Severus Snape and The Natural

by Helia Revelio

What if Severus Snape found another Natural in mind magic at the dawn of the second war? What if she was a dark witch with a Time Turner? This is a dark tale of the Wizarding Society, and of a forbidden romance. A tale of a Slytherin girl attending to Hogwarts since the year before Harry's arrival. Slow burn, EWE, Positive Filch! Rated M and i mean it!

25. Chapter 25

TN_ Chapter 25.

Summer 1994.

(Approaching 18)

The periods Anne spent at Hogwarts grounds that week with Professor Sprout were undoubtedly the calmest. Even those who usually lived in the castle had left for the summer but Hagrid and Mr. Filch. This gave the old building an eerie silence surrounded by the sounds of summer in the Forest.

When Anne ventured inside the cold and empty halls, Argus greeted her with a warning: "Nice of you to think of me, lass, but the Headmaster won't always be away. You should keep to whatever Mona has planned for you. I won't mind it."

"I thought the Headmaster was living above his office," – she wondered.

"There's a lot of places for him to be even when the school is on," – Argus smirked. "I won't leave this summer, and your Professor will visit too. But you shouldn't ramble off where Mona hasn't sent you."

"Sounds like detention," – Anne huffed, but then she chuckled. "I've been mocked since my first year about liking those."

"Aye, you're still an odd one," – Argus grinned back at her. He slowly strolled towards the great doors to escort Anne out. In the sunshine just a few steps from the castle, he stopped, and held his face to the warm light. "I meant to thank you, lass, you did well with your Professor. Gave him a shipload to think of, but did very well, indeed."

It was startling to think about Snape discussing her with Filch, especially remembering Argus' mocking tone after her Gran's funeral. When Anne only stared, her friend slowly turned away from the sunshine to look at her. "What?" – he grumbled.

She shook her head. She could either ask about the gossip about Snape, the spy-thing, his peculiar protectiveness of Madame Pince, or just stay quiet, and the last seemed the better option. Her thoughts were all over the place enough without the mild hurt she felt for being expressly taken for a fool and sent away whenever she offered friendship. Finally, she couldn't stop herself from asking whether Snape had said anything about her. The slightest sign or explanation would have been more about the man than what she'd gathered.

Argus smirked. "You confuse him, lass," – he told her.

"He thinks I'm a fool!"

"Does he?" – Argus' eyes narrowed. "Well, time to get to work then and prove him wrong again," – he nodded towards the open fields. "There's enough to get ready before the autumn, I heard."

Anne tried to smile as she took her leave and was reminded again to stay away from the Headmaster. It sounded like Snape's advice, and she tried to grasp it for an hour while sowing different types of bushes in parallel rows for Sprout.

If Caleb was right, Snape once escaped the Wizengamot with the Headmaster's help. Being a spy… It was hard to take seriously in the first place, but she was almost used to the unbelievable at this point. Yet Anne also had the impression Snape wished she didn't trust the old wizard. It somehow seemed more than the usual Slytherin distrust for the Gryffindor devil. He even taught her how to hide her thoughts to avoid him. Yet again, Anne remembered clearly when she'd overheard that Snape had made the old man a promise. Argus hated the thought of that. That was also clear. Yet the warning didn't come from Argus.

No matter how she turned it, it didn't make sense.

"Are you friends with the Fawley girl who went missing?" – Professor Sprout's question started Anne out of her lamentations.

"We're in the same House," – she tried to avoid a reply by stating the obvious. Sprout didn't mind it.

"I wouldn't be surprised to hear she'd eloped. Hagrid told me he'd caught her a few times behind his garden with that Patel boy." – She shook her head with a sigh. "Such a sad story. Her kin came here the other week, looking for her. They told the Headmaster the boy didn't take up the training at the Wizengamot either."

"Milan was offered a job at the Wizengamot?" – Anne failed to keep up the farce in her surprise. When Sprout nodded and obviously waited for her to add something about her housemates, she tried to mend some fences: "He once complained about Sirius Black and the danger," – she gabbled. "He'd said Black was just one follower of the Dark Lord, and he turned the whole world arse over teakettle. Perhaps he wished for a calmer place… or a safer job," – she offered.

"Perhaps. He wouldn't be the first to flee,"- Professor Sprout agreed. "If you're ready with the seeds, you should find Hagrid and tell him we need the Thestral manure for the vanishing mushrooms. Then you're free for the day, Miss Rosier. Enjoy the summer while it lasts, girl!" – she smiled.

Anne followed her advice and took Rachel to a chippy just to see her outside of four walls, then turned back time and took the afternoon shift at St. Mungo's. It only occurred to her some hours later how strange it was that the Prophet had cut back on reporting on Black since he escaped from Hogwarts.

Dear Annie,

Thank you for telling me about your Thursday tea at the Fawleys! I also got Eleonore's owl, and it freaked me out. I told her my uncle needed me on Tuesday so we could see her together.

By the way, Uncle Luis assures me they are just aiming at shadows. There's no way anyone would guess the truth. Not yet. I still wish Miranda was already settled and owled her mum! Do you think they are all right?

We could meet a little sooner at Fortescue's and agree on a plan. About noon?

I'm staying at my uncle's, so send your owl to the shop!

Sophie

Wednesday was abysmal with manuring for Sprout and then cleaning bedpans for the Bug Ward. Anne's only silent source of cheer was her memory about telling Filch she liked detentions. If this wasn't like one of Snape's worst, she never saw him angry!

When Herbert Spleen finished with the scrofungulus patients and cleaned his hands with a thorough Tergeo after the usual Sanitizer Charms, he stopped short and took a good long look at the new assistant wiz-nurse.

"What is your name, girl?" – he demanded in his slow voice. Anne's stomach jumped into knots, and she looked around to see if he meant her before she answered.

"Euphemia Brown, Mediwizard Spleen. Can I help you, sir?"

The wizard finally smirked and let some kindness seep into his glance. "No, nothing like that," – he shook his head. "But when I see someone smiling while doing chores like you do, I want to remember their name, Assistant Brown."

Anne felt the heat rush to her face, and the Mediwizard turned to leave the room. "Keep it up, girl!" – he said before he left, but his appreciation lingered in the air for a few moments in his wake, soothing Anne's nerves. Finally, she booked a small win, too.

The walk with Rachel had to be short that day because she needed the time to schedule her Thursday so she could be all over London and Hogwarts. Professor Sprout finally told her about the planned Triwizard Tournament early in the morning. She agreed with Ulfhild that the school hosted the dangerous event so something could rival the Ministry-organized World Cup. Although the Ministry also took part in the preparations for the Tournament, it clearly wore Dumbledore's name.

"Hopefully, it wouldn't repeat the tragedies of the past," – Professor Sprout added. "Not many read up about the history of the Triwizard Tournaments, but Irma tells me we are into a rough ride. The wizarding world didn't keep this tradition after the past champions failed to survive till the end of their contract."

"And the Wizengamot and the Ministry believe it will be different this time?" – Anne gasped. She'd just heard about the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang teams joining them in October and already lamented how challenging that would make life at the Infirmary.

"They are talking about precautions," – Sprout explained. "The Headmaster will hear some of us next Monday. You will have a day off, Miss Rosier. I expect it will take quite long to go through all the details."

"Madame Pomfrey should look at those details too," – Anne suggested.

"Oh, she surely would like to!" – Professor Sprout laughed without cheer. "She was one of those who voted against the whole thing. She and Professor Snape were pretty adamant we shouldn't revive the event."

"And you, Professor?"

"Abstained," – the rounded witch smirked. "What do I know, Miss Rosier? This is all politics. Better not get involved."

Anne would have had a good mouthful of opinion about leading school kids by the political needs of the Headmaster's other job, but if she learned anything from the Professor that day, it was abstaining from sharing her thoughts. Because Sprout's disapproval was fluttering in the air all around them as they talked and even after.

When she thought her mood couldn't be worse, it plummeted with an unexpected owl post.

My Darling Niece,

I heard with pleasure about your appointment with my friend, Eleonore, today. Keeping up good acquaintances is precious, and I commend your determination. But be careful, Anabella, and don't judge by what things seem!

Are both of your brothers residing in London?

Looking forward to our usual tea, my dear, expect my owl.

Your Aunt,

Duvessa.

She crumbled the parchment in her fist, and even its rattling sent her blood pressure heavenward. She chose not to Apparate to Diagon Alley so she wouldn't leave tracks, watched the Muggles on the streets around her all the way to the Leaky and wished the pub wasn't packed when she walked through.

Yes, a persecution complex was indeed contagious. But if it felt like the shadows were watching, and all the street corners and niches under doorways were slowly crawling on someone from all directions, suffocating and tickling all their senses – Well, she believed then that Snape and Caleb were almost behaving reasonably calmly. What the Hell was wrong with everything these days?

"Has the world gone insane, or is it just me?" – Sophie asked her when Anne finally slipped onto the chair by her table at Fortescue's, looking around the Alley to ensure she wasn't followed. It didn't take an Empath to realize Sophie was also a tight knot of nerves.

"Don't know…"- Anne looked around again. "But I don't have any sense of security lately. What does your uncle say?"

Sophie laughed nervously. "That I'm finally growing up."

Anne also had to chuckle. "Really? Well, this wasn't part of the advert!"

"Definitely not," – Sophie agreed. "Shouldn't we just be living the best years of our lives?"

Anne took up the frosted violet liqueur Sophie had ordered and raised it to her friend. "Here's to the best years of our lives, then."

They sipped their drink and let it soothe them enough to recognize the sunshine above the terrace.

"We need a strategy," Sophie said, putting down her glass.

"I'll follow your lead," – Anne said. "I met Sprout the other day, and she asked about Miranda. I didn't even know where to look! Did you know that Patel was offered a place in the Wizengamot staff?"

Sophie swallowed hard. "In the Ministry," – she corrected. "But it's all the same because it came from the Fawleys. That was when Miranda decided to flee, I believe."

"I didn't know the Fawleys had influence in the Ministry! Wasn't Eleonore put out with the Malfoys?"

"Oh, that she is!" – Sophie agreed. "But that's just it, I guess. Milan could have been useful in weakening the Malfoys… or reporting about them, at least… dunno. Did your brother suggest something about that?"

"I had no time to ask. And what to say about Miranda concerns me more. Has she owled you? Are they all right?"

"Not yet." Sophie watched the passers-by for a while, thinking and radiating a now subdued alarm. "Annie, I don't think Eleonore invited us to discuss Miranda. There's talk about Dumbledore having devised some plan to strengthen his position as the Supreme Mugwump. My uncle keeps asking me about some big plans at Hogwarts."

"D'you mean the Tournament?" – Anne stared at her. "I should have thought about it being the talk, but–"

When Sophie cut in and asked about the details, Anne told her as much as she knew.

"You shouldn't tell any of this to a Fawley before we talk to Mr. Burke!" Sophie advised.

"Why?"

"Because if you tell anything, they will think you could gather more and keep asking!"

Now Anne felt like the fool Snape believed her to be, and her hand unknowingly clutched around the pebble in her pocket. "So, what do you suggest?"

Sophie sniffed – eerily similar to Madame Pince when she made a hard decision – and raised her chin. "We, my dear Annie, are living our best life and know nothing about anything or anyone at all. We are the malleable youth blindly dancing through the best years of our lives, too stupid to assist our betters. It's a shame."

"Really, it is," – Anne grinned at her. "But I believe we should grab the opportunity to learn as much from our respected betters as possible so we may entertain Mr Burke. What do you think?"

Sophie grinned back, and finally, the world around them lost some of its previous hostility. Instead, it began to look like a decidedly fun place.

At least it did until they arrived at Eleonore's doorstep, where the house elf's measured bow greeted them, and the living room they were admitted was empty. Sophie looked at Anne hesitantly and sensed her friend's fear through magic, but also a weariness that belonged to the place… as if the walls and draperies emitted suspicions and even the air waited for something… she couldn't tell what. The room was watching, listening, like someone was peeking at them, whom Anne couldn't see.

She took a deep breath and slowly descended on the settee, forcing a smile.

"I will be so eternally grateful for last year's fun for Miranda and Eleonore, don't you? Merlin, I cannot imagine who else would have been so kind as to lend us their cauldrons and even that Almanac!"

Sophie mimicked her and found herself a place to sit. "Pity the brew didn't win," – she offered. "I still can't determine what the judges were looking for."

"Perhaps Eleonore can help us with that," – Anne nodded to her with approval. She could feel Sophie was confused but played along. "I was hoping for an owl from Miranda. She could use our recipes to find entertainment now that we need to return to Hogwarts, and she is through with the school."

Before Sophie could reply, the carved and painted two-winged door opened to let the Fawley matron in. She wore a smile that almost looked genuine and held Anne's hands for a second before gesturing for the girls to sit back as they were.

"So here we have you again after such a long time," – Eleonore began. "What have you been up to this year, my dears?"

Anne chatted about her research on lotions and salves, trying to avoid mentioning their medical use. She had developed different brews based on the Fawley recipes, and the Arithmancy behind them always entertained the old witch. She hoped she wasn't required to show details because that would have proven the medical nature of her endeavours.

"Were you working on all that with my grandchild, Miss Rosier? Her letters lacked the details."

"We all were devastated by the poor outcome, Madame. I doubt Miranda wished to try your patience with our further research."

She felt Sophie's gaze on her and acted like she was ashamed.

"We were hoping to find Miranda here," – Sophie boldly added. "Perhaps if we tried really hard this year-"

"Miranda, dear, is preoccupied with family business. I cannot call her away from her chores," – Eleonore sighed. "You will see, girls, after you also finish your school years, a young witch has enough duties and has little time left for youthful entertainment."

"Oh, of course, forgive us, Eleonore," – Sophie readily nodded. "We wouldn't wish to disturb her. We only miss our friend."

Anne scanned the air around Madame Fawley for ulterior motives and now gladly noticed that her suspicions subsided. She was worried and slightly confused. She must have hoped to learn something about her granddaughter's dealings, yet they seemed sufficiently dumb.

"I'll tell her when I see her," – Eleonore graciously told Sophie. "But now, this afternoon is about you, girls!" She called for her elf, and the tea trays appeared on the table. "What are the comings and goings at Hogwarts?"

Sensing Sophie's alarm, Anne began a thorough explanation about their House's hardships on the Quidditch field, the disturbing presence of the Dementors around school grounds, and the convict's unfortunate escape. Eleonore listened through her ramblings with remarkable patience and then asked about Milan.

"I'm worried about that ungrateful offspring of the Patels. Have you heard about that boy? He was supposed to begin his Ministry internship last week, yet there's no sign of him in town!"

Anne looked at Sophie and shook her head as if she was lost by Eleonore's meaning. "Milan Patel? I thought his family was into trading rare ingredients…"

The old witch hid her searching gaze behind a jovial smile. "Miranda knows I had a liberal moment in the winter. Even my grandchild's puppy could have proved his use. There's chances for all kinds!"

Anne's stomach churned against the blatant prejudice, and she had never been happier about her friends' elopement, but it wasn't the right time to discuss social movements. "She never said."

"Really? Well, with your aunt's understanding, I hope you can convince her! Travers, Macmillans and Rosiers are traditional allies in the Wizengamot, as you most certainly know. That thankless Mudblood could have finally proved his worth as a tongue about the Ministry's dealings if he only had the good sense to show up where he was supposed to!"

The girls blinked like fish in a net bag, waiting for the storm to wash away. Eleonore Fawley seemed ready to show her true self, and neither hoped for a pleasant experience.

"I'm sorry, Eleonore, I've never heard he had such an opportunity," – Anne tried.

"Shame!" – Eleonore declared. "The Ministry has never been more popular than now with the World Cup, and none of our associates will benefit. My sole consolation is that Dumbledore doesn't have a thing to do about this either, but of course, the old coot had to figure out a way to turn the spotlight to Hogwarts!"

"Hogwarts?" – Sophie looked up in confusion. "I thought there was an issue about the Dementors attacking some Gryffindors lately. And that mishap with the werewolf doesn't bode well, either. My uncle believes none of those helped Mr. Fudge's reputation."

"Mr. Fudge and his reputation! As if that was a thing!" – Madame Fawley waved off the thought. "No, my dear, all who count know that the Minister is only a puppet. However, our families don't benefit more from the Malfoys and the Wilkes pulling his strings than the illustrious Headmaster of Hogwarts' ventriloquism. Tell your uncle, girl, I'm glad to receive him and discuss the future of some of my jewels if he knows details about this new scheme at the school."

"Thank you, Eleonore!" – Sophie bowed her head with an almost genuine smile. "I'll be sure to tell him."

"Good. At least some of you youngsters know what you owe to your name."

Anne wished she was allowed to leave, yet she had to wade through Eleonore's questions about her aunt's dealings. Her best idea was to repeat what Duvessa had told her about visiting Malmo. She doubted she could convince the old witch and doubted it even more when the visit was cut short. Proving herself useless felt uncomfortable, even if that was precisely what they'd set out to do. Luckily, the Borgins maintained some of Eleonore's benevolence. Still, neither expected another invitation soon.

She was preoccupied with her thoughts even that day's night shift at St. Mungo's and was happy to clean shrivelfig leaves and skin the fruit for the Alchemy Room with Augustine Dice's supervision. The wiz-nurse quickly decided she knew what she was about and let her do her job in peace… or at least alone, because being peaceful while trying to make sense of all the gossip she'd heard wasn't possible.

"Ah, look, the green bird!" Frank Strawman cried out happily when he entered the Preparation Room, looking for something Sheambaum had ordered. "What have you so vexed now? Saw the leeches?"

Anne grimaced. As if a can of leeches had any effect on her after these years! "Nothing, Frank, and I doubt I'm fun tonight, sorry."

"Lemme' decide that, birdie. Just tell your Uncle Frank now, what's gotten into you?"

"Frank, you're not my uncle, and I'm telling you it's nothing," – Anne sighed. "It's just… I really think I loathe politics."

Frank laughed heartily and picked a small jar from the front row. "Who doesn't, birdie?" – he winked at her. "It's all about this tug-o'-war, with the big guys tryin' to sway the Minister. But the whole hustle and bustle is just bad for the like of us, whoever's winnin'. Get your pretty head off the mess!"

Finally sensing his benevolence and good cheer, Anne smiled at him gratefully. "I'll try," – she promised. But when Frank was gone, she realized that his words were surprisingly helpful:

She could almost see the Fawleys, the Macmillans, and the Travers at one end of the rope and the Malfoys and the Wilkes at the other. Dumbledore seemed to pull the middle into a third direction, with Fudge balancing on the tightrope like an acrobat. The picture was so vivid and funny she laughed up, too. However, wasn't this the case, indeed? Whichever group would prove themselves the stronger, Fudge would fall, and the rest would tumble like dominoes. Somehow, she doubted the Headmaster's private game could even the tension.

The weekend couldn't come soon enough. The Saturday morning owl from Sophie was short but reassuring (They're fine! See you soon!), so her walk with Rachel felt better. She finally asked her about her Gran's drawings and learned with astonishment that her aunt liked Kelly very much.

"She's a sweet girl, even if she likes talking nonsense," – Rachel summed up Gavin's girlfriend. "And she has a good eye for dresses, which you could use."

Anne blushed and hugged her arms close around her chest. Magic did whatever it could for the jeans Kelly had sent her, but her tops were either oversized or too revealing. School robes were easier to maintain and kept her comfortably hidden. It seemed she was done growing, but her dresses from last summer were just a little too small to be comfortable, and she promised Caleb she wouldn't use magic at home, so she couldn't transfigure them.

"I'll take some sundresses over to the Smiths and see if we can adjust them," – she concluded.

"Good," – Rachel agreed. "And you should try whatever her mother's seamstress came up with, too. We discussed this with Rose a million times, Anne. You need to be more confident. I can see you've grown up, and I will not ask about your secrets. But I'm not a fool either. What about that boy who used to call last year?"

Anne averted her eyes and tried to stay calm despite the sudden urge to scream. "He won't call again."

"So I've presumed," – Rachel smirked. "D'you have a replacement?"

"A replacement?! Rachel! He-"

"Oh, come on, it's not like you're too old to keep trying!" When her niece didn't reply, she took her hand, and Anne finally looked into her eyes. "I just wish I could see you happy before I'm going. Don't worry, I'm not in a hurry, but life is shorter than I thought. Just don't give up on love, will you? I also had my good times. I wish you had yours, Anne."

Rachel's love swirled around them, and Anne nodded with a smile. There wasn't anyone she could even think about, and with all the nonsense of the world, her stomach jumped into knots sooner by anxiety than by any hope or fuss over a boy. But Rachel loved her, and that was enough to smooth her face for the moment.

Probably, that was what made her say yes to Dan White that evening. The Smiths spent their time their usual way, discussing little things and the next season for the Reds, and the White brothers came over to watch a film Gavin rented. It was astonishing how easily her brother found his way among the Muggles! Anne was proud.

The short dress-show she and Kelly had performed in the girl's room ended up with them in various accessories and miniskirts on the sofa, giggling and flicking popcorn into the boys' hair, and Anne felt she could breathe freely. The room slowly filled with whatever emotions the film prompted from the viewers. Anne also sensed the harmony between Gavin and Kelly, and Aida's distant serenity seeped in from the other room. Then, a splash of curiosity hit her, and Anne's gaze met with Dan's. There was openness and some distant intent in the boy's eyes, something warm and tentative.

When she smiled at him, feeling loosened from the comfort of this family and soothed by playing, she also sensed a hint of admiration. Then Dan switched places and sat behind Mr. Smith. Now, he was close enough for his lifted ankle to touch her knee. When something silly happened on the TV, and Anne chuckled, he leaned closer and tried to continue the joke. A year or two before – it was impossible to count time with a device like she used – she would have thought hard and long about his motives. Now, Anne was only glad to be an Empath. She didn't need to lament Dan's intentions. He advertised them loudly all around in the air and magic.

A memory crept on Anne slowly about a boy who touched her with so much kindness his moves and kisses stopped her whirling mind… Dan didn't feel kind or loving, but there was some decided tenderness around him. Anne let her knee lean stronger onto him and didn't mind when his shoulder collided with hers. After a while, he softly mentioned his brother would spend the night with his date. Anne politely smiled, trying to figure out his meaning until the boy's awakening desire lit the air.

"Ah" – she almost giggled when she understood him. Dan flashed her a wide, wolfish smile.

"So?"

She wondered where all those pick-up lines she'd read in the papers had gone while she looked the other way. Was this all he could come up with? Her questioning gaze met with only patience and hope. Dan wasn't about to lie to her. This wasn't a romance or anything life-altering… He wanted sex. He rented with his brother and had an empty flat for the evening. Instead of confusion, only a hint of worry came. She wasn't prepared for something like that but wished her thoughts had left their usual tracks. But it wasn't right!

Anne turned away and watched the film, not knowing what it was about anymore. You're such a goody-two-shoes little thing. You don't rebel, you don't quarrel, and had never had your clothes torn or mud on your shoes! I wouldn't have had a friend like you, yet I have you as a daughter. Her mother's words came from nowhere, and the anger she'd passed on to the Wiggentree now returned with a vengeance.

She looked at Dan, and the boy promptly returned her gaze. The question was still there in his eyes. He seemed competent enough to drive away her anger. He was hefty, in his early twenties, and he wanted her.

"Do you-" he grinned triumphantly at her before she could finish.

"Of course, babe," – he whispered. "Come?"

Anne followed him from the room and let him tell Aida he'd just show her something on the second floor. Their steps reverberated in the stairwell awkwardly, and she almost thought better of it when Dan fumbled with his keys. Then he put a confident hand on her waist and pulled her close on the threshold.

The kiss tasted foreign, but his emotions swirled around them, and Anne found she could just follow their lead. He wanted this enough for the both of them. By the time they stumbled into the anteroom, kicking their shoes off, tumbling into each other, she was almost as taken as he was.

The hateful memory of her mum's letter mixed with her sorrow about sending Paul away. She didn't deserve more than this, but she wouldn't surrender to this horrible world only because she was such a loser! She would make herself happy and take what she could get! Dan's lips were all over her neck and face, trying to map what she liked while his hands caressed wherever he could touch her.

"Wait! One condition!" – she panted and tried to lift a hand to stop him.

"Whatever you want," he grumbled, kissing her warning index finger. It was fun and gave her confidence.

"Then two," – she chuckled. Dan kissed her like a madman. It was sloppy, and she ducked. "Protection," – she managed to breathe into his chest when he hugged her and ran a hand down her hair.

"Sure thing, it's inside," - he took her hand and stepped towards the rooms. "And the other?" – he asked after a few more steps made them collide by another door.

Anne swallowed her nerves and let her anger strengthen her resolve. "I want you to tear something."

"What?"

"My clothes. I want you to rip them."

When Dan stared at her, she thought about running, but his surprise soon gave place to glee. "It will be as wild as you want it, babe!" – He promised with a wide grin.

She could sense he felt lucky and could hardly contain himself anymore. She wondered why, as long as he let her, then all washed into a crazed cloud of greed and lust.

Monday was sober. She took out Rachel to a chippy, read all the news in the paper about football and the changes for the next season, and listened through all the gossip at St. Mungo's in the evening. Her shoes were finally muddy, and she refused to lament about her tryst with Dan. At least she knew she was safe, and she would be even safer after drinking up a good batch of contraceptive potion right from the A-Room supplies. It was fresh, and the dose was set to protect the consumer for a month.

Not that she had time to lament her idiocy. She'd just got comfortable pegging away at the Poisons Ward, and she hardly gave a thought to her pissed uniform before she had to change into something presentable for heading to clean the Thicky. She already knew enough to be weary when she saw Wiz-nurse Imogine White.

Imogine belonged to the Emergency Ward, so her appearance only meant another encounter with Mediwizard Dagworth. However, she seemed so disturbed that Anne – Effie – stopped mid-motion to listen.

"Come, this can wait! Wendy is stuck at home, and we lack hands at the Bugs."

Anne slowly put down the used bedsheets. So, she could avoid Dagworth and the awkwardness? "The Bugs? I thought-"

"We received a hag with stomach cramps, and Apprentice Blatant decided that's Spleen's problem. He asked for you – particularly."

It was only too plain to see how intrigued Imogine was, but Anne had no idea how to explain Spleen's favouritism for one who could smile when doing disgusting chores. By the time they parted on the second floor, she could hear the hag's shrieks, so she received a relieved nod as soon as she entered the examination room and cast a silencing charm on the door without asking. Agatha, Spleen's wiz-nurse, was an elderly witch with few words and a keen mind to observe. Her nod counted as a small win already.

Not for the hag, though, who looked decidedly odd. She lay in a fetal position, reeking with hunger and pain. Anne sensed she craved something deep under the torturing cramps, but she couldn't fathom what that might mean. Apprentice Tinker fumbled with the diagnostic charm and mumbled about alerting the Poison Ward when the wiz-nurse pointed a practised hand at the patient's lips. They were light pink and rubber-like, and the skin around them seemed almost frilled with similarly coloured little spots.

"Deficiency?" Tinker stared at Agatha. "Deficiency of what?" After a few more diagnostic charms, he finally asked the hag what she'd eaten and gestured for Anne to scribble it down. Potato, roast beef, beetroots, and pie did not indicate malnutrition. "I'll get Mediwizard Spleen," – Tinker decided and left the hag for the wiz-nurses.

Agatha's fatigue was palpable. Anne heard that not everyone liked the night shifts. "She's calming down," – the wiz-nurse said softly, and Anne nodded that she was ready to watch if she needed a moment. But as soon as she ended up alone with the hag, her watery eyes popped open, and her eager curiosity launched into Anne's mind.

"You touched my magic… you're different!" "Where are you?" "Show me!" "Show yourself!" – The voice whispered in her head like the wind rustling among the leaves. The branches of her protecting forest stood in the hag's way, and Anne hurried to relay harmless tidbits about her day… walking through the Park, looking at the papers, cleaning up the wards… the voice didn't relent: "Show me!" "Show!" "Don't be afraid! I know you!" "I can keep a secret… I can be silent… I can listen… you'd never be alone…"

Anne paused, and the hag must have sensed that. The leaves stopped the rustling, and she could only sense the presence that was waiting…. It would wait endlessly because she was so precious… she was so warm, she was so alive… she deserved happiness and joy… she should step closer… she should reveal –

"Mrs Cox, I understand your stomach was misbehaving," – Anne turned towards the door, cutting eye contact, and the cold world plunged back into place; she almost heard the thud. "I am Mediwizard Spleen. Let's look at your Healing Charts!" – the Mediwizard smiled jovially, and Anne silently begged Agatha to be dismissed. She wasn't that lucky.

While Spleen examined their patient, she felt her malice and hunger reverberating on the walls.

"Thank you for your patience," – Spleen finished with a measured nod and herded his staff outside. Anne could finally breathe again. She still tried to hide the tremble in her knees. "Apprentice Tinker!" – Mediwizard Spleen began, this time his tone was far from jovial. "What are the differences between a witch's and a hag's system?"

The apprentice first only gaped but then tried his best: "They are similarly built. Only… hags have inherent dark magic, and witches can make their choice…?"

"Are you asking me?" – Spleen demanded. "You've just finished for the day. Go to the office and learn about hags! Wiz-nurse Prix?"

"Yes, Mediwizard?"

"Fetch pork blood! I don't care from where or how… you may ask the A Room."

"Yes, sir."

"What happened inside, Brown?"

Anne's nerves stood on their edges, and she looked at Spleen with alarm, but the jovial hint of a smile had returned.

"N-nothing much, Mediwizard… I- phased off, I guess."

"So that's the way they put it nowadays." Spleen bit into his lower lip and contemplated Anne for a long moment. "Whatever she lured you with must have been a lie, girl. Was this your first time facing Dark Magic?"

Anne thought it best to tell the truth. "I once was cursed… I could fight that."

"And now?"

Shame and discomfort just gained a whole new meaning. "I didn't know I was supposed to fight, sir."

Spleen sighed, then cast a hasty diagnostic charm over her. "No harm done," – he smiled. "Go back to your duties, assistant Brown. We will manage here."

"Thank you," – Anne mumbled. It felt all so hollow after those moments… "Mediwizard Spleen," – she called after the man before he disappeared on the corridor. She gathered her courage and stepped after him when he stopped. "If I had listened to her lures… what would she have done?"

"Why, she would have cured herself most efficiently, I imagine. Your fresh young blood would have sufficed if she couldn't catch a child."

Anne was still staring at the empty corridor minutes after he was gone.

The night was long, and somehow, she couldn't return to her usual track. Chores became chores, and she did not have fun with her minor duties, watching the more practised others and learning what she could. Whatever she was doing, she did it through the lingering fright until she had enough and braved the Bugs Ward again before dawn.

She had to face that hag to keep her bearings because Spleen was wrong. Mrs. Cox didn't lie… she had touched the hag's form in magic indeed; she had read her emotions and feelings; she had gotten a taste of her pain and struggles, the cravings, the malice, the hunger… How could she have known?

When she silently entered the room, the hag was sound asleep. Anne first only stood in the semi-darkness, lamenting her boldness and the attempted Legilimency. If this creature thirsted for her blood, why did she try to reassure her? Why did she ask her to show herself?

Without stepping closer, she adjusted the protections around her mind, then tapped into the air and magic, trying to sense the hag. She seemed… content. There was a peculiar undertone to her presence, a strange murmur in magic, earth coloured, ominous… when she focused on it, it rumbled. Anne expected something like an earthquake, but the tremble found her magic and tuned on it… she didn't feel threatened anymore.

The hag was still asleep, but Anne couldn't resist stepping closer. She didn't look wrinkled and ugly like she used to, not one bit repulsive. Slowly, her features morphed into someone at peace with the world. The serenity of her resting form was captivating, and her magic suggested she had wanted to share this with Effie. She had tried to share her secrets, and the St. Mungo's staff had robbed them of the experience!

When Anne's ire awakened against Spleen and Agatha, the hag's eyes popped open, and the next moment, she heard that rustling whisper in her mind: "Show me yourself!"

Safe behind her forest, Anne recalled how close she'd come to throwing herself into a Dementor's mouth. "It was strange to see Snape so peeved," Caleb had told her. Of course, she realized then because he had been the only one who probably knew what she had been about to do to herself. But hags were not Non-Beings…

"No," – she calmly relayed. "You show me!" She forced focus and determination and stared into the hag's eyes until they looked as watery and sap-coloured as for the first encounter. "YOU SHOW ME!" – Anne repeated, and the eyes disappeared behind her when she delved into a mind whirling with rarely contained desires, hurt, and repugnance.

Swirling colours of blood and mud slowly drew the image of a hill. It stood above some magical fog that covered the village underneath, and a legion of children were climbing up its slope. The chilly air brought the smell of fire and hot metal, and strange creatures hovered above a cauldron at the top of the hill. "Come!" – she heard the rustling whisper, and so heard the children. They clambered toward the hilltop through thorny bushes and rocky falls. Some whined, who fell, but enough marched on, and the hags at the hilltop were crazed in anticipation and glee.

Anne pulled her curious mind out of the hag's dream and stared at the repulsive, wrinkled creature noisily snuffing on the hospital pillow. The trickle of pig's blood dirtied the sheets under her chin, and Anne could finally tell the air around them: "So that's what you are."

"But who are you?!" – the hag's magic demanded.

She shook her head, and backed to the door, turned the knob without looking, and had her escape.

The morning lights fell on the town when all their team left through a side door after the shift. The buildings looked grey in the sleepy sunshine, and the world smelled of dust. Anne let reality wash her senses, but no matter how tired she was, she couldn't imagine retiring in this strange mood. Rachel had to wait.

Hogwarts' grounds, the clean air, the climb uphill to the Greenhouses, and Hagrid's raw laughter answering Professor Sprout's soft words sobered her. It would have been the wisest to keep her experiences to herself, but after watering the rows of potion ingredients for almost an hour, listening to the chirping birds, and the erratic discussions around her, she couldn't stop herself from mentioning the hag.

Of course, she couldn't talk about St. Mungo's, so she ended up with a peculiar tale about meeting with someone who told of old gatherings at hilltops, poisoned cattle, and robbed cradles… and when she finally got to ask her question, both Hagrid and Sprout were staring at her with unusual weariness.

"Why do the DADA textbooks omit these things? I can't understand. And I also heard they use pig blood nowadays, but Professor Binns never once mentioned that either!"

Sprout straightened and peeked at the groundkeeper before she replied: "Old tales are not only just that, Miss Rosier. You should be more careful out in the world. Bluebeard, Fowler's Fowl, the White Dove – even the Muggle tales preserved some of the darkness. They might mostly talk about bridegrooms, but the message is the same."

"But she mentioned serenity and joy before… before the end…." Anne argued. Hagrid couldn't take it any longer:

"Joy, eh?" – his voice boomed with disapproval. "I say, Anabella, you should ask your Professor one day about the joys of the darkness. He will surely have a lot to say."

"Come now," – Sprout tutted. "You don't need a defence expert to explain that! Look at alihotsy! It's used to enhance mood, but above the recommended dose, it causes hysteria and mania. We rarely talk about Spiky Bushes being semi-sentient and feeding on the remains of those their spikes got down. Just like Devil Snare and Snargaluff. The hardest part about saving a student if gotten by their spikes and not only the vines is their reluctance to be divided from the plant. Also sentient. So are the Mandrakes, and we cut and use those for various brews."

"Just like a hag would say they harvest the weakest," – Hagrid nodded more seriously than Anne had ever seen him talk. "They upset the minds of those they can. Of course, they cannot, since the legislation," – he added with a shrug. "I know there had been one," – he scratched the nape of his neck. "I do recall some or another…"

"Just like we do, to be honest," – Sprout took the word from him. "To process the Mandrakes, we first add alihotsy to their manure. That way, they rarely put up a real fight. I knew some we couldn't process in time, and they demanded "a fix" when the substance ran out."

"You drug the Mandrakes?" – Anne stared at her. It gave an even darker twist to how the petrified students had been revived. "You didn't let me see it in my third year!" – she mumbled, but Hagrid must have heard her.

He explained, "You cannot expect them to even suffer for our purposes. The hags' argument, and all their kin's, is the same: you cannot expect something capable of defending itself to just sit around… especially not if it has some magic. Which reminds me, Pomona, if we have to prepare for magical beasts, I might better make some clearings in the Forest, and someone should chant a magical ward around to contain what we'll receive."

Forgetting about Anne's problem, Professor Sprout readily turned to the next dilemma. "Well, Filius is visiting family, but Severus will be around. You should ask him before it's August, and he leaves again. And if you met up with a hag, Miss Rosier, you should just report it to the Aurors. I don't like to think about one having told you of these nasty things."

"Does Professor Snape leave in August?" – Anne asked instead of pushing her luck on with her shady tale.

"Aye, that's his habit. It always had been," – Hagrid grinned. "He leaves Hogwarts like most but returns whenever needed until August. He says he's got better things to do then. You could ask him, girl," – he added hopefully, but Sprout wouldn't hear that.

"Now, you're only getting this poor one into trouble! My trainee shouldn't be mocked like that, Rubeus, I am warning you!"

Hagrid playfully lifted his giant hands before his chest, so the tiny witch let her anger go with a chuckle.

"Thinking about it, Miss Rosier, I wouldn't advise mentioning such curiosity along the year either," Sprout added. "I just heard the Ministry called for old Crouch to supervise the Tournament. We all should stay on our best behaviour. Even you, Rubeus. No beasts but those that will be allowed!"

Hagrid grimaced, and they both shook their head. Finally finding something more intriguing than hag-magic, Anne spent the rest of her morning trying to gather something about that frightening Ministry wizard. She couldn't learn much, but when she received Sophie's long-awaited owl in the evening with an invitation, she knew exactly what she wished to ask from Mr. Burke.

She couldn't wait for the afternoon, so she first baked a cake and then decided it wasn't nice enough. Rachel laughed at her antics but didn't mind when she took the dilapidated delicacy to the Smiths, preparing to purchase one that suited Mr Burke better. A Muggle cake would suffice. He must have enough of Fortescue's… although those colourful sugar butterflies….

The Smiths weren't home, and she rang the doorbell for the White brothers. Dan stood on the threshold in his boxers, astonished but in good cheer.

"Babe, that's something! You didn't need to…" – he winked at the package, making Anne giggle.

"That's not for you, smartarse. You'll have to give it to Aida. Now give way, please!"

When the boy stepped aside, she manoeuvred into the kitchen and almost dropped everything when two arms rounded her waist from behind. "Stay a while, lovely, you look tense," – Dan hummed.

"I'll be tenser if I don't get everything done."

"Are you sure you have so much to do on a day like this?" – Dan forced her.

"I have a list. Now, will you deliver this when they come back?"

Dan finally stepped away and promised that he would.

"Thanks," – Anne smiled, finally sensing the awkwardness. "Hey, I've been thinking, and what we've done was–"

"Don't bother, babe, no strings attached."

She could sense his confidence and calm. He didn't even seem too disappointed. "So you don't mind if I leave already?" – she tested.

Dan grinned at her. "It was good. I wouldn't mind a re-match. But if you have things to do, you do them. We owe each other nothing."

It was peculiar. Certainly not something she'd ever read about in Hestia's booklets… damn, she should find a better source to compare life than those!

"Cool," – she smiled then. "Kiss?"

Dan shook his head. "No need to tease, babe, you're not my girlfriend."

"Good," – she nodded. It was strange, but she was happier like this. "Erm… then what…"

"D'you want a label?" – Dan eyed him with a hint of disbelief, then shrugged. "Could be a fling or a one-off. Though, a fling's always better than to fuck around."

"A fling," – Anne tasted the word. "See you then, I guess…."

Dan opened the door for her but didn't linger around. A fling - she mused. Certainly better than to explain herself. If she was honest, she also had no clue how to do that. She had hazy ideas about what she was about.

She bought the loveliest cake in a Muggle confectionery and headed for the Leaky to reach Knockturn. The weeks with the night shifts surely had their perks, although she was afraid to even imagine what they would make of her Hogwarts schedule. She wondered whether Snape had this in mind when he pressed her to return to school. Most likely, he was into a severe surprise.

She fumbled for her wand behind the Leaky and thought about Snape while she tapped the blocks. If Caleb was right about him – Two owls took her by surprise, and she fell on Diagon Alley's cobblestones trying to balance the cake. Her wand rolled away. Perhaps she should have grabbed onto that to levitate the package…. or shrink it! Shite! Passers-by were sparse, but she hated to be a spectacle. Holding the cake in one hand, she crouched down for her wand, entirely missing, when a dark figure disappeared behind a Disillusionment Charm on her right. The owls relentlessly picked at the package in her hand.

"Would you wait just a second?!" she told them.

She found a ledge and finally pocketed her wand, leaned her package on her lifted knee and accepted the small parchments from the birds. Reading them greedily out on the street was inelegant, but she couldn't contain herself. Her freshly adjusted sundress wrinkled at all the wrong places, but both sets of handwriting looked familiar.

A-bee,

If you have any idea what that hag of an aunt we are cursed with wanted at E's today, let me know ASAP

C.

Dear Niece,

Whatever your brothers are afraid of, I certainly have nothing to do about that. However, we need to talk to them. This will influence you all.

Reply today, or I'll need to set out to find you.

D.

Her mumbled curses cut short when she sensed some movement from her side, but she saw no one when she looked. Bloody persecution complex! She crumpled the parchments with one hand and stuck them into her bag. It was too small, and she couldn't close it.

"Stick," – she ordered her belongings to stay inside with a wand move, then looked around before she walked down to Knockturn with studied nonchalance. Borgin and Burke's wasn't hard to find, and by the time she pushed down the latch, she didn't have that disturbing sensation as if someone was watching her anymore.

Burgin and Burke, since 1863, greeted Anne with the smell of dust and a wash of trembling awareness. Inside, the shop was only dimly lit. The counter stood alone, polished and practical, amid shelves and boxes, trunks left half open offering strange relics, at least three major book cabinets and various furniture. There was an ottoman she wouldn't have approached under duress, although she wouldn't have been able to tell the reason, some wardrobes, a small mahogany desk with a small standing lamp seemingly made of bones and carved to show tortured faces under the waxy canopy. She also saw jewellery showcased in the shop window and uncountable smaller objects. One of those, a painted porcelain tiger with an up-curved orangey tail, all but called to her.

"Can I help you, Miss?" The voice was familiar, and Anne turned with a broad smile to see her friend.

"Sophie! I didn't even hear you enter!"

Sophie overlooked her words and stepped closer to see what caught her eye. "We do have some knick-knacks, wouldn't you say?" – she grinned. "What have you been watching?"

Anne returned her gaze to the shelf for nips, but the tiger that had seemed to wave his tail at her now looked only dusty and old.

"Strange," – she scolded. "I would have sworn that guy was greeting me when I entered," – she showed a finger at the tiger, and at the same moment, in magic, she heard its roar.

Sophie huffed a surprised chuckle. "That one? Exactly how anxious can you be?" She walked over to the shelf, pulled a pair of gloves, and lifted the tiger. "Semi-dangerous object, cursed or charmed by the manufacturer. It dates back to the eighteen hundreds," – she recited like homework. "I've been told a traveller brought it back from Thailand, and it doesn't like adversaries. Sadly, I don't know if we can re-home him. He is yet to make a friend."

Anne gaped at her while the porcelain tiger viciously tried to attack Sophie's fingers. The rumble in magic began to grate on her nerves, so she tapped towards the beast to figure it out. It was more protective than anything but also confused.

"Nasty!" – Sophie scolded the nip and returned it to its usual place, close to the window.

"What does it want to protect so fiercely?" – Anne asked after, with a last scoff, the fragile beast finally laid down.

"Protect? I don't remember reading about that part," – Sophie shrugged before a deeper voice joined their conversation.

"We never know, do we? What has it told you, Miss Rosier?"

Anne felt an embarrassed flush over her cheeks, and she didn't dare to look at Mr Borgin when she answered: "Told? I just assumed… when Sophie said it would need a friend… and it also doesn't like adversaries… What adversaries would a porcelain kitty have?" – she tried to smile, touching the confidence she was beginning to gain at St. Mungo's. "Maybe he needs a friend to fight his challengers… somehow…"

The tiger lifted its tail and waved twice.

"Looks like you two are in agreement," – Mr. Borgin deemed. "Perhaps the tiger has just found what the poor thing had been waiting for. I wouldn't price it high for my niece's friend."

"Uncle Luis! You are Incorrigible! Anne came for tea, not for purchasing!"

Sophie's cry made the old man step back, and he looked Anne over, contemplating the package in her hand a moment longer than the rest.

"My mistake," – he bowed his head with a practised half-smile. "Luis Amadeus Borgin, the second, Miss Rosier. I am charmed already. Sophia has been waiting for her friend anxiously."

"I am very pleased to meet you, sir," Anne stepped closer and offered a hand, onto which old Borgin breathed a kiss without hesitation, to her greatest surprise. "Sophie loves you very much. When we feel upset in the Common Room, I just need to ask her about you and the shop, and she regains her vitality."

"And she possesses much of that," – Borgin looked over at her niece, and Anne enjoyed sensing the pure affection he had relayed towards her friend.

The niceties were endless. She was shown to the rooms behind the shop and was offered tea and polite chitchat, mostly about her experiences at Hogwarts. The cake was accepted gracefully, but nobody cut it. There wasn't an uncomfortable word, a hint of her relatives, or anything even remotely controversial. What made the whole experience less boring was the undercurrent in magic.

Luis Borgin had a keen eye, and his attention lay much deeper than his words. Anne was sure the old man knew Mind Magic, even if he wasn't Occluding. She could perceive the moment he recognized her curious little attempts to gather more about his mood, about the room, Sophie's state of mind… but he didn't mention any of his consideration about her dealings. He only listened in magic. Just like Anne.

Finally, Mr. Borgin proposed a guided tour through the shop, and when his idea was met with enthusiasm, he excused himself, trusting their guest in her friend's care.

"So what would you like to see till my uncle reports to Mr Burke on you?" – Sophie asked with a grin when they were left alone in the shop again.

"Were you two testing me?!" – Anne turned to her with feigned outrage.

"And you passed," – Sophie nodded without a hint of shame. They broke down in giggles and couldn't stop for a while. "So what would you like to see? Deadly curses, mildly disgusting stuff, or the straight-out horrendous?" – Sophie eventually gestured in three different directions.

"D'you have potions?" – Anne asked back with glinting eyes. Ten minutes later, they reached the bottom of a fifteen-inch square box and had all the malicious liquids set on the counter, playing recognize.

It was Sophie's turn: "I know this one – must be Veritaserum because there's nothing unusual about it, and it's water-like."

Anne looked it up by the number. "You got it, but that was an easy one."

"You find one that's easy, then. I'm waiting!"

A mud-like liquid pulled Anne's attention. She recalled seeing it in one of her father's books.

"Maybe Polyjuice? Looks disgusting enough…"

"Dead on," – Sophie said after reading the number. "Try this one!"

Anne looked at the phial, which contained something irised like a rainbow, oily, and welcoming. "I'd like to smell it, but we have already agreed not to," – she hesitated. "This must be dark because I want to do things with it."

"Darker than Polyjuice?" – Sophie challenged her.

Anne shook the phial, and the colours divided. "Wait! This is not a poison or an antidote because it's not compounded! It reminds me of Beautification Potion, but it must have been brewed differently… the colours are odd. I'm unsure if it was brewed in the first place. Look it up! How close did I get?"

Sophie looked at the number, then the reference sheet. "Lucky dog! This is Potion D'Attrait Fatale. It is not brewed but fermented and, by all means, nastier than the Polyjuice. My turn!"

Anne took the reference sheet and watched Sophie sort out a white liquid. Or was it only fog? When they looked closer, whatever was in the phial seemed to swirl into small cloud-like puffs, but when it calmed, it settled to the bottom, like milk.

"Is this even a potion?" – Sophie wandered aloud.

"It is brewed with magic and only magic," – a weak voice explained from the door behind the counter. "One of the ingredients is a thought. Chosen and extracted by the brewer from his own mind, the chosen idea decides the potion's use. With this one, the brewer may give horrendously nagging intrusive thoughts. If he wished someone dead, this phial could make the victim seek their own end. Of course, most only used the method to gain favours from the fairer. The Brew of Past Obsessions, as I recall."

"Mr. Burke!" – Sophie stood up with reverence. "Thank you, sir. I wouldn't have gotten that. Have you met my friend Annabella Rosier? She is the daughter of the youngest son of your friend, Felix Rosier, I told you about."

"Enchante, Miss Annabella," – the old man nodded. He leaned heavily on his massive cane, and Anne wished he was seated already. The man easily looked a hundred and fifty in good light!

T.B.C.