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Rowling's world.
Have fun with the spy story! :)
TN_ Chapter 32
8th – 12th September 1994
(18)
Montgomery's letter pulling his daughter out from school came with Tuesday's first owl post by breakfast. It grated on Anne's overworked nerves so much she decided to add a turn to her daily schedule and send him her unhinged reply:
My Esteemed Father,
May I inquire why you thought my marital prospects wouldn't suffer from your parental neglect by not providing me with a decent education?
Father, I am appalled. It was bad enough to suffer from the lack of funds, which you used to shower me with your loyal care in my first year. But I have never complained about money and will not begin it now. I suffer through your decisions, accepting your authority and advice about my mother, my younger brother, and my extracurricular activities. Still, I cannot obey with good conscience your command that orders me home.
What kind of decent family would trust their heir upon a witch lacking the most basic magic skills? I have yet to pass my OWLs, not to mention the NEWT exams, which—and I am stating this with thorough research conveyed on the matter—are a requirement for landing a decent home.
If you force your way upon me in this matter, I must retaliate in my best interest. You are far not beyond reproach in the face of the world, but I hope you will relent and will not push me to take such actions.
With a hope for future correspondence and remaining your daughter true to her name,
Sincerely,
Annabella E.
It wasn't entirely against Snape's advice, and she scribbled two more short notes to her brothers in the Owlery:
Dear Caleb,
Father has lost it and wishes to pull me out of school. Do you have any idea what could have gotten into him?
Help me if you can!
AB
Gavin,
Have you heard about our Father? Any gossip would suffice!
Sorry for the haste,
A.
It took the whole day to receive an answer. Anne was sitting on pins and needles in her classes, thinking about everything but the curriculum. The manner in which her father wrote to her was only one of the things that bothered her. It was equally agonising not to know the real reasons behind his decision, and Snape wouldn't help her with that. This led to the third problem to contemplate. Upon the slightest reflection on their late-night talk, it was apparent he knew more about her father than either she or her brothers would ever have guessed. But she sensed something more… something right before her eyes, and she just couldn't see it…
It was similarly disturbing as the issue about her father's apparent betrayal of the Macmillans in the Wizengamot. She knew from Evan's letters that Haemo Macmillan was her grandfather's friend and a Knight of Walpurgis. Her uncle Mordred followed old Felix Rosier in the Dark Lord's favour, and Evan sent Lucinda to him in case his plans didn't work out. Everything pointed towards seeing Haemophilus Macmillan like some twisted dark angel saving the fallen, and Montgomery must have known this, or at least he had accepted Haemo's help back in the day.
Reflecting on the whole story, Anne supposed even her Aunt Duvessa had to know, or at least know as much as to turn to the Macmillans, and the familial relations, however distant, must have worked on her too. Even if she counted Caleb's dismissal of the perception of straight frontlines, his avoidance pointed to the issue's importance. Because the Travers might have been a mixed lot, but the Rosiers knew their places for the last sixty years or so, and it had never been along the Malfoys. Something must have happened. The certainty of that bugged her tenfold because she couldn't guess what.
Receiving an owl again on Wednesday morning was a novelty. The Rosiers were not known for frequent correspondence in any generation, which made Evan's case somewhat ironic. Anne felt Snape's disapproving look between her shoulders as she hurried out of the Great Hall before anyone could ask questions about her letter. It proved a good decision when her brothers' owls followed shortly, finding a way to her favourite tower through the West arch window.
Annabella Euphemia,
You are trying to take me for a fool, which has its downsides. Don't you believe for a second that your shenanigans concerning your Aunt, whom I have expressly forbidden you to interact with, went unnoticed. What makes you think I would still wish for your prosperous future after all that?
You will do as I say, girl. Your empty threats are not enough to sway me. You have two days to pack and say your goodbyes, and I will meet you at King's Cross on Friday at 6 p.m.
Don't test my patience!
Montgomery Rosier
Anne crumbled the letter with a huff and hurriedly tore open the other two:
Annie,
Father is rarely in his office and was seen having drinks with Lucius Malfoy. I know no details. Would you care to elaborate? You freak me out!
Gavin
A-bee,
I'll be short, and it's bad news. You were right. Father had joined the creeps. There's more to it. See me when you can!
C.
Anne read Caleb's words twice with a strange feeling. How on earth could her father join the Death Eaters when there wasn't even a Dark Lord around? If he truly pledged his alliance and wasn't only the old Malfoy's new buddy, which would have been bad enough, then Snape offering his help meant he kept in touch with the old gang of morons, and his words about suggesting things to them… even asking a favour… oh, gods, was she mistaken when she believed he wasn't as bad as his fame?
But why would a creepy Death Eater care? Why would he bend over to help her, and why would he refuse to poison Muggles and ask for a Mudblood's life?
Stop the whole train, instead, and answer why would Professor freakin' Severus Snape help 'kindly' at all?
Nothing made sense anymore, and her Wednesday classes were the least of her problems.
She impatiently got through Charms and Herbology and hurried to her Infirmary practice, hoping Snape might show up around the Brewing Room, but he did no such thing, obviously having classes to hold. Then she swallowed some forkfuls of her lunch before she hurried to London, did her best at the St. Mungo's and rushed to Caleb's door right after her shift.
"Finally!" – she greeted him, wasting no time with her coat before she sat on the worn-out sofa in the tiny living room. "So what's going on?"
Caleb looked strangely off-balance. "I thought I was crazy to follow your blabbering, but now I've missed work and have a headache," he mumbled. "Slow down, okay? We can't do anything anyway," he sighed and seemed relieved when his sister stepped away and searched through the kitchen for a pain potion.
Anne's worries had already turned from politics and family drama to his problems at hand, and she tended to Caleb the best she could. It was worth it. His emotions soon cleared and calmed after he took the potion, and when she even fed him, Caleb almost looked as good as new.
"What happened to you?" She asked softly when his face regained colour.
"First, I just thought I would check with some old mates I knew from the times… you know…" – he shrugged, almost shyly, and Anne understood he implied his heavy gambling days.
But you didn't… " – she began worriedly. Unfortunately, that seemed to anger Caleb.
"Look, if you want to know something in this world, you have to mingle with those who can tell you! I'm not making the rules! But if you come here and frighten me to death by blabbering about the Macmillans, then don't get upset if I want to know why. Anyway, it's gonna get much worse because your letter freaked me out."
"Oh, Caleb!"
"Spare that shite! I just ran into some old acquaintance – does that sound better? They kept vaxing on the freaks' march at the World Cup, and someone even mentioned Snape. It was funny enough, but nothing about the old farts but what the Prophet knows."
It wasn't news for Anne. Snape berated her enough for forcing him to search the grounds there, obviously despite the better things he had to do… but Caleb didn't know that. "I don't think he was marching with the freaks, now did he?"
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary. Most of the hooded bastards vanished when the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, but he was said to show up only afterwards. The Ministry wizards searched the place for the perpetrators but I heard they'd only found a house-elf. Some say it belongs to that old fart, whatshisname… the one that pulled all those laws the MLE is still crying back…"
"Crouch?"
"That's the one!" Caleb nodded. "But I don't know, A-bee, I can't really imagine his elf betraying him like that. And he wouldn't cast the Mark even to see the creeps flee."
"I have to take your word for that. I only know that old Borgin hates him with a vengeance," she recalled.
"Well, confiscating everything he would make a living with wouldn't help business, I guess," – Caleb deemed with a shrug. "The other thing I heard is that Ludo Bagman was abusing the trust money they had gathered for the wagers. Which wouldn't be surprising at all… And a bloke I have known for a while keeps telling me he saw Snape walking across the campsite when the whole thing was over. He describes it as quite an eerie sight… with him searching for something under that greenish glow and the snake clattering its jaw above his head."
He played it all with his hands and clapped them above his sister's head, who satisfactorily shuddered. "Merlin's cave, Caleb! Grow up!"
When he snickered, she elbowed him in the ribs. "I can make you miserable again if you don't tell me the whole tale," – she offered, and Caleb rolled his eyes.
"Aren't you glad to see me in better spirits again?" When his sister didn't reward that with an answer, he sighed. "That was all until yesterday. Then your owl came, and I went to see some places I had avoided lately. You have to understand, it was either that or face Father, which I remind you, you had asked me not to do alone."
Anne quickly recalled the summer her father cursed her with an Unforgivable and still believed it was right to force a promise out of her brother that he wouldn't try to avenge her or do any other silly things alone.
"I didn't want to get you in trouble," she mumbled, relieved when Caleb shook his head.
"I didn't do anything stupid; it was just a bloke I used to play cards with. When I met him and had some questions, it turned out he was clueless about our father but had some pointers concerning the Malfoys, and especially, well… we ended up playing cards with the old Crabbe at his favourite place, and I guess I got lucky."
Anne stared. "Lucky?"
"Well, you do know that he was once accused of supporting the Dark Lord, don't you? Now, he rarely talks about these things, but… when he called me to his table, he didn't seem sober, and I let him win. It's from the family fund we made in the summer," – he added when Anne gasped. "I didn't waste it all! Here, d'you want to see it?"
"Caleb, it's not the money! But isn't it bad for you to return to the green table? And the Crabbes have always been close to the Malfoys!"
"That's the point, A-bee!" Caleb laughed at her naïveté. "He is close enough to know things. And all through the first few rounds, he's been blabbering about my luck, that my father won me some time to play around before I took over the family business, and that everyone thought I would don my uncle's mask, but father did it in my place… and how lucky I was to be free to frick around and maybe even make some golds."
Anne stared at him mutely. It was all beyond words.
Caleb shrugged, and she could sense his regrets. "Of course, I had to offer something, too, so I told him about Moody at Hogwarts and everything you mentioned of the old fool. I hope that's no problem."
Anne slowly shook her head.
"He killed one of our uncles. Did you know that?" Caleb asked.
"Yeah…"
"Is there something more I could use about him?"
Anne finally caught on. "I don't want you to go back there!"
Caleb grimaced. "A-bee, that's not exactly the way these things work. If I just disappeared after having some fun with the man, he would know I wanted to play him… I don't really know of anyone else I would offer to someone like the old Crabbe without a qualm, but Alastor Moody can rot by me!"
Sensing the pleading in his voice, Anne reluctantly told the tale about her detention, and Caleb was sufficiently appalled.
"Snape wasn't happy either. Imagine, he was waiting for me after and made sure Moody didn't harm me!"
"Are you kidding?" – Caleb stared at her. "Bugger, and I can't tell this to anyone! If ever I was coddled by Snapey, Goosey and the others would have sloshed me in the Courtyard!" He laughed outrageously, convincing Anne to keep the rest to herself.
"You may tell old Crabbe to write to his son about blood curses and find something out against the Unforgivables," – she said instead. "If he does, I want to know about it, though," – she added to lighten the mood. It didn't work.
"Thanks. But the bad news I mentioned is that Father marched with them when the creeps marched at the World Cup," – Caleb summed it up.
Anne nodded. It was so strange how this news failed to surprise her. As if she somehow knew that his getting close with the Malfoys was a horrible choice.
"But why did he do it? And what would Haemo Macmillan say if he knew it?" she only asked, thinking of Snape's lesson about going through with her threats last night.
Her brother shrugged first and then turned very grave. "I doubt this was what he promised when he joined the Wizengamot. We'd better keep this to ourselves, A-bee, and I would hate to see you go home to him!"
"But why would he call me home in the first place?"
Caleb shook his head.
Anne thought about it all the way back to Hogwarts and decided she needed advice. She obviously wasn't about to return to the family nest, but the story hardly added up with Snape's offer either. She found evidence of her father's betrayal, which the Macmillans would never forgive, but Snape probably knew that already and advised her to leave it to him! Meanwhile, Moody was having his ugly way at Hogwarts, and the Headmaster seemed happy about it, unlike Snape, who struggled like the rest of the Snakes, albeit the Headmaster had once allegedly saved him, and despite that, he was also adamant about keeping her away from the old man.
She would never understand Snape, but now she also struggled to understand what motivated her father. Two such mysteries were too much for an Empath; she was used to understanding the people around her!
It all would have made perfect sense if she hadn't read those damned letters! Snape would be one of the filthy lot and would coax her to his side with these strange little favours. And Haemo Macmillan would only be a name.
The problem wasn't only that she had no idea why Snape promised her protection but also that she knew without a shadow of a doubt that his act was all a farce! A man punished within an inch of his life for sparing Muggles and then asking for a Mudblood's life from the Dark Lord wasn't similar to her uncles in any way, shape, or form. Only everything else pointed towards him being a loyal Death Eater, except for his insistence on defending her and keeping her at Hogwarts even against her Death Eater father's wishes. It was maddening enough without feeling threatened!
Filch's thoughts about Snape being 'grateful' – of all things! – seemed a feeble reason, and Slytherin didn't raise her to be a fool. Snape had singled her out for being an Empath, and promised her protection years before the whole mess! At the same time, her father had never been one to actively seek his end, and the Death Eaters without a Dark Lord were just a reason for future persecution. What were they thinking?
The afternoon classes were draining. She didn't want to turn time for them in the first place, but she had no choice. Her focus was wobbly, and McGonagall berated her in front of all her devilish little peers, threatening her with talking to her House's Head. Well, good luck with that! She thought. Perhaps old McGee could get a straight answer out of the man, but she couldn't. By dinner time, she was knackered enough to fall over and accept defeat, but then Snape kept glancing at the wonder boy by the Gryffindor table, and Anne finally added this to the list she wished to understand and was too exhausted to think about.
That night carried a peculiar nightmare about Snape writhing in Cruciatus-induced spasms on the tiles of her childhood home, arguing with his last breaths that she wasn't ready to hear his reasons. It was so annoying that Anne began to doubt whether she had cast the curse on him in the first place, which was frightening enough to wake her up.
By breakfast the following day, she sat in a daze, half-heartedly listening to Sophie's prattling. She knew she looked awful, was exhausted beyond the norm, and had no hope of amending her schedule. A look at Snape convinced everyone that they shouldn't go near him for that day either. She wondered why…
Then the owls flew in, and she recognised the bird before it approached her plate.
Annabella Euphemia,
We have our differences of opinion, but you must not believe I do not care about you and your future, Daughter.
I am convinced that we both value the cohesion of this family. That is why I am still ready to accept your choice and will not punish you for headstrongly denying my latest request. I would even reconsider providing your monthly allowance again if I were sure I wouldn't suffer any more disappointments on your part.
If I received regular correspondence that elaborated on the goings-on in my beloved Slytherin House and even perhaps recorded its young Head's doings, I am sure I would be convinced again about your filial affections and loyalty to me and our name.
I know my lenience will not be wasted on you, Daughter.
Your forgiving father,
Montgomery.
Anne slowly folded the parchment and decided it wasn't worth blowing up the butter and calling attention. Although she had yet to encounter a more disgusting show of spinelessness and doubted she would ever be able to look at her father with equanimity. The other bothering thought came to her about Snape, who had apparently already smoothed her way by probably calling in that favour he had mentioned Monday evening.
Sophie saw the change on her face, and her sympathy was touching.
"Bad news from home, again?"
"I don't know where that is anymore," Anne sighed. "My father forgave me, which should be a good thing. But he didn't do it for me."
Her shrug concealed pain and anger, and Sophie must have sensed being hugged, Anne looked above Sophie's shoulder and noticed Snape's attention on them. He seemed mildly worried, and his glance felt warm, but Anne couldn't guess any of his emotions through magic. She closed her eyes and bathed in Sophie's care for a short while, refusing to contemplate the oddity of her life.
That was what she needed! A break from all disturbing thoughts. Just a short break from her life so she could stop thinking for a moment! She skipped her morning classes and chose her tower instead, where the porcelain tiger's antics were distracting enough to have a free breath and find some joy in her life again.
Pricey sensed her troubled emotions and rubbed on her hand with all the readiness and kindness of a friendly beast, nudging her with his nose and demanding attention. It reminded her of what she loved, and Anne drowned her woes in music, trying chords on her guitar she had neglected for months. If she hadn't been this high over her head with the insane workload, she would have played more music and practised more yoga. For the first time since she established a routine with the Time Turner, she was afraid it might break her.
The notes for Sweet's Funny Funny slowly got together to a level where she finally recognised the song she was trying to play. Pricey waved the beat with his playful tail, dispersing her loneliness.
"You like music, tiger?" – she laughed at the figurine. "If I find out how to make time for it, I promise I will entertain you more!"
Pricey seemed happy with the prospect, and within a short hour, Anne finally found the good cheer to begin her endless day.
She had the night shift at the St Mungo's, so after a good five-hour sleep and some additional napping in different classes, Anne found herself at Thursday's double Potions, peeking above her cauldron until she noticed Snape was avoiding her eyes. She huffed and resolved to bottle her Invigoration Cocktail at St. Mungo's speed, earning an awkward hour to sit in silence after cleaning up. At least she was able to finish her Charms essay and Potions homework, promptly handing the latter in with her sample phial, finding amusement in Snape's grumpy acceptance and wondering what made him fume this time.
His Grumpiness wasn't even uncomfortable. Honestly, she preferred his anger to his cries of agony in her recent nightmare. Still, she was certain that not everyone would have felt the same, like the Gryff's wonder boy, who frequently radiated the darkest emotions whenever Snape's eyes sought him out. It was strange to know how much the Brethren must have wished for both of their blood! A child hero and a traitor! Gods, if her uncle were still around, he would have a ball! And the two seemed to hate each other on their better days!
Anne's gaze stuck on her Professor's eyes, petrified by the thought. Everyone knew he had betrayed his brethren because Dumbledore vouched for him back in the day. He shouldn't be able to call in favours from any Death Eater. For his betrayal, he should have been dead for fourteen years!
The classroom began to buzz behind Anne's back as others stood up too to hand in their day's work, but Snape held her glance, and he winced.
It was so strange! As if he'd heard her thought! Like she'd heard him at the Welcome Feast! Anne didn't wholly believe it until he stood up, slowed by an abundance of emotions he hid in magic but showed on his face.
Before he could utter as much as a word of contempt, Anne yelped and ran out of the classroom.
"Argus!"
She burst into the caretaker's office but couldn't sense a soul in the vicinity, not even on the other side of the wall, in his kitchen or in his quarters. Anne was panting with her coiled-up fright, still looking around for a friendly face.
Sweet Nimue, what did she get herself into?!
Scenarios kept running through her mind about an unavoidable encounter with Snape, ranging from sickeningly awkward that would end her up without the last bit of support, to deadly danger, involving either the old Malfoy and his ilk or the Headmaster and Moody.
No, not Moody. That couldn't be a ploy. She could sense their hostility.
Within three short minutes of waiting for the room's master, Anne's mind ran through everything she'd ever known or thought of the world and its occupants. Then the door finally opened, and Argus Filch let the cat inside before he stared at his guest with suspicions.
"Lass, you seem as if you'd seen a ghoul!"
Anne wished she had words for the horror she felt, but all she could do was gape at Filch. Mrs Norris gently sat on her feet, ready to purr her into a better mood, but then the door opened again, and she sensed Snape even before he rushed in, his face a study of a hailstorm, and his voice demanding:
"Argus, we must find that menace! She has–" He stopped midsentence, and Anne stumbled backwards, with Mrs Norris on her feet not quite ready to move, and fell between a chair and the folder cabinet as gracelessly as a ragdoll. She couldn't imagine Snape could frighten her even more, but then his voice got soft and low as he whispered. "How convenient!"
It was Argus' presence of mind that eventually closed the door and ended their strange stand-off. He also was the one who bothered to lean over Anne and offer her a hand to lift her, even if she was yet too stunned to take it.
"Now, lad, I believe some words to clear things up would be in order," – he grumbled, pulling on Anne's robe sleeve, but Snape was not about to melt.
"Nothing could be clearer," – he deemed, eying his student through narrow breaches between his lashes, visibly having a hard time reigning in his temper. "Wouldn't you agree, Miss Rosier?"
She hated it when her name was used against her as an argument in itself about her station and opinion. The sheer injustice was revolting enough to push her back to her feet.
"Actually, sir, I wouldn't," – she boldly said, albeit her voice trembled, and so did her limbs. "It was just a thought and–"
"You dared to attack my mind to plant it!"
His outrage was palpable, and Anne was sure it didn't come from this nonsense. She shook her head. "I did nothing like that! I only thought –"
Her glance flew to Filch and then back to her Professor, and she lost confidence. She wasn't allowed to talk about Mind Magic or being an Empath. Strangely, Snape seemed more than ready to help her out.
"You thought I was a traitor who should have been punished by death." When Argus looked between them with alarm, he went on almost gleefully: "Not dissimilar to when you pronounced me a poison-maker, who failed to save the world on your hearsay!"
"No, sir, I–" Anne shook her head helplessly, but Snape stepped closer, and she lost confidence in her voice.
"Only this time we share the conviction, Rosier," – he continued in a low rumbling voice. "Would you have preferred if the Dementors had done it, or should I have fallen like your precious kin?" He disregarded Filch's attempts to step in his way and closed in on her. "It was a disappointment enough for many when neither happened, but you are free to try on! Wouldn't it serve the family, Rosier? You could make a new playfield and it's only just an owl!"
"Now, lad, I think it would be better–"
"You very well know that I didn't mean it that way! I have nothing against you! I just don't understand!" Anne screamed over Filch's words, and their combined protests finally made Snape stop.
"You have such strong opinions on what I must know and where I should be, girl–"
"I'm sorry what I said in Nottingham! It was unjust, and I regret every word!" – Anne cut in again, unable to stand another tirade. "I was preparing to apologise, sir! I even got you a gift so you would believe I meant it! But all you told me on Monday doesn't add up to what I now know my father has done! I never wanted you in harm's way, but I do recognise a flaw in logic, and that's all you'd overheard: I found what made no sense!"
As menacing as he had been since he saw her, Anne realised Snape hadn't been unreasonably angry when his nostrils flared at that with sudden anger, and his half-closed eyes popped open with a silent threat.
"What is she talking about?" Argus used the moment of silence to chime in. "Is there another we should deal with? What did you overhear?"
When Snape seemed too angry to reply, Anne tried her chances and took the initiative: "There's no other, Argus. You can't believe I would discuss this with anyone around here! But the Professor heard me when I realised he couldn't possibly offer me help with my father, only if his connections still worked with the brethren. Which should be impossible after they all heard the Headmaster vouching for him back in the day…" She risked a glance at Snape.
He looked pale and unforgiving, but there was something strange in his ire… calculation…, and fear. She couldn't place or recognise it all, but it all danced in his eyes without the need to even feel him in magic. It was ironic how such a practised Occlumens couldn't hide emotions from his expressive eyes. It didn't need an Empath to see them.
"Lass, what are you trying to say?" – Argus asked cautiously.
"Only that his offer makes no sense… only if…" Anne hesitated. If she accused him of being a double-dealer now and was mistaken, she was sure she would lose his support for all eternity. But if she was right… she swallowed her fears. "Only if they have reason to believe that Dumbledore only thought he was his spy. Which would mean he hoodwinked a wizard as old and applauded as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or like the Dark Lord… one of those has to be the case."
Strangely, her words made Snape's lips run into a wide and mocking smile.
"Isn't it precious, what tales can the workings of a witch's mind come up with?! I must be Merlin incarnated to lead on such wizards and tell the tale!"
Anne let her gaze fall on her shoes and felt the hue of embarrassment conquer her cheeks. But she also noticed that Filch didn't seem entertained. The old caretaker stepped to the door and looked out on the corridor. When he saw no one, he turned the key in the hole and looked at Snape expectantly. His reluctance couldn't be plainer, but he pulled out his wand and cast a series of privacy spells before Argus ushered them into his quarters, closing the door on the far side and waiting for Snape to ward that room, too.
"This is unnecessary," – Snape groused, but the old sergeant rounded the table and pulled out a cigarette without offering another for him. Anne took courage and peeked up at Snape, only to see him roll his eyes. Under any other circumstance, the old caretaker's subtly putting her House's Head at rights would have been entertaining, but now she was too taken with her own fears to appreciate their silent squabble.
Argus put away the lighter and eyed his old friend with a grimace. "Cocknobber," – he grumbled. "Ya may have a right cob on, but if ya couldn't shut ya gob, now it's time to give over!"
"Tsk, it's nowt like that, sergeant," Snape said, pulling his mouth in distaste, and Anne wished she understood what they were on about.
"What did ya offer her?"
Anne watched Snape as he looked anywhere in the room but at Filch. "Does it matter?"
"If ya bogger it up, it's not yer call anymore!"
The most terrifying wizard of Hogwarts hung his head with a dark look and sniffed.
"What was it?" – Filch demanded.
"She has to stay around, and her folks flew off the hinge. I said I would call in a favour, so she wouldn't expose herself trying to blackmail her old man," Snape admitted with a half-shrug. "The devil thought what she'd make of it, even if she's less barmy than the rest of them."
"And I take you wouldn't be forward about it to the old coot?"
Snape looked ready to murder. "Ya got that right."
Argus took a slow drag of his cigarette and let the smoke linger in his lungs while he stared into the air. When he finally blew it out, he looked like he reached a decision.
"Annie, what did I tell you about sticking your nose where it has no place?" he asked in a low voice that promised no good.
"That I shouldn't," – she readily admitted. "But I didn't mean to! It's just… I tried to find out what my father mixed himself up with and why. And when I received Caleb's owl–"
"Where is that letter?" – Filch demanded with sudden alarm.
"In my bookcase. I left it in the Potions Classroom."
"Rus," – Argus began, but he had already pulled his wand, and soon, her bookbag appeared on the small table.
Anne dug out the five letters she'd received, two from Caleb and Gavin and three from her father, and the United's red scarf welled forth with them.
"What the–" Snape's surprise was silenced by a look from Filch.
The caretaker held out his hand for the letters and Anne placed her brothers' short lines in it, then turned to Snape with the three missives she had received from her father.
"Sir, would you please look at these?"
It would have been so good to convince him about her desperate need to understand her circumstances! She wanted to explain she wasn't about to unearth any of his secrets, she only wished to protect herself against her father's ways. Alas, her professor shook his head and never reached for the parchments.
"Most of my students do everything to avoid me sticking a nose into their correspondence."
Anne drew a long, fortifying breath. "That may be, sir, but I am only a student of my own volition upon your repeated request, which I obey because you once saved my mind. But I am almost nineteen with a day job, which I rock if you don't mind, and have no intention of playing the dumb firstie when I'm not in class or the Common Room." Noticing that her rant earned her two raised eyebrows and no words of discouragement, Anne lifted the letters and repeated: "Would you mind reading these, sir?"
He finally took the letters, radiating distrust, but read them through. His eyes widened as his attention slid down Montgomery's lines. The first letter seemed to have no much impact but the second enraged him, and the third left him bewildered.
"You wanted to let me know," he summed up his impressions. Anne could imagine how twisted it must have felt to read that her relative freedom depended on reporting on him.
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
She searched for the right words for only a moment then she decided to just try to carry on with the conversation he cut short on Monday night. "Because you are not the only one around here who is a horrible choice for a friend, sir, yet you've always been there when I needed someone to step in."
His disbelieving gaze slid over her, but the moment passed, and instead of replying, he switched the three letters for the two Argus held out for him. Gavin's words must have seemed feeble because he turned the slip of the parchment as if he were hoping for some additional lines. Lastly, he read Caleb's message.
"What does your brother mean when he mentions creeps?"
Anne swallowed nervously and studiously avoided looking at his arm when she replied, "Marked Death Eaters, sir. That's what we call them since we were little. If they were just followers, he would have called them ejits."
It was impossible not to notice when the corner of his eye jerked, and his left hand closed into a fist.
"And where does Mr. Rosier get his precious intelligence about your father's acquaintance?"
"I'm afraid, sir, you should ask him about that when you meet," – Anne raised her head high, expecting blowing fury, but she only received thinning lips and narrowed eyes in reply.
"Lass, you should trust him," – Argus warned her, finishing Montgomery's letters. "It goes to you, Rus, too. We might just have solidified your place."
The paleness of Snape's anger returned, though, and he shoved the letters back at Anne with a mocking smirk. "Have we? Your favourite has no clue which of them I had played, old man, and you want me to rely on her?"
It was hard to swallow his belittling tone, but Anne supposed she understood. She had no clue how she would have handled it if someone suddenly was onto her secrets… like a stranger knew about her uncle's letters or told her tales about the Smiths!
"I have no proof of that, no sir," she admitted softly. "However, I remember my uncle and Mr. Mulciber. Mr. Crabbe seems similar, just like the Travers relatives or Mr. MacNair, whom I once saw in the Ministry when my father took me to visit, or the others. I know that you are not like them. You care, and that doesn't belong… it's not their way."
She noticed him blinking out of his usual rhythm as if she'd hit him. "It seems you're at an impasse, then," – he said with remarkable nonchalance, after clearing his throat.
Anne peeked at Argus but he offered no help, only watched her expectantly.
"You want to know if you can still trust me," Snape eventually offered, and Anne nodded with relief.
"What if you can't?"
Her gaze flew back to his face. "Pardon?"
"What if you can't, girl?" – he repeated with a menacing smirk.
She wished she could give an intelligent reply, but the only thing that came to mind was a gamble.
"That would… suck. Sir." She finally replied when his expectant gaze didn't relent.
To her horror, his lips pulled into a malicious smile. "It would indeed, wouldn't it, Rosier?"
Thankfully Argus stopped the torture: "That will be enough Rus. The way I see it, you'd just earned a new friend, so you'd better learn to play nice."
Snape shook his head grimly. "I wouldn't–"
"You would," Filch said gravely, leaving no place for an argument. "And as for you, Annie, it's time to learn some tact and slow down. Whatever happened between you two in the summer, I want you to work it out and move on. You will report to your father regularly, either coordinating with me or with Rus first. You will not refuse his money or do any other madness because you don't want to draw attention. Can she do that mind thing?" – he looked at Snape, and Anne blushed when she heard herself gasping.
"As little as to keep a secret," – her professor lied with evident reluctance. "But after this, you are the weakest link, Argus. She is not supposed to be known about, and I am not ready to use her."
"Her old man is using her, not you," – Argus suggested, and Anne had to agree. "I will try not looking the devil in the eye, then," – he went on, addressing Snape's worry about him being the 'weakest link'. "This insurrection in the Gryffindor tower will get worse anyway. I will talk more to the deputy than to the Headmaster."
When Anne raised a curious eye at the men, Snape only shrugged, and Filch's glance promised to tell about it later.
"Don't you both have somewhere to be now? We don't need to expose ourselves to a search party sent after either of you in the Prep period," he reminded them, and Anne felt as if he had just made her surface from a strange realm. The school buzzed around them, but she gave it no mind at all in the last half an hour or so.
Of course, Snape only nodded without showing any surprise and dismissed his wards and charms before he left without a word. She wondered if the two men were about to discuss things further, sometimes later and in detail, when her presence didn't disturb them. The prep period was a punishment. She sat with her classmates, eyeing her strangely and obviously finding her mad rush out of the last Potions class odd, to say the least. She hinted to Hestia that she realised she had botched her Cocktail, and hoped she would be happy to make a gossip of that, too.
A short route to the Library, where she tried to focus on whatever Pince thought to say and failed, of course, making the strict witch sniff with discontentment, then all went to the Great Hall, and she didn't dare to risk being absent. Her worries were for nought because Snape didn't present himself at the High Table, but it was too late. She managed to gulp down some of the soup with difficulty, thinking about her imminent detention, and all that had transpired in the caretaker's office.
Filch was indeed closer to Snape than any other. She had seen that clearly for years, but now she also saw who held the reins in their friendship. For her senses, Argus felt like a father to Snape, but now she saw he also received respect as one. The way he calmly accepted the turn of events was a testament to his friendship and trust to her, and although Snape didn't showcase either of those things, Anne still felt she had gotten away easily. Considering her rare experience of a Muggle spy film or a paperback, she should have gotten killed or maimed if not made to swear on whatever they would have deemed fit, not to mention any of this to anyone…
Then it clicked with what Caleb had told her about the lines that were hazy in the real world. Snape had no fancy cars or funny gadgets and probably wasn't a womaniser either… he still made sure she had no evidence of his loyalty and made her rely on her own assessment. He hadn't said anything that would have decided the issue, and she still couldn't answer the initial question about her father's change of heart. Snape was either a spy or a traitor, and she might have been left to him at Hogwarts, but she had no clue about the reason behind it all.
Her detention was imminent, and she climbed up to the Infirmary, where Poppy was already in a state about Snape closing her out from the Brewing Room. Anne couldn't even fake surprise, she imagined him quite 'sore' after the afternoon.
"You shouldn't go in there, duck. He's in that mood again!" Poppy involuntarily reinforced her fears.
Anne cautiously knocked and entered the Brewing Room, where Snape's half-checked emotions swirled around with various fumes above his cauldrons.
"Good evening, sir," she began, but he failed to reply. He was preoccupied with a potion that vaguely smelled like a half-brewed Sleeping Draught and was busy chopping bat spleens. Anne supposed he was trying to cut back the school's expenses on Skel-E-Gro.
She cleaned her hands and looked up the list on the prep table. The Infirmary was still short of Antidotes for Butterbeer, Bruise Paste, Wound-Cleaning Potions, an Antidote for Billywig Stings, a big batch of Cure for Boils, Burn Paste, and the Wiggenweld. She randomly chose the last two and gathered the ingredients on separate trays like she would in St. Mungo's.
"I'll make the Burn Paste," Snape grumbled from the workbench, proving that he listened even when he didn't show it. It surprised Anne because that potion was easy, even for a third year.
He must have thought she hesitated, and he apparently didn't like that. "I said I'll do it." He repeated and finally looked at her.
Anne silently nodded and put the tray down before she turned back to the store room to find the ingredients for a Wound-cleaning Potion instead. That would simmer nicely until she prepared the base for the Wiggenweld. She wondered what made him want to brew such a basic potion himself and hoped she would have a chance to watch his technique. Perhaps he had a shortcut, like Bert had with a lot of common potions, or…
She suddenly remembered that strange darkish presence she had sensed in the summer behind the St. Mungo's, and then he all but admitted he had seen her joking with Bert about the Burn Paste. Your tasteless exploits are no concerns of mine didn't sound well, and she wondered if she'd taken those jokes too far… Embarrassed and confused, she focused on her work instead and tried to enjoy the relative calm in the Brewing Room.
If she thought Snape was about to take revenge for what happened just hours before, it looked like he wasn't about to do that above hot cauldrons, and she appreciated his attitude at least about that. It never once crossed her mind that he might accept Filch's advice about befriending her now that she at least partially knew his secret, although considering how much he knew about her secrets, anyone else would have been ready to allow at least an alliance of sorts.
When Snape heard her heavy sigh, he looked up again but didn't say a thing. When her Wound Cleansing Potion boiled up, and she lowered the flames under the cauldron, she could sense his attention piercing above her shoulder as she cut ingredients for the Wiggenweld, but he left her to her own devices, not once offering advice or criticism.
She made the base and heard him step out for some ingredients, then her focus excluded anything that didn't belong to her brew. She added the salamander blood in four equal portions, waiting for the potion to change colour, then heightened the flames and added the lionfish spines gently, boiling the brew until they dissolved, giving a yellowish hue. The next time she became aware of Snape's presence was just after the last step when she added the honey water and cleaned her dropper while the potion gained its emblematic turquoise colour. He appeared by her side and examined the potion, the cauldron and her mostly tidy workplace but walked on to his bench without signalling anything about his opinion.
She used the same dropper to add the boom berry juice and cleaned it again before she turned back to her Wound Cleaner, letting the Wiggenweld simmer for thirty minutes. It took less to finish it, and she was free to watch Snape rounding up an enormous batch of Burn Paste, the last four clockwise stirs needed both his hands and visible effort against the already dense brew, but he managed to execute it flawlessly without breaking the rhythm of his moves. She wondered if he thought her too weak to do the same, but then the potion had to be covered and placed at a cool spot for four or five days to thicken and gain its usual colour, and he lifted it all without magic to interact with the ingredients, only using a towel to protect his hands against the heat.
Anne's eyes rounded, conveying her appreciation. She had never considered Snape's probable physical strength, but now her eyes involuntarily swept over his lean form, guessing the wiry muscles that must have been well-built under that infamous heavy black robe! She was silently impressed but quickly turned away before he could catch her gawking. Bert always asked for assistance moving the bigger cauldrons when they were full.
Mildly disturbed by her errand thoughts, she returned to the Wiggenweld, and soon was back in the flow of familiar movements, until, just before she extinguished the flames to let the potion sit and cool, her bracelet shone with a sunbeam, and her wand began to buzz.
"What is that?" – Snape demanded, stepping closer, and making her feel embarrassed.
"Erm… it's only a reminder not to miss my night shift. Sorry, sir."
That seemed to catch him off-guard. "Night shift?"
"St. Mungo staff works on rotation, sir," – she explained. "This week, my team is scheduled from seven to dawn." When he seemed shocked, she added, "I estimate I'll probably be back to the castle within two hours if you need me to finish."
That earned her a raised eyebrow, and Snape cast a hasty Tempus. It was quarter to eleven. He frowned at the time.
"Two hours –" he repeated, deep in thought. "Are you telling me that you mean to turn twice?"
When Anne nodded, she was surprised at how much such a simple fact about her life seemed to disturb him.
"How long is a day with a Time-Turner?"
She felt suddenly shy, and he could only blame himself for her inability to look him in the eye. He was the one who had forbidden her to talk about her escapades with time and now demanded an answer that felt too intimate to share.
"That depends on the day and the week, sir. Night shifts are actually easier because I don't need to steal out of the castle during the lunch break. On a good week, a day is a little over sixty hours, all things considered. Of course, it's significantly longer when things rush together."
"Significantly" – he repeated, obviously wanting more details, but Anne felt she had overshared those already. "How does someone cope with days as long as sixty hours?"
She couldn't help an awkward smile. "That's the catch, sir, that nobody can. I've lived at least two full days on the same date since my third year, probably more when there's more to get done. The hours before the lunch break usually round up a whole school day. It's impossible to handle without additional nourishment and rest. Then I need a proper sleep before my next day, which is for most, the afternoon. I handle that the same."
When his curiosity seemed greater than his criticism, she took heart and showed her bracelet. "This helps a lot," – she told him. "It shines up if I miss a meal or sleep. It used to remind me of all my tasks, but I changed it last week when I decided to get my things together. I promised no more mistakes…"
His eyes flashed with some warmth at the reminder, but whatever he thought must have washed away. "So, avoiding mistakes lies in taking proper nourishment and resting?"
It sounded so awkward if he put it that way! "Partially yes, sir. I found it early that my focus is better if I schedule free time for psychological needs every ten hours or so."
"Psychological like eating," – he grumbled, rolling his eyes, but it was so low a voice that Anne couldn't be sure she was supposed to overhear.
He suddenly swished his wand towards his workbench and looked furious when she winced at the sight.
"Stasis Charm, Rosier," – he said discontentedly. "If you have questions about…" – he gestured awkwardly upward, probably meaning the afternoon's revelations - "Whatever you wish to say, you may say it only once and right now," – he finally finished, looking almost as embarrassed as she felt.
Anne swallowed hard. The first thing that came to mind was promising she wouldn't talk about him with anybody, but he already took her word for that. Then she thought about how she had misjudged him thoroughly enough in the past, which she wholeheartedly regretted to the point of preparing for a formal apology. Was she required to apologise now for him overhearing her thoughts? It seemed unjust, not that such an approach would have been alien to his nature…
"How could this happen? I mean… how could you overhear my thoughts in the first place? Why did I hear you at the Welcome Feast? And why only fragments? None of the books you lent me had ever mentioned it was something to… expect." She wanted to say 'worry about', but that felt impolite. It was nonsense, no one should be overheard in their own head, especially not with thick protection over it like he had, even if he once had deemed hers feeble!
Strangely his face showed more disbelief than being affronted, and for a heartbeat, he didn't even seem to contemplate an answer. Then he huffed. "Is that what you wish to discuss?"
Anne peeked at her owlishly, then let her gaze fall on her shoes again. "It seemed important, sir."
"More important than uncovering a spy? Or your family's reputation?" When she looked up, he still seemed stunned. "Is it more important than Argus' demanding your cooperation when it is clearly not your place or wish to partake in any of it?"
"I cannot avoid having relatives like that since I made the mistake of not having been born to be a squib, sir," – she said with more bitterness than she thought she harboured about her life. "I already was unjust when I accused you in Nottingham. I will not crown it all by judging your choices when I don't even know the full story behind them, but if I can make matters better by writing to my father what helps your case and doesn't harm him, so I can gain my OWLs and have a chance to build my own life… I will do that."
He only stood in front of her, staring through narrowing eyes, and she wasn't even sure if he comprehended her words. His faculties seemed busy at work, but the silence soon became unbearable, and Anne knew her wand would soon buzz again to urge her on with her scheduled duties. She chose what she hoped to placate him the most, not wishing for more at the moment but to ensure a safe weekend and time enough to solve her problems.
"Sir, I want you to know that I regret my harshness in the summer with all my heart. I had– …those were uncertain times with my aunt around, and I let her influence me, which was a mistake and… It was unjust. I noticed that your scarf bore scorch marks…" – she risked, deeply perplexed by his lack of reply. "It must carry a lot of good memories, but I thought you would be glad to have a new one."
His glance finally travelled to her bookbag and left her face. Anne was relieved, and she very much anticipated whatever he was about to say when he finally took a deeper breath and opened his lips, but her damned wand had to buzz in the pause, and Snape stepped back, swallowing whatever had been on his mind.
"You have to go," – he said instead, sounding strangely distant. Anne reached toward the cooling Wiggenweld, but he stopped her. "Forget that!"
She nodded with surprise, hesitantly pulling the United's red scarf from her bag. She left it on the table before she slipped out of the Brewing Room, whispering a good night.