TN_Chapter 29.

2nd September – 31st October 1994

(18)

It took only two days, and Anne was already beginning to lose track of the artificial general time in favour of her own. The actual depth of her exhaustion didn't register. She was too familiar with the feeling. She should have considered this a problem when she lost herself for histrionics in the summer under the most inopportune circumstances, but she didn't, so now, when she grudgingly returned to school, she only cursed Snape for the inconvenience.

Of course, there were signs that she casually overlooked, such as observations she failed to make, links between facts she failed to notice, and people in her life who sometimes stared at her with surprise. The first moment she realised she should have taken rest more seriously came with the year's first DADA class, which probably Miles Bletchley summarised the best, carving later into the Turrus Magnus' wall just by the foot of the spiral staircase: Abandon all hope ye who enter.

The lesson didn't begin like usual classes. They climbed up to the turret and already struggled to enter the classroom. Some strange golden mist levitated in the doorway, and those who had already braved it cried out in distress to those who crowded the corridor and the spiral staircase.

"What the hell is this? Help!" – Anne heard Higgs' voice from the mist.

Luckily, Bletchley recalled something he had read: "It looks like Limbo Mist, mate. Don't worry, it doesn't harm you."

"Well, it bloody doesn't leave me unharmed either!" – Higgs shouted from the mist.

Anne forced herself to remember. "Limbo Mist only switches off gravity, and it has an anti-charm we are supposed to learn in the sixth year."

"What's the anti-charm?" – Vaisey asked her quickly, but to her horror, she couldn't recall it.

It was in the second book on the right of her desk in her tower, about the two hundred and fortieth page or so, and there was a green drawing under the yellowish mist on the left of the description, but-

"Well, thanks for nothing!" – Vaisey concluded and returned his attention to Higgs: "Hey, can't you move in that thing? Like those deranged Muggles out among the stars?"

"I'm not a fucking Muggle, and I can't see any stars!"

Anne stopped beating herself up for forgetting the anti-charm and focused on Vaisey and Higgs. Of course, neither knew what to make of an astronaut, a wonder anti-gravity called the thought from Vaisey. However, if she had to describe what she saw in the films… "Terence, can you swim?"

"What?"

"It was Rosier. She forgot the anti-charm and asked if you could swim," Miles repeated, just a step from the mist.

"I could if this was water! Get me out of here! My head's started to hurt!"

"But it should work," – Anne cried ahead to Bletchley. "He should try to swim out of it. This is only a flipped reality. It doesn't want him, has no intent!"

"She thinks you should act like it was water," – Miles translated for Terence in the mist.

After a few moments of continuous struggle, there was a thump, and Higgs cried out in pain but from the other side.

"You okay there, mate?" – Miles shouted through the door.

"Yeah…" – Terence sounded preoccupied with something. "Listen, here are four Ravenclaws already, and they say there's a spell like Callio or something."

Anne slapped her hand on her forehead. "That's Caligo! Caligo Reducio!" she cried out, holding her wand forward. The mist shrunk small enough for Miles and Flora to get around it on the doorstep. When Vaisey stared at her, she shrugged. "Sorry, I forgot. It's just a funny mix between a meteo-jinx and a conjuration spell. I-"

Vaisey rolled his eyes at her. "Like in Transfig?" – he asked, and when Anne nodded, he lifted his wand and sent an Evanesco into the rest of the golden mist. It vanished just like it was supposed to. "Very funny" – he told her before he left her on the doorstep.

Anne thought about getting offended, but she had already heard the menacing clunks signalling Moody's approach and decided it was wiser to just scurry to the back of the classroom with the rest of the Ravenclaws. If the gossip wasn't entirely false, she had all the reason to be unnerved. Allegedly, Moody showed off Unforgivables in the fourth and sixth years, and Sophie also told her that he made some strange comments about Dark artefacts she couldn't like.

Alastor Moody thundered in, telling them his name as if that was needed.

"We are here, so you will know what the Dark Arts are and how to defend against them," – he began, freaking most out with his miss-matched limbs and spinning magical eye.

Anne made a mental note to ask Sophie whether that thing was also a dark artefact because it seemed he could see through objects with it and even his own skull.

"People will tell you that this year is everything about your exams, but there are things in this world that are much more important than your OWLs. Now, which one got stuck in the Limbo Mist?"

In the dead silence, some Ravenclaw's glance involuntarily slipped to Terence.

"You! What is your name, laddie?"

Terence swallowed hard. "It's Higgs, sir."

"Higgs. Is that your father at the Ministry?"

"My uncle, sir."

"Good man. Works for the MLE but not long enough to enlighten you, is he? Describe the Limbo Charm!"

"It was… looking like a golden mist. It didn't seem harmful, but I lost all sense of direction when I stepped into it. But I still could move, which was good. I ended up on its other side."

"With a bit of help from your friends, hmmm? A harmless little charm, and what a noise you made! Why would you step into what you cannot recognise?" He turned away from Higgs, and his voice boomed over the classroom: "Vigilance! The only way to avoid such surprises will be Constant Vigilance! I will test the class throughout the year with magical surprises, and you will learn to avoid them!"

Moody clunked down between the rows, and Anne sensed how much he enjoyed her classmates' confused murmur and rising anxiety. She also worried about those tests.

"You!" – Moody pointed at a Ravenclaw. "Tell me what the Dark Arts are!"

"It's an umbrella term for – for-"

"Who can help him?"

Another Claw stepped up: "It is an umbrella term for harmful charms and jinxes."

"Harmful, you say," – Moody acted as if he was thinking. "Higgs, tell us then, how harmful was that Limbo Charm?"

"I thought it was bad enough, sir," – Terence dared to try the limits cautiously.

"Was it dark?" When nobody answered, Moody conjured a glass and filled it with an Aguamenti. "Conjuring spell, convenient. Was this a dark spell?"

"No, of course, it wasn't," – Miles Bletchley took courage after Higgs came off unharmed.

"Name?"

"Bletchley, sir."

"Would you mind, Bletchley, if I cast it in your throat?"

Miles' eyes went round with horror, and Moody Evenesco-ed the water and asked if the glass was harmless. Slytherins had a collective premonition that replying was not advised, but a Ravenclaw still played along and said no. The next moment, the glass shattered on the edge of his desk, and Professor Moody asked whether the sharp remains were considered harmful.

"Y-yes!" – the boy half-gasped-half-screamed in his fright, and Moody laughed before he vanished the shattered glass.

"And you have yet to see Dark Magic! Everything may cause harm if you know how to use it! Darkness is an intention and will. Jinxes are the names of dark charms. Hexes are considered less malicious curses. And among the curses, we know three that cannot be cast without the most profound intention to cause harm. What are those?"

Now he got the answer everyone was waiting for, and the class watched him perform the three Unforgivable Curses on an enlarged bug. What none of them expected from others' tales was the following question:

"Which of these was the worst?"

Anne half-heartedly listened to her classmates discuss whether it was better to be tortured to insanity or to die on the spot, not even thinking about mentioning the Imperius Curse, which she secretly considered the most horrifying. Nothing was further from her than taking part. Her senses were still yet to recover from the assault of darkness and deranged pleasure that filled the room when Moody cast the curses. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that this wizard enjoyed the forbidden spells as much as their bewilderment over their casting.

"You, what's your name, girl?"

She stared at the finger that pointed at her and closed her eyes for a moment before the inevitable.

"Rosier," – she yielded with a sigh.

Moody licked the edge of his mouth, masking his greedy pleasure before he pushed her: "Rosier, you are yet to tell us your opinion. Which of these spells should we consider the worst?"

Anne swallowed her misgivings, but her voice was still too soft and trembled when she replied: "The Torture Curse is the most painful, but it is possible to survive it. The Killing Curse is painless, and it only takes a moment. But the Imperius can leave the longest impact on a victim's life because it is never clear whether something he had done was conceived under the curse or the victim's own volition. Who performed what was done under Imperius has to live with the consequences."

She felt again Moody's greed and something strange… hunger for revenge… lusting for it and …

"What about those who lie about it? This makes a convenient cover for all the miscreants!" he cried. Anne was suddenly reminded of what her father had told Caleb about Hemo Macmillan, who once needed a witness to attest to Malfoy's having been Imperio-ed. Did Moody know about that? Her fright wasn't lost on the wizard, and she tried to regain composure.

"There's nothing I abhor more than a liar! A traitor who tries to cover his deeds!" Moody raged till the bell saved the day, and he hurried front to tell the class: "Study your intentions because those will be tested next time!"

Compared to that, Transfiguration and Runes had no impact. She only felt sorry on Tuesday night that she was about to test her schedule to the breaking point from Wednesday onward. Two days of being just a schoolgirl was way too short a reprieve, yet it was sufficient to mess up her routine and thoughts.

And Wednesday began like it was only another day. She tried to keep Professor Hagrid's friendship without appearing like an eager beaver in her classmates' eyes and failed epically, burning a hand with one of those monsters he wanted them to nurture. Then she spent History of Magic with one hand soaking in Dittany so she could turn back time and use it to pack out crates of ingredients at the Infirmary Storage. She turned back again, cleaned and readied her tower, had a sandwich and a short kip, then turned back for the third time, stealing up to the fourth floor and trying out the portal mirror.

Portifix – she whispered and hesitantly stepped to the frame, tentatively lifting a hand through the glass. She expected to feel something, like cold or water, but the sensation wasn't more peculiar than reaching into drafty air. She slowly followed her outstretched hand, and the mirror on the other side sealed behind her. Lumos.

The tunnel she arrived at looked unusable and dangerous. The ceiling was so obviously weakened by a fall that she hesitated to leave it at that and try leaving the castle through the kitchen instead. Her wand's light fell on the rambles ahead, and they filled the tunnel from one side to the other and almost reached the ceiling. It seemed so hazardous that she lamented Filch's sanity for sending her here.

She recalled that Snape made this so the kids wouldn't try to proceed this way. Well, if he wanted the tunnel to appear dangerous, he'd gone over the top with that. Even knowing about the alleged "trick," she still was hesitant. But the clock was ticking, and Brunswick wouldn't appreciate her being late. Then, it occurred to her that Snape went over the top with everything.

He was way too frightening for some, with a way too vicious mouth, keeping all in line as if there was anything worse he could do with them than taking points or prescribing detentions. His worry was overblown, too, just like his measures of caution… she still couldn't make sense of those emotions she had perceived on the visitor stand in Wimbledon. And then a test sheet like the last one! Also, it was delivered in the same manner as a death threat. And she dumbly went with it all like the rest!

"This is overblown, too," – Anne said out loud. "I walk through this. Vianota," she told the rambles and marched into them with closed eyes, as she had done on her first attempt at King's Cross all those years ago when she waved goodbye to her brothersfor their first Hogwarts year. She felt the draft but was preoccupied with the memory that landed her at Rachel's study.

When she opened her eyes, she must have been close to the end of the tunnel already because some natural light filtered inside from above some stairs. She couldn't be in Hogsmeade with just a few steps? Holy staff of Merlin, was this another portal? Anne tried to accept that apparently Snape not only knew portal magic but could also make new portals with the ancient technique. It would be high time to see something the man could not do! – She shook her head and climbed the stairs to the ruins of an old building at the edge of the fields around the village. Then, she Apparated to London.

Halfway into her shift, she began to feel the lack of nourishment and proper rest. It was hard to keep her focus, even with her immense practice. There wasn't much she could do about it but hide behind the Tearoom and have five hours of sweet, dreamless sleep on one of the spare beds before turning time back – yet again. At least that helped her feel like herself enough to visit Rachel. She needed to remember to keep money on her in the future so she could buy lunch next time.

Rachel was happily typing away but stopped for a cuppa and a chat, and Anne finally calmed down. It was still only five in the afternoon, so she could Apparate back to the ruins by Hogsmeade, turn back time in the tunnel, and return to her classmates in the Great Hall. Not for the first time, a Time Turner proved to be a dangerous device. If she tracked her movements, she could have a five-hour rest by the seaside if she chose to, and no one would be the wiser! Not even Snape!

The thought carried unimaginable freedom, but it also baffled her. The wizard who tried to think of everything just gave her a gadget all those years ago that he couldn't track or check. Anne marvelled at Snape's trust in her for the first time since her third year. However, this time, it wasn't just a surprised thought of a kid taking pride in the fact. This time, she knew he trusted no one. And yet it seemed he trusted her.

Anne happily chewed on the Hogwarts roast beef and amused herself, thinking of places she could visit during school for fun and recreation. Even the intrusive thought entertained her now that her stomach was full: Snape's worries and trust might be rooted in the same thing, and she had no idea what exactly it was.

The afternoon's Astronomy class couldn't destroy her mood, and Arithmancy advanced it. She loved Professor Vector and her silent confidence that guided the class. Poppy's Infirmary appointment after dinner was no challenge, and she gladly helped her sort in the storage until after curfew. From the following week on, she should put in an additional turn for her preparations in her tower and also begin to visit the Library and Madame Pince.

Musing about her plans, Anne routinely took the Baron's passage, which led her down the dungeons without any danger. The only tender point was stepping out into the corridor so close to Snape's quarters, so she did that with utmost care and in complete silence. Her heart almost stopped when she heard voices from the staircase's direction.

"Auror's privilege, Snape. Don't try to tell me you fail to remember!" Gods, was that Moody? Hearing the clunks, Anne's doubts had to dissolve.

"It is immaterial!" – she heard Snape's agitation ringing in his voice. "There cannot be a reason for this search, and I doubt you have permission. It is –"

"Having a bad conscience, Snape? Why would you worry if you have nothing to hide?"

"I am not worried about anything! I am appalled by the-"

"Are you now?" - Moody's voice sounded cold and counting, and Anne's senses picked up various hidden intentions and a bucketload of vengeful hatred. Whatever the mad Auror was onto, though, she couldn't listen because the Baron appeared only steps away and beckoned her with urgent gestures.

Anne peeked along the corridor, but the voices still argued on the stairs, far enough to be safe for the moment.

"What?" – her lips formed the word without a sound.

The ghost urged her closer to the door she remembered to open in Snape's quarters and slid through the thick wood. Anne looked over her shoulder in fright and couldn't imagine what the Baron wanted, but then a page from a book slipped out under the door.

Anne picked up the torn parchment and recognised it as a page from the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. It had a picture.

"Asphodels?"

The door popped open just when she heard the argument turning into a quarrel on the stairs at the end of the corridor, and she quickly slipped inside before getting rumbled.

"Baron! Baron, what am I doing here?!" – she whispered urgently, but the ghost was preoccupied, levitating a frazzled quilt before a portrait. "Stick!" – Anne waved at the quilt, losing patience. "Baron, I'm warning you! I will not take the blame for this! I-"

The ghost was already on the other side of what she knew to be Snape's living room, aiming for the first door on the left. Snape's private study! Finally, Anne added two and two together and rushed after the Baron.

"What is here? What mustn't Moody see?"

The ghost nodded with satisfaction and showed a finger on the long drawer just under the desk's surface. Anne tried to open it, but it was closed and sealed with magic.

"Alohomora!" Nothing happened, but she recalled her last year's amusement over the password. "Porcupine quills!" The drawer stayed closed. "Shit. Open up! Wait! Manchester! Manchester United! erm… Winning the Double… Hughes… Kanchelskis… Cantona… Ince… hell, I don't know! To Wembley…" – she tried to emulate the sound of the old song, and the drawer opened with a pop, and various parchments bulged out, letting her see a brown notebook. The ghost showed a finger on it, and Anne hid it in her bookbag and quickly closed the desk drawer.

The Baron was already at the other side of the room, but she had a hunch and turned her attention to the second drawer on the right. "Porcupine quills?" – she asked hesitantly, but gratefully, Snape didn't change that password. She rummaged through the various medicines and tinctures until she found the illegal recreational potion. Why on earth would he keep Lucid Dreams here?

To her horror, Anne suddenly heard Snape's loud protests from the living room. He vowed to alert the Headmaster, and Moody goaded him. It was revolting. It was terrifying! She pocketed the potion and rushed to the Baron, who showed her a tapestry door with a carved snake, not dissimilar to what she knew from the long passageway that led through the castle. The door opened on the slightest press on the snake's head, and she found herself in a narrow corridor that smelled of dampness and mould.

Anne followed the ghost's simmering form through the darkness until it disappeared through another door. She finally knew where she was, even if Snape's office looked a mess with all the homework and half-graded tests haphazardly thrown around on the desk, chair, and the stone floor, and the adjacent storage room upset and packed out.

The strange and alarming buzz in magic only hit her when she forced the door open, and Anne thought it best to flee into the Common Room. Not stopping for a second, she got into her dorm and hid behind the curtains of her bed. The Baron would pay so thoroughly for this if she just once found a way to make him!

She was tired enough to fall asleep now in the middle of her hectic thoughts. She only washed and changed in the morning, checking twice if the illegal potion and the notebook were undisturbed in her bag. She went through the motions of an average Thursday morning with Charms, Transfiguration, turning back time, having breakfast, and going to Runes - all the while trying to figure out a way to give Snape his belongings.

The man was fuming, and she never saw him alone!

Not knowing better, Anne turned back time again for her usual rest in the tower, then again to leave through the portal and take up her shift at the St. Mungo's. Rachel was glad to see her and listened through her strange tale about an insane Auror, but she couldn't assist more than giving Anne an ear.

After lunch in the Great Hall came the year's first double Potions, and Anne brewed her way through it, thinking about the secrets in her book bag. Snape didn't as much as step around her; there wasn't a way to gather his attention or figure out how to talk to him privately. She decided she would try it later at the Infirmary. He needed to sort through some of the crates on his own one of these days. But then all her thoughts flew away, forgotten after they had received their corrected tests at the end of the double class.

She barely scraped an "Acceptable". It was impossible!

After a short read through all Snape's biting remarks, she noticed that her last hundred words were crossed out with one red line. Her attention turned to the scribbling at the margin: Failed practical testing.

"Ex-cuse me! WHAT?"

She only noticed she uttered the words when they fell back on her, reverberating from the classroom's walls. Professor Snape straightened behind his desk, and Miles Bletchley and Terence Higgs, the last two of her classmates in the doorway, exchanged a look before they hurried out. Anne swallowed anxiously, but an apology now would only sound ridiculous. The notebook or the potion didn't even enter her mind.

"Sir, I'd like to lodge an objection," – she decided to match wands.

Snape's eyebrows moved with only a hint of surprise, and he lifted an inviting hand, gesturing for her to proceed. Anne marched to his desk, debating the best approach. She couldn't mention St. Mungo's. She couldn't tell about Mediwizard Spleen or her work. She couldn't argue about Sprout or Hagrid having been misled. There were bans on most approaches.

"The question didn't mention that practical application was also a requirement," – she put the pack of parchment down and opened it at the last part.

A spark lighted up in Snape's eyes and vanished as quickly as it came. He had no use of it, though. He'd been Occluding long enough around an Empath for her to become a keen observer. She knew she amused him.

"Have you sorted the Infirmary supplies, Miss Rosier?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you changed the vanilla essence in your base for the Arthritis Salve?"

"Yes, sir."

"What about the applied Arithmancy you had to use to improve this year's Pepper-ups?"

Oh, so he'd seen that! "What about that, sir?"

"Don't try giving me the lip, girl. You're not good enough for that yet! Which of these had you failed in their practical application?"

Anne teetered. What was he on about?

"You've been tested in theory and practice, Rosier, and facing a dark creature, you have failed for the second time. Objection refused. Prepare for detention for your sass every Monday and Thursday evening until countermanded! You are dismissed."

With that, he turned away and left the classroom, leaving Anne wondering what ways he would have constructed to prescribe her that detention had she not lost her calm over this "A?"

She was halfway to the Great Hall for dinner when she remembered that notebook and could slap herself. Then, she also recalled that it was still Thursday, and a slow smile crept on her face. The nerve of the man! But this time, she knew how to make him gobsmacked!

She quickly ate and hurried up to the Infirmary to sort through the rest of the ingredients shipped by Pippin's from various herbalists. Unfortunately, her eagerness made her skip her usual rest time in her tower, and unpacking in the warm storage room quickly became tedious. Especially when she divested her school robe. Because her argument with Poppy about whether someone's back showing two spans long above her jeans' waist was Muggle fashion or just an early sign for severe pyelonephritis was dragging on, getting worse with every packed-out layer, as she had to lean into the crate deeper to reach the next.

When she heard the mediwitch's scream-like gasp, she almost fell headfirst into the crate and almost missed Snape's commanding "Rosier!" in the fright. Then, she found herself only a hair away from losing her temper because, climbing out, she backed into Poppy's outstretched hands, which tried to shield her "indecency" from one certain Potion Master.

Snape only turned in the Brewing Room's door for the havoc, and while she yanked her top to place she also saw him rolling his eyes at Poppy.

"You, Madame, are worse than your friend."

"You will be wise not to criticise Irma Pince, Severus Snape!" Poppy lifted her chin high. "Unlike others, she's yet to damage school supplies."

"That'll be the day!" – Snape heaved a long breath. "Rosier, I'm waiting!"

"Whatever are you doing? She is yet to finish!" – Poppy protested.

"She is having detention for her misguided behaviour."

"Misguided- " Poppy shook her head, refusing the entire problem. "She's needed here to finish what she's begun."

Snape's up until only tired features froze, and his dark eyes sought out Anne's. "Get inside, girl!"

Anne looked around in the messy storage and remembered Snape's last words on the visitor stand in Wimbledon. You are answering to me, do you understand? His words finally made sense, even if she sensed Poppy's jealous outrage and understood her worry about the ingredients.

"I'll finish after, Poppy," – she softly promised, stepping by the witch.

"You will do no such thing," – Snape began as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Sir?"

"Your timetable includes practice time. Your presence at this hour is only acceptable here because you're serving your detention with me."

This time, those were Anne's brows which rose. "And after you're ready comparing your wand's size, shall I be allowed to keep up friendships, or are you planning on scheduling those too? Sir?"

Snape's just ire was expected and un-occluded. It hit Anne in the chest before his words came. "Now listen, you little chit…!"

"No, you listen! Before you make your point again for only yourself, without me understanding any of it!" Strangely, her words stopped whatever storm was about to come, and although Snape snarled his words, she sensed his restraint.

"You may be incapable of imagining what real darkness could do to you, but your performance to date makes your sheer survival dubious. Prattling around in that storage will provide you with no assistance. Now, about your detention…." He seemed ready to switch back to his classroom tone, and somehow, Anne found that repulsive.

"With respect, sir, I don't believe you have a clear view of what really happened!"

Snape was about to move across the room, but now he turned and stood spread-legged before her as if he was about to withstand whatever she was to dump at him. "Enlighten me, then!"

"I might be a fool just like you handle me, or a green bird like Frank keeps mocking me, but it's none of my fault if our education is lacking. The DADA textbooks, in particular, not that there aren't problems with the rest, but not even the books you suggested on Mind Ma-" Snape's wand flipped forward, and she stopped abruptly with a yelp.

The door clicked closed behind her, and the familiar buzz of protective magic ran around the room, warding it against all kinds of intrusions. With her fright subsiding, Anne sensed Snape's hurt and bafflement briefly before he hid both. She pushed her way to make him forget her surprising lack of trust.

"Sorry, sir. But not even your books suggested that a hag is capable of Mind Magic, and no DADA text warns about this!" She stopped for a second to gather her thoughts.

"Mediwizard Spleen called me because I did a swell job, which impressed him. He wanted to give me a chance, but it doesn't matter because he hasn't called for me ever since! But how was I supposed to explain to him that the hag could sense Legilimency?"

"What on earth could make you use Legilimency on a hag?! Do you truly have a death wish?" His honest revulsion was almost offending, but then Anne recalled that he had seen her almost jumping down a Dementor's throat.

"I did not!" she hurried to point out. "Well, not at first. I only touched about the room and planned to sense her problem. She was in pain. Those stomach cramps were killing her! I had to get a sense of the problem!"

"You absolutely did not" – Snape stopped her again, but Anne disagreed.

"I will not hang up what I am just because a stranger has a problem. On the contrary, I need to be there to check them and try to help like I routinely do every day! She didn't know what I was, but she sensed my presence even without me bothering her."

"What do you mean she could sense you?"

"I heard her in my head. She –"

"What have I told you about letting anyone in your head, Rosier?!" This time, he seemed to be worked up enough, but Anne had the answer.

"Why, I heard you the same way only two days ago!"

"What?"

"On the Welcome Feast, sir, don't you remember? The Headmaster introduced Moody, and while he vaxed on about the Tournament, I looked at you, but you asked me not to make a fuss."

"I was hoping you wouldn't, but I asked nothing of you."

"Sir, I heard your voice in my head, as clear as now. And you said, don't make a fuss, girl, not now! I even sensed you wished to shake your head!"

Snape froze wide-eyed, staring at her, then turned away with a huff that strangely sounded similar to Shite!

"What can you sense now? What am I thinking?"

"Sir, you know very well that it doesn't work that way."

"What do you sense, girl?!" he demanded, rounding on her again. It was unnerving, and Anne swallowed hard against the adrenaline, which quickly made her mouth feel sweet and tender.

"If I had to guess, I would say you're cussing still, sir. But I cannot hear it, and I cannot sense you because you're occluding since I hurt your feelings when I got frightened by your wand."

She watched him blink, and his Adam's apple bobbing, and she felt a strange pressure under her ribs.

"I would also wager a guess about your stomach is beginning to hurt," – she added softly, afraid of his reaction.

Snape let his eyes fall. "Are you surprised?" – he huffed out with a hint of a helpless laugh. She watched him rubbing his neck again, like back in Nottingham when he tried to rule in his baser reactions. "What happened then?" – he eventually asked.

Anne told the tale, this time honestly, even admitting she needed to find an explanation for the hag's initial attempts at contact. She explained that strange dream she shared with the creature and that the only lure was about a promise of joy if she revealed herself.

Snape patiently listened until that point, but here he lost his calm.

"And you told yourself that wasn't luring you in?" he was at her throat, not only figuratively, because he even stepped closer and leaned into her personal space with disbelief.

It raised Anne's hackles so much that she lost her calm, as he had. "I wasn't giving her what she asked for. I only left her alone, sir, but do you know what I don't understand?"

She waited for him to stop her or to ask, but when neither happened, she just spat her list out:

"A madman is threatening our whole class with curses. Igor bloody Karkaroff is about to return to Britain, and I don't want to do what is expected of me. My aunt was almost killed. Hell, my brother was almost killed, too! My father must think I have abandoned him, and I have no idea what kind of repercussions he is planning because you insisted I should avoid him. Bloody Death Eaters are marching around a fucking Dark Mark – I haven't seen one of those since I was three! The World Cup was a catastrophe, and you did nothing to prevent it, although people died! Because the Prophet is lying! I was there! He died in my hand! Under my wand!" For the first time, her tears leaked for that strange old wizard, and she couldn't stop them anymore. "I was sensing him in magic as he dissolved into it! And none of that matters because—reasons, I guess! Because your greatest concern amidst it all is a fucking bloody hag!"

Preoccupied with her woes, Anne missed how Snape's keen awareness and emotions followed her tale. Now, his palm landed on the prep table right beside her with a reverberating thud.

"YES!" he hissed into her face. When Anne froze, he didn't seem to notice.

"You were not in imminent danger. You have no idea what your father did, and you haven't been to the World Cup. I know because I checked. The Headmaster's choice doesn't involve you, and Karkaroff is my concern.

"But you – you failed in the face of genuine darkness. AGAIN. And you dare to argue I should have stopped the madness, not for a moment thinking about the consequences, while YOU are making mistakes neither of us can afford!"

He stood so close it should have felt threatening, yet Anne was glad to inspect his features in detail. The grey of his eyes was a darker shade than ever, and his pupils were spot-like in his agitation. The skin around his lips and nostrils looked thin in its pallor and contrasted with tiny dots of stubble and a bluish tint under his eyes.

She couldn't sense him, yet she knew he hadn't slept last night, probably not even before that, because he was anxious beyond average, and she began to suspect she would understand him better if she could grab why.

"Everybody makes mistakes," she said when she sensed he was waiting for a reply, but that must have been the wrong thing to say.

He shook his head slowly and seemed very sombre.

"No, Rosier. Not all are allowed to make mistakes. You'd better remember that. And getting very lucky does not acquit a fool of all the consequences."

He finally pushed himself away from the prep table and Anne, and slowly walked to the workbench as if he was about to brew. Watching his back, Anne remembered her initial purpose, and it fitted into the strange turn of their discussion so well that she almost smiled despite the gloomy mood in the room.

"Have you ever gotten very lucky, sir?"

When Snape stopped short, she first didn't expect him to answer. The phial from his drawer was already in her hand.

"Anytime I might have thought I did, it turned out I was only shoved a little deeper," she heard him reply with raw honesty. It was strangely touching. Anne was now glad about pulling out his notebook from her bag for his sake and not for her own purposes. "There's no such thing as luck, Rosier."

Anne stepped forward and put the brown notebook and the illegal potion on the edge of his workbench. Then she retreated to watch him. It was obvious she wouldn't sense emotions. At least she believed so before his bewildered shock hit her. It was subdued but plain to read. When his cheekbones and ears coloured to the shade of a windy dawn, she was even more surprised. Then he took up the phial and asked if she knew what it was.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever tried it?" – he asked in a very soft voice.

Anne shook her head.

She remembered seeing Snape once truly wrong-footed. It was in her third year after he made her drink some special kind of sedative. This time, he was similarly fidgety with a hint of a stubborn blush.

"This is only a memento…" – he explained. "Just to remember that -"

Anne suddenly felt she didn't want to know what. "You don't owe me any explanation, sir. It wasn't my doing anyway. I told the Baron I wouldn't be faulted, so…" – she shrugged shyly.

"The Bloody Baron gave these to you, girl?"

Now, Anne smiled in embarrassment. "Actually, he took me to them. He made me figure out your passwords and showed me this notebook when Professor Moody inconvenienced you. And I remembered seeing a potion I wouldn't have wanted him to see, so… that password was unchanged. I was waiting for a moment of privacy to return them to you."

Snape slowly nodded. "Inconvenienced me…." – he repeated with a bitter smile. "What do you think about the diary?"

"It's a diary?" – Anne stared at him with true bafflement. If she had known she was about to nick Snape's diary, she would have made the Baron beg her longer!

Snape smirked, "Students' private records," and Anne almost laughed when she understood she'd just passed a test. "The Baron is all privacy and discretion," he added sarcastically. "You must have questions."

To Anne's surprise, he pulled himself up on the edge of his workbench, only balancing on the tips of his toes as he leaned forward and stared at her. He was waiting. And she knew she had questions enough to fill out the night. But there was only one for which she was willing to take risks.

"Why does it matter whether one more Snake finishes or not? Why is it so important to you? Sir?"

He rubbed a hand across his face and stroked his lips as if to guard them.

"There might be another hag out there," – he told her with outrageous smugness.

"Sir!"

"You're not ready to hear that. Now, describe again what that voice you heard in your head was like!"

The next hour was spent with the intricacies of Mind Magic, with strange hiccups when his point of origin in Occlumency had to be translated to Anne's basic approach of a Legilimens. She expected brewing at some point, but Snape only sent her to bed when she yawned for the second time.

She dutifully grabbed up a bouquet of wormwood in the storage room, but he dismissed her from the Brewing Room's door. Anne picked up her school robe, and when she looked back above her shoulder, he sent all ingredients to their usual places with lazy wand moves.

Friday morning in the Great Hall, she looked up at the High Table and saw Snape eyeing the Gryffs with his usual suspicious glare, forgetting about his toast. He seemed unapproachable and cold again, nothing like the man she talked to some hours before.

It didn't escape her how much leeway she had been given. Comparing it to her lenient schedule and the ready acceptance of her needs, it almost seemed like blatant favouritism. However, Slytherin didn't raise pushovers and fools, and instead of believing herself lucky, Anne searched for the reason. The Head of House she had known for seven years of her life, and four of his, was yet to do anything without a serious reason. If he baited her with indulgence, he must have wanted something worth the trouble.

That day's Charms and Herbology classes posed no challenge. She had time enough to list all the information she might have directly or inadvertently offered. She turned back time and needed to focus a bit for the sake of Runes, but then she also thought about the threat she might pose. She knew things about him others wouldn't have believed, but nothing that seemed enough reason for being this lenient.

He also helped her with Mind Magic, again, just like some years before, despite his former assertion that she didn't need him anymore. She wondered why, and finally, this was a question she could ask Filch, unlike her doubts about her professor's character, his involvement in the war, or other shady business. Anne hurried down to the caretaker's office and happily crouched down to scratch Mrs Norris when she greeted her.

"What happened, lass?" Filch looked up from the scattered pieces of whatever he was working on.

Anne only peeked at him from beside the cat, suddenly shy about using him. "I was hoping you might wish for a brew?"

Argus grinned at her widely and gestured at the door to his quarters. "Put on the kettle then," he told her. "It took you long enough."

Half-regretting her initial purpose, Anne stuck to a polite conversation about Argus' summer and harmless titbits about Mrs Norris and Hogwarts, but then the old man got his fill of the hedging, and she couldn't lie.

"Whatever question took you here, you'd better spit it out!"

"It's… it's Professor Snape," – she chanced.

"Thought so," – Argus leaned back on his chair with a sigh.

"He's being… different."

Argus smirked. "Did you expect him to forget what you'd done?"

Anne had a rush of thoughts about all she'd done and would show her in a bad light. She glanced away in embarrassment.

"I don't know what he told you, but it wasn't that bad… I mean, I might have lost my temper, but I did have a reason… and… Anyway, it's not my fault if he's into the same sports my friends are, and I didn't try to meet him there! And the accusations were well founded! I said nothing I wouldn't have asked from any other if-"

She stopped abruptly when she sensed Filch's curiosity and surprise. "You didn't mean those, did you?" – she asked him wearily.

"Not at all, but by all means, you should go ahead and explain them!" – the old man said with an amused glint in his eyes.

"What did you mean, Argus?"

"Well, you did trample over his feelings in some way or another, but he wasn't forward about that. However, you shocked him last June, and I tried to warn you about it. Did you forget what I said?"

Anne had to think to recall that day. Filch escorted her out of the castle, and the sun was shining. "You told me I confused him. I didn't intend to."

Argus huffed. "As if that made it easier! No, lass. You gave him the shock of his life when you showed up around him when he thought the world would end. You offered him your wand and put his in his hands, as I have heard it. Then you fought against his vilest just to win a chance to help him. Have you known him so little to believe something like that would not leave a mark?"

If Anne thought she was embarrassed before, she now reached the level of being uncomfortable. "I hardly did a thing for him. He needed proper care! It really wasn't a big deal, so I don't think that would explain the way he talks and acts."

"Maybe you measure by different standards."

"What standards?" Anne asked suspiciously. She couldn't help but think about some strange habit among the Dark Lord's former followers of which she had no knowledge. But it turned out Argus didn't mean anything of the sort.

"Count me, lass, how many would have bothered to fight him until he let them help? And how many of those would have given him a wand without holding onto theirs?"

"Well, you would," Anne shrugged, but when Filch asked her to follow up with more names, she slowly realised she couldn't. "Poppy," she eventually mentioned, but Argus shook his head.

"Did you see her there?"

"No, but…"

"He didn't either," Argus said calmly. "Listen to me, Annie, and don't take this lightly. He doesn't deserve the cruelty of having his better self ignored or refused. He rarely shows it even as it is."

Anne frowned at her empty teacup and tried to believe that was all the reason. That Snape changed his mind because he wasn't used to being taken care of… it seemed feeble for her. But she sensed Filch's utter conviction and a strong streak of gratitude she still couldn't place. If she believed this, her perception of Snape would change, and she wasn't ready for that. Not after the gossips were verified.

She remembered the Death Eaters. They were her first childhood memories. That snake crawling out of a skull belonged on Uncle Evan's arm sooner than she'd seen it in the sky. And she knew for a fact that Snape, the one who gave her leeway, saved her from madness as a child and now wished to teach her again about the darkness and the Mind Arts, was just like him.

It was tempting to tell Filch she wasn't about to trust in a Death Eater, but he had just called her on her name for the first time, and that felt good enough to avoid stirring that particular cauldron.

During her shift at St. Mungo's, she slowly accepted that she probably didn't know enough about the circumstances. Then, the solution struck her like a bolt of lightning on her way to look after Rachel: She had evidence about the comings and goings of the Death Eaters during the war. Uncle Evan's letters held all kinds of secrets and allegedly told the tales about his brethren. Those were not only Malfoys and Travers!

She forced patience to have a few words with her aunt but then turned back time again, staying in town. It was barely noon, and she had hours to search through Caleb's rooms for what Duvessa had hidden. Mr Everard was hardly surprised to see her, and Anne got to business with efficiency.

The letters were nowhere. She tidied the place.

As a last resort, before she had to leave if she wished to return to Hogwarts unnoticed, she took her chances and opened herself up to the various vibes of the rooms. She theorised if Duvessa was as agitated on her first visit as Caleb had described her, she must have left a strong enough aftertaste in magic she might still pick up on.

The assault of the imprints of her brother's emotions was disconcerting and devastating. Caleb was lonely and often hopeless and depressed. He struggled through life, rarely hoping for better days, keeping his head above by sheer willpower and an occasional happy thought, mostly about her or some random witch he encountered. He also was so guilt-ridden she promised herself to write to him more and never fault him.

But that wasn't what she needed. Duvessa left traces of her impatience, her painful wounds, and vengeance. She tried to follow those, especially looking for the older, fading imprints. There was one that carried rage and fear… she picked that up close to the entrance. Another promised hell and vibrated with vengeful glee… a fading track of some hope, and a hint of satisfaction…. Anne suddenly remembered Duvessa didn't say she hid the letters at Caleb's. She said they were hidden above the venom master's place.

At the spot where she sensed that tiny spark of satisfaction the strongest, Anne charmed up the floorboards and almost squeaked in excitement when she saw that paper box!

Her wand buzzed the time, and she quickly hid her tracks, grabbed her things and the box of letters, and Apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade. Turning back time, she had to hurry if she wished to hide the precious findings in her tower, then she stepped into line with her classmates for Defence class, trying to act normal, as if her heart wasn't about to beat her way out of her rib cage.

If Snape hadn't forced her to think about Mind Magic the night before, she might have betrayed herself, but just before Moody showed up, it finally occurred to her to occlude. The change was instant. Annabella did not have a single worry about letters or retired Aurors. She was a daughter of an ancient family, barely sixteen, and unmoved by the dark objects Moody chose to show off in their lesson.