TN_Chapter 34
September-October
(18)
"Bert, do you know how knotgrass would react with minced dates?"
Apprentice Wiggins slowly lifted his head from behind the copper cauldron in St. Mungo's A-Room and shook it with surprise.
"We don't even have that stocked. What would you use dates for? Is this some joke with words, or-" He seemed disturbingly hopeful, and Anne couldn't hurry more to shut him down.
"No, it's about a potion, but honey water crashes the arithmancy, and I thought if Muggles can replace it with some other sweetener… I don't even know what I was thinking… sorry…"
"No, go on! This sounds interesting!"
Anne stared at him. "It does?"
"Yeah! Many wizards reject potions with honey water as it disagrees with their system. Having a replacement would be welcome!" He glanced at his brew and marked the last stage he'd finished with a spot of ink on the receipt's margin, then came closer to Anne. "What are you working on?"
Anne sighed and pushed the arithmantic equations under his nose. The last session with Snape was excellent practice for when she would unavoidably end up in Hell. On her detention, which he'd rescheduled to Tuesday, he was overbearing, critical, hurtful, dissatisfied, and radiated an eagerness she couldn't place at all. The way he could say "bullshit" in different tones and synonyms just so that she never quite anticipated the next time he would sum up his obviously horrible opinion about all her struggles and the irrevocable failure of her creative approach…!
Compared to that, the new schedule he gave her that lacked Muggle Studies, Care for Magical Creations, Divination, and Ancient Runes, thus reduced her weekly occupations to a "normal" workload if she didn't count her St. Mungo duties, was almost a minor offence. She fought to keep Divination and Ancient Runes, but he deemed them worthless for her even if she argued that Ephsos suggested Divination and that she needed Runes if she ever wished to study Alchemy.
"That's a NEWT subject, Rosier," – he dismissed her pleas. "At this rate, it's unsure whether you'll keep a sane mind to see your OWLs."
Not knowing better, she even begged to keep at least Runes and suffered his discontentment, only glad that he didn't say no. However, he tore all the paragraphs of her four hours of extra homework into tiny pieces of agony, then cast a metaphorical Cruciatus without a shadow of mercy on them.
Her soaps and perfumes were childish frolicking; her enhanced contraceptives a statement of lewdness, her lung cleaning potions were deemed barely better than a cough drop, lacking sophistication like her muscle relief lacked subtlety and wouldn't work even against a common headache. However, her attempt to soften a voice with a special brew would have killed the singer within several hours. And then he dared to say:
"We regrettably lack time sufficient to look into your forays into spell-invention. One thing to look forward to as soon as you fix your errors, Rosier. If you presented a more sensible collection of recipes on Thursday, all this hard work wouldn't be completely wasted."
And he opened the door for her with a strange thing on his face that she would have thought a smile if not for the two and the half hours of torture that preceded it. The Empath in her almost screamed with the realisation: He'd been probably having the time of his life!
That night, she couldn't sleep with her mind busy with intricate methods for murdering Snape with a dull chopping knife or by his thrice-damned index finger, which kept pointing at her errors on the parchment that looked red rather than black and white. She wanted to spear it into his rigid heart if she ever found the jar he kept it in. At least Sophie believed he must own one…! Then, a cold shower in the morning prepared her for Wednesday at St. Mungo's, and by the time she returned to Hogwarts, her approach had matured to her actual age:
Snape had put incalculable effort into researching her potions and their Arithmancy within a day from when her essay landed on his desk. While he only mentioned its flaws, there were a surprising number of things he deemed unimportant to bring up. It all suggested that her ideas were not utterly terrible. He must have worked himself in a state because of precisely that: There were parts in her calculations and recipes that made her creations worth the effort. And an effort he put into their discussion, too! He was unstoppable. A true maniac, as she pinned him in her third year, but the last moments of her "detention" showed his enjoyment over the whole process. He wasn't a maniac by malicious design. He was a fanatic for the achievement… or for the potions to work on their own rights, she couldn't tell. But his rage was professional well beyond professionalism. It was a craze for his field, even lust for something new to work out, something worthwhile.
He didn't even mention her salve for Filch because she researched that the best, and she noted all her doubts and questions in the essay she compiled. All those got answered in red ink, and he only said she should begin to brew…. However, he never said when or where, and she had no idea…
After Bert read through her recipe and the Arithmancy, he only said that the muscle relaxant might work, but St. Mungo's had a strict process of introducing new potions, and then he returned to his copper cauldron. Anne tried not to make a face. She knew it might work. The problem was that she doubted she would get through Snape on Thursday with a might. And the problems kept her preoccupied throughout her Hogwarts classes and half the night until she chose St. Mungo's again before schoolwork on Thursday to earn more time to think and count.
Sitting to her lunch by the castle's breakfast table, she couldn't have been further away in her mind and soul, so Hestia's words hit her from nowhere.
"Have you found out how to fix it?"
Anne almost replied that minced dates should work with arnica juice if a drop of salamander blood tempered the lacewings' acidic quality. Then she remembered the argument in the dorm just after she returned from her detention last Thursday and was surprised by Hestia's patience.
"I know it's been a week, but I have no better idea than to give over the business to someone Snapey doesn't suspect."
"Save your breath, witchling. Borgin was convincing enough," – Flora leaned closer. "So, who will it be?"
Anne looked over Slytherin Table helplessly. While she temporarily cut back on the business, the problem of her replacement hadn't once crossed her mind. Not with all the research and Snape's peculiar ways… she didn't even think about her family issues, which hadn't happened in a while!
"Malus Blackthorn," – Sophie suddenly offered from Anne's other side. "Or Sylvia Rowle, she's good enough."
"She's also loaded," – Anne hesitated. The Rowles were not particularly well-off, but Sylvia was famously friendly with her aunt, Isidore Shafiq, and so firmly planted close to the Shafiqs' new money from international trade. "Why would she do it?"
Flora touched her wand with a small smile. "She can be made to…"
"Yeah, but would she put in the effort?" – Sophie asked. "There's also Nellie Podmore," – she offered instead.
"That girl is only second year!" – Hestia protested, but Anne and Sophie shrugged.
"I can give her the keyword lists and the reference essays," – Anne said. "With all my notes, it's barely more than a matter of organising. If she is skilled enough, she can distribute the parts that answer the homework questions, so you guys don't need to do the research. And if something new occurs, I can pop back in to add a new entry."
"That wouldn't save you, though," – Sophie pointed out. "What if Snapey noticed? He wouldn't suspect a second or a third year…"
"Let's ask Blackthorn then," – Anne agreed. The boy was bright and already a third-year with a minimal workload compared to hers, but he still spent all his free time in the library to quench his thirst for knowledge. He seemed perfect. "Will you help me?"
Sophie nodded with a reassuring smile. They agreed to corner the boy before the preps so Anne wouldn't miss her detention if he made a fuss. That day's classes were spent in anticipation and recurring anxiety about her modified recipes, so she didn't give much mind to such triviality. Thankfully, Sophie seemed to care more than she did. Right after their last class, she waited for Anne, then confidently marched up to the third floor and picked a brown-haired boy with pale blue eyes out of the crowd at the top of the stairs.
"You can do something for your House, little Snake. I suggest you listen!" – Sophie said, propelling Malus Blackthorn into an abandoned classroom on the third floor.
It took time to make him understand the homework market, which shouldn't have surprised Anne, for Malus had never bought a single answer in his years. What she didn't anticipate was his reluctance to play along.
"If you have moral scruples, you should forget them already," – she told him after Sophie explained the greater picture. "This service for the House helps keep Slytherin on the top of the Leader Board. You wouldn't be the first to do this, and you might also build a network for your years after Hogwarts. Zhang had many friends, and they still help her. It was her business before me, and Slytherin doesn't forget."
"You never seemed like one with so many friends," – Malus objected with visible distrust, but Sophie shut him down:
"Your impertinence is unwelcome, muppet. Try to listen! We are offering you a chance to make yourself useful."
"Why would you do that if it had so many benefits?"
"I already have friends enough and OWLs to prepare for…" – Anne began, but Sophie took over:
"Aren't you a nosy little twerp? Do right for yourself, and thank Rosier instead for the chance!"
Sensing too much fright behind his hesitation, Anne lost patience and touched Malus's mind. He was preoccupied with a memory about Snape. Their House Head looked more solemn and menacing in Malus's head than anything she had ever seen from the man! He approached a cauldron, looked at the sticky orange glue at the bottom, and then erupted like a volcano. The kindest word he used was probably "imbecile," and the memory seemed fresh.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked Malus. When the boy swallowed, she changed the question to: "Shall I ask about who?"
The boy's glance fluttered between the two older students before his attention turned to Sophie, and he asked tremblingly, "Are you in Potions NEWT?"
Anne sensed Sophie was perplexed, but she didn't show it. "I am. Why would you ask?"
"Has… has he ever cursed a student? I heard gossip… He… he hates my guts already. The golds would be nice, and I would love to make friends… but…"
"Aren't you a darling little twerp?" – Sophie laughed up almost lovingly, and Anne couldn't help but giggle, too. "Of course, he hates your guts! You're breathing, taking up space, and must be fed, you mollycoddle! What did you expect him to do about you?!"
Malus looked so lost that Anne took pity on him. "If you need a tutorial for Snapey, I can give you one. He is doing everything to address your needs. Not those you deem important in your idiocy, but those he sees necessary. If you need to be put in your place, he will do that for you. If you need to be shouted at, he will shout. If you need to be punished, he will put you in det. But if you get into trouble, he will break his neck to get you out of it before he breaks yours for failing to be a sensible lad. Was this helpful enough?"
The boy hesitantly nodded. "My friends say, too, that he isn't that bad…" he swallowed. "He's just so bloody scary!"
Anne was about to sympathise when she sensed Sophie's patience wearing off with a sudden flare of annoyance.
"Be glad he is," – Sophie stepped closer to the boy, speaking in a menacing half-whisper. "All the horror he stirs up to terrify you is the same that protects you from everyone else. It's quite a deal, twerp, so run with it! And now clear off, for I have had enough of your whimpers. And the offer is revoked. You're not good enough."
Malus stared at her wide-eyed and offended, and Anne believed he now thought them scary, too. Then Sophie stomped her foot, and it was enough to make him rush to the door, barely remembering to grab his book bag. She was still miffed after the door shut behind him.
"He doesn't seem as good as we hoped for," – Anne summed it up in a placating tone.
"You can say that again," – Sophie huffed. "What a useless coward! And for a Snake to believe Snapey would curse one of us is just outrageous!"
"I don't know if he's a coward or we hardened up over the years." Anne sighed. Malus' emotions still influenced her, and she knew enough how confusing Snape could be. Sophie shook her head.
"You can't think we've ever been like this one… I remember you in Snape's det in your first year, and you didn't even flinch."
Anne couldn't help smiling. "That's because I liked it! All the things I'd learned that month! Nimue! And he wasn't as hard to manipulate as he believed, either… I remember making a sport of his insults and counting all the small wins whenever he had to bear with my incessant nosiness!"
She laughed, but Sophie only smiled. "See? That's the difference. This twerp lacks subtlety. Probably also the balls. He could never do it right. And I don't want to work with him, especially after…" She looked at Anne hesitantly and bit her lips. "You won't misunderstand it, will you?"
"What?"
Sophie glanced at the door, but it was firmly shut. She lowered her voice. "I never thought he would, but this last week or so… I think he took a liking to me."
Anne couldn't be faulted if her jaw suddenly dropped. "D'you mean Snape? What happened?"
"Well, nothing, only… why, it's just that he never…"
"Sophie Borgin!"
Sophie took a deep breath and hurriedly listed her reasons: "I cannot greet him first since this year began, and then there's this new habit of him keeping me after class. When I make a mistake, and believe me, we all are dimwits compared to his NEWT demands, he explains the method!"
"In class?" If Anne's eyes grew wider, they would have popped out of her head. Sophie looked almost embarrassed.
"No, after class! He keeps me and leads me through my mistakes. Last Tuesday, he brewed the base again before me during the lunch break! Merlin! His hands are unreal! He's so fast with that silver knife that I didn't dare to blink! And I'm supposed to finish extra homework for him for tomorrow…"
"You never told me… if you need help with that…"
"That's it, that I don't!" – Sophie sounded astonished. "I understand the whole thing! I don't even need to research it! He made it all so clear! He also said you would have known it in the first place, and if we are such great friends we spent time together in the summer, I should have asked you…."
Anne finally understood she was the last person Sophie would turn to for help. Why would Snape do this? Did he want them to break their friendship, making Sophie jealous? Wasn't she miserable enough? But then, she couldn't sense jealousy, only embarrassment.
"Don't be angry," – Sophie pleaded, and Anne lost the last clue to understanding her.
"Why would I be angry?"
"Because I told him we brewed those soaps together… the base just reminded me of the Prince base so much, and he asked about it, and I –" Sophie's voice trailed off, and Anne tried to figure out what she wanted to tell her.
"Did you tell him about Madame Pince liking me enough to share her treasures? Or are you regretting telling him about my visit in the summer?"
Her friend swallowed and nodded. "It wasn't a big deal of gossip. I only mentioned it, but then… he became so curious! And when he asked about it… I am not used to holding back if I have an answer for him! It's not that common, Annie!" She cried defensively. "So I told him about Pince liking you and that we brewed at the Fawleys, and I thought we would win with your soap, but the old harpies chose the one with the Fawley base. And also about the blind-guessing of the potions in my uncle's shop. And… and then he said that must have been fun…."
"Fun?" – Anne stared at her, and Sophie finally chuckled.
"Well, he might have used the word diverting… you know how he is, but, yeah. He thought it was fun."
"It was fun." Anne had to agree.
"I know, right? So what do you think?"
"About telling him? I don't mind. He is kind of cool with the detentions, too. I mean, he works me like a mule, but I always liked that, and I think he knows that by now."
"And why do you think he would single me out?"
It was clear to sense Sophie's anticipation of her answer, her hesitant pride, and her embarrassed joy… Anne thought about it for a moment, but she had no idea.
"Maybe it's because of the NEWTs? Or you did something unbelievably talented you failed to recognise, but he did?"
"I doubt that," – Sophie lamented. "I was afraid he might think I'm the weakest link. Then he made that remark about the summer. …but Annie! It seemed as if he knew it already somehow!"
She was reluctant to tell how Snape had seen her in the summer and how likely he knew about her comings and goings, mostly because she had no explanation for Snape's interest.
"He might have seen me around Knockturn, and he knows we're friends," – she said instead with a shrug. Thankfully, it was enough for Sophie, who liked her new station closer to the cauldron.
"Yeah. I will not let Blackthorn into this when all begins to look up. I'd rather convince Nellie Podmore or the Rowle girl."
"Sophie, I really don't think we should drag a Rowle who is half-Shafiq into our dealings."
"No?" Sophie jovially shrugged and grabbed her book bag. "It's Nellie, then. Now come, you don't want to miss your det!"
It was more than an hour too early for that, but it didn't occur for either of them to join Prep Class so late. They agreed to retreat to their dorm for tea and a chat when Anne had the unmistakable sensation of an eerie empty spot in the texture of emotions that generally buzzed around the castle. She grabbed Sophie's wrist to hold her back and thanked whoever intervened that they left the subject of their House Head's curious ways in that empty classroom.
"Well, well, well. Isn't that Miss Borgin and Miss Rosier ditching Preparations?" Snape's tone was too mild, and the dungeon staircase too narrow for comfort. "Are we intimidating lower years now, like unchecked hoydens? Borgin? Rosier?" His glance fluttered between them when he received no immediate reply.
"Blackthorn needed a quick update on the House rules, sir. We didn't hurt him," – Sophie decided to answer before Anne could figure out what to do. That strange crow's foot in the corner of Snape's eye arrested her attention. She'd once seen him hiding similar amusement, disciplining her… Could he already know all that had transpired on the third floor?
"Rules such as no fighting within the House, perhaps?" Snape asked on, still on a mild tone that made the hair stand on her back.
Anne sensed Sophie's hesitance and lingering ire even when she heard her voice: "Rules like even though snakes are flexible, they still have backbones. Sir."
"That sounds more like an update on zoology than the House rules, Borgin. I do not appreciate whimpering third years hiding in the Courtyard. It's raining."
"Yes, sir," – they said in unison, doing their formidable best to avoid looking at each other and giggling.
"Rosier, with your experience in detentions, I believe this will be another two. Unless Miss Borgin refuses to give over the opportunity and wishes to participate?"
Anne forgot herself and blatantly stared at the man for a second. Sophie coughed in surprise. "Detention? No, sir. I gladly eschew it!"
"Gladly, even," – Snape repeated, finally letting a small smirk show. "Rosier, if you have already cleared your schedule of dull schoolwork, let's give you a head start. Borgin will surely compensate you for the effort after readying her plentiful homework; alone."
With the allusion to the extra homework he'd given to Sophie, her embarrassment felt real when she mouthed the word sorry behind Snape's back as his spry steps started up the stairs. Anne shook her head and tried to get rid of that traitorous little smile. He most likely had seen the whole conversation already in Malus' worthless head and rewarded their efforts instead of punishing them by making both follow on with what they needed to do. She dared not even guess what the boy received for holding him up in the rain.
Her amused mood wavered, though, when they reached the Brewing Room, and Snape's usual magical locks closed the door behind her. She quickly removed her school robe, anticipating the flames imminently heating up the room, fished out her notes and opened them on the Prep Table, offering a clear view of all her calculations and the new receipt.
"It's lacewings and salamander blood for the muscle relaxant, sir, and I believe I managed to bypass honey water. Also, perhaps a spell would work better than a voice potion. I already drew up the frame but need more time for the intricacies. There used to be a charm the monks had used in the Gregorian –" She stopped when she looked up. "Sir?"
He sat on the edge of the Prep Table and watched her instead of her notes. That didn't make her falter. It was his look. He didn't eye her with the usual scrutinising gaze. He looked contemplative instead, with the back of his hand hiding his lips and a significant portion of his face. She couldn't help wondering what he wished to conceal.
When he noticed her curious look, he cleared his throat and stood up.
"Liquorice and slippery elm," – he offered, strolling to his workbench and leaning onto it. "How long have you considered potions and spells equal possibilities to solve your problems?"
Anne wanted to answer, but her mind stuck on the solution she failed to find for the voice-brew. "I… sorry, may I add those to my notes?"
Snape gestured for her to carry on as she wished and lifted a wand to call a cauldron from the hook.
"Most don't mix Charms and Potions so easily when facing a problem, Rosier. Only Alchemy uses such a holistic approach."
"I was looking forward to those classes in the NEWT years, sir, but Madame Pince made me understand that everything we learn is Alchemy with the right approach. What are you brewing, sir?" she added uncertainly, hoping he wouldn't mind if she asked.
"You will brew your salve for Argus," – he told her with maddening neutrality, as if it wasn't a big deal or if she felt ready at all. "What made you pester Madame Pince with questions on Alchemy?"
Embarrassed, Anne looked to the side only to see a prep tray landing next to her.
"I can't even remember, sir. She… I think she took pity on me when Poppy began to train me and gave me a reading list. It was way over my head, and she offered to tutor me. The rest only followed… I couldn't be more grateful. But… Will there also be another brew, sir?" – she asked when a second tray landed on the first.
"Only if you finish the salve. I want to see how your cough drops developed. The muscle relief looks convincing enough."
Anne was about to protest against her various lung cleaner potions being called cough drops when he returned to her previous words and opened the door. "But?"
"But I didn't use the Alchemical approach to come up with anything! My attempts aren't worth the label. The similarity is only in their nature, I believe."
"What would you label your approach then, Miss Rosier?"
Hearing her name called this way felt confusing, and Anne halted with the trays. He rarely bothered to add anything to her family name. She thought that was a mark of familiarity, but this time, she sensed a flicker of respect in his tone. Don't flatter yourself, girl – she reproached herself in a similar manner Snape would have said it without noticing what she was doing.
"Erm… toying around? Sir?" When he didn't reply, she felt uncomfortable. "I decorated the margins only to have some fun. I don't mean that I'm not grateful for your help, sir. I am! It's just... I never expected anything to come out of it. I just needed to let… out. I don't think it makes any sense aloud. Sorry, sir."
She hurried to the storage room with reddened cheeks and regretted saying anything. She hardly knew what she was about or why this entire discussion bothered her so much! Bert had told her that the improvements made sense, and she did use whatever she'd learned from Madame Pince, but referring to Alchemy just because she switched between disciplines felt way over the top!
He stopped vexing her with discursive questions, instead confused her by chopping up the turmeric root when she almost lost count of the clockwise stirs. She turned to the chopping board when the base rested and first thought she forgot she'd already done it before she noticed the quality of the even cubes. In this present state of mind, she doubted she would have had the forbearance to cut them so evenly, but Snape only mentioned that she had written that she needed the arnica oil first.
"T-thank you, sir…"
He then calculated the number of stirs and drops of each ingredient again as she proceeded with the brew and compared his results with her last notes. The two differences he had found were quick to adjust to the recipe. He assisted her in every way as if brewing by his workbench wasn't stunning enough! Stunning and nerve-wracking.
When the brew thickened to the right consistency, and she removed the cauldron from the heat to let the salve sit and cool before scooping it into a small jar, he said:
"Your first medical potion, I believe. It took long enough," – and she burst into tears of relief despite all efforts to contain her emotions.
"I began in my second year," – she tried to stay coherent and say something remotely sensible but couldn't help the sniffing and the tears. "Sorry, sir," – she added when he took two steps backwards until his leg collided with the high chair he liked to use.
Within a few moments, he conjured the handkerchief he always offered to the more emotional students of the House, signalling his reluctance to deal with them until they pulled themselves together. Anne apologised again and wondered what had reduced her to such a mess.
"Are you always whining when you finally succeed?" she heard him ask with a sigh. It sounded so ridiculous that now she was laughing through her tears, too.
"I have no idea, sir. It never happened before."
When she was still sobbing a minute later, Snape lifted his wand, and a pack of cigarettes appeared with a lighter.
"I never knew those were conjurable," – Anne noted without thinking, wiping her face. He looked up, openly surprised. "Oh, sorry, sir, I didn't mean to –"
"It's the sergeant's. He hates when I do it, but this is for him after all," – he gestured towards the salve and pulled out a fag. "You will not tell this to Poppy."
It wasn't a question, and Anne finally huffed a short laugh without tears leaking from her eyes. It was all so utterly surreal!
"Sir, how-" She halted, searching for the right words while he slowly exhaled the familiar smoke. "I thank you for the help and everything, Professor. I'm just curious to know…"
He sat in his high chair and used a petri dish as an ashtray, looking younger and more at leisure but also more dangerous than ever before. "Yes?"
Anne couldn't back off now. "Why?"
His sudden smirk looked more self-reproaching than amused. "Argus says I have to put up with your presence. It wouldn't be so irritating if you weren't a student – my student – in Hogwarts, but you're also a wiz-nurse with – how did you put it? Acing your job?" Anne let her eyes fall in embarrassment, although she'd said nothing she didn't mean. He slowly blew out the fume. "I could sooner work with a wiz nurse misplaced at Hogwarts than with a student playing doctor down in London."
When she dared to look up at that, Snape's smirk was completely gone. She saw the same contemplative look he'd tried to hide about an hour before, and by all appearance, he was waiting for an answer.
She practised Effie Brown's role enough to slip into it easily, and she smiled like she would have at Frank when he explained something unusual in their rest time. "Thank you, Professor. I would like that."
At that moment, there was something in his eyes—not surprise or recognition exactly, but something akin to them. However, it vanished without a trace before she could understand it better. He killed the butt on the petri dish and vanished the whole mess, casting an Air-cleansing Charm probably by sheer politeness, and stepped to her notebook to look up what he called only cough drops.
After about three hours and a serious debate on the bodily fluid imbalance that could affect a lung, where Anne recited Sylvius and his conviction that fluid imbalance was responsible for health problems, and Snape denied Paracelsus' approach in this particular case as something Sylvius' contemporaries exceeded, the nameless lung cleaning potion set up and only needed testing.
"Good to know you don't resort to the alchemical approach, Rosier. Could have fooled me before the second try," – Snape grumbled and marked the phial as Untested Cough Drops, this time fully aware of how it irked her.
"I just don't believe it is worth the name, Professor. I'm only aiming in darkness compared to them."
"You could call it turtledove, it wouldn't change what it is, girl," – he halted and cast a Tempus before he looked uncertainly between her and the door. "Well,-"
"Thank you for your help, sir," – Anne came to his rescue, realising he wasn't about to send a wiz nurse to bed. "Monday or Tuesday?"
"Tuesdays from now on, if they suffice," – he replied, and Anne politely nodded before she hurried out, fled through the ward, and hid in the Baron's passage for a few minutes before she gathered herself enough to approach her dorm. It didn't give her enough time to digest what had transpired if she understood Snape well. She barricaded the experience in a remote corner of her mind to examine later when her nerves sufficiently calmed. Yet she only noted he had finally accepted her as a grown-up in his peculiar way. Anne imagined it must have been hard to change his mind about her when she still sat in his class and attended school, and she tried to appreciate the thought he put into their situation, even if it couldn't be more than what she wasted along the same lines.
The weekend was her prize for the week's struggles and abnormalities. She appeared on the Smiths' doorstep as soon as Friday evening, debated with George the significance of the United's triumph over Liverpool and mourned the loss against Ipswich. Then she spent her first Saturday morning fast asleep and the second by Rachel's small card table, trying to learn how to play whist in no time because her aunt's Bridge partners happened on Cavendish's on Whist on the bookcase, and decided to have some fun.
Actually, it proved more fun than she would have anticipated. After discussing "poor Edna's bad luck to miss this" and rejoicing in Anne's "unexpected presence" that "saved the day," Mrs Nolan and Miss Shaw descended on the tender subjects of her romantic prospects and present occupation in life.
Anne peeked at her great aunt, but Rachel showed no signs of intent to help her, and she sensed her curiosity. She long suspected Rachel knew something was off with her niece but had yet to ask questions – how convenient it must have been to leave that to her old friends! Poor Edna indeed, Anne grumbled to herself, and she decided to shock Rachel with the truth.
No, she didn't mind them asking…
Yes, it had been long since they last seen… How long exactly? Well, she was approaching nineteen and worked in a private hospital… No, not fifteen, nineteen. Yes, time was running. Every year was shorter than the last…
No, she doubted she would become a doctor…
Yes, nurses should receive more appreciation…
No, she was unlikely to change her mind about medical school and becoming a doctor after all…
No, she definitely was not dating colleagues, especially not with wealthy young doctors with affable manners who resided in cliché novels and, if ever stepped into real life, surely had no time to date between counting their riches and doing their duties.
"Rachel, you should watch this girl. She almost sounds bitter!" – from Miss Shaw's lips was the last bit of judgement she could handle with grace, and Anne stood from the table with profuse apologies.
"If only I knew about your lovely company in advance, but Aunt Rachel is so funny, she didn't even mention this little party!" – she looked at her aunt with less warmth than a glacier. "Alas, I promised Aida I would not be late for lunch."
Yes, her brothers did well.
No, they weren't yet married.
Yes, it would be wonderful to play again…
Anne found herself leaning back on the string wall, trying to exhale all her frustrations before leaving the house for the Smiths. Aida didn't tolerate her complaints, though.
"It's not that simple to follow your… world's oddities even if someone is allowed to know your secrets. Those poor ladies probably had no clue who you were, had they?"
Anne admitted she never considered telling her Gran's and Great-Aunt's friends about being a witch.
"See? Then how should they know?" Aida gestured for them to move closer to the counter because she had yet to finish the salad. "It wasn't easy for us either. I knew you ten years ago. You were younger than my Kelly. Now I clearly see you're the older one, and I have no idea how or why! Interacting with your subculture means accepting nonsense and the impossible on a daily basis, and Rachel knows this longer than we do. I still believe it is worth the hardship, and I'm sure she would agree with me."
"But if she wants to know something, why doesn't she just ask?" – Anne asked, still seething.
"Would you have answered?"
"But there's nothing to tell!"
Aida heaved a long sigh and asked whether she had greeted George already, and Anne accepted her wish to be left alone. She could sense that Aida was frustrated with her, but she didn't really understand why. At least the United defeated Everton.
When Caleb arrived, she noticed his improved mood with relief and subtly asked about the old Crabbe, who once again played with his old friends instead of the young Rosier heir. That finally put Rachel's curiosity and the old bags gossiping out of her mind.
Not that she had much space there to offer for the mundane. Professor Moody was as mad as a March hare, and Snape, whilst maintaining his new approach, talked to her like she imagined he would to any at St. Mungo's, it also became patently clear that his mannerisms didn't improve on adult acquaintance. On the contrary! His expectations seemed to have risen, and his tolerance for mistakes declined, which wasn't the most comfortable set-up to show off her budding attempts at spell invention.
Sophie accepted no ill word against their House Head but convinced Nellie Podmore to accept their offer. Anne gave over her keyword and question lists and all the notes she had gathered throughout her years and promised to help the second-year girl if she needed a hand. Her only request was about the price, which Nellie promised not to raise within the year so her clients wouldn't turn against her.
All in all, the next few weeks carried little fun and lots of effort, teaching Nellie her system and having extended hours at St. Mungo's, where she couldn't forgo slipping into the Brewing Room after her scheduled time at various wards. Bert seemed happy to have her, and even cleaning up in such a lab was worth her time. She also asked Mediwizard Sheambaum about the hospital's policy on introducing new potions. However, she mainly learned she had no chance to add her recipes before a Potions NEWT and ten years of practice, if then.
If she hadn't had Pricey's friendship and Muggle football, she believed she would have gone mad before the end of October. However, Manchester United kept all fans on their toes, defeating Everton but losing against Sheffield, then finally gaining some momentum and beating West Ham and Blackburn Rovers in short order. Anne sneaked out of the castle to watch the matches with George, at least on TV, and the adrenalin burst made her wish she were on the stands or had a chance to celebrate and wash her worries away with the team finally winning. A ceramic friend couldn't help her with that, but she wasn't the only one at Hogwarts in dire need of a party.
Before Halloween, the usual weekend in Hogsmeade was cancelled to make time for the preparations to host the Tournament and two other magical school teams. Argus used her salve well as he worked himself to exhaustion along the house elves, but at least without suffering the usual joint pains. All the suits of armour shone with new polish, just like the bannisters, and the minor cracks and warts of the castle were repaired even in the house elf quarters, giving everything a restlessness and an air of anticipation in the castle.
Exhaustion and restless energy mounted in every House, and Slytherin planned to commemorate Halloween after the Feast in a way only the older students remembered. All eyes turned to Snape from the fifth year up, waiting for signs of weakness, hoping against all odds he might slip back into his old habits despite no one having seen him drunk in the last four years. Ever since his visit to the Common Room the weekend before and since Tuesday when crowds gathered under the poster in the Entrance Hall that announced Durmstrang's and Beauxbaton's arrival a day before Halloween, excited murmurs debated the possibilities.
"He wouldn't play along," – Higgs deemed in the morning of the new arrivals. "All the attention at the High Table and even his boss watching… can you imagine?"
"Screw Dumbledore," – Warrington, from the sixth year, annoyedly shut him up. "It is his fault, in the first place, that we can't have a Samhain like we should."
"I remember Kettleburn used to offer food for the fairies, but have you seen Hagrid do more than carving pumpkins?" – Adrian Pucey had to add. "At home, Mum always makes tables for our ancestors, too, but even the House ghosts are forced to only appear here like any other Feasts."
"You may add we haven't had a bonfire since Lee ignited the hangings," – Per Derrick snickered, but he was much taken with the idea of a "real Samhain", too. Of course, some third years had to chime in asking about the old story, and for a while, the older boy happily retold the well-magnified and entertaining story of "Barnaby Lee's great moment in the House", which got more colourful with every passing Halloween.
"Of course, every meal is a dumb feast with the Huffs and Gryffs hanging on," – said the seventh-year Marcus Flint, but while some laughed, Pucey, who was a stickler for the old traditions, corrected him:
"Even you cannot believe they could feast in silence! A dumb feast means eating mutely. Are you ready to do that?"
Marcus shrugged and turned away, but Cassius grinned. "Snapey would like it fer sure! He might even drink one on it!"
While Pucey called him an arse and Derrick an idiot, even they shared in his hopes their House Head would loosen up again. No one knew what used to make him let go every Halloween in the past or why he denied himself in the last few years, but Slytherin wished, as one body, that he returned to his old habit. Just for one night of the year!
The classes were shortened on Friday, and every teacher in the castle paid close attention, making scheduling Anne's St. Mungo night shifts nigh impossible. She was glad she had begged off for a day at St. Mungo's, even if she hadn't anticipated Mediwitch Brunswick's disappointment.
"I thought you had plans to work after hours at the Poisons Ward. Have you coordinated your absence with Mediwizard Sheambaum?"
Of course, she'd promised to ask Sheambaum for leave, lying that she had already planned that! Then Anne hid away to scream in excitement: Did Sheambaum talk about her with Brunswick? Did he really?! Has he noticed her? She waited for a chance like that since she ruined her reputation before Spleen with that thrice-damned hag! Who would have thought she would try to lure her?
Of course, on second thought, she knew it in a way… she was perceptive, more, sensitive to darkness, but she had no idea about the measure and its reason before reading her uncle's letters. It was so very very unjust! But it was no use to cry over it, and she always loved brewing! If Sheambaum offered her a place at the Poison Ward….!
Anne had mixed emotions when she joined the crowd on Friday in front of the school. On the one hand, it was impossible not to feel the excitement and anticipation around her. Shielding her mind or not, short of falling into a coma, she could do nothing against the influence of the feelings of so many! On the other hand, she knew her emotions lay with Sheambaum and the Poisons Ward, remembering the strict mediwizard's kindness and anticipating any possible progress in St. Mungo's rat race. At least Snape, standing behind them, stopped the eager and sometimes outrageous student fantasies about the night, making her masking her emotions simpler while she planned for the evening, like the rest of her house.
The weather was decidedly cold, and Anne missed her coat. The Slytherins didn't dare misbehave, with Snape watching like a hawk, but she noticed more side glances, and some of the other Houses were already whispering their opinions. Then the Gryffs' excitement reached her, and she followed their gazes to the sky.
The something that approached them soon proved to be a herd of Abraxans pulling a giant coach. The horses looked mesmerising in their haughty beauty, making most momentarily forget about the cold. The coach landed flawlessly within easy reach of the gate, and the tallest woman excited it Anne had ever seen.
"Bloody hell, that's a giant!" – Higgs whispered to Bletchley, who all but shook with nerves.
"I can't believe those are let inside here! Look at the old fool!" – Bletchley replied.
The Headmaster was kissing the giant's hand, and Anne sensed her year-mates were revolted. Flora grimaced at the newcomers, but she wasn't the only one who judged the Beauxbatons delegation by their Headmistress:
"Silk!" – Hestia whispered, adding a new aspect to the prejudice. "Their uniform is made of silk! I should have gone to Beauxbatons!"
"Would you want such a Head?" – Warrington leaned to her, but he soon received a tap on his shoulder, and Pucey nodded back towards Snape, who was staring them down.
"Ours is no better!" - Hestia hissed while Warrington straightened up.
The following soft murmur of disapproval came when Madame Maxime decided not to wait for the Durmstrang delegation. Anne sensed that the discontentment hailed from jealousy. The Beauxbatons were already admitted to the castle's warmth while the Hogwarts students had to stand in the wind. The previous order was beginning to slip by the moment, then someone finally pointed at the Black Lake, and to the Slytherins' horror, an old ship emerged from the waves.
"Where's the Squid?" "Is it all right?" – the lower-year students kept asking each other, and no amount of disapproving stares from Professor Snape could quiet their worries.
"Do you think we would see their undersides from the Common Room?" – Vaisey joked, earning Urquhart's elbow between his ribs.
"You want to see Durmstrang's undersides?" – he asked Vaisey, but he only shrugged.
"There must be girls there too, you know what I mean…"
"Even the Squid knows what you mean," – Bletchley snickered.
"Well, he must approve of them if he let their ship on his territory," – Higgs deemed, and Hestia giggled about the Squid approving the Durmstrang girls' undersides until Urquhart snapped at them about Durmstrang's greatness and natural alliances.
He might have had a point, but Hestia still rolled her eyes. The thick uniforms were unappealing, even if she deemed the boys looked decidedly muscular. Anne was more interested in their headmaster. Igor Karkaroff looked a touch older than Snape, and he talked to Dumbledore as if they were good old friends. Watching this happy reunion, Anne's attention turned to Snape, but she could neither see nor sense anything about his opinion; she could only perhaps see a chin held a little higher and eyes a little colder.
Karkaroff hardly tried to improve his appearance, except for donning an expensive blue fox fur coat and probably oiling his goatee. Anne craned her neck to see Moody's reaction, but the Auror stood with his back to the Slytherins, and she couldn't surmise his look, but her senses picked up an anticipation that promised nothing good, and in the commotion when they were finally let back into the castle's relative warmth she lost sight of him entirely.
The dinner was… well, interesting…. The emotions around the Great Hall would have put Anne's younger self back to the Infirmary, but she knew now how to ground herself, and the Slytherins did their best around her to draw the Durmstrang students out of their shells. They seemed ill at ease and withdrawn, marvelling about the golden plates and carefully trying out the dishes they didn't know, at the same time, the sixth and seventh years explained to them about the house elves and other peculiarities until they loosened up enough to talk about their ship and favourite foods at least.
Anne couldn't help but watch Karkaroff keenly. Her father was yet happy with her meaningless observations about the House and its Head, but she was afraid he would demand a report about Snape's interactions with the man now, and she was unsure what to say about their noncommittal few words and Snape's carefully held distance. Karkaroff's emotions were all over the place, from mild nostalgia through weariness, calculation, and worry for his golden-egg-laying favourite, Krum. All that she could keep to herself, but she was sure she should write about her year-mates' excitement over hosting an international Quidditch star. That part seemed natural enough.
At the end of the meal, Argus carried in The Goblet of Fire, which proved to be as dramatic as its name suggested. Anne was secretly proud of Argus when he performed his essential task in front of everybody, and she smiled at his decidedly well-knotted cravat, knowing how much he hated fussing with it. She wondered where Mrs Norris might have gone until her eyes found her under the Head Table, sitting close to Snape's ankle and eying Moody like a particularly annoying mouse. She wondered why. Mrs Norris had exceptional instincts, and now she guarded Snape the same way she tried to ward off Moody's attention to her on the first week of September when he caught her out after curfew.
No one else noticed the cat, and when they finally retreated to the Common Room, talk naturally turned to the Goblet and participating in the Tournament. Anne never had any ambition to risk her life, but some of the seventh year seemed to contemplate the benefits. Slytherin would have needed a place at the Tournament, but no sensible person wished to be a hero. Those had a disturbing tendency to lead short and hard lives.
Debating the possibilities kept the boys up well beyond midnight, and they decided upon Flint and Williams to stand up for the House. Williams was a harmless seventh-year at Charms NEWT, also good in Transfiguration, whom no one bore ill will against in the lower years, and Flint would also have the whole House's support if the Goblet chose him. As the captain of the temporarily retired Quidditch team, he had little to occupy his time anyway.
When most finally headed to their dorms, and even Hestia finished her loud daydreaming about the Beauxbatons boys' uniforms and the Durmstrang boys' build and fell asleep, Anne finally tiptoed into the adjacent washroom, turned invisible, and cast a silencing charm on her slippers to sneak out through the abandoned Common Room and find Argus. She saw the Bloody Baron lingering on the corridor that linked the student quarters to Snape's rooms, but she managed to slip by him and tiptoe up to the Entrance Hall unnoticed.
The murmurs of speech were subdued and came from the direction of the great oak door, which was ajar. Forgetting Argus for a second, Anne sneaked closer.
"…not personal. I will not let you into the castle, Igor, because you have no place being there, and that's all about it."
"You cannot deny me a chance to explain myself, Severus! We were friends, for Manannán's sake!"
"Interesting to hear you mention," – Snape's voice seemed disinterested and cold. "Even more so that you remember the old gods… Hasn't Durmstrang taught you about your ancestors' traditions?"
"Don't act as if I didn't belong here! I remember when you were first admitted to Hogwarts!"
"Don't try to make me nostalgic. I might remember things that should be forgotten."
"No need to threaten me, Snape. I came here with peace."
For a short moment, there was silence, and Anne suddenly felt a strange thread of interest poking at the edge of her consciousness. She pulled the protection on her mind closer, but the sensation didn't repeat.
"I very well know what brought you here, Igor, and I even chat with you under the moonlight. Shouldn't you be content with that?"
"Severus –"
"If I wished for revenge, you would be faint or dead already," – Snape drawled emotionlessly. "And if you don't mind, I will now close the gates. You may come back to schmooze by daylight, but I suggest you waste your little nonsense on the Headmaster instead. I have a job here to do."
Anne's jaw dropped when Karkaroff laughed, promising to listen and jump on the old man the next day. Was that truly Snape's intention? But the heavy door closed, and she could sense her professor's intrigued attention, scanning the Great Hall. She should have run, but that was what a student would do… all she'd learnt on these last few "detentions" besides the intricacies of a spell's anatomy was that he wished to converse with an equal. He became more patient and human whenever she proved herself what he hoped for, but was out of the Brewing Room the moment she failed.
Snape stepped blindly closer to where he suspected the intruder, and Anne saw when his wand slipped into his hand. She quickly made sure they were alone and willed herself to appear.
"I wanted to congratulate Argus. He did a splendid job tonight," – she said softly, even while her charm was failing, to make Snape aware of her before he lifted that wand.
He stopped short, and it looked like he was debating with himself. Meanwhile, Anne realised she had never imagined she would talk to him in her pyjamas and was absurdly glad she chose to wear her nicer dressing gown. Then he hid his wand again and loosened his shoulders.
"Entirely by chance at the exact same time your target made a show of himself at the great door…." – he added to her words.
Anne's eyes narrowed at the unjust accusations. "I had no way to know about Karkaroff's plans, sir. I waited till the Common Room emptied and came to find Argus."
To her surprise, he suddenly lifted his wand, and she felt as if an ice cube hit her head that promptly melted and poured down her spine.
"Professor Slytherin caught with a guest… guest – guess – guess the guest!" – the voice was painfully familiar.
"Peeves, you have ten seconds to vanish before I warn the Baron," – Snape groused, but somehow, the poltergeist became even more cheerful hearing that.
"Ten seconds – nine econds – seven conds – who was the female voice?"
"Shut it, you nitwit, I am calling the Baron!"
"Nitwit!" – Peeves clutched both orange hands to where his heart should have been – "Great words from Snivelly, the oddball," – he sang, spouting a raspberry with his tongue shot out and scurrying away crying that strange nickname all over the corridors, making Snape shake with silent rage.
Anne hardly dared to look at him, even under his Disillusionment Charm.
"What are you waiting for?" – he suddenly barked towards her and stepped away, biting his lips as he strode towards the Main Staircase. Anne silently followed, thinking about the strange name and Snape's peculiar lack of self-discipline hearing it. She supposed she had better act as if she didn't hear anything and hoped he would walk in another direction. Alas, on the second floor, he turned towards the caretaker's office and pushed in the door, waiting for a few moments for her to slip through before he entered.
Safe behind her Professor's spells, Anne willed herself visible once again and hugged Argus warmly, telling him her observations about all the grandeur and his magnificent cravat, doing her best to neglect the ominous presence by the kitchen table that Snape was reduced to. At least Argus seemed happy with her attention, although he kept an eye on his fuming friend till the water boiled and the tea was done.
"That old dotard must have made his views known already, has he?" – he finally turned to Snape after finishing a funny anecdote about the Gryffindor tower, which must have been a mess since most house elves refused to clean it. "I've seen how he tried to keep an eye on that menace."
Anne thought he meant Karkaroff and was a little surprised she failed to notice the Headmaster's attention on him, but Snape's glance turned contemplative again when it slid to her, and he disrupted her thoughts when he asked:
"Have you noticed anything peculiar about Professor Moody, Rosier?"
"I couldn't see him clearly in the crowd when Durmstrang arrived," – she said and tried to gather her impressions. "He watched Professor Karkaroff with ill will and anticipation, but it wasn't far from what I expected. Perhaps Mrs. Norris would know more," – she turned to Argus. "She sat under the Head Table all evening and watched Moody as if she tried to protect Professor Snape."
Argus looked at Snape questioningly, and he nodded with a bitter expression Anne couldn't understand. She was about to ask or apologise for giving too much credence to a cat's judgement when Snape turned to the feline – half-asleep under the stove – and waited for Mrs Norris to raise her head.
"Thank you," – he said softly and with a slight bow. "You are an extraordinary flea-bag, and he will regret underestimating you."
Mrs Norris slowly blinked, then let the warmth soothe her into a lazy nap.
"Why would Moody regret that?" – Anne couldn't stand the row of strange exchanges around her any longer. It felt as if everyone knew a language she didn't speak. "Argus, what is happening? What did Mrs Norris sense?"
Filch glanced at Snape, but he was watching Anne again. "Rosier, what would your instincts suggest if I told you that man is not Alastor Moody?"
She almost laughed up by sheer surprise. "What?" But she couldn't continue. If she had never met the Auror, she would have still had all the reasons to dislike him, but fragments of their encounters suddenly stood out:
Moody would have been interested in her family, all right, but would an Auror ever wish her to dissect a dark spell? He spoke about Higg's uncle at the Ministry as if he knew him – or about him, but went against the law showing the Unforgivables in all his classes… Of course, he could have done so with the old Crouch's favour, but they were living under Minister Fudge!
"I asked about your instincts, girl, not your assessment," – Snape warned as if he heard her thoughts again.
She pulled herself together. "He takes pleasure in casting dark magic and intimidation, but Auror Moody has such a bad reputation that I –"
"His reputation is his efficiency," – Snape corrected her, but something rebelled in Anne against the thought.
"Is that what we are to call killing without jurisdiction? Because then all my blasted relatives should join the MLE!"
"Perhaps your opinion is too strong against the Ministry, so you cannot see the difference," – he lamented coldly. "Whilst Alastor Moody had always been a beast, he always kept the law."
"The version I see of him never struck anyone as lawful, sir," – Anne shook her head. "Some might see his approach as entertaining, but he feels more like the nastier books on my father's shelves than like someone who would condemn them."
"And hasn't that ever raised your suspicions, girl?"
"No! Why would I expect any decency of a killer?"
Strangely, Snape suddenly leaned back on his chair and tapped the table in front of Argus. "There he is for you. A killer and a dark wizard, just like we suspected."
"Uhmm…" – Filch slowly nodded. "Annie, why would you call Moody a killer? The real Moody, from the Auror Department?"
Anne swallowed hard, realising what she'd just admitted and how heightened her emotions became in just a few short minutes. "He was the man who killed my uncles. We'd all been told that, and Caleb doesn't even…" –she stopped herself before telling even more – "…he doesn't like him teaching here… me… I've never been comfortable around him, either. And when he's asking about my father or other relatives…."
She stopped when Snape suddenly leaned closer. "Has he threatened you with your family?"
"No sir," – she replied confusedly. "He rather suggested he wished I was more like my grandfather… which is peculiar considering he knows he was a curse breaker only by profession. Even Mr. Burke remembers him as someone with a good hand for building up a curse…"
There was something unforgiving in his eyes then. They seemed darker and colder than usual, like tunnels into another realm she would hesitate to go, and she suddenly knew without a shadow of a doubt that he thought about teaching her spell crafting, which wasn't far from what Moody – or whoever the wizard was – wished her to learn.
"I'm not my grandfather, sir," – she silently told him, and his eyes flashed with a hint of surprise before they turned a fraction warmer, and a shadow of his well-known smirk appeared around his lips.
"Not at all," – he admitted, more amused than she was ready for, still holding her glance with his. It made her want to smile and nudge him on, but it would have felt like flirting, and the thought finally made Anne turn away. What a fool! Sweet Nimue! She must be tired!
"I can see your point, sir," – she quickly adjusted and returned to seriousness. "But if he's not Alastor Moody, then who…?"
"Even the Headmaster seems unsure about that, lass,"- Argus took over as Snape leaned back again, now behind the same distant and contemplative look she got used to at their "detentions" lately. "You should try to avoid him and behave the same as always while we," – he looked at Snape, who nodded, "work this out."
"He might be adept at Mind Magic enough to recognise an attack, so the Headmaster decided to tread cautiously," – Snape told her.
"Your next report to your father might assist us," – Argus added.
After that, they proceeded to word her letter about Durmstrang's arrival and Snape's behaviour, giving only a hint about "Professor Moody", which Argus hoped her father would try to exploit. The strangest wasn't the exhaustion she felt after scheming with these two men well into dawn. It was Snape insisting on escorting her invisible self back to her Common Room's door and his final question about whether she was comfortable with sending such a letter. Argus had made it clear already how this could help them… Anne stared at Snape in confusion, not bothering to regulate her features, feeling safe under a Disillusion Charm. She heard Snape's voice again in her head.
You shouldn't be a part of this.
"Don't worry, sir, I'll be fine," – she gabbled and hurried inside her Common Room.