed. She could sense her friend's familiar flow of emotions pulsing: care, determination, and, this time, a hint of regret and pain.
"You're not alone, duck," – she heard her. "You're not alone."
Anne had no recollection later about how or when their conversation began. She just found herself sharing her worries without reservations, probably for the first time since she entered Hogwarts. She already had told about her difficulties with her age, the loss of equals, and her wish for a job and a life of her own. The only thing she never mentioned was the Empath thing, but that didn't bother her anymore. It was a part of her already, and she was more concerned about the future.
"Your father is described as a violent man here," – Poppy brought up the letter again. "Or is that also a falsehood?"
Anne swallowed hard. She was ashamed about the worst but couldn't deny the problem.
"He has… issues," – she admitted. "And he is angry. Caleb defied him when he didn't follow his plans, and Gavin helped our mother flee him when she was under his potions and wasn't allowed to visit our gran."
"And what about you, Anne? Has he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," – she shrugged. "But I'd rather not live with him in the summer. Caleb wouldn't let me stay there alone, anyway, and I don't want him to get caught up with Father's business again," – she peeked at Poppy's face hesitantly, lamenting if she'd said too much, but then it was all the same. She wouldn't betray her. She could sense that. "So I thought I'd try to find a job instead, even a Muggle one if there's nothing else. I cannot tell them my age, but I'm seventeen in a month. It should be legal, and if it works out… perhaps I won't return."
She expected to be chastised for her bold words, but Poppy only seemed to sink deep in thought.
"Where would you live, duck?" – she asked, and Anne thought she was testing her half-formed plans.
"I have places to go in London. I have some friends living on the Muggle side, or I could join my brothers in Knockturn. The rent would be easier for three," – she added with a smile.
"Merlin, what a waste!" – Poppy sighed then. "Let me see if I can pull some strings before you decide, Anne. I would hate to see all this work going down the drain. You deserve better. And your Professor would be sorely disappointed if he couldn't show off your OWL results. He has taken the pains to put up with us all for your sake already," she added with a glint of humour in her eyes and an almost cheeky smile.
Anne had to chuckle. Poppy could have phrased it worse... this way, it didn't sound so selfish. It occurred to her that perhaps she was also just running away like Sara. Was she?
"Poppy, I don't want to betray him or your friendship. I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I just don't see a way…."
Her friend nodded and caressed her back. "I know, duck. Why don't you give me some leeway here? We have about three months to work something out."
Anne smiled gratefully and finally without a wish to cry. There was only one more thing that bothered her, although she couldn't tell why:
"You will not tell him, will you? Gods, I would be so embarrassed!"
"To Severus?" – Poppy asked back with surprise. "I let you tell him when the time comes. Is that all right?"
Anne quickly nodded. She'd never imagined she would escape talking to Snape, but she wished she could speak to him with the confidence of a solution. And without that, she doubted Snape would even listen. She accepted that he had made it clear to her that he wasn't about to become her friend. Then why bother him before she had all the details? Surely, she didn't wish to avoid him by sheer cowardice, did she? Annoyingly, she wasn't sure about that.
A week later, Snape spent a series of night shifts in the Brewing Room again, cutting Anne from her research for Filch's Potion in her hard-earned free hours. Even the thought of the Wolfsbane unsettled her, but at least Professor Snape never showed he knew about her mad dash for the Greenhouse. She would have never guessed that he'd seen her if she didn't know better.
Anne used the free time to explore the foyer the Baron had shown her. That night, with only the ghost's ectoplasm illuminating the corridor, she couldn't see, but the passage linked all floors to the dungeons, giving regular exits masked as stone walls. It was the best route to avoid the Gryffindor security trolls, and it seemed as if not a soul knew about the foyer but the Baron and her.
The night of the full moon was an experience of mindless fear. Anne was having the late shift at the Infirmary, and she couldn't help but perk her ears for any howling or other unusual noise. The worst was her retreat to her dorm after midnight, holding her wand tall against every shadow and escaping her brutal fantasies by running down the Baron's foyer, skipping by Snape's quarter, and breathing a sigh of relief in the Common Room. The fact that she'd made it for months without ever encountering the werewolf didn't help her fears. Luck wasn't something she wished to rely upon when it came to a threat like that.
The rest of April passed after that in remarkable dullness. Classes, homework, assignments for others… her research for Filch's Potion was stuck, but she couldn't give up. Then, one evening, after she assisted Madame Pince in tidying the Library, she noticed a strange anticipation in the witch that wasn't in line with the usual ebb and flow of her emotions.
When Pince said, "See you later, Miss Rosier," instead of her usual prim "Good night," Anne's curiosity was piqued, but she couldn't ask about her feelings without revealing herself. It was early, so she decided to visit Mr. Filch before her usual turn of time for the Infirmary, but the caretaker couldn't spare the time for her.
A little irked by the strange changes in the air around her usual pillars, Anne was about to retreat to her tower to cheer herself with some music, but she bumped into Professor Sprout on the third floor, right at the end of the hospital wing.
"Miss Rosier, so soon," – the Professor cried out cheerfully and invited her closer with a wave of her hand. "C'mon girl, don't be shy! It's all arranged, Poppy won't mind it! Come now!"
Anne followed with hesitations. Sprout gave off the same anticipation and slyness she had already sensed in Filch and Pince. It only suited her worse. Sensing sneakiness in the Head of Hufflepuff was just – wrong in so many ways.
"What is already arranged, Professor? I shouldn't go to the Infirmary now," – her worries multiplied when she thought about the implications. She was supposed to turn back five hours within forty minutes. That meant her other self would be inside – if she waited those forty minutes and did turn back those hours to come here, which she fully intended to do even if she hadn't done so already.
If Sprout had now made her meet with her older self and simultaneously saw two versions of Anne Rosier, the catastrophe would have been unavoidable. Nimue, what would Snape say? "Professor, I shouldn't –"
"Nonsense, girl, c'mon," – she nudged her through the doors, and Anne closed her eyes against her own sight.
"Ah, Pomona! You found her?" – she heard Poppy's voice instead.
"She was lingering outside. Now tell me, what chores am I supposed to do?"
Sensing Poppy's mirth, Anne took courage and opened her eyes. The Infirmary looked as usual, and she didn't see herself anywhere around. Well, that was a relief! Although after such a fright, she knew she wouldn't turn back time to end up in a mess like this. Then, her attention returned to the two chatting witches.
"No chores, Mona, only supervision," – Poppy said. "Feel free to use my office and open the second drawer on the left if you get bored," – she added with a wink.
"Nice!" – smiled Professor Sprout, obviously guessing already what was there to await for her. "Have fun, you witches. If something goes south, I know where to find you!"
"You're a treasure, Mona," – Poppy said goodbye. "Come, Anne, this way, duck. And take this," – she handed her a dark green cloak that smelled new and soft like velvet. Looking at it closely, Anne's mouth fell open. It was velvet! Why would she need such a cloak?
Before she could ask, Poppy threw some Floo powder into the hearth and whispered an address so softly that Anne couldn't make it out. However, she found herself in a familiar room after a quick spin in the green flames where the mediwitch had pushed her.
"Hello, Madame Pince," – she confusedly began, "I'm sorry, I –"
Behind her, the flames spat out Poppy, who laughingly announced the obvious: "We've arrived, Irma. Is he around already?"
"He is," – came a grunt from the direction of what Anna knew to be the kitchen and Filch showed up with a small package in his hand. "And he'd like to get rid of this," – he lifted it towards Anne.
"Oh, the impatience of men," – Irma Pince good-naturedly rolled her eyes. "Let us be seated then, and I will give you tea as soon as Argus stops grumbling."
Giving no notice or heed to her confusion, Pince and Poppy guided Anne to the sofa in the living room, which this time sat at its rightful place instead of being heartlessly exiled to the perimeter of the room like it used to be in her second year. The two older witches took the armchairs, and before Filch could sit beside Anne, Madame Pince conjured a chair for him.
"Miss Rosier is a young lady, Argus. You might reconsider spending so much private time with her in the future," – the witch said primly.
"Blast you, Irma, you cannot be serious!" – the old man huffed. "Here, tommy," – he offered the package to Anne. "I can't propose it before the vice-squad, but you know my name, lass. I don't mind if you use it."
"Thank you… Argus,"- Anne tentatively tried the name. It felt strange on her lips. And the package was heavy.
"Open it," – Argus encouraged her with more than a hint of impatience.
The wrappings revealed a carved wooden box inlaid with tiny pearls and opals. The lid only lifted after she placed her hand on it, and a ripple of magic ran through her, testing her against the lock. She suspected it wouldn't open for another anymore.
At least twenty phials of different essential oils and herbal tinctures sat inside within purple velvet cushions, and she found a book in the hollow of the lid. Its cover was leather but in a light colour. It was printed with a lavender, and the pages were empty.
"It will not run out of space, lass. Whatever you write, it will grow with your thoughts."
Anne stared at him. This present was regal and beautiful, containing everything she loved as a passion and never as a chore.
"Jarvis Pippin wishes you well," – Argus smirked. "Although he didn't know why he selected these. Happy birthday, tommy," – he said now, looking into her eyes with all seriousness. "You deserve a celebration."
Anne threw herself on his shoulders without a thought, and she couldn't care less if Madame Pince gasped or Poppy chuckled behind her.
"You can call me Anne, too, but I'll always be your tommy!" – she told to Argus' ear, and loved the way the old man's heart filled in her embrace. She only let go when she heard the tea things brattling on a tray.
Argus coughed to distract himself, and Anne sat back, only to see the old man holding a hand towards Poppy.
"You might consider putting a Galleon on that palm," – Poppy eyed him with a vicious smirk, and Argus' eyes narrowed.
"No way," – he grumbled. "We had a deal, not to mention this evening!"
"I did no such thing," – Poppy stated. "Albeit, Anne arrived with her present from me in hand."
Anne gasped and peeked towards the entrance where Pince had disappeared with the precious cloak. "Poppy! Was that really for me? It's beautiful!"
The mediwitch smiled at her gently, but then looked back at Argus, waiting for his answer. He shoved a hand into his pocket and retrieved a Galleon.
"Here, you blasted witch. Once a snake, always a snake, that's true."
Poppy pocketed her earnings with a laugh. "I thought you had time enough to learn that, old coon."
Pince couldn't stand to watch them: "But neither of you learned enough. For Merlin's sake, Poppy, why did you have to push this man into sin again?"
"And what is a man's worth without his sins on occasion?" – Argus shot back the question, and Anne could feel his satisfaction when Madame Pince flushed red at his words. "It was only a friendly wager. We shouldn't have brought it up here. Forgive me, Irma, I didn't think."
Sufficiently placated, Madame Pince graciously fixed him his tea, adding a friendly amount of brandy to the brew. Anne waited for her turn and almost gawked when the brandy sloshed into Poppy's and Pince's teas the same way. Not into hers, at first, but then Poppy tutted, and Madame Pince let the bottle tip above her cup too.
"You're a grown-up, Miss Rosier. Time to learn our traditions," – she handed her tea with an encouraging smile.
"What traditions?" – Anne tried and failed to mask her curiosity as politeness.
"Here shall be drinking, duck, with practice and poise," – Poppy announced.
"Poise as long as Mona guards your precious terrain," – Argus snickered, but Madame Pince couldn't have it.
"By Jove, you're worse than Rus sometimes! Hasn't your mother mentioned that not all thoughts have to be spoken out loud?"
"His mother did for sure, and it always makes a difference!" – the old man countered with what Anne understood as sarcasm and couldn't really understand. Then Argus quickly caught his hand away before the witch slapped it.
"Cheek!" – Pince summed up her thoughts, but she let him be and turned to Anne instead: "As much as it might be deceptive, we are here, the young squad."
"I cannot see why you would say there's deception," Poppy interjected.
"Sure, because we are all fresh as roses for a youngster's eyes," – Irma Pince rolled her eyes. "Don't you listen to them, girl, they came for the cake. But once Poppy here was the first of us to join these ranks, followed by Argus, Mona, and lately myself. We had to stick together because those who preceded us were a tough bunch, and so you are now welcomed to the circle of four."
"And what about Madame McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, or Professor Trelawney, Madame Burbage… I thought they were also close to you in age,"- asked Anne hesitantly.
"That was definitely a compliment," – Poppy quickly reminded the horrified Madame Pince. "Sybill could be your daughter. You hurried enough!"
Pince's horror didn't seem to relent. "Well, I will leave her to be your unborn offspring! Certainly not a think tank to raise for a better world!"
"Flitwick is probably the oldest this school may offer," – Argus chimed in. "I wouldn't say this to Mona, albeit she knows it too well…"
"You're such a gossip," – Pince shook her head at him, but Poppy leaned over to explain:
"When she joined us, returning from Ireland, she was a bloomy girl in her twenties. The spying I had to perform to assist her in her quest for the old goblin! Oh, Merlin!"
"Didn't do much good," – Filch deemed. "They weren't together for a decade before it was over."
"It shook up the dust on our lives a little, as I recall. I wouldn't call that a waste," – Poppy argued.
"Would still if Filius wasn't such a coward, but there you go!" – grumbled Argus.
"Wh-What happened?" Anne risked asking.
"The war happened," – Madame Pince replied, pouring the brandy straight into the empty cups this time. "Filius is half-blood. Or, as some would say, a half-breed. I hate that word!"
"No wonder," – Poppy rolled her eyes.
"Did he stop courting Madame Sprout because he didn't want her to get hurt?"
"You're quick, lass," – Filch nodded. "We couldn't convince him, and why would he have listened?"
Anne stared at him confusedly, so Poppy explained:
"He's not one of us, duck. He's way too old and had his old friends. Back in the day, our opinion mattered little."
"Don't you flatter yourself, witch, it still never does," – Pince said, raising her teacup. Strangely, the other two had a hearty laugh at that.
"I'm blaming my House," – Poppy toasted and drank the brandy.
"You can if you had one," – Argus deemed but smirked despite his bitter remark.
"Is that why McGonagall is out of the circle?" Anne asked, trying to understand why none of them mentioned the Gryffindor Head.
"She's almost as old as we two combined," – Poppy chuckled, waving between herself and Pince.
The Librarian's rare smile smoothed out her features. Anne noticed that Argus watched her with some sort of affection. "And waaay too close to Albus!" – Pince added, looking back at him.
"And Professor Burbage? Is she too young perhaps? And Professor Snape?" – Anne pushed on, smiling, because if Snape was considered too young, her presence was a joke.
Pince froze and stared at Argus, but Poppy replied: "He's been around on occasion. He's…"
"He doesn't care to come," – Irma Pince stated in a voice of finality.
Filch still couldn't help but argue with her: "Now, now, that's not that simple, and you know it. Your Professor does care," – he turned to Anne. "Even for each of us," – he said, eying Pince, "but he's never been sociable. And I cannot fault him."
"Of course, you can't," – Irma Pince sniffed. "I'll see after the cake."
After she left, Poppy smiled around and followed her, and it remained to Anne to ask Filch whether she'd misspoken.
"Leave it, lass," – Argus suggested. "She'll be as good as new when she returns. And as for Charity Burbage… stay it among us, but she's such a blabbermouth, I wouldn't trust her with the location of my duster."
Anne nodded and swore not to mention Snape ever again before Madame Pince. The librarian never offered to call her by her first name, but it was for the best. She already returned with a marvellous cake, with sparkling white icing, and decorated with carefully chosen flowers.
"A bouquet for felicity," – she smiled again, softer than usual. "Peonies for luck, amaryllis for success, red gladiolus for stamina and strength –"
"You're going to need that," – Poppy reminded.
"- a rose for love, of course," – Irma Pince went on, grimacing at the distraction, "and a sunflower for good cheer.
"That's my present, Miss Rosier. Good cheer is an underrated weapon against this world's horrible ways. I wish you had it, so if you don't mind," – she pulled out her wand and slowly cast a circle around Anne, chanting an old rhyme.
"Fortitudo mea te confirmet, scientia mea te nutria, sol tuus semper luceat, cor tuum pacem amoremque inveniat!" With some concentration, Anne recognized the old blessing: May my strength strengthen you, may my knowledge nourish you, may your sun always shine, may your heart find peace and love!
It sounded like a part of a forgotten song, and her heart soared as silver sparks fell around her from the librarian's wand.
"Madame Pince, this was… this was…" – she couldn't help herself. She ran to the private witch and hugged her, letting her tears leak without wiping them. "This was everything," she softly said then, and didn't care if everyone understood in the room that her mother wouldn't ever do the same for her.
The cake couldn't come at a better moment; the raspberry filling was sweet and reminded her of the summer, and the cocoa butter and the sugar restored the balance in her mind. It also seemed that all needed a bite after the liberal fillings of the cups with brandy. Anne smirked and wisely kept her observations to herself.
"Now, you seem happy enough, duck, without additional prospects for the future, but," – Poppy carefully looked around and even Argus Filch put down the fork to nod his approval towards the mediwitch. She pulled a parchment out of her robe's pocket, which proved to be a letter.
"This is not a birthday present, Miss Rosier. We put our heads together and came up with a plan, but you don't have to agree with it, and by all means, I want you to form your own opinion," – Madame Pince reminded. Anne nodded and tried to find all the seriousness their expressions seemed to call for… it was a little disconcerting.
"This is a letter from Philomena Brunswick, who was one of your instructors at St. Mungo's if I don't err much,"- Poppy began. "Strangely, she seems to labour under the impression that your name is Euphemia." (Anne blushed.) "Here, after the usual things she says,
"I remember that young witch you recommended for the summer program, and her name came up indeed after the party. It seems Smethwyck has an Apprentice who believes in her talent, and Ulfhild (that witch is a horror, but with exceptional people skills, by the way) can't stop her praises. I couldn't recall her name, but she was a silent one with an intelligent gaze and a ridiculous deficiency in self-confidence. They call her Effie, and Ulfhild believes she's maybe a Rosier. Rings a bell?" – Poppy looked up, visibly well-entertained by Anne's surprise.
"It seems I'm responsible for the Trainee Program from this March," – the letter commenced. "Please spare the cheer. It wasn't my idea of a promotion at all, but considering she must be close to finishing Hogwarts, I was also about asking for a heads up on your trainee's plans. From your letter, I presume you expect she'll have sufficient NEWTs, or shall I put her among the nurses? I would hate to disappoint you, Poppy, so I would appreciate your thoughts on the matter.
"I have to say, my thoughts favoured your future employment at St. Mungo's. Although you are yet to finish your NEWTs, Fifi Brunswick would be open to receiving you as a wiz-nurse in training. I know this is not the job you contemplated, but perhaps something that wouldn't have your efforts wasted on the circumstances," – Poppy finished, folding her letter.
"I don't even have the OWLs," – Anne blurted the first thing on her mind, utterly confused. This was such a chance she wouldn't have wished to give up, yet it was further schooling, and she needed a job!
"Assistant nurses don't need to show off certificates. Mungo's would send its wizards and witches with fishing nets to the streets just to catch new ones," – Argus grumbled, but his eyes glinted encouragingly. Anne could sense the anticipation in all of them.
"A job as an assistant wiz-nurse wouldn't pay well," – Madame Pince mentioned, "but I hear the hours count into the wiz-nurse training. And you certainly have the knowledge, Miss Rosier, if not yet the qualifications. I dearly hope you will remain among us to add those to your repertoire."
"And why would anyone bother to look up a Euphemia? Such a witch never existed at Hogwarts. She might have been home-schooled, or her papers got lost," – Argus offered.
Anne stared at them with disbelief. She could have a job as an assistant nurse! She could live with Rachel and be Euphemia just because she was too cowardly to tell Marcus Dagworth her name! Which reminded her…
"But what about my surname? Ulfhild called me Effie, which helps now, but my family would come in the way if –"
"What was your mother's maiden name, Effie?" – Poppy asked with practicality and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Brown," – she told her.
"Well, the rumour mill might have misremembered at Mungo's, then, I believe." When Anne gaped at her, Poppy chuckled, adding, "Should I assist my friend by correcting the error?"
While Anne divided her attention between gasping and blanching, Madame Pince took to practicality, as always:
"Of course, you would need to lead a double life, Miss Rosier, which is a great load to carry. Even with our assistance, the chance of failure is high, and I suggest you establish your priorities before you decide whether to endeavour this nonsense or not."
"Such as sticking to your life as the student you are, lass, so in case we fail, you may have a place to return and recuperate," – the tactician in Filch spoke up.
"Also, you cannot abide by the school year," – Madame Pince added. "If St. Mungo's calls you in, you must break down your days into five-hour turns and disguise your other activities. I wish we had the approval of Severus, too, so you could use his Floo again for your comings and goings."
Poppy sighed. "That's the weakest point of our scheme, duck. Your Professor might not let you through or be stubborn about this. You asked me not to involve him, and I'm unsure about his reaction."
"The lad will loathe it. There's no question about that," – Argus deemed. "It all boils down to what you witches can offer. And it wouldn't help if he thought you put this all together without asking his opinion."
Anne thought about his year of using Snape's Floo and the sad end of the endeavour. Snape would be sore – again, she was pretty sure about that. Although…
"Well, I could also Apparate," – she hesitantly mentioned. "I mean… I can."
She only considered how surreal it was to even discuss leading such a double life. What kind of trouble could she put herself into if that sounded the best solution? Of course, it was because her friends wished her to remain at the school. If she decided against their wishes, she could just go and abandon her former self, living as some Euphemia Brown, whoever she was…. She wouldn't have friends, she wouldn't have qualifications, but she would have a job to fend for herself against the world.
Probably, her father would be troubled by the fact he'd lost a daughter, too. This might have been her seventeenth birthday, but she was hardly more than fifteen for the world. Monty would rush in if she skipped Hogwarts altogether, and the MLE would search for her… but if she remained only Annabella Rosier, her place would be at his side.
Anne looked around the room and realized that these people worked hard for a solution that would let her also eat and have her cake. Pince was right. It would mean hard work: more hours than ever and keeping a schedule without mishaps, or she would risk everyone's reputation in the room.
"You all would do this for me…?" – she choked out. Strangely, both Argus and Madame Pince found her amazement reason to smile.
"Wouldn't be the first time I took some risks, lass," – Filch grunted.
"You're not the only one in this crazy world who finds an alias comforting," – Madame Pince wistfully added.
"So, what do you say, duck? Should we brave your House's Head?" – Poppy searched her face expectantly, and Anne finally hesitantly nodded.
"He will hate this," – she said and swallowed hard.
"No doubt," – Argus agreed. "You only should go to him when you find out what you offer. The lad has always been keen on understanding, but a good deal would convince him. Nothing else."
To break the stern moment, Pince offered around some more propped-up tea and cakes, and unavoidably, Anne had to tell about learning Apparation with her brother and listen through old tales that came to the others' minds. Who would have thought that Professor Sinistra had problems with proper Apparation, or Professor Binns' snoring was still loud enough to place enchantment around the old ghost to make it bearable? She was still struggling to imagine a love affair between Madame Sprout and Professor Flitwick, but could well imagine Professor Vector being at odds with Hagrid after the groundkeeper's dog chased her through the fields in the hopes of some play-time last summer.
Shortly before midnight, Madame Pince reminded them of the curfew, and Poppy led her back to the Infirmary through the Floo. Anne was preparing to thank her again and in detail, but the sight they arrived to made her swallow the words.
"A month of detention, Rosier, with the groundkeeper. I will especially suggest him to employ you around the Thestral stables as a groom."
While Poppy weakly protested, Anne only closed her eyes. "Yes, Professor Snape. I apologize, sir."
"Spare it! Now get away from my sight!"
Leaving the Infirmary in shame, Anne heard Poppy's pleas and her Head of House's shocked enquiries about the sanity of the mediwitch's mind. And he was yet to even hear about the worst.