A/N: Hi All,
So, I haven't been this anxious about posting a chapter since... well, very long. You will recognize a lot of things, and whatever you recognise is coming from the original that belongs to Rowling. But this is not the reason why I'm so anxious. I tried to do something here with the story that I haven't tried before, and I'm very open to all of your thoughts about it.
Please, try to enjoy!
Chapter 23.
9th – 16th June 1994.
(17)
Thinking about the whole damned mess a week later, Anne only wondered how lucky she had been to avoid the worst of it. Because from the moment she'd woken up to an ominously silent castle in the dark of the early night, she walked her way naively through the events like a child or a painted witch hopping from portrait to portrait on the walls.
Her first thought was, of course, to turn back time, but then she remembered she didn't need to do that anymore. The school was practically off, exams done, and she should have been better prepared to return the device to Snape. Overusing it, Apparating between her future employments at the St. Mungo's and her studies at Hogwarts, using two personae like in a spy novel seemed absurd, and she certainly wouldn't need it in the summer months.
She started down the wooden stairs to the fourth-floor tapestry of Nimue by Merlin's cave and caressed the woven picture affectionately. She would miss her tower… As she continued towards the Infirmary on the main staircase to apologise to Poppy for ditching her celebratory treat for napping, she mused about leaving her desk and bed with some of her notes for anyone in the future lucky enough to find them.
Remembering her first weeks at Hogwarts, she could imagine a little witch seeking comfort in the vast castle and finding them… she wished her luck with a smile.
The moving staircase finally decided to rescue her from the fourth-floor landing, and she stepped on it to reach the third floor. The elegantly carved railings showed underneath, rearranging themselves too, and some agitated voices sounded from a lower floor. She found it peculiar at this hour but didn't give it much attention before she recognised her House Head's voice:
"Calm down, Macnair! Where have you lost your betters with the leash?"
Anne tapped into magic to sense the air from the level below. The agitation was palpable, but she also recognised eagerness and something akin to greedy hunger with a powerful undertone of dark desires. Her stomach roiled.
"Don't try being funny with me, Snape! You know Dumbledore, he's trying to make excuses. But I won't be fooled. If I can't get one beast, I'll catch another at least!"
"Lucius would be into a lot of sweeping around if you beheaded the groundskeeper, Walden," – Snape offered, and Anne could almost touch the sneer in his voice. "He wouldn't thank you for it."
"That bloody giant has to wait then," – the one called Macnair snickered. "But I heard there are werewolves in the Forest. What do you say?"
Snape's bewilderment echoed in Anne's fright, and she crouched down behind the rail, but when he spoke he seemed nonchalant:
"The villagers talk about all kinds of hogwash."
"Maybe," – the stranger deemed. "Although by this full Moon I might hear some howling. Would be a shame to return an axe unwashed. What do you say?" - his raw amusement rang in his voice, then the air relayed his confusion. "Where are you heading?"
Anne didn't hear Snape's reply, only the hasty footsteps. She silently sneaked back to the third floor to find comfort at the Infirmary, but before she reached that wing, a rush of anxiety preceded hasty footsteps from her left, and she backed up to the wall to hide from Professor Snape. He didn't see her, only single-mindedly approached the Defence Classroom, tore up its heavy wooden door with a wand move, and all but ran through the darkness, probably up to the office and Lupin's adjacent quarters on the other side.
Lupin was a werewolf… if the stranger was right about the Moon… Anne whirled to a tall window with a gasp and stared out into the night. The full Moon glowed brightly above the fields, painting the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow in the distance in beautiful but now ominous blues and greys. Snape!
Anne didn't think, she just ran to the Defence Classroom, only recognising her madness when she stepped into the darkness. She was no match for a werewolf and could only hinder Snape if he tried to subdue it! Ungodly cursing sounded from the office, but she could only hear Snape's voice. No grumbling, no howling… maybe the werewolf wasn't inside… Anne crouched down behind a desk when the footsteps approached again, but her Professor was in such a mad hurry that he probably wouldn't have seen her if she had stood by the door.
She'd never seen Snape running at full speed, but now it seemed like he was flying. He took off from the classroom's door, and she couldn't see his legs touching the stone floor as he turned the corridor's corner. Where the hell was he thinking he was going? Anne turned to the window again with alarm and soon saw a tiny man dashing towards the Whomping Willow with his robe's tails flying behind him. Then he disappeared under the branches!
She did a double take. It was impossible!
When she finally entered the Infirmary, shaking with nerves and alarmed, Poppy ran to her and made her sit before she could phrase a sentence. Strangely, she couldn't sense more than worry after Poppy listened through her tale.
"You say the Willow?" – the mediwitch looked bemused but confident. "You don't need to worry, duck. Remus at least had the sense to hide, then. Even if he missed his potion for some reason. And as mad as your Professor seems, he at least knows what he's doing this time."
"This time?" – Anne stared at her, confused.
She could well sense the reluctance in her friend, but eventually, Poppy sighed, shaking her head, and her demeanour softened.
"A lot of bad things happened back when they were students in this castle, Anne. A lot that no one likes to recall." She looked Anne over, letting her feel her regrets and unease. "It's not the first time Severus has taken that route, duck. Don't tell that I mentioned, but the amount of Calming Draught I poured down his throat then would have put a horse into a coma… he still somehow had enough in him to protest when they came…"
"Who came?"
"The Headmaster and Horace," - Poppy said with sadness in her eyes. "Horace Slughorn used to be the Head of Slytherin for a very long time. He couldn't have done his duty without building a close friendship with the other Heads, especially with the Headmaster… some say he didn't do it very well, but others…" – she sighed again.
"Those times are long gone, duck. There's no use to lament about them. The thing is, Severus saw Lupin transformed and promised not to tell. He was so young! I sometimes forget he still is. I would never have thought anything could make him approach that tree again."
Anne remembered the Ladies at Picnic and all that she'd learnt from that portrait: "They were also friends with that prison-breaker, weren't they? Sirius Black…"
Poppy raised her eyebrows. "How would you know that?"
"I just heard," – Anne shrugged. "Someone said there was also a girl."
Poppy huffed. "Well, that's one way to put it. Lily Evans was a Gryffindor girl the same year as Black, Remus, and their friends. She was Horace's favourite in his little club. A potions talent he couldn't stop praising, although some of us suspected he also liked her looks… Severus couldn't see how different they had been, and…"- she suddenly looked up at Anne and shook her head. "This is really not my tale to tell."
"Did she also know that Professor Lupin was a werewolf?"
"Strangely, I don't know that," – Poppy said with genuine surprise. "The whole story is just sad, duck. All friendships had fallen into pieces, the Potters were eventually killed, and –"
"The Potters? What were they to do about it all?"
"Well, James Potter and Remus used to be best friends with Black and an odd little boy... poor soul! But back then, they were unhinged, really, but also engaging... even charming when they wanted to be. I always felt for Remus. He'd spent a lot of time here. The way they'd teased Severus was a shame, but he gave as good as he got, so most thought it was best to let them work it out."
Anne felt Poppy's feelings about the matter, encouraging her to ask: "But you didn't?"
The mediwitch's lips pulled into a smile so sad it could have been a grimace. "I was the one to clean up the mess. Broken bones, extra limbs, antlers, rearranged organs, concussions, cuts, I don't even believe I could list it all. They would have killed each other in a school without magic, but we are a resilient lot with magical remedies, and I do own a powerful wand." She shook her head. "When Argus screams against duelling in the corridors, he knows what he tries to avoid. That's all I'm saying. And I'm not the only one who regrets keeping her mouth shut about it all."
It was hard to imagine a time when kids could roam and curse each other to their hearts' content. Anne knew if her classmates tried, Snape would have been the first to put them in their places. Maybe he, like Filch, knew what he was about to avoid – she mused. Whatever she'd heard about Horace Slughorn was in line with the picture Poppy drew. Slytherin remembered him as a gluttonous ringmaster for his club and several receptions. Snape's friendliness with the Headmaster was also mainly attributed to his predecessor's heritage.
The evening was uncommonly slow without anyone in the ward, and Poppy ordered tea through the Floo. Sensing that she began to regret telling this much, Anne let her friend turn the conversation to calmer waters, discussing exams and, finally, her brewing with Snape.
"Your friend, Miss Borges, may be right, you know," – Poppy deemed, dipping another biscuit into her now tepid tea. "As skilled as Severus undoubtedly is, he's never learned to share. The fact I could even make him open up the Brewing Room must mean something. Argus keeps telling me the same."
Anne thought about it again but got distracted when the air changed as if emotions detonated outside. They heard the double door snap open on its hinges, and she sensed Professor Snape's particular presence even before he entered, navigating four stretchers and panting with exhaustion.
Both witches jumped and ran out to help, only to stop short at the sight of a skeletal-like man. His long hair floated down on the side of the stretcher, and his features were ominously familiar.
"Sirius Black!" Poppy's shock was uniformly palpable in magic and in her voice.
"Don't bother with him. The Dementors aren't picky, as I heard," – Snape snarled, and his eyes wandered towards his Slytherin student.
Anne stood there, rooted to the spot with wide-eyed disbelief: Snape had done it! He wished to catch the fugitive himself, and he did! With no less than a freaking werewolf running around! The sense of something ridiculously akin to hero worship soon got tempered by the disturbance around the man's form in magic.
"Merlin, this poor boy almost looks as if he's been kissed already!" – Poppy exclaimed, and they heard her murmuring the incantations of various diagnostic charms.
Anne couldn't tear her eyes from Snape's. She could hardly see the grey edges around his uneven pupils, but something glittered in his gaze that had nothing to do with his physical state. Satisfaction. Bitter hatred. Hurt. Power. He seemed as if he was drunk on those. He even canted slightly.
"Anne, help lift those two onto beds and get me a Skele-Gro!" Poppy was dead to the world in her single-minded effort to sort out the three Gryffindor students, which finally prompted Anne to shake herself and get to business. "Then Floo the Headmaster!"
"I will," – Snape said for Anne's greatest relief.
By the time she returned with the Skele-Gro, three Calming Draughts, and a basketful of Honeydukes chocolate bricks, Poppy seemed to have finished examining all three kids and called for Snape to get treatment. Anne saw him gesturing towards the last stretcher, refusing to let go of the mantel.
It was disconcerting to see the mediwitch in such proximity of a murderer, but Poppy cast the same diagnostic charms with an unwavering wand, adding all the usual healing charms in case of a Dementor accident but Ennervate. From the corner of her eye, Anne also watched Professor Snape grabbing the mantel with more and more force as time tickled away. The green flames were already gone, so she put the medicine on a nearby bed and stepped to him:
"Sir," – she began.
"Leave!"
Anne looked at him carefully: a wound under his hairline trickled blood down his cheek. It already dried. His skin was wax-like, his breathing shallow, and his hands slightly trembled. She also sensed him in magic. Annoyance for a headache ruined his moment of glory, hunger to the point of greed for something – she wasn't sure what, and utmost satisfaction, evidently about catching Black. He definitely wouldn't be convinced about anything in this state of mind…
"Yes, sir," – she whispered and tried to join Poppy, but Snape pushed himself away from the hearth, and stepped closer:
"I said, leave!"- he half roared - half grunted. "This instant!"
Poppy proved herself not less observant when she nudged her and nodded. "I got this, duck, go. It is well after your curfew!"
Anne had much to say to them about taking away the satisfaction of finishing a good job. This time, again, getting rid of her at the end of the year despite all her work and hardships! She could have said a lot, but it was not the time.
A spur of Slytherin acumen and she peeked towards the abandoned office: "I'll just grab my book bag," – she assured them and half-closed the door behind her.
What she wasn't ready for the least was the Headmaster's voice booming from outside of the door: "Cornelius, get those monsters out of my school!"
Whatever else he had said more, Anne couldn't hear from the blood pounding in her ear, then: "Severus will assist you. Hagrid, help our Potions Master relocate the Minister's captive to a safer room! Cornelius, if you find the time, we may accompany them."
The procession of the convict still on the stretcher, the triumphant Professor Snape, the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster, and his man left the Infirmary, giving Poppy palpable relief. She proceeded to see after the three poor Gryffs, still only helplessly lying on their beds. Her silent work got interrupted again with the Minister's voice sounding outside:
"The guards are only necessary."
"Hopefully for the last time," – Anne noticed even in Snape's voice that he couldn't be more smug and contented. Also, he disapproved of something but didn't let that grate his mood. "This is still a school."
"Yes indeed! However, the safety issues should belong to the Board, and –"
"The Board should also look into the lack of foresight which placed Azkaban guards in the proximity of children," – the Headmaster's tone didn't betray the anger Anne could clearly sense in him. "Two of our students were on the verge of receiving a kiss tonight! The Dementors must go, Cornelius! I believe the events speak for themselves."
It was strange to sense the Minister's genuine unease, and Anne was similarly surprised at the lack of regrets among his emotions. Then she understood that now that Snape had taken hold of Black, the monsters weren't needed anymore.
"But of course!" – Fudge readily agreed. "Without our hero here, I cannot fathom what could have befallen the children. I am shocked, indeed."
While the Minister drawled on about exactly how shocking he found children dying, Anne sensed another set of emotions adding to the mix. Confusion. At least one of the Gryffs must have woken. Then the Minister went on lauding Professor Snape, and although Anne couldn't find it an exaggeration to offer her House's Head an Order of Merlin, the new set of emotions was repulsed by the idea.
While Professor Snape explained to the Minister that his injuries were not caused by Black but by the three Gryffindors, Anne opened herself to their emotions. She couldn't sense the confusion of intrusive magic… it was disconcerting.
They obviously had done everything Professor Snape had listed, breaking the school's rules and common sense the same. Anne even felt gobsmacked thinking about the Potter boy's nerves seeking out a convict and a werewolf at night when half of the world was tortured for his benefit, suffering monsters who wouldn't have had a need if he wasn't a target… yet he seemed groggily put off by Snape's tale. She could understand that he didn't wish to be punished, but the Headmaster seemed somewhat amused, Poppy worried, and the Minister wished to avoid the whole issue altogether.
Another surprise was when Fudge asked about the Dementors. Although it was clear that no one knew what made them retreat, and Anne shuddered to think about them gathering around anyone, Snape didn't claim to have defeated them like so many would. Whatever, Anne shrugged and focused her attention back on the ward, where two of the Gryffindors were obviously all aware and all ears. Poppy finally noticed that, too, but her endeavour to calm them went astray when they hysterically argued about Black's innocence. Anne could tell they believed what they said! It made no sense at all!
The Minister hurried to Potter's bedside like a worried father, and the boy talked to him as if he expected him to follow his whims. Anne gaped at the darkness of the office and began to understand Snape's words about the Boy-who-lived had been given too wide a berth… no kidding! At least the Minister of Magic wasn't that easy to sway. It still was nigh unbelievable that a kid could yell at the man without consequences!
Even his own friend tried to temper his outburst – Oh, yes, she finally remembered, the girl who attempted to help Professor Hagrid, the same whom she had seen disappearing with what had appeared to be a Time Turner – now talked about Animagi, not giving a thought to Professor Snape's arguing that she might have been confounded!
Anne really wasn't sure. Not that her opinion mattered, but a part of her wished to whisper to Snape about the lack of a typical Confundus-induced fog around the Gryffindors… would that matter?
Poppy finally had enough of the yelling and ordered everyone outside who didn't belong to her domain, and the Headmaster wisely chose the exact moment to join them, claiming he had heard the convict. Snape's anger flared, reminiscing the cold edge Anne last time sensed when he forbade her to talk about the werewolf. Strangely, he seemed to falter when Dumbledore confirmed a part of the Gryffs' story.
Anne was about to think again whether she should tell him that the kids were not Confunded when the girl brought up how Snape was knocked out, which changed the line of her thoughts. On the one hand, she almost admired the other girl's nerve to admit in front of the Minister of Magic and the Headmaster that she had taken part in knocking out a teacher; more, she blatantly threw it in Snape's face! But on the other hand, Anne began to worry.
Snape was a volatile man with strong and various emotions, which he usually kept in check, even if he struggled. Not this time, when all his feelings rolled off of him like he'd never heard of mind magic or was a Hufflepuff with his heart on his sleeve! If she added to that his paleness, a hint of nausea, some headache she had sensed earlier, and the uneven pupils… even without her suspicion that he'd almost fallen over by the fireplace, she would have suspected that he was concussed. Whatever had happened to Poppy to miss that?
Then, the Headmaster's wish finally drove Poppy from the ward, and Anne also slipped out of the office to the narrow foyer that connected the Brewing Room and the stores. It would have been all right if she hadn't heard Professor Snape reminding the Headmaster then how Black had tried to kill him – at their age of sixteen! Whatever Poppy saw in her eyes then, the mediwitch simply grabbed her arm and pulled her through the wall at the end of the foyer.
"Poppy, is that true?" – Anne demanded before she could even look around. Poppy turned away and waved for candles to flare. Anne only looked at her. "I thought you meant pranking! How could they –"
Poppy gave her none of her time. Instead, she opened a door from what seemed to be a living room through another foyer until she stopped with a heavy door on her right and something like a kitchenette on her left before she finally turned to her.
"You should have left when your Professor demanded it! Can you imagine what kind of trouble you could get us into?!"
"Poppy!" – Anne stared at her inexorably until the mediwitch sighed and stepped back, letting her arm go.
"I hoped if you once see my quarters, it would be for a nice chat and a tea…"
Anne waited.
"Yes, it's true," – Poppy finally huffed, "or so Severus had always thought so, but I already told it is not my tale to tell."
"Well, good for him, now! He caught him!" – Anne replied with energy. She knew deep down that she was influenced by the flaring emotions she had just witnessed but couldn't bring herself to care.
"Whatever we believe, that is none of our business," – Poppy reminded. "Our business is to look after him because I'm uncomfortable with him leaving the Infirmary in this state."
"Do you mean concussed?" – Anne checked her theory.
"Fifi Brunswick will owe me so much for you, duck!" – Poppy said with a hint of a proud smile. "Now, you shouldn't intrude upon him, and I cannot keep him with the Gryffindor heroes," – Anne snorted at her sarcasm – "but one of us should see to him. Can you do that, Anne? I must not leave these wards until I have students on the beds."
Anne nodded with more enthusiasm than she felt. "Where could he have gone?"
Poppy showed her the heavy door on their right. "This opens to one of the service ways. If you follow the stairs, a sudden right turn at the bottom will take you towards the house elf quarters, then to the kitchen and its stores. You will find your way from there to the castle proper."
Poppy looked at her apologetically. "I doubt he wishes for attention, and my wards need me. Good luck, Anne. And be careful!" – she hugged her quickly, and Anne pushed the door open.
She took one flight of wooden stairs after another. They were uneven and slippery with hundreds of years of overuse. At least the crateful of herbs' and other ingredients' route to the Infirmary's storages wasn't a secret anymore. Although it must have been a great inconvenience for Poppy at the beginning of each year… – she had no time to lament this. One of the steps seemed rotten, and she redoubled her efforts to avoid falling down. When the side door came into view, she began to worry it was closed, but then she remembered her wand. A simple Alohomora did the trick.
The door opened on a long and narrow service corridor without ornaments. Its white-washed walls endlessly held together, like they embraced the whole castle by the perimeter. Anne broke into running until she saw a small wooden door, about half the size of one for humans, and she finally hoped again she wasn't completely lost.
The kitchen was only signalled with heat from a part of the wall and meandering bricks standing out here and there, showing how the chimneys had been repaired.
Finding the next door, which also had a loading entrance on the outside perimeter, Anne cast another Alohomora and rushed through the dark space between shelves, various cabinets, and hanging ham and sausages until she touched the wooden door on the other side. It wasn't even close, but stepping out onto yet another service corridor, she realised she had no idea about directions anymore.
As futile as cussing always seemed, she didn't regret it this time when the Bloody Baron appeared through the ceiling.
"I must find Professor Snape! Can you help me, Baron?"
The ghost nonchalantly levitated to the right, and Anne followed him with an erratically beating heart through darkened spaces to the corridor behind the Great Hall. They passed by the Fruit-piece with the ticklish pear and almost stumbled out into the Entrance Hall. Great, at least she knew her way from here, but how would she find Professor Snape and where?
Fortunately, the Baron didn't disappear, and now he stubbornly levitated above the first few steps of the main staircase. Not knowing better, Anne took a few steps to follow when she heard mumbled curses from above her head. The words sounded slightly slurred but also twangy, and she wouldn't have missed the voice in a hundred!
She turned to thank the ghost, but it had vanished.
"Two places at once… fucking nitwits! …I knew it already! I knew it, goddamn them! Blast!" – the last cry marked the noise of falling, and, looking up, Anne saw Snape had stumbled and slid about four steps down with one go.
Her instinct to help him to his feet and her inborn wish to hide were at odds, and only the all-consuming rage she sensed reverberating on the walls helped her decision to back into a niche. She watched Professor Snape getting up on wobbly feet and continuing downstairs, never stopping cussing or mumbling. He seemed unhinged and unpredictable, unnerving Anne completely.
The Professor got through the Entrance Hall, and she followed him. The scar on his head bled again; at least the rust-coloured old trickle now shone in bright red under his hairline, and she could see his hair was in sticky lumps on the back. By the staircase that led down to the dungeons, he stopped short, panted…, and then threw up. He held his right shoulder in a strange, twisted way as he leaned onto the wall. It didn't need an Empath to tell that it must hurt, and when he dragged himself on, Anne noticed he was also limping.
She vanished the dirt with a swish of her wand as she turned on the dipping stairs. Snape held one hand on the wall at every step, but he couldn't stop the mumbling.
"Of course, he fucking escaped! They always escape – EVERYTHING! EVERY BLOODY THING EVER! They just escape... Bloody Potter! Like father, like soon! I swear… Shite!"
Anne put aside her freaking out at the news of Black's escape and stared down the stairs. Professor Snape leaned on the wall again, holding himself up with both hands. Shite indeed – she thought with feeling. What the hell was she to do if the man slipped into a coma on her watch?
Suddenly, he laughed, which was more frightening than watching him collapse.
"Bloody Minister of Fucking Magic indeed! And believes one can Apparate at rotten Hogwarts!" His amusement was short-lived, and the ripples of his emotions were hysterical.
Anne pulled back her curiosity so as not to become overly affected by it all… she wasn't too far from losing it as it was…. They proceeded towards Snape's quarters without additional stops, and Anne wondered how he failed to register someone's presence behind him. It wasn't likely, knowing Snape's persecution complex… Then he slipped inside his room, leaving the door ajar.
A few minutes passed in complete silence. Anne tiptoed around the open door, trying to decide what to do. The breech wasn't wide enough to peek. Finally, she gathered her courage and pushed the door inside. She didn't take two steps into the room when she saw him: he leaned onto the back of an armchair, holding himself straight by both hands, wand in hand.
On the sound of her footsteps, Snape turned and shot a curse that flew by her ear and blasted the portrait next to her into ribbons before its occupant could even wake up to their presence. Anne yelped and blessed her luck, for he'd missed her. However, his following words made it clear that she wasn't out of trouble:
"What the hell do you think you're doing here? Get away from here – girl… or I swear you'll be the next one!"
His words lost some of their threat, though, when he suddenly leaned above the back of the armchair again, grabbing at it with both hands to keep himself upright. Anne thought about her previous resolve and took another tentative step into the room.
"Sir, I apologise, but I must see if you're all right."
"Wupding!" – He murmured, littering the air with all kinds of unhinged emotions. "I'm fucking chuffed!" – he suddenly cried out. "HE ESCAPED!"
Anne silently noted that she couldn't judge the state of his verbal skills as long as he didn't calm down. "Can you release that armchair and turn, please?"
"When I'm turning, I'm going to curse you, girl," – he promised but didn't move. Anne had a headache only by looking at him. "How the hell did you get inside here?"
"The door was open, sir."
"T'was…–" Snape caught himself before he finished and turned to look behind her. He also stumbled over the armchair with the same momentum, and Anne involuntarily stepped closer. "Don't you dare to touch me!"
She could feel his roaring ire and, more disturbingly, a flare of animalistic fear. She chose her soft words wisely: "I do not intend to, sir. Would you feel easier sitting down?"
Snape clutched to his wand above the armchair's edge with only minor trembling in his hand. Anne sensed accusation, suspicion, and panic. "Why would you care?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why tha fuck wou'd ye care if I was rotten or not?" – he demanded.
The panic, the pain, and the question confused Anne so thoroughly that she fell out of her role. "I- I don't know, sir. I just do... always have, in a way…"
She only dared to whisper the last words, but they had a strange effect. She sensed in him surprise. Disbelief… with a hint of a wish for something… she couldn't ascertain for what. Snape slowly turned his head to face her again. It took visible effort on his part to focus on Anne's features, and she only hoped he wouldn't attempt Legilimency in this state.
"What?" – he stared for a second, then looked as if he struggled and finally paled so much his skin became almost translucent. Anne sensed his struggles in the air, too. Everything turned messy and ill.
"Sir, are you feeling nauseous again?"
After a choking noise that could have been a chortle, he opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was vomit, and it flew across the room uncontrollably. Anne's instincts suggested holding his body still, but she dared not challenge his wrath by touching or getting closer. He should have rested, and the sooner, the better. The last thing he needed was additional stress. Maybe it was a mistake to follow him.
When he finished, Anne pulled her ebony wand and got rid of the mess, then crouched behind the armchair and collected his wand that rolled away while he retched. She put it on the table and finally risked to look at Snape again. The sensations of dizziness and pain multiplied in the air only by catching his gaze.
"Sir, I need to see your eyes," – she stepped closer, carefully lifting her wand after casting a nonverbal Lumos.
Snape grimaced and groaned some curses. "Spare the bloody light show, for fuck's sake!"
"Sorry, I need to know…" – she lowered her wand. "Sir, I would prefer if –"
"Bollocks!"
"Sir?"
His emotions slipped towards self-reproach and melancholy. "That's what it is," – he breathed. "Don't you "sir" me, I have no use here any longer…. There's no use of this at all… useless…goddamned… bloody usel-"
Anne wished he stopped the mumbling. "Professor Snape! I need you to– "
Snape suddenly lifted his head and stared at her. "–the fuck are you doing here anyway?"
"The door was open, and –"
"So you've mentioned."
"- and I already have seen you in the corridor," – she gabbled, relieved to see him remembering something recent. "I can see that something is amiss, and I'm capable of helping."
"The empath's so bloody capable!" Snape's voice was dripping with venom and sick amusement, and his breath was murderous after throwing up. Anne had enough.
"I am, sir, and you know it. You fell and threw up twice only since you've left the second floor. You're way too intelligent to mistake the symptoms: You are nauseous, sensitive to light, slightly incoherent, and the blind can see that you have a head injury. I'm also worried about the state of your memory. Can you recall how you got hurt?"
Surprisingly, her tone must have done the trick, for he pegged down a notch. "Who the fuck cares?" His tone was finally only tired. He mostly just seemed hurt in his feelings. Anne could relate to that, after all that she'd heard.
"I do, sir. Are you still feeling nauseous?"
"You've already seen the performance. I won't repeat it!"
Well, this sounded much less promising. "I wish you got to the Infirmary and–"
"NO!"
"Sir!"
"Stop mithering… -" – he halted and stared at her wand. "Who the hell permitted you to use this?"
"This is my wand."
"LIAR! I can recognise my bloody –"
Outrage, suspicions. Anne's patience ran through. "This is my wand, sir. It is uncarved, unlike yours. See?" – she took his wand from the table and offered him both handles. She'd never seen truer bewilderment than on his face at that particular moment.
Snape's hand clutched around his wand, then quickly returned to the back of the armchair to support his balance. It was all she needed to know.
"You are experiencing dizziness," – Anne stated. "Vertigo?"
Snape slowly nodded. "Both."
"Professor, you need medical attention."
"Weren't you just serving that a'readeh? – he asked back in a strangely subdued tone. He still felt floored with surprise, mildly amused, and all over miserable even in the air around them... Anne swallowed and tried to believe her luck.
"In that case, sir, please sit–"
"Sofa."
Anne stepped closer and offered her shoulder without touching him. She could sense with relief that the change of his mood yet held, but she couldn't find a reason for his incredulousness and surprise as Snape grabbed her arm and shoulder and let her navigate him around a table. He stumbled onto his favourite seat, and Anne ducked from under his arm. She helped him find a comfortable position, then lit her wand again, and with a short apology, she examined his eyes.
At least his pupils seemed now more or less even. Or so it seemed to her. Hell, his had been the first uneven pupils she had ever seen, so how could she know for sure?!
"Nox."
"Thank God!" – Snape sighed with true relief, and this time, Anne couldn't sense anything else around him but just that. Relief. Jadedness. A hint of hope.
"Signa Vitalis!"
Whatever she remembered about reading medical charts was now boosted by her knowledge of the runes' meaning. Snape was stressed and knackered but, at the moment, on the right way to calm and mend. His head must have hurt like a thousand hammers, and she could see signs of tiny wounds on the top and sides of his head. More disturbingly, there also was a magical impact on his system. A huge one, but whether by hex or a curse, she couldn't tell. It was slowly dispersing, which seemed encouraging.
"Maybe a day or two without magical and about a week without physical exertion, and you'll be ready to give me the detention of my life," – she tried to cheer him in a mild tone.
Snape let his head roll onto the back of the sofa and only sighed with closed eyes: "I so fucking don't care."
Anne risked a smile. "I'm afraid you will, sir."
"Then make it worth it!"
She almost chuckled. This was finally more like the wizard she knew.
"Do you keep here pain potions somewhere? You may take the standard one."
After some moments that Anne understood as hesitation, Snape relented. "First door left, private study. Second desk drawer on the right. Tell it you want Porcupine quills."
Anne didn't dare to reply, not to betray her hysterical amusement over someone closing his private desk with a password! Maniac! – she thought, and shook her head even harder when she found that the drawer was loaded like a smaller Apothecary! Various pain potions, Breatheasy (as if anyone would need that without asthma), freakin' Skele-Gro (which made her wonder whether Snape healed his own broken limbs too), and various antiseptics and antidotes. The man was preparing for the Apocalypse!
When she sorted a headache potion, some dittany, and a wound cleanser a small bottle tilted at the back. She picked it up to put it back upright, only reading the name before she closed the drawer: Lucid Dreams. The world must be fucking kidding her! Snape was keeping recreational potions in his private desk?!
Anne closed the drawer quickly and hurried back to the living room. She conjured a small glass and measured two doses to relieve the pain, but Snape didn't take it. He first inspected the bottle with un-focusing, narrowed eyes, then smelled the potion in the glass. Eventually, he accepted and downed his own brew and even a glass of water after more hesitation. She tried not to take it personally. Snape was a suspicious maniac; she had already known that, and his persecution complex would probably need to be beaten dead ten years after his eventual demise.
Forbidding herself to roll her eyes, she prepared to treat his multiple head injuries and stepped behind the sofa. The wounds looked small, and their edges were uneven. As if some hard surface repeatedly collided with his head… where the hell could he have been? She conjured a small bowl, filled it with water, cooled it to nearly freeze, and then conjured a cloth to dip into. Her fingertips were freezing. She wondered if Snape would take kindly to the shock, but his wounds needed to be cleaned and cooled to prevent further swelling.
Snape's face was a mask of discomfort, and the vertical line between his eyes had never been more prominent. Anne suddenly remembered that not all headaches originated from the head. If he was also beaten, his muscles probably needed attention, and she already knew his shoulder hurt. Pulling her wand, Anne cast one of the charms Poppy had taught her to ease the muscles, and the lines softened on his face. Then she swished her wand to send a gust of warm wind on Snape's neck and shoulders and conjured a pillow to ease the weight away from them.
"What are you doing?" – He hissed, suddenly alarmed again. Anne could read in the air how much his mood was alternating between a surprising sense of insecurity and his wish for release.
"I'm trying to alleviate the pain, sir."
She took courage of his silence and chatted on, hoping that would put him at ease: "Stress is unadvised at the moment – as you know, probably better than I do."
Her fingers worked on the stopper of the dittany, and she carefully swept his hair aside to look at the wounds. "You have multiple head injuries, but none of them looks deep. They are uneven at the edges and need cleaning."
He heaved a sigh so deep as if he hadn't had a full breath for months. Tiny waves of gratitude and a more deeply settled sorrow began to play in the air around him. When she put the cold cloth on the first wound, a small wheezy sound answered her, conveying what felt in the air like relief and a shock of incredulity. It lingered around them so long that Anne had no doubt that she had just surprised him to the core.
"You have to stop," – she heard him grumble and decided to ignore him like Poppy would.
"I also need to cool your wounds to stop the swelling. I cannot perform the charm for that. Not on your head, sir," – she informed him instead, in a chatty tone, and continued explaining all she was trying to do.
She applied the dittany and moved to the second wound, dipping the cloth into the cold water, cleaning the edges, applying the dittany, then the salve, and cooling the bump. Third small wound… she didn't dare to stop the chatter but kept her voice very soft and low.
He hissed at every cold touch but otherwise didn't make a sound. Even the air went silent about them as if he re-employed Occlumency. Anne was halfway through cleaning the minor wounds when she realized he didn't. She had only given him a pause, and now his emotions slowly rearranged. Gratitude. Disbelief.
Anne's fingers tenderly lifted Snape's hair, trying to cause the least pain while she searched for the next scratch. She'd finished with the wounds and wished to cool and clean the rest. The sensations in the air multiplied with some sense of reluctant joy… then self-reproach. Regrets. She wondered whether he remembered that she could sense it all.
"Why are you still here, Rosier?"
"You needed attention, sir."
"You shouldn't be here, girl."
The job wasn't ready, and she felt his unease. How could she explain she couldn't leave him like that? And why would he feel self-reproach?
"You are of age already" – this time, his voice was husky with emotion, mainly self-loath and regrets, and Anne's hands stopped over his head. Would he admonish her?
When she didn't answer, his muscles jerked as if he wanted to sit up and turn, but then he must have thought better of it because he collapsed back against the conjured pillow with a sigh. "I destroyed your childhood."
Anne froze. She'd never thought about the Time Turner as something that harmed her. It was an opportunity. Then she remembered why he suggested her using it in the first place:
"I would be at the Thickey ward if you didn't notice my problem, sir."
This got him scowling hard. "You are all too easy to forgive the sins of others. I don't deserve it, but you all just shower it on others…. Every damned female I have ever known presented the excuse for their own ruination in a heartbeat! Don't you waste that shite on me! It's bad enough you grant it to your father!"
"Sir," – Anne started, perplexed. He was angry at her! It was so unjust it drove her nuts! "You couldn't take what I never had."
Snape's eyes popped open, and he stared at her accusingly. It gave the impression that he didn't believe her. Anne was hurt enough to press her lips together and stare right back at him. Suddenly, his glance softened, and a shadow of a smirk appeared under his beginning five-a-clock shadow. Anne wondered why she hadn't yet noticed or why she noticed his stubble now. Probably because he had never looked more human than at that moment: jaded, miserable, and angered by her seeming acceptance of her fate….
She bit into her lip when she realised he was waiting.
"You know, you're wrong about it… it's not an excuse," – she began, trying to look anywhere but at his face and unable to tear her eyes from his gaze. "I don't excuse what… what my father thinks best to do… I only found something that is more important and makes it worth to bear it."
When his eyes darkened, Anne waited for the assault of his emotions, but instead of ire or ridicule, she could only sense pain. It settled so deep within him and now flushed out with so much force she teetered backwards and had to catch the back of the sofa for balance. She wasn't surprised in the least at his words:
"Nothing worth it, Rosier."
Anne was suddenly excited. He thought he understood her, but he didn't know!
"I thought the same, I did, but… When Poppy heard that my mother had left, she… well, they came up with this plan. Plot," – she corrected herself so he would know what she referred to. "I told you about it, and it's nuts because if I used the Time-Turner and lived two lives as they suggested, I would use their friendship. But then you wanted to protect Madame Pince, which reminded me that I love her so much! And Argus… he truly is my friend, and I would risk his job and Poppy's reputation…"
She felt Snape's bewilderment rippling in the air about her; his disbelief and amazement also shone in his eyes, and she had to go on. She wanted him to finally understand!
"I told you I wouldn't come back, so they wouldn't suffer if I failed, but then I had to throw the cards, and it was so real… I had never felt a reading truer or sensed it deeper in magic! I had not much time to think it through, but when I saw what happened tonight…" – she shuddered – "I realised that they are at risk enough already, and I could just suck it up, return home, and wait my two years like others would. That is normal."
"What had the cards to say?"
Surprised by the question, she didn't even hesitate to tell him: "That someone who likes me here at Hogwarts is to suffer a fate that cannot be altered. They would lose control over their lives and need to build partnerships, but even then, the sacrifice is inevitable… maybe the end of the cycle could only mean a new beginning if I chose right… at least I hope… I only know I don't want their sacrifice." Anne shook her head and was finally comfortable lifting her eyes again to meet his. He wasn't shocked, but she could sense his fear mingled with his former emotions.
"Did you pull The Death card on my… on Madame Pince… and Argus?"
"And Poppy," – Anne nodded. "I cannot be sure. It was part of the Divination practical, and I just wanted to finish. I thought about those who liked me here at Hogwarts."
A glint of disappointment shone up in Snape's eyes, then it disappeared as it came. The tiny sparks of affection that spotted the air also subdued within a moment. But she could sense it all, so his dismissal didn't hurt as much as he probably intended:
"You might over-exaggerate your importance, Rosier. Whatever reason they have to support your ways might not even have a thing to do with you."
"I thought about that, sir," – she admitted with a weak smile. "They had someone else in mind. They had failed once. Madame Pince is so full of regrets that I wonder if she'd one day burst. And so Poppy told me they wouldn't fail another again."
Snape jerked his head towards her, and he sat up too quickly. Despite the returning slight nausea and the stab of headache, his demanding glance didn't falter. "Has Irma Pince told you that, girl?!"
Anne rounded the sofa so he didn't need to turn to look at her. She already had a hunch that she was playing on his innermost emotions and wished she waited for him to get better… but by the time he would, he would also have his defences so high, she doubted she would have the courage to speak her mind.
"She told that to Poppy, and the rest I could sense when she gave me her blessing."
He looked up at her as if she'd just hit him in the face. "She gave that to you?"
"On my seventeenth birthday, before my detention, yes. Poppy gave me a cloak, Argus a box I suspect had belonged to his sister like that clasp… and she got me a cake and blessed me like a mother would."
When she sensed his pain, which was strong enough to have him panting, she tried to soften whatever the blow was, saying that her own mother would never bless her like that. It didn't help, though. Snape's hand slipped to cover his left arm as if he remembered some old pain, and his eyes filled with something akin to horror when he stared blindly down.
Then he lifted his palms to cover his face, lurched forward, and rocked himself like a child. Anne crouched down and raised a hand to comfort him, but she dared not touch him. "Sir?"
His palms slid just enough to uncover eyes that stared at her with helplessness that Anne would have never expected to see in them. Then his hands joined and caressed along his lips as if he wished to stop some thoughts of falling from them. Eventually, he softly said: "Your presence has been… appreciated…"
"Oh!" She understood how much it must have cost him to say the word, still, the dismissal was abrupt and unquestionable. "Of course, sir, I'm sorry…"
Anne stood to leave him, but it hurt to look at Snape like this, and she still hesitated. Perhaps Argus could provide him company… - the thought gave her the resolve she needed, and albeit she'd never seen a loner sight, she said good night.
That was a week ago. And although Argus readily marched down to the dungeons, and although Snape's rare moment of weakness didn't last long, Anne still couldn't shake off the unease when she thought about that night. She was beginning to think she ought to have stuck to her job, only healing whatever she could and reporting to Poppy about the rest; alas, she hadn't had what was needed even to return to the Infirmary before the next afternoon.
Not that it seemed to have mattered for Snape.
The very next morning, shortly before noon, Anne walked out from her Dormitory to find him in the Slytherin Common Room, discussing Hogwarts gossip about Black's escape and alluding to the presence of a magical beast… His eyes swept to Anne for a moment as soon as she entered, but he didn't acknowledge her presence in any other way.
"I knew I was right about the werewolf!" – Milan cried with triumph after a few more words, and then the seventh-years took an excited half-an-hour to tell their Head of House all arguments pro and con they'd been debating for months.
Professor Snape listened through their ramblings with smug satisfaction, not for a moment trying to temper their outrage or horror. He also noticed Milan's nod towards Anne, but she guessed he couldn't surmise its true meaning: Miranda's boyfriend recognized her for keeping a secret, which she was sure he'd also known. Anne smiled back at Milan and showed him Caleb's letter about the portkey he had arranged for the couple in London.
The news about Lupin ran through Hogwarts like wildfire, and confused first, and second-years ran around the Owlery to notify their parents. The older students knew they would be home soon enough to tell about the issue, and the seniors hoped their parents would somehow miss that particular gossip.
Anne wasn't sure what to hope for. A week prior, she was preparing for her imminent adventure, rebelliously disregarding Hogwarts' and the Ministry's rules the same. Then she prepared to leave everything behind, change her name like a heroine from Hestia's paperback novels, and find her way in life as a healer… Now, she resolved to just go home. It felt peculiar. She hoped to find the means to at least comfort Rachel.
She avoided telling about her decision to either Poppy or Argus, and she stayed away Pince and the library. Whatever reasons Snape had for his peculiar protectiveness of Madame Pince, the way he had taken Anne's words about her was enough to back off. Anne sometimes contemplated this and all she'd learned from Poppy about Snape's youth, and her sole conclusion was that Argus had been right. She had no way to get to know Severus Snape by anyone's tale or any word of gossip. The man was an enigma and even those lied when it came to him who otherwise told the truth.
She might have wished to know him at some point during these years, but she probably never would, and remembering how adamant he had been against becoming her friend, perhaps that was for the best. Now, she only had to find the right time and words to return the Time-Turner, and she would be free of him and all her crazy schedule.
The problem was only that she liked it. The Time Turner was more than a device; it was a lifestyle at this point, and growing up adopting this lifestyle, she found she knew nothing else.
After the last Feast of the year and the Headmaster's usual summary that made most Slytherins shudder again, Professor Sprout stopped her in the Entrance Hall and asked for a favour the next day. It was pretty unusual and gave no time for seeking out Snape the next morning to return the Time-Turner before she got down to Hogsmeade and left with the train as she'd planned. With a heavy heart and entirely unprepared, she knocked on his office's door, but there was no reply.
Anne spent her last evening at Hogwarts looking for Snape, but the man had vanished from the face of Earth, and neither Argus nor Poppy could help. Fuming about the idiotic irony of being forced to make a last turn of time just so she would be able to return the device, Anne packed her trunk and meditated until she was calm enough to fall asleep. In the morning, she headed down to the greenhouses before her classmates even got to breakfast. Sprout was nowhere in sight.
She walked around the open-air containers for cowbanes and asphodels and looked behind Greenhouse Two, hoping the witch might be weeding the chomping cabbages. With some shame and sorrow, she remembered how much she'd wished to convince Sprout to let her take some of those when they would grow. Sprout wasn't there either.
Choosing the longer route, Anne clambered through some elderberry bushes to round Greenhouse Three when she saw him. Snape was facing the castle's entrance but turned when he heard her footsteps.
"Have you talked to Professor Sprout already, Rosier?"
When Anne admitted she couldn't find her, he showed the way to Greenhouse Six, with mostly non-poisonous flowers and the Professor's armchair. If the gossip wasn't entirely wrong, this was where the Hufflepuff Professor spent her nights at Hogwarts whenever the time ran away with her. True to form, she was there, watering her precious favourites, and only huffed a little when she saw Snape's smirk.
"Only the birds are chirping this early, Severus. Even the nasturtium has yet to open its flowers," she explained in place of a greeting.
"You wanted to say nightshade," – Professor Snape smirked. "Shall I leave you two to business?"
"Oh, come off it. She'll notice your hand in it soon enough," – Professor Sprout shrugged and finally looked at Anne. "So you're planning to take the NEWTs to become a Healer, Miss Rosier? That's a very nice choice, indeed, and made well in time."
Anne's gaze jumped hesitantly between the Hufflepuff witch and her Head of House. Had he been so out of it he failed to remember?
"I wish, Professor Sprout, but recently–"
"Yes," – Snape cut her. "This is not the right time to be shy, Rosier. The Professor has no time for your babbling."
"Erm, sir, I–"
"Endearing," – Sprout smiled at her confusion. "Don't you be afraid, Miss Rosier, this is nothing uncommon. I was planning to offer you a chance to assist me anyway, but I thought you'd be overtaxed by the Infirmary's demands. Now that I heard you have a clear schedule for the summer, I gladly agreed to offer you a chance for training."
"Training?" – Anne could only repeat after her, utterly gobsmacked.
"Well, you must have realised that for a mediwitch, Herbology and Potions are perhaps the most important subjects!" – Sprout put down the watering can so she could gesture with both hands. She began that by wiping the dirt from her fingers. "I know some would also enlist Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but those only matter after specialisation. Now, your grades in my classes are excellent, and I have seen your devotion. Take a breather after the school is out, but we need to begin sowing and planting for the next year within the month."
Anne stared at her wide-eyed, with her mouth inelegantly falling open. "I-" Her hand slipped to her throat, and her fingers dangerously fidgeted with the Time Turner's golden chain.
"Could you return, say, on the twenty-eighth? Your work would count into your future application for the St. Mungo's Healer Programme," – Sprout finished with an encouraging nod.
Anne peeked at Snape, trying to figure out what he had to do with all of this. She'd been under the impression he hadn't supported her becoming a Healer at all.
"I will write to your father, Rosier, and so will Professor Sprout," – Snape drawled as if that was the most unnecessary chore that weighed him down. "Even if St. Mungo's would one day find your application lacking, this reference would enhance your chances of joining … other reputed families in the future."
Despite his disgusted grimace, Anne finally caught the plot and eagerly nodded. "I'm sure he would be glad to read that, sir."
"Very well, then. Pomona?"
"If I can buy two more hands for the upcoming lunacy, I will write whatever is needed. Merlin knows how Hagrid tries his best but looking after the Forest and planting for a school year like the one we're into…!" – she sighed. "I cannot tell you the details, Miss Rosier, but your "traineeship" couldn't be timelier. I was delighted when Professor Snape told me you were interested."
Anne attempted to hide her confusion behind a smile. "Yes, Professor, I am. Thank you!"
Professor Snape stepped towards the door and grumpily reminded Anne not to hold up Sprout any longer, so she also had to apologize before they left. As soon as they were out in the open, he made sure with a quick glance that no one was around, then he reached into his robe's pocket and produced a pebble and a leather string.
"Your Time-Turner, Rosier," – he gestured to her neck. When she handed it over, he carefully replaced the golden chain with the string and murmured an incantation. He tried the leather, but it didn't tear. "Put it back and hide it! Can you recall what your father's curse was meant for?"
Anne's face reddened with embarrassment and anger. Caleb shouldn't have told Snape about that at all! "He wished me to convince my brother to return to him like an obedient little boy. I shook it off, sir!" – she added with some awakening pride.
"Of course you did. Imperius attacks the mind. Have you even heard about Mind Magic, Rosier?"
Not wishing to irritate him, Anne somehow swallowed the sarcastic reply. He surely had seen it in her eyes, though, because his lips pulled into a rare smirk.
"Here," – he handed her the pebble. "In case he doesn't believe you're working on your brothers for his benefit. Keep it on you at all times!"
Anne turned around the pebble. It was grey, wrinkled, and unassuming. She wondered what he wanted with it.
"This is a portkey, Rosier," – Snape explained as if he were talking to a toddler. "The password is 'Fool.' Admit it, and it will take you to Poppy Pomfrey." When Anne's surprise showed, he pulled his lips aside with distaste. "Not all Unforgivables attack the mind, girl. If he doesn't kill you, in which case we have no further agenda, you might need her attention."
Anne understood he was talking about the Cruciatus and her blood ran cold. Was she in any danger of that, or was this only another encounter with the Maniac's Persecution Complex? Gods, she was beginning to think about it as a person! It took some moments to recognise Snape was still talking:
"I heard you have a place to stay in London. Keep it a secret! If St. Mungo's asks for an address to hire you, you are to find a different one to tell them and ensure it's out of your father's reach! Master Caleb is knowledgeable by office about the security measures you should take when Apparating. Ask him and follow his advice! When the Headmaster visits the greenhouses, I expect you to have a clear mind, focused solely on your everlasting enthusiasm for weeding and manuring. Am I understood?"
Anne obediently nodded, but her former blind acceptance must have vanished with the years. "Why?" – she asked. "Why did you decide to help me? Sir?"
"My involvement wasn't showing in your cards." It was as good as if he'd said because he didn't like her. Anne smelled bullshit and wanted to press him on, but Snape straightened his shoulders and took a step back. "We are not going to discuss this any further. You'll do your best at whatever had been prearranged for you and return to school as a fifth year to take your OWLs."
"And so you can keep an eye on me," – Anne noted with a spur-of-the-moment realisation. "Sir." She could tell he didn't like to hear it.
"Rest assured, Rosier, I don't take joy in ensuring your abilities stay hidden. But I will not watch anyone taking advantage of a natural Empath. Don't flatter yourself, girl. This is not a personal preference."
Well, that was enough aplenty to make her forget gratitude. "Of course not, sir. Thank you anyway."
Anne only waited to be dismissed and wasn't surprised when it happened within seconds. Snape took the longer route, so she returned alone to the castle, strangely fuming, although she had no real reason to feel piquet.
Trust Snape to make sure that they would never be on good terms, whatever had transpired in his quarters! Bloody Maniac!