Hi All,
Yet I can keep the biweekly updates, isn't it nice? Please comment, review, send an owl or smoke signs, telegraphs, or wave a flag, just let me know what you think about this story!
Recommended for this chapter: ***"A Slytherin's Guide to Hugging Professor Snape" at fanfiction dot net by lastcrazyhorn, huge thanks for the author's permission to use it!***
Whatever else you recognize of course belongs to Rowling, and all I get out of these efforts is the sheer joy of writing.
Please review!
TN
Chapter5.
8th November 1991 to 30th January 1992
(13)
Snape was correcting essays and only gestured for Anne to sit. It felt odd to watch him until she realized how silent the office was. The thick door closed out the usual draught just as much as all outside noises; she suspected the Professor helped physics with magic. The fire cracked in the hearth soundlessly, giving away another silencing charm. Anne's gaze wandered to the mantel and recognized a small box of Floo powder, making her wonder whether Snape had closed that connection too. This room seemed entirely cut off from the castle, as if she'd walked through a portal.
The only sound was her Professor's quill occasionally running on the parchment. It was rhythmic and soothing. Anne's troubled nerves calmed to the point she felt herself soaking into the chair.
"Your evaluation this year will be abysmal," – she suddenly heard her Head of House's voice. It was clear but sounded from a distance.
Anne realized he held himself differently in his seat and guessed he must have watched her for some time before speaking. He popped an elbow onto his desk, and his fingers played along the lines of his lips. Every Slytherin student knew it was his gesture of deep contemplation, the most disturbing mood because it was impossible to foretell what his musings would sum up in the end.
Anne automatically reached into the air around him with a thread of thought, but his emotions – if he had any – were as silent as his office. Was there a charm for that too?
"You are proving yourself a disappointment, Miss Rosier. After your overeager attacks on the library last year, your present attention deficit does – not – bode –well."
He protracted the last of his sentence until Anne understood she was supposed to feel embarrassed and should probably defend herself. This was the chance to tell everything without making Snape ask any questions. She also knew she didn't wish to do that but looking into Snape's eyes felt like looking into the hypnotic depth of a cobra's gaze.
Snape lifted his long neck from the ground, his hood opened on both sides of his face to direct her attention to his eyes which were now bigger than the world. He swayed slowly, commanding obedience and demanding sacrifice… but Anne could only think about how unexpectedly beautiful this cobra looked and how sad it was to feel more like an orphaned mouse than a mongoose.
"What diverts your attention, Miss Rosier?"
That strange sound came from an unmeasured distance, mesmerizing like a snake-charmer's flute, and Anne swayed on her seat with eyes dilating – then she screamed when the Professor shot up from behind his desk and caught her before she fell on the floor.
"Idiot child!"
Anne would have sworn she'd even heard Snape cursing when she found herself again on the proffered chair, with her head between her knees. When her thoughts cleared, and she needed a deeper breath, her nape collided with her Head of House's hand, pushing it down. A short struggle convinced him she was fine enough to sit up.
"I hadn't seen you in the Great Hall, Miss Rosier. When was the last time you've had a full meal?"
This tone was different now, direct, like his questions in class.
"I don't remember, sir. Maybe on Wednesday."
Her Professor abruptly turned, dismissed some wards from the hearth – to Anne's secret satisfaction proving her suspicions – and the next she knew was Snape putting a tray on his desk, gesturing for her to sit closer.
"Eat!"
The broth and the bread should have tasted awkwardness itself. Instead, they were heavenly. Anne enthusiastically filled her aching stomach in the silence after Snape recast the wards.
"Why did you faint at Halloween? You've eaten that night."
Snape's tone was accusing; she wondered why. She also wondered how he knew she'd eaten.
"It might have been the crowd, sir."
"Might have," – Snape repeated, this time with evident dissatisfaction. Anne knew better than to nod.
"What do you know about mind magic, Miss Rosier?" – Snape went on after a deep sigh. Anne stared at him. He stood by the hearth with a rare-seen challenging glint in his eyes, which almost made him look – approachable. And younger.
"Nothing, sir. Is it taught at Hogwarts?"
"Occasionally," – now, he even looked amused. "There are multiple forms of this obscure branch of magic, none of which are common. Some show talent in Occlumency, the art of shielding the mind from outside forces. Others, on the contrary, are more adept in Legilimency, capable of attacking others' minds. They can surmise thoughts and emotions, even recognize intentions and lies."
Anne swallowed her eagerness and fears. Was he talking about himself? He loathed lies… but what he'd said about emotions…
"Sir, if someone… if someone happened to feel others' emotions, would that make that person a Legi- leg-"
"A Legilimens?" – Snape came to her aid.
"Yes, sir."
"No, Miss Rosier, only recognizing emotions would make someone an Empath."
"And what do Empaths do, sir?"
The corners of Snape's lips ran sideways into a sardonic smile.
"Most commonly, they suffer. Usually, after their abilities show as they reach a certain point in maturity, they turn recluse, or the regular assault of their fellowmen's exuberance drives them mad. How old are you, Miss Rosier?"
Anne tried to imagine herself alone at the end of the world and fighting madness, and her lips began to tremble with imminent tears.
"I'm thirteen."
"The traditional age of maturity in most old religions," – Snape nodded knowingly.
What was she to do? What was she to tell her mother? To Rachel? How long would her meagre savings in Gringotts feed her at the world's end? The decision was obvious, but could she do it? She didn't want to go mad!
"When shall I depart, sir?"
For a second, she saw rare confusion in Snape's dark eyes, then astonishment, and finally anger. "Do you believe I called you here just to send you packing, you silly girl?"
Anne stared again. His tone betrayed more about his feelings than the pang of hurt in his eyes. It reverberated in her chest, making her regret her words.
"I– I don't want to go mad, sir. Just don't–"
She found a hanky dangling in the air before her and realized she was crying. Her Professor gestured for her to use it, and Anne blew her nose. Snape's impatience began to erratically prickle the air about her.
"Sir, are you also doing mind magic?"
That seemed to have surprised him.
"I'm not an Empath, Miss Rosier."
She didn't mean that.
"The other one you mentioned. The one that shields his mind."
Her words won two raised eyebrows. A dubious success.
"Why would you believe that?"
"Because," – Anne hoped it wouldn't come across as being disrespectful, - "because the air around you is more silent. Not like around Amelia, who just doesn't feel too deeply… you do feel, sir, you just– it just doesn't change the air." She gained some courage seeing his keen attention. "And your windows are closed, unlike–"
"My windows, Rosier?"
"The house at the back of people's heads. Those you love so much to look into. Mine is too dark for you to look around. And yours is closed and sealed." When Snape's eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed, she quickly added: "I know I can't peek through your windows, and I doubt anyone could. I'm sorry if…."
That might not have been the right thing to say because, for her fright, Snape strode through his office with suspicions in his eyes, and he leaned above her. "We will do an experiment, Miss Rosier. Stand up and pull your wand," – he waited for her to do so. "You should try to defend that house you've mentioned with everything you have! Can you do that?"
Anne nodded with confidence. She hadn't done anything else since she'd first met him. "Of course, sir."
"Of course," – he repeated with strange amusement. "Let us see then! Legilimens!"
The assault on her mind was now more potent than ever before. Anne's senses and thoughts recoiled from the force of this intent as if she quickly hid behind some shelter in a storm. The strangest was sensing Snape in her head. She really felt him and not just like a professor or her Head of House; it was him: Bare force, sea-coloured purpose, and a gust of wind carrying the salty smell of a seashore she'd been to when –
No, she had no time for this now! Snape had some purpose in her head, and she couldn't fathom what that might be! Anne focused on the strange presence and tentatively touched it – the contact propelled them both to the little dark house at the back of her head. The force pushed against the door and windows, but he'd also asked her to defend against him… why? Why would he do that?
Anne's mind began to replay Snape's command to find in it some reason: "…defend that house you've mentioned with everything you have! Can you do that?"
She replayed the moment again and again while his intent pushed with more and more force. She saw the scene now with excruciating detail: His stance above her, the pain in her shoulder when she tried to look into his eyes…. "Can you do that?"
…the colour of his eyes, the rigour of his voice… his face was a peculiar shade of pale, his hair hung lower on the left as he tilted his head… those eyes weren't pitch-black as people believed it, they were actually grey… very dark grey, like the stormy sea…. his pupils flashed with the question, "can you?" "Can you?" – The shutters weren't closed on those window eyes when he stepped through hers!
With a flash, Anne found herself in a foreign place. It was so dark it felt barren, but it wasn't vacant... Anne tried to touch around and felt walls closing around her, shielding whatever was behind them. Those walls felt like water under her mind's hand but dry… they smelled salty, and the colours… all colours of the sea: velvety black, dark blues, stormy greys, angry greens, and all in between… waving… hypnotizing!
After the first shock, Anne decided she liked what she saw. It felt safe here, and the waves were beautiful. She felt gratitude for the silence, warmth, and safety and reached out a hand again to caress the waves.
Suddenly everything wavered, as if a shudder ran through whatever was here, she sensed insecurity… surprise… hunger… with an undertone of pain. Anne tried to show her amazement upon seeing this all… and she caressed the waves. The shudder this time was smaller, the hunger stronger. Did these velvety walls like to be touched? Anne caressed them with all the tenderness she could muster like she would have caressed a beautiful, magical beast that came close for the first time…
…and the walls wavered again, drinking up her ginger tact, soaking the attention, melting away, each with a gust of salty wind like a sigh. The colours changed into lighter blues and sky grey, and slowly –
NO!
A shockwave of astonishment rippled through the waves, and when Anne tried to lift her hand again, rage slapped her in the chest.
GET OUT!
The force was so great Anne fell backwards, knocking hard into the house in her head, falling still helplessly until her back finally collided with Snape's office floor. Pain.
She whimpered and looked up at the fallen chair, then even higher into Snape's flushed face and horrified eyes. He stared only for a second before he turned to the hearth, his shoulders rising as he panted. Anne was also a little short of breath when she tried to stand up from the floor and adjust her school robe.
"Sir, what happened?" – Her silent voice sounded harsh to her ears after that realm of thought.
Snape was still facing the mute flames in his hearth when he forced out a reply:
"The experiment served its purpose. I gave no permission, Miss Rosier, to attack my mind; however," – he finally turned and faced Anne remarkably calmer and almost collected - "you have proved yourself an acceptable student in the Mind's Art."
She didn't know what to reply. All these experiments and new concepts were confusing.
"Can you control your abilities by any means, Rosier?"
"I'm trying to hide at the back of my head, sir," – she finally dared to tell. "It's harder in the crowd."
"The Great Hall," – Snape nodded. "From now on, you are to take your lunch and dinner in the Infirmary. If anyone asks, you need a special diet as a residue of your last fleeting illness. You are not to talk to anyone about what transpired in this room. Not even to your brothers or other relatives."
Anne thought about her aunt and her expectable worry and swallowed hard. Perhaps Rachel would find a lingering illness less disturbing than some surfacing magical abilities… although it's probably best not to say anything.
"Will this get better with time, sir?"
Snape's smirk was almost mocking. "No, Rosier, it will improve with practice and proper training. Which, and I warn you, girl, you will only receive as long as no one is the wiser. I don't need your fellow dunderheads or excited relatives in my office, nor the curiosity of your masters, so you will not advertise this among the students or the staff. Did I make myself clear?"
Anne nodded, but Snape stepped closer. "Speak up, Miss Rosier. This is not your Common Room! I said you must not mention your abilities or any kind of training to anyone at all if you don't wish to fight against madness alone. Do you understand me?"
"Yes sir," – Anne looked into her Professor's eyes. "I wouldn't want their input anyway."
Her last sudden stroke of courage wore thin soon enough, finding herself dismissed and out on the corridor in record time. So much about getting on the better side of Snape.
Monday's first classes, Transfiguration and Herbology, were horrible. Anne could sense the rabbit's panic from across the classroom, and it only got worse when all students selected their practice supplies. She hid in her head for some respite when her rabbit's virtual screams reverberated at her skull, mixing with Flora Carrow's untampered glee producing the first set of matching slippers – with shaking bunny tails on the nose. The wand fell out of her hand and rolled away under the desks while she reluctantly caught after her rabbit hopping away.
"Honestly, Miss Rosier, what kind of witch throws her wand mid-spell? Two points from Slytherin and try to get your act together!" – McGonagall's berating didn't help, and her cheeks flamed up with yet another blush when Malcolm walked up to her desk and returned her wand with a formal bow.
All the girls were watching, and Anne didn't return the gesture. Waves of censure, and some envy, which she couldn't understand, washed against her. She also felt Urquhart's remorse but hated his open display of repentance and re-offered friendship. Especially in class! McGonagall took two more points for the boy's 'wandering about.'
Herbology looked upwards after the murmured gossip in the recess and Malcolm's insistence on carrying her bag, which Anne refused, and ran instead across the school grounds to get rid of him. That cost one more point, which Professor Kettleburn divested from Slytherin for 'running headless through the fields.' At least the earmuffs stopped the gossipers. However, it couldn't close off the turbulent desires of the young and fun-loving Mandrakes or their fright and anger when they got suddenly pulled out of their pots.
Her odd plant was about the same stage of socializing as human elementary school children, and gods, was she chatty! Anne's hand shook with her exuberance enough to drop and break her pot. With her Mandrake's outrage plundering in her head, it took about a minute to find another, and Sprout noticed. Two more points slid from the Slytherin hourglass.
Although she enjoyed the silent meals in the Infirmary throughout the weekend, Anne, this time, took a deep breath and chose the library instead as soon as the crowd settled in the Great Hall. She needed a solution, and it couldn't wait, not even for Snape's 'training' whatever he meant by that.
Mind magic. Doubtless, she wasn't the only one. Or some reading about Empaths. The catalogue signed both subjects among the books in the Restricted Section. Bugger. Anne left for Charms near despair and skived off the rest of the day to hide and recuperate in her tower with a nicked sandwich from the kitchen. Snape would explode if she missed Potions, but at least he wouldn't take points from his own House.
Miraculously, she didn't run into Professor Snape to receive the expected dressing down, and Binns class the next day was boring enough to dull people's feelings into a distant hum. Anne spent the first part of the period in a dim room of the house in the back of her head, and it was surprisingly entertaining when she discovered she could move around there!
A part of the room stored childhood memories haphazardly thrown together but some with a disturbing nature under locks in trunks. There were more than she'd ever thought she had, and playing around with them was fun. She also found a guitar and a lovely music box that played all her favourite tunes in her mum's voice. There was a shelf with organized notes from her last year before Hogwarts, Muggle schooling and Magical reading alike, and a mess of her notes from last year and some OWL-related parchments.
No wonder Snape told her she was a disappointment! This was chaotic if she was nice to herself. With her first thought about him, a larger-than-life figure of her Head of House jumped out from a box, dangling on a spring and repeating the statement. It was much more intimidating than the other Snape, who lived among sea-coloured waves, sensitive to touch. Anne went on rummaging after that figure. It took time and effort, but when she found him, he wore grey robes and swayed like a cobra.
Living through the complex memory of entering Snape's mind, it occurred to Anne that she saw jackshite of the man. How could that be if she was in his mind? Or was she?
Contemplating this, she looked out the window and found herself in Binn's classroom again. Hestia whispered something to Miles, pointing the finger at her, obviously thinking Anne had fallen asleep. Maybe she did, or… or not, because as she now triumphantly recognized, she couldn't sense Hestia's glee!
And with that, Snape's colourful waves finally made sense. He must watch everything through that sea! She was safe now because she was 'inside' her house, peeking out instead of having someone peeking in. How much safer could it get? Should she channel here a sea? Build mountains? Throw around the clutter? Mouse traps? Snakes?
She had to find it out, so although Malcolm remarked on her looking odd or ill, Anne raided the kitchen again and disappeared to her tower to investigate the possibilities.
The first order of business was to reorganize those messy shelves with her academic studies. She didn't want to be a disappointment. Not even to mention that lagging back on her education would disappoint Rachel too. With a strike of mischief, Anne decided to organize her knowledge without dividing magical from Muggle. This made for a fun shelf of Astronomy and Geography combined with her meagre understanding of physics and Maths. Then there was Herbology and Biology, which both could sit together with her memories about gardening with her mum, Potions sitting nearby with a lot of free space left, and spots of Chemistry because Rachel never understood that, and the mess was already slighter.
She would have needed another shelf, which just popped up at her whim to accommodate History of Magic with History of England and her studies on Muggle World History. Literature should be placed close to these. Wizarding and Muggle. Charms didn't match with anything, so it had its own shelf, just like Transfiguration, while she put her embarrassing experiences with broom flight into a box under the stands.
Packing up the uncomfortable memories gave her sorrow, and to escape that, Anne walked out of the little house to find herself in a dark and gloomy tower. She almost screamed with fright. What happened? The castle looked as if it was under eternal midnight!
Her senses slowly returned, and she realized it only must have passed curfew, which also was bad news if she didn't wish to be a disappointment to Snape. She rushed down the hidden staircase, sneaked through the fourth-floor corridor, and down the main stairs until something ominously moved against her from the first-floor landing.
"Meow!"
"Ah, Mrs. Norris, you frightened me!" – Anne crunched down to pet the cat. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be late," – she tried to explain herself and was relieved when Mrs. Norris leaned into her palm. "Do you think Mr. Filch will understand it too? Where is he?"
"He is right behind you, Miss Rosier, and at the moment, the least of your problems," – a measured, silky voice sounded from the stairs under her. Oh, bugger!
"Professor Snape! I was on my way back to the Common Room!"
"How considerate of you, Miss Rosier. And so soon? It must have only passed your curfew with… three and a half short hours!"
He seemed like he wished to proceed when Filch's rough baritone sounded behind Anne:
"Where the devil have you been, lassie? We've searched the castle twice since Pomfrey said you've been missing!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Filch, I–"
"No need," – her Professor interrupted. "You'd better not plant the misconception of importance into a wayward student's mind, Mr. Filch. Rule breakers, who blatantly disregard their House's interests–"
Anne couldn't stand it any longer: "I didn't," – she cried out, but it was for naught.
"I was wrong, Miss Rosier. I cannot help someone unable to follow simple rules or instructions."
It took some seconds for Anne to understand what his meaning might have been. "Oh, the Infirmary!" – She remembered with relief. "Sir, I've been there for two whole–"
"Have you or have you not been at your designated place this lunch break and dinner, Miss Rosier?"
"Well, no, sir, but–"
"That's enough. I will not waste my time punishing you–"
The rest was a blur because Anne's concentration broke, and she found herself without any shields against Mrs. Norris's slight boredom, Mr. Filch's relief and odd amusement, and Snape's usual yawning void in the fabric of space. He should have just shown his anger if he wished to punish her, for he must have known she would feel that and suffer! This gave a moment of hope.
"Professor," – she cut whatever her Head of House was saying, which was impolite but, at the moment, maybe less convicting than the fact she had no idea what he's just been talking about. "I tried to read up on the subject we discussed, but I found reference only in the Restricted Section, so I was experimenting, and time somehow slipped away. I've never thought that my presence at the Infirmary was so important if I–"
The flare of fright that escaped from Snape's direction surprised Anne so much that she immediately fell silent.
"Experimenting with the Dark Arts, Miss Rosier? Without supervision too. Mr. Filch, I take it from here. Goodnight! Miss Rosier, if you had the nerve to openly admit to your crime, have the galls to follow me to my office! Now!"
Anne dared not to look around, and Filch's sudden worries didn't ease her anxiety. Snape's office door opened soundlessly on their approach and closed behind them without her Professor's touch. She waited for the familiar bang, but there was only dead silence and a lack of emotions, this time in strange contrast with Professor Snape's snarl and apparent rage.
"Have you lost your mind, Miss Rosier, already, or have you only decided to finally choose expulsion? Perhaps I failed to express how unfavourable the consequences would be, or, by chance, you've grown overconfident imagining you've managed to breach my mind?"
"No, sir, I haven't–"
"Of course, you haven't, Miss Rosier and no amount of raw talent would arm you to even try!"
It looked like he vented the worst of his anger; at least, Anne hoped dearly that he did. She noticed his face slowly returning to its usual shade, and his eyes lost some of that previous glint of madness.
"What sort of experiment were you imagining you conducted?"
Anne swallowed her fear and closed her eyes. Knowing Snape, this might be her only chance. "I had to try something, sir. I've almost broken down in Transfiguration; I've even lost my wand – hence the point loss. Everything was just going down from there. When I found I could move around in my head, I had to try it, and I forgot about everything else. Because when I reordered my house, I even found a void in my notes, and all the class work and even my …other readings… Well, they all have something in common, even Charms must have. I just couldn't find that yet, and I swear it's even better than homework because I had to revise these last almost three years, and with all the notes, not just classes, but the best thing was looking through the window, I finally felt safe, it's just–"
"For Merlin's last thread of nerves, Rosier, stop ranting!"
Anne opened her eyes and stared at the wizard in front of her. He wore some resemblance to Snape, the version that sometimes sat down with the older year students in the Common Room. But this one looked even younger and without any of his projected personae. The line above his nose ran deeper on his forehead, and his face seemed parchment-like, his eyes narrowed. Anne sooner saw than felt the pain.
"Sir, do you have a headache?" – The question slipped out without consideration, and Snape pulled his lips into an acerbic grimace.
"Any creature with a modicum of sense would have one if forced to listen to you, girl."
Anne swallowed again, this time her surprise. Had Professor Snape just rolled his eyes? Had he really, or was this the promised madness? Her attention caught the strange shade of her Professor's face; it looked greyer than pale, his fatigue plain to see even without her newfound ability to detect it.
Then she suddenly realized it was past midnight and Filch told her they'd been looking for her for hours! With his poor knees and Snape's headache – did he have a headache because of her? They both should have been resting instead! She didn't mean to–
"I'm sorry, Professor. I should have found a better way," – she apologized again, this time with feeling and genuine remorse. Snape lifted an eyebrow with evident surprise, slowly stepped around Anne and walked to his desk.
"Here," – he held out three books for the girl. "The reading you would never find in the library. The same you would have found at the Infirmary since Monday had you bothered to show up where you were supposed to be."
Anne took the books with remorse and gratitude. "I'm very sorry, sir."
"Yes," – he cleared his throat. "I believe you've already said that, Rosier. You're probably also sorry for the T I've given you for ditching my last class."
Anne gasped but couldn't protest. "When shall I return these, sir?" – She tried to divert attention from her embarrassment, and it seemed it also gave pause to her Professor.
"These are not catalogued. What you're holding belong to my private possessions, and I only wish to see them after you've mastered everything they contain. I expect you to peruse them with the utmost care, Rosier."
"Yes, sir, of course. Thank you!"
That curious eyebrow showing his surprise rose again. Then the door popped open behind her, and Anne could only mumble a quick Goodnight to those expectant eyes before Snape turned away. She slipped out to the cold corridor and hurried to her dorm, swearing to do better.
And she did, in a way. She hid the books before falling asleep and had no time to open them before her Wednesday classes. She felt sleepy and confused all day, only wishing to make herself some time to visit Filch and apologize to him too. It was not to happen if she took her duty to show up where she was supposed to be.
However, her escapades into her head proved helpful in the next few days because now she knew how to hide in that house and peek out the window. It made it hard to focus enough to channel her magic through the uncompliant wand, but it at least made her presence possible even in Transfiguration and the prep periods. She was present with homework. It seemed a feeble achievement after last year's overwork, yet she was glad for any small comfort.
Urquhart kept trying, and Anne relented and accepted his remorse by Friday. It meant she had to try to weather the crowd on the Saturday match but also that Vaisey and Bletchley sat by them as if she wasn't a pariah.
"Hestia has her things, don't bother if she's fuming," – Vaisey suggested walking down to the Quidditch pitch.
"She thought you were to tell on her to Snape," – Miles explained. "You cannot be surprised after receiving a package from that Huff girl. What's her name?"
"Amelia Fittleworth," – Anne said in a colourless voice. It was hard to hold up a conversation from the depth of one's head, and she felt she had to move all her muscles separately by intention.
"Well, it's a war on Hufflepuff. You cannot fault her," – Malcolm joined in. "And we're winning, of course, especially with your brothers' spells."
"Did they teach you hexes?" – Anne was surprised enough to be forced to check if she stayed in her head. She couldn't risk strong emotions, especially not in a crowd.
"Sure they did," – Miles grinned. "After they'd beaten us into plump, that was the least! And it's for a good cause."
Anne nodded. She could well imagine that Caleb would find hexing second-year Hufflepuffs a 'good cause.'
Everything was right as rain until Snape's robes somehow got on fire. She was so frightened by the spontaneous combustion she slipped out of the safety of her unpractised meditation, and all the uproar around the match assaulted her senses. Like hell unleashed with noise, panic, glee, and all the exuberance… she struggled not to faint again while Miles argued it was a distraction tactic of the Gryffindors and that Higgs would have caught the snitch without that!
Many people agreed with him, making them angry and unbearable, so Anne ran away and hid in her tower for the rest of the day. Her mother's owl found her there, weeping, pitying herself, and regretting hiding Snape's books in her dormitory instead of her secret place.
*/*/*
Dear Anne,
You made me so happy with your letter! And to hear that you learned those riffs is terrific! I can't wait to listen to you play at Christmas! You may try Robby Krieger if you're that good, sweetheart. I've always loved Riders of the Storm. Which one do you like, baby girl? We could do something together.
Your gran is ill again, so we won't visit this year. Don't pout. We'll have plenty of time to play instead!
Your studies must be tough. I don't remember ever hearing you complain. Can't Rachel help?
Loving you to pieces,
Mum
*/*/*
This time Anne descended to the Common Room in time to avoid any mishaps. Her mother's words, albeit sad because she had hoped to enjoy her time with her Muggle relatives, also helped. Having a reason to practice playing made her little meditation more effortless, and even the uproar against Gryffindor couldn't get to her.
Terence Higgs needed thorough consolation, at least in Flora Carrow's view, and her whole year was off to raid the kitchen and have a 'Higgs-is-better party.' When Professor Snape swooped into the Common Room with Miles, Urquhart and Terence, dark with anger and passing out detentions and censure like a twisted Santa Clause arriving early, it also became clear that the un-merry gang had met up with some Gryffindor fourth years, who were also about to rely on the house elves' generosity. Hestia and Vaisey fell victim to the following cursing bash. Flora received her Head of House's permission to spend the night at the Infirmary with her – allegedly horrendously cursed – sister.
Anne tried to hide her secret glee and hurried to her dormitory, which she only had to share with Sophie Borgin for a night. The third-year girl could never care less about the others, so she hoped for a pleasant and long evening there for a change. When Sophie disappeared into the bathroom, Anne unearthed Snape's books.
The Art of the Legilimens by Eliot Pagadow, The Magic of the Mind and Other Rarities by Vittorio Obscure, and Darker Tactics for the Blackhearted by Eugene Ephsos were very different tomes even by their appearance. The first two were more like booklets, and she was quick to run through the first Table of Contents:
What is Mind Magic?
What Branches of Mind Magic are Most Commonly Used?
The Obscure Branches – Occlumency and Legilimency
The Inner Mindscape of an Occlumens
Legilimency – a Mindset or a Threat?
The Silent War – Attack and Defence in Mind Magic
Anne decided that Pagadow could have spared the ink for the first few chapters and begun with the fourth. She found that the inner mindscape of an Occlumens matched the description of what she'd perceived in Snape's mind. Although the characterizations seemed less intricate than her experiences. About Legilimency, the author had little to say regarding the practice. Pagadow believed this branch of mind magic was a threat to the community, and he even advised against it, calling the method violent and dark.
Pagadow didn't mention Empaths, but he informed about 'involuntary practitioners,' who, in his view, were as volatile and dangerous as the Obscurials, so he advised the reader to avoid them. At this point, Anne was sorely tempted to throw the booklet into a shadowed corner of the room and was only stopped by the fact that it was Snape's.
Sophie returned from the bathroom and began her before-bed rituals, combing a hundred times through her hair and applying some flower-scented moisturizer, staring towards the centre of the room. It was impossible to continue the reading, so Anne leaned above her trunk to distract any unwanted attention. Rummaging through her belongings, she found the parchments she took from Filch's office and a non-descriptive wooden box she'd almost forgotten about.
Sophie finally went to sleep, and as soon as her breathing evened out, Anne lit her wand behind the curtain of her bed. Pagadow thought she was a dark witch, an involuntary practitioner of Legilimency, as dangerous as an Obscurial. And here, in a wooden box, she had a black wand that had chosen her. She must be a horrible person for – as Ollivander pointed it out – she'd also chosen the wand.
The small light at the tip shed on the familiar length of the maple wand, and for the first time, it occurred to Anne how strange it was she thought about it as a simple tool. He'd noticed that others loved their wands. How come it didn't mean more to her than a simple quill? Or a toothbrush. There was nothing extraordinary or magical about a toothbrush. She opened the box and looked at the ebony wand, contemplating its appearance. Black. A dark wand for a dark witch.
"Thestrals are not creatures of the darkness, little witch. They just live in the darkness." Ollivander's words didn't make much more sense now than a year before.
This wand was quite obviously black. Ebony. Like Snape's robes. Like Snape's– Oh, fuck, - Anne cursed loudly, then peeked out of the curtain to make sure Sophie didn't wake up. Like Snape's wand! Pagadow would hate the fact he kept looking into his students' minds! Was his wand dark too? Had all practitioners of dark magic dark wands? Was feeling others' emotions really that dark? She only suffered and didn't cause suffering. At least up to date, she hasn't…. Was it unavoidable? How?
In the last chapter, Pagdow finally said something worthwhile and suggested that the practitioners build up a mindscape to protect their 'innermost selves,' whatever that meant, and defend themselves that way. The problem was he still didn't tell; how?
The ebony wand looked elegant and beautiful. Father would hate this, Anne thought as she took it from the box, immediately feeling that familiar warmth in her wrist she kept evoking by force using the maple wand. It felt soothing. Reassuring. With a sudden decision, she pulled Filch's parchment closer and pointed the ebony wand under the hugging snakes:
"Revelio!" – she whispered a charm she'd only been reading about. The entwined snakes slid through each other's bodies, then along the margins to meet in the opposite corner at the bottom with palpable satisfaction. Their route encircled a short text, now visible, written in emerald ink.
*** "A Slytherin's Guide to Hugging Professor Snape" ***
At first, Anne could only stare, then she threw herself back on her pillows, lost in giggling. To hug Snape, indeed! Has anyone tried this, ever?! Then her grin suddenly faded because she should be even more ashamed if that was even a question. Anne sat up and stared at the parchment. Sure, somebody had… The instructions pointed towards an awkward encounter, something maybe both parties understood but would never reveal. They also suggested Snape would be dangerous.
Anne could well imagine her Head of House being dangerous, even enraged by unrequested closeness, she would have been… but somehow she sometimes felt he was in pain. She could recall the hunger his built-in protections around his mind emitted, soaking up connection, attention, and tact. She had to admit she wished she was brave enough to hug him when he looked so pale, having a headache only because she couldn't keep time and arrangements. She would have hugged Filch and Madame Pince, too, if she dared… and yes, definitely Snape.
Sophie mumbled something in her sleep, and Anne hid the words again, returned the ebony wand to its box, and extinguished the light on her maple wand. Falling asleep, she last wondered how the older year students felt about their Head of House when he sat with them once or twice a week, listening through their chatter and sometimes telling a story or warning against some madness. Had some of them ever found this parchment and hugged him too?
The following days were more pragmatic to avoid embarrassment. Flitwick had already shown his dissatisfaction with her Charm work. Anne only narrowly escaped losing more house points, finally producing an acceptable Engorgio charm followed by a quick Reducio on a practice pillow. The maple wand in her hand worked better in the mornings when she was still fresh than in the afternoon classes, tired by the day and exhausted by focusing on her wrist and partaking in all activities through the small window of that house at the back of her head. She had to stay aware of all nuances, all facial expressions and words others expected, or be the odd duck she knew she seemed.
She hurried against the crowd every lunchbreak to get to the Infirmary for a peaceful meal. Sometimes, Gavin or Amelia insisted on joining her, ruining it all with the best intentions.
Potions were the same as always, Snape didn't ask her, and she never offered an answer in class, keeping everything for her homework and brewing. Malcolm had the fantastical idea to move his cauldron by hers, taking the meagre peace she used to have in the first row's relative solitude. Anne hoped Malcolm would not recognize that Snape's attention was focused on the middle and the back of the classroom. She'd heard even the young Malfoy boy had chosen the first row. If he'd known Professor Snape from earlier, he might have also discovered already that he was hopelessly long-sighted and had never been keen on focusing nearby. She hoped Malcolm was a worse observer and moved back, intimidated. Alas, he didn't. And the Professor only raised an eyebrow and didn't step in either, even if he had to know how ill she felt about the company.
Malcolm also kept to this new sitting arrangement in Defence class, which was a modicum better, his presence sheltering her overexcited senses from Quirrell. They still discussed freaking magical pests, and Anne could have howled from boredom if not for the horrible teacher. Transfiguration was better, not even mentioned, and prep periods were abysmal. Still, she didn't lose another point in twenty-six days!
As a celebration, Anne stole Snape's next book up to her tower on Friday and sat to it with great expectations.
Obscure's Mindset of the Legilimens was a more focused work than Pagadow's booklet. Unfortunately, he didn't offer a Table of Contents. In the Preface, he mentioned the two main branches in mind magic, and his beliefs seemed less judgmental, furthering Anne's hopes.
At first. Then Anne flipped through the first chapter only to find the subsequent title, Natural Superiority; then the third, Aggressive and Hidden Attacks; the fourth, Information is Power; and the fifth, Moral Conduct and Personal Gain.
Hell, the bloke couldn't see a thing in Legilimency but a means to push one's ends and wrote as if mind magic was only a great tool or a weapon for an invisible battlefield. By the end of the last chapter, Anne was disturbed enough to silently vow against even looking at the third tome. No matter how detailed and thick it looked, the others had taken away the allure of that one.
A week before Christmas, Anne felt as if the twelve pine trees in the Great Hall were goading her to gather her courage and judging her for her weakness – she wanted to hug Professor Snape before Christmas. He deserved some kind of a present, and she honestly doubted he would accept anything else, or even this. No matter how hungry those sea wave-like walls seemed hungry for contact.
She hid in an alcove the evening before all students loaded on the Hogwarts Express for the winter break with half a mind still on her recently packed and closed travelling bag and half a mind still hesitating if she would take the leap of faith. Because what else should she call such an endeavour – hugging Professor Snape – following a questionable parchment than faith in an unknown Slytherin's information and advice… should she? Or should she run?
The Professor only turned up on the dim corridor a quarter an hour before curfew, when Anne's nerves were already on edge. And this time, his turbulent feelings swirled about him. Worry. Anger. Annoyance. Anne only realized she had left the safe spot in her mind while waiting when the emotions all but hit her, complete with a slight and nervous stomachache. Anne stepped out from the alcove and did as the parchments suggested.
Professor Snape started, ready to fight, then slowly, he must have remembered something because the initial fright gave place to surprise and acceptance. A very brief gust of gratitude and his mind closed like when an iron gate shuts. Anne knew she needed to flee even before the Professor's muscles tensed and hands lifted. She turned tail and ran wild through the shadows as far as she could before her plundering heart stopped her breathless. She'd done it!
Then she froze, startled by the ominous feeling. It was like the air was stalled and malevolent around her, and a strange garlicky smell also told her: she wasn't alone in the corridor. She pushed herself from the wall she was leaning to and stared at Professor Quirrell's back. She had no idea why but was suddenly more afraid than ever and felt miserably lonely.
Quirrell slowly turned to face her, and after a short pause, he rearranged his features into something he must have believed to be a benevolent smile.
"Ah, th-th-the Rosier girl, is it?" – Quirrell began, "ru-ru-runnnning in the hall be-be- few minutes to cu-curfew… breaking the rules, Miss Rosier?"
"No, sir!" – Anne cried out, maybe a little too quickly. "No, I'm already on my- I'd better hurry to the Common Room," – she was ready to turn away, but Professor Quirrell stopped her:
"H-h-how silent you are in my class, Miss Rosier. I escort you b-b-back to S-Sl- To your Common Room, and we c-c- discuss your anxiety."
"No! – I mean, thank you, Professor, but I'm really in a hurry, and–"
"Quirinus!" – A silky voice sounded behind Anne's back, and she suddenly felt sure a simple hug was not even enough for this man simply being around. "I've promised you a chat, I recall," – Professor Snape stepped closer, accidentally forcing Anne to the side by the corridor's wall.
She stepped behind her House's Head to give him space for free movement. "Miss Rosier, I believe you have to be somewhere else, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir,"- she nodded and scurried away. She didn't bother to take her leave from Quirrell too.
"S-s-Severus, there's no need-" - she heard before she'd left the corridor and the sickening feelings behind.
Quirrell's voice sounded strangely apologetic, almost fearful. Anne tried to not think about it until the next morning's calming brightness. The skies were grey and heavy with rain clouds, but she still felt better when the sun was above the gloom. Had Professor Snape figured out how she'd gotten to that damned corridor in the first place? Travelling towards London on the Hogwarts Express, Anne wasn't sure anymore if she was more frightened by this prospect or by Quirrell's strange friendliness.
She had time enough to lament her feelings because Caleb and Gavin sat with all their friends in a compartment, and she had no desire to join her dorm mates even now. Searching for safety, she ended up with a bunch of Ravenclaw fifth-years, all busy reading the whole way, which made excluding the "noises" from her mind easier. The Ravenclaws' emotions merged into a soft background hum, and Anne fell asleep before Edinburgh.
There were two good parts of Christmas. First, there were no guests. This also meant that the boys had time to reacquaint themselves with their local Muggle friends and went sleigh riding as soon as the snow fell on the 26th, leaving the house in blissful peace and Milton in a cuddling mood. The second was her first playing and singing with her mum, who was so generous with her praises that Anne's devotion to practice flared anew.
The forgettable parts were, of course, the lack of contact with her Muggle relatives and the shameful scene in her father's library, apologizing for her September behaviour. Marty delivered a long speech about family duties and good sense, which Anne struggled through, peeking out from her little inner house since she'd sensed her father's reluctance and discomfort. He felt false and duplicitous, and his words of duty matched his sense of obligations and reluctance. It was a theatre with little grace or skill, and Anne was only grateful for her cat's presence that helped her stay silent.
As a gift 'for her remorse,' she was admitted to this separated part of the family library, with permission to peruse any of the tomes. Of course, only after she was introduced to the protective charms on the more vicious items imbued with dark magic with a drop of her blood. She passed thirteen and could claim her right to her family's dark heritage. Anne pulled a hand above the spines of the old tomes, deliberately opening up her senses for their vibes. Some lured her with a ticklish feeling under her palm, others pulled various emotions, some, stomach-churning disgust, and others evoked a strange pulsing under her navel, which reminded her of that seventh-year boy in the Common Room lusting after his girlfriend before the Halloween feast. Anne withdrew her hand with a gasp and opted for a hasty retreat to her room.
Her thoughts inevitably revolved around that last experience. Lust. Was she ready for all of that, turning thirteen? Did her father believe she could weather anything now that the old religions would find her a bit more mature? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered reading she was supposed to match the date with the biological changes of puberty, and she knew she was well on her way with those… still. She didn't feel ready for this part of the world, even if it piqued her curiosity. Not even if her magic thought she was prepared to experience the most staggering change of all and opened her up to others' emotions.
Hell, she wasn't even ready to face her own emotions! She wanted to stay a child – the sparks of a beginning hysteria combined with her magic and prickled her skin and hair. Frightened by what she might unleash, Anne quickly reached for her travelling bag to divert her attention with whatever Snape's third and last book could offer.
Eugene Ephsos's Darker Tactics for the Black-hearted didn't promise much peace of mind by its ominous title. It was also a typical Dark Arts book, although her father kept telling her just an hour prior that there were no dark books, only dark authors and protected readers. Anne hoped he was right while she paid the usual price and let some of her magic seep into the book before opening it. Curiously, it didn't accept her sacrifice. It seemed Snape removed all magical protection from the book before he lent it to her. Compared to her father's approach, Anne found his thoughtfulness peculiar. Or he just genuinely believed that all students were nitwits.
The Table of Contents described three major parts in the book: A general preface introducing mind magic, this time in detail; an elaboration on the branches of the Art – as Ephsos called it; and a summary of meditation techniques, with breathing practice and drawings describing positions similar to Muggle yoga. She'd already seen some of the asanas in one of her mother's booklets and made a mental note to borrow it for the next term.
Her beloved grandfather clock suggested she had plenty of time before tea, so Anne dived into the preface. Ephsos described mind magic as a collection of various possible spiritual gifts, called the practitioners the gifted, and reminded that such aptitudes could be lent sparsely or showered on an individual depending on their natural openness, magical prowess, or their minds' capacity. He believed even some Muggles could show a measure of raw talent and argued that they also tried to describe such skills since the Middle Ages.
However, he said, the wizarding world named and counted these branches differently. He described the Art's defensive and offensive main branches, qualifying neither darker nor more shameful than the other. He identified the defensive branch as Occlumency and the offensive branch as Legilimency, both only blanket terms for various sub-branches a gifted person could either carry or endeavour to learn.
Occlumency, in this view, was divided into Defensive Self-indulging and Defensive Protective sub-branches, the first, in its most refined form, could absorb all negative emotion and illness, and the second could evolve into a Projecting Occlumens. The whole branch carried general personality traits, such as a penchant for brooding, being introspective, overly critical, and intellectual. A Projecting Occlumens could transform others' negative emotions and radiate them back to their subject tempered down, most valuable and effective for chimera-, horse-, or dragon-whisperers. He also mentioned a possible third sub-branch, Lie-detectors, which, in his view, could be understood as a transition towards the second branch, the Legilimency.
Discussing the sub-branches of Legilimency, Ephsos differentiated between Lie-detectors, Telepaths, Observers, Aggressors, and Latently skilled gifted personnel. The last one he understood was a Legilimens suppressed by his or her own Self-indulging Occlumency, in cases when a person's magic decided to protect the mind of the witch or wizard. Anne wished her magic had had the good sense to choose that.
With a sigh, she delved into the other subtypes. Telepaths had their use first and foremost in Divination, seeking answers from magic itself instead from their fellow men. This made her wish to take up Divination next year to test herself. An Aggressor was mostly self-describing. She had the impression that Pagadow and Obscure only had met this type: A Legilimens, determined to use his or her gift for personal gain. Surprisingly similar to the Self-indulging Occlumens, however, the latter seemed less dangerous for society in general.
The most detailed and exciting sub-branch was the Observing Legilimens, which divided further into Chanellers and Empaths. Chanellers could impact their surroundings with positive or negative emotions, magic, or other traits. They could even change the weather in a most developed state without spell-work. This, as Ephsos said, was the rarest gift. An Empath was also an Observing Legilimens, could sense plants, animals, physical symptoms, and emotions, or he or she could be an Intuitive Empath, which meant an excellent grab on discerning the comings and goings in their surroundings in a society or a group. Being an Empath also set typical personality traits, such as curiosity, active listening, self-awareness, high emotional intelligence, and open-mindedness.
Ephsos also suggested archetypes and the ancient elemental magic's connections to each type and subtypes, making the typical Self-indulging Occlumens the archetypical Lover, the Protective Occlumens the Soldier, the Lie-detector the Judge, The Telepath the Priest or Priestess, The Aggressor the Ruler, The Observing Legilimens the Wiseman, divided into Healer if Empath and Diplomat if Chaneller. This more-or-less sounded like a twisted recitation of some cards for Divination, but Anne was too overwhelmed to argue. She also realized that any reference to elemental magic went way above her head.
It was time for tea, and honestly, it wasn't a moment too soon. Eugene Ephsos must have been a wizard of particular academic interest because his classification and the general style of the text he created was more tiring than any of Anne's textbooks or whatever she had already perused from the Hogwarts Library. She only took up the book about two days later and re-read the Preface for better understanding.
Ephsos argued that these types were not mutually exclusive and under no means were designed to clash. If there was no reason for their coexistence other than the rarity of a matured type with natural talent, he also suggested that some inclinations for one or more types could be found in anyone, even in Muggles. Still, an inclination was insufficient to master any of the enlisted types. He didn't specify what he believed enough for mastery. Anne had a first question she wouldn't be ashamed to ask Snape if he ever let her discuss his books.
Homework and wild thoughts circling around mind magic and its typology ruled the last days of the winter break.
To give Anne and her brothers a chance for a short visit with Rachel and their grandmother, Monty arranged a portkey for them to Hogsmeade late in the afternoon on the 5th of January, and none of them missed the train ride when their father was kind enough to buy them a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks to relive some of his old memories, or when he was game for a visit in Honeydukes.
Anne and Gavin were all smiles and merriment, even in their long climb to the castle in the snow. The gamekeeper even mentioned how Caleb didn't share in their levity but only kept shrugging and mumbling about their father's strange ways. Anne was glad to have him back as she had known him before the Wizengamot, even if just for a day, and she knew Gavin felt the same. Somehow Caleb looked annoyed, and his mood didn't improve when his sister refused to attend the Great Hall and continued towards the Infirmary for a silent dinner instead of a feast. She could not do anything about her struggles in the Great Hall until she mastered the meditations Ephsos suggested, and she was afraid to experiment just yet.
But the types were funny to match with her acquaintance. She had already established that Rachel must be inclined to the Observer's Legilimency. At least, she was indeed a good listener and had a curious nature. She had no one to match with the Ruler type, even if the stories she'd heard about the Dark Lord painted him vicious enough to presume his inclination towards that type. And, of course, she must have been an Empath, just like Professor Snape suggested, matched with the archetype of a Healer. That didn't sound right.
Until she sat down in Madame Pomfrey's office to her dinner, Anne couldn't imagine having any power or determination to even entertain the thought of being the Healer type, unlike Madame Pomfrey. She thought she would never possess such skill, patience, and commitment, even less sympathy towards various others, irrespective of their House affiliation, their behaviour, or the sometimes bizarre vibes people emitted. Then she watched the mediwitch tending to a third-year Ravenclaw girl, who took bad on the train, and if she focused, she could sense the attention and care she radiated towards her ward. Strangely, there was no pronounced tenderness, sympathy, or pity among her circling emotions, and Anne felt a slight stomachache of hunger and endless care from her.
It struck her then that Snape was similar to the mediwitch. He never showcased any measure of pity or affection either, but he'd been the only one to care enough to recognize she had a problem, and he was the only one skilled enough to offer any remedy. Was he a Healer-type too? He said he wasn't an Empath, and it sounded even wrong to put him there. Snape didn't check the cubes for a natural Legilimens despite his obsession with peeping into others' minds. His noiseless office with its closed-up hearth, his brooding nature, and his obviously overly critical approach to anything and anyone suggested a natural Occlumens, who probably learned Legilimency. Intellect was also a trait easy to match to Professor Snape. Did that make him a Self-indulging Occlumens? Ephsos called those the Lover-type.
Anne giggled into her pumpkin juice. She did like Snape as her Head of House, but to imagine him as a Lover-type was like imagining a cow fly…. Which probably put him in the place of a Projecting Occlumens, a Soldier. Or maybe a chimera whisperer? Anne giggled again, thinking that whatever creature Snape had ever chosen to 'whisper to' must have been into severe browbeating.
"Bad chimera! Stop swinging that wasted tail hanging from your arse! Are you considering yourself a mighty predator? With such conduct? Two points from the Forbidden Forest for your cheek. I've told you plain and simple not to mow down unicorns with that witless venomous tail, you dunderhead!"
Anne coughed up the custard and tried to stop laughing not to choke.
"Have you finished your dinner, Miss Rosier?" Madame Pomfrey appeared in her office from nowhere. "You came late tonight, and it's soon your curfew. I need to reclaim my desk."
"Oh, of course! Sorry, Madame Pomfrey!"
For the first time, it occurred to Anne how much trouble she must have been in daily for the mediwitch, and without her even knowing the reason for her inconvenience. Why did she agree to this? Did Snape convince her? How?
Before another vivid fantasy could arise about Madame Pomfrey as a benevolent but dim chimera and Snape whispering to her that she was supposed to feed a girl called Rosier, she ran out of the Infirmary. Regrettably, she couldn't escape a laughing fit when the mediwitch swung a poisonous tail in the following image. She probably wore that rolled up under her uniform.
January's rain washed the snow into mud around the castle, rendering the making of an acceptable route to the greenhouses impossible and giving Mr. Filch even more work to do. Anne volunteered to repair the third-floor window that the wind had broken so the caretaker could have tea in peace after he cleaned up the Entrance Hall for the last time that Friday. When she was satisfied with her job, she planned to return the parchment with the hugging snakes to Filch's drawer, but she stopped short when she heard a familiar voice from the caretaker's office.
"… like father like son,"- the silky voice finished what must have been a longer grumbling.
"You knew it may happen. Whatever I was to tell you, you were the one answering that you'd agreed." That was Filch's voice, this time sounding opinionated and accusing.
"Geroff me, ol' man, I have no use for your tirades!" – Snape sounded impatient and fatigued. Or his voice just echoed in the small room if he stood with his back to the door? Anne peeked in and saw her Professor's back and Mr. Filch fiddling with the teapot. "What about the she-devil?" – Snape went on with a sigh. "I saw her washing the Owlery on Wednesday, and now she's up on the third floor. Who sent her to you this time?"
"That would be no one, lad. She came on her own."
Snape snorted, radiating disbelief.
"Aye, that she did," – Filch repeated. "She even said she was worried about my knees. Thoughtful one, that one. I find I don't mind her."
"Getting soft, old sergeant?" – Snape almost sniggered. He leaned over the small table and killed his cigarette butt before he vanished it with the ash.
"Say what you may, lad. I know what I'm thinking."
"And what is that?"
"I'll tell you when you tell me what ails her," – Filch growled.
Snape only shook his head.
"And why is that?"- Filch asked, annoyed.
"You can't protect her," – Snape answered after a long pause.
"Protect from what?"
"You'd better not know that," – Professor Snape seemed ready to leave, and Anne decided she would not wait to be caught. She backed away from the door and sprinted to the closest archway, then up the fourth floor and behind the tapestry with Nimue. She only stopped up in her side tower, panting more of her bewilderment than her flight.
She had just come to Filch from the third floor and was the only one there. And she cleaned up the Owlery on Wednesday as another favour to Filch. Why would her House's Head call her a devil? Why would she need to be protected?
The questions didn't let her sleep well that night, Anne's dreams filled with hazy images about Quirrell, the Headmaster, a storm, and Snape's billowing robes, making no sense for her by dawn when she finally fed up with tossing and turning and silently got ready for some early morning studying in the library.
She tiptoed down to the Common Room, but it wasn't empty. A seventh-year boy sat by the fire, busy with some Arithmancy work. She supposed her early morning must have been a late night for him. A wave of curiosity and joy hit her, and Anne turned to find the kelpie knocking its nose to the Common Room's window. The seventh-year boy looked up for the noise, lifted his wand, and a biscuit disappeared from a nearby tray on his wave, just to turn up outside in the lake. The kelpie happily swished its tail, gulped the biscuit, and swam away.
"How did you do that?" – Anne blurted before she thought.
"Modified switching spell. Fourth-year, Transfig," – the boy shrugged and seemed surprised to see someone else in the room. "Are you a third-year?"
"Second," – Anne corrected. "And switching spells need two objects to change out simultaneously."
The boy showed a finger to the tray, where Anne finally saw a water droplet.
"Modified,"- he repeated and turned his attention back to his work.
"Cool," – Anne grinned, but the boy didn't look up again. Another reason to take Transfiguration more seriously for Anne would have loved to feed that kelpie like the boy did.
She sneaked into the library before Pince showed up and sat to elaborate on the nature of transfigured objects for McGonagall. Anne explained the ethical side of practising vanishing spells on living subjects. She risked adding that since Un-transfiguration was part of the first-year curriculum, it should also be part of the second-year practice as a safety measure in the class work. She wondered if McGonagall would praise her efforts with an 'O' or take offence at her blatant questioning of the curriculum.
Anne shrugged off her doubts and pulled out Ephsos from her bookcase. She was yet to try any of the recommended meditations, and time was ticking to find a way around her sensibilities. She couldn't possibly continue without some additional help, always being behind with her homework and suffering through all the prep periods. She was tired of it.
Ephsos first suggested a visualization technique to 'form a safe haven for the deepest self' – as he put it, which Anne understood as the little house in her mind. Strangely Ephsos didn't mention anything even remotely similar to that. He suggested islands for the water-prone wizards, hilltops for the air-inclined, a magical forest for those with a strong sense of wood and nature, and a cave for those supported by the element of earth. He reasoned that fire was an aspect of the air as an element and that spirit wasn't substance, so it could not be taken as an element of support by origin, "…as it is commonly known," – he finished, giving Anne a minor mental breakdown.
Commonly known? She was yet to hear anyone using elemental magic in an argument, much less in practice. Elemental magic was so ancient and so much out of fashion even the History of Magic textbooks didn't elaborate on its use, only mentioning its existence as one of the former approaches. Anne paged back to the inner cover and read 1709. Damn Snape, this book was older than the bloody Gringotts!
The door silently opened just before her anger rose high enough to throw Ephsos in a corner, and she readily felt Pince's shock and concern seeing her alone among her precious tomes.
"Good morning, Madame Pince. I only forgot one of my homework assignments and didn't touch anything, not even the catalogue!"
This did it. Pince calmed, even the magic smoothed around her, but Anne felt cold looking at her. The librarian returned the greeting and ordered a house elf to feed more wood to the hearth.
Well, that was new! Anne recognized what Ephsos called an Empath's physical skills, which were yet to be known… well, if she didn't count feeling Madame Pomfrey's stomachache or Quirrell's usual discomfort… Aside from those, she'd only felt others' emotions until now. At least she fervently hoped that her hectic dreams had nothing to do with a Telepath's abilities.
The thought returned to seeking a solution, but her house visualization didn't match Ephsos' suggestions. Good for Snape! His magic must have a prominent link to the element of water. Now she also suspected that his colourful silky waves hid a solitary island. Lucky dog – Anne sighed and asked for the catalogue.
The only short summary on elemental magic named the five elements and their respective places on a Pentagram. Earth and wood on the left and right legs, air and water similarly on the arms, and the soul, spirit or psyche as the head, the top angle. It also mentioned cultural differences in approach and referred to the eastern classification of the elements as wood, fire, metal, and earth. In this case, air would count as psyche. It would sit in the middle or help to build a hexagram, and there was also mention and co-reference to septagrams as imagery descriptions of the worlds: the material, the under, and the above.
Anne felt lost and headed for Transfiguration, closing the summary with a thud. Even that must be better than having a fit or a meltdown in the middle of Pince's sanctum. The witch wouldn't thank her if she showed the hysteria she began to feel. At least Rachel taught her to recognize and suppress these unbecoming shows of discomfort.