Hi All,

I know I owe you, Dear Reader, an apology for abandoning all schedules and only posting now with my Seasonal Greetings. Life has been confusing around my ends lately. To compensate for my lapse, please accept more than one chapter as a Christmas gift and kindly forgive my hectic schedule of late.

It's Rowling's world, and I'm only playing for the fun of it.

Please enjoy :)

TN_Chapter 36.

November 1994

(18/19)

The baby girl was coughing so hard that her lips turned bluish. She couldn't be older than eight months, and her mother couldn't hold her because Muggles weren't allowed into the Bugs Ward.

Magic almost gleamed with the anxiety Assistant Nurse Suzie Wane radiated as she adjusted her Bubblehead Charm (for about the ninth time in the last twenty minutes) before she changed the cold pack on the infant's wrists and ankles, praying she wouldn't start screaming again from the shock. It was too much to ask.

Anne peeked at her over the wizard's bed, which she'd been tidying. In these last two hours, Suzie's alarm was slowly grating on her nerves.

"Why don't you have a break?" she asked while she helped the old wizard adjust his position to one he could bear. Old Mr Ham had just reached his hundred and tenth birthday a month before he contracted the frog flu, and his bones stuck into the bedsheet through his thin, wrinkled skin. His laborious breathing worsened over the night, but there wasn't much more comfort Anne could offer him at the moment. The witch on the bed between him and the infant was blissfully asleep.

"I'll manage," – Suzie shook her head in the transparent protecting bubble she charmed around it. "I just needed a moment."

She reached for the baby girl, but when it coughed and spewed on her hand again, she stepped back and looked at Anne in near panic. "I have two at home, Effie!"

Finally, understanding her odd hesitance since Brunswick sorted this witch next to her for Bug Ward duty the day before, Anne rounded the two beds and reached for the little girl in Suzie's arms.

"Talk to Ulfhild," – she nodded towards the door and held the baby close to her chest. She began to rock the little girl, careful not to trigger another coughing fit. "She will know who you can switch with."

Suzie just stared at her, wringing her hands. "I'm not unfeeling or squeamish, you know…"

After two assistants of her crew fell with the disease and she was called in for Bug's Ward duty on Sunday night, this was Anne's fourth day with double shifts in this sudden hell, and she was tired enough almost to answer that Suzie wasn't fucking helping either before the honest fear in her colleague stopped her tongue.

"How old are they?" – she asked instead.

Suzie stared at her. "Who?"

"The two kids you mentioned."

"Oh, them! Ah, it's been a while since they were babies… The older one's almost ten, and the wee one's four. They would most likely survive if… I mean, if…"

"Talk to Ulfhild!" – Anne cut in when the baby became restless in her arms. She wanted to avoid contemplating the baby's chances at all costs. She was yet to react to any of their efforts with the concoctions, and her colour was so off now that even Mediwizard Spleen seemed worried when he saw her.

"She doesn't like me," – Suzie kept worrying. Anne was tempted to say something harsh, but the door opened and saved her.

"Assistant Brown, put that infant back in her place and move on to the squib in the ninth!" Apprentice Tinker never minced his words and famously disliked showing too much compassion, although Anne repeatedly sensed his inner turmoil since Brunswick sent her here. "He threw up all over the sheets again. I can't work if I don't see what I'm doing."

Anne nodded and proceeded to heed his orders when Tinker turned towards Suzie.

"Wane, we no longer demand your time here. Strawman came to your rescue. I hope you'll toughen up enough to replace him at the Thickey."

"Merlin, yes! Thank you, Apprentice!" Suzie was out the door before Anne could satisfactorily place the little girl.

She couldn't follow her outside with the same ease. Her hand lingered on the baby's shoulder. "May I return to her after my shift, Apprentice Tinker?"

He cast a diagnostic charm over the infant and reluctantly shook his head. "If she doesn't respond to the potions, I don't know what you will find after six more hours," – he said softly so only Anne could hear him.

Then he stepped to the elderly wizard. "How are we doing, Mr Ham?" He cast the Diagnostic Charm before the old man could compose a reply. "I can see you're improving slowly. Perhaps another dose of Breatheasy around noon, and tomorrow you might return to the left side corridor to brag about another battle you are winning?"

The old wizard's breath whistled in agreement.

"Splendid. Mrs Fawn?"

Anne didn't wait for him to wake the witch. She hurried to the corridor, cast the three compulsory sanitiser charms on her hands and uniform, then a Tergeo just because it always felt reassuring, and she dismissed her Bubblehead Charm with a silent swish of her wand.

She most definitely wasn't about to think of that baby girl. Edna… who the hell would give a child such a name in 1994? The wizarding relatives must have had a strong influence on the parents. She wondered what a Muggle woman would think about them if her firstborn… She was not going to think about that! She wasn't about to think. Full stop.

She renewed the Bubblehead Charm before she entered Room #9 and refocused. Two witches, still suffering the aftereffects of Scrofungulous, battled with their reducing tentacles that awkwardly wobbled whenever they coughed with the typical croaking sound of the frog flu. They had a new neighbour, a young witch in her twenties, and an old one who kept gagging back whatever potion the mediwizards made her ingest.

"Mrs Jones, let me help you," – Anne stepped to the squib's bedside and cast a Vanishing Spell, a Scourgify, a Tergeo, a Disinfectant Spell on the sheets and the floor, and a Sanitiser Charm on the poor woman.

"Take out that trash, darling, we can't stand it any longer!" – one of the tentacled witches begged from her bed.

Anne stupidly looked around before she understood from the witch's and Mrs Jones' emotions that she meant the Squib. She suspected she wasn't allowed to discuss politics during work hours, so how was she supposed to answer something like this?

"If you can't keep down the potions, Mrs Jones, then even Mediwizard Spleen won't be able to help you," she softly scolded the woman instead, taking the edge off the words with a smile.

"I know that, dear, but what can I do? It's always been hard even to swallow a magical brew –"

"I will be heard, girl. This cannot go further!" The witch from the nearby bed tried to sound commanding through the apparent frog in her throat. "You cannot force us to watch that abomination spoiling the sheets three times a day!"

Anne couldn't help herself and slowly turned.

"I apologise, Madame Avery. Would you like me to charm curtains between the beds?" – she offered to the Squib and was almost glad that the witch choked on the coughing fit that her exaggerated gasping caused.

The following madness almost removed her from the Bugs Ward. Her only luck was Frank Strawman, who happened to hear the blunt of the altercation between the witches and the Squib and defended her idea about the curtain to Mediwizard Spleen when he was called for.

By the end of her shift, Anne was ready to give up mediwizardry and ask Snape about that abandoned hovel at the end of the world where the untrained Empaths retreated to avoid suffering others' hostile emotions or whatever he had been talking about in her second year to make her listen and take training seriously. Putting the absurdity of a man with such limited skill in dealing with young children being responsible for a Houseful of eleven and twelve-year-old kids every year aside, Anne felt that such a hovel at the edge of the world wasn't such a miserable option after all. Perhaps his idea was also fed by his wistful daydreams as much as his wish to frighten her…

The thought restored her ability to smile. Anne thoroughly cleaned her hands and uniform for the umpteenth time before removing the Bubblehead Charm and wandering out of the Hospital for Magical Maladies. She wished to see the sky above her head and calm down before she changed back into her Muggles and turned back time. Frank must have had a similar thought because she found him close to the St Mungo's backdoor, leaning to the wall with a leg propped against it and lighting up a fag.

When he offered one for her, too, Anne promptly replied that she didn't smoke. Frank nodded, and all she could sense was his goodwill. It was so unbelievably comforting she almost lost balance! Thinking about cleaning up and returning to Hogwarts to sit through her classes, she only felt avoidance. Hoping to postpone the horrors of her double life, she reached for the pack.

"So how does one do this?"

Frank flicked a tiny flame on the tip of his wand and offered it under her cigarette. Anne let the end fall into the flame and drew a careful breath…. Then she folded over, coughing up her lungs.

"Easy," – Frank advised. "Take it slow, love, first only taste it. You'll throw up if you push yourself."

Anne finally managed to take a full breath. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Calms me," – Frank shrugged. "The last one I had to see after was that baby in the fourteenth…." He didn't need to elaborate.

She was afraid to ask, but she had to know it: "Did Tinker say anything?"

Frank took another drag of his cigarette before reluctantly saying: "Nothing you'd want to hear, love." His casual tone didn't lessen the hit. Anne wished to forget about Hogwarts and hold that little girl as long as she could. "He was worried about you, too," – Frank added, and she rolled her eyes.

Oh, right, because he was sure she couldn't do anything more self-destructive than to be there for a little girl suffocating while all the brews St Mungo's could offer ran through her as they poured them just down the drain.

"I will live if this shite doesn't kill me," – Anne lifted the cigarette.

Frank shrugged and forced a smile. "Either this or a shot of Mayhem's,"- he deemed.

She tried a tiny sip again and only tasted the fume before she blew it out. That way, it wasn't that bad. "What's a Mayhem's?"

Frank laughed with his head rolling back. She suspected it was his self-therapy. "Mayhem's a working wizard's whisky, you posh green bird! Not all are fine with payin' for an Ogden's. And it does its job as good as I do mine."

Anne sipped again, and the world began to look a little wobbly. She also felt unnaturally energised – maybe desperate. "I should try that, too."

"Just don't you tell your mama who ruined her little princess!" – Frank chuckled again. "Are you about to return after hours?"

Anne only knew if she drew another sip, she would throw up like the Squib after the potions, and she let the fag fall on the ground. She vanished it like she had seen Snape doing so.

"Dunno."

Frank winked at her and kicked himself from the wall. "See you there then, love," he said goodbye and left Anne staring at the grey sky.

The clouds had been gathering all day as if planning their attack. When she changed and was ready to Apparate to Hogsmeade, it was pouring like a shower, and the cold, even drops, were as harsh on her skin as ice would have been.

Hogsmeade saw the first snow that evening, but nothing was magical about it, and she was even less interested in tuning back time for her afternoon classes.

Sophie sought her out as soon as after her first class in the after lunch and kept raving about the Beauxbatons boys as if dating them would have solved any of their problems, but standing in the cold wind by the Black Lake's shore and listening to her tittering with Jacques Potier in the evening, Anne felt her problems only multiplied.

"And where is that other friend of yours? Hestia?" – Chad Noir joined in, probably also cold and too impatient to wait for the Squid to appear and take the offered toast as promised.

"Oh, she?" Sophie smiled like a lioness when she spotted the prey. It was so unlike her that Anne found it disturbing. "Did she promise to see you? You must forgive her! She's the youngest of her year, as I gathered, and quite forgetful. But could you hold a grudge with such a sweet child?"

Chad's quick glance at his friends showed the appropriate confusion and the desired spark of fright. Anne watched her friend leaning above the Lake in her beautifully tailored winter coat and stretching to call attention – either from the Squib before her or from the boys at her behind…

"We are happy with the present company, don't misunderstand," Jacques hurried to save face, and Chad subtly changed places with their tacit friend, Romain.

"Yeah, you should know we desperately need more practice in your language, and we are hardly responsible for misunderstandings," the lean blond boy explained with a disarming smile.

Anne sensed the total coordination between these three and was impressed. Jacques was the most communicative, the born leader, and the head of their pack. His well-cut black hair made him look even taller than he was, and he emitted charisma like a boiling cauldron giving off heat. Chad, on the other hand, looked like a poet. His longish hair was dark, but his eyes were big and pale blue. His shoulders seemed muscular, yet his posture was lazy. He could make any girl blush within seconds and retreat before being taken too seriously. However, the third boy's use, the silent observer's, and the lean and calculating Romain's value were only now shown. He must have been the mediator and the tool for the other two to carve their ways out of trouble. If Sophie wanted the other two's attention, she also needed a way to entertain their free card, and Anne doubted her friend had already thought about this.

She looked Romain over from head to toe and gifted him one of the best fake smiles she'd ever produced, planning to make Sophie pay for the inconvenience.

"Of course, you aren't," – Anne told the lean boy softly. "And practising can be such a tedious chore! How could we ease it for you?"

Romain's eyes flashed with a hint of recognition, and she booked that as a win. The boy must have known as much as she did that they were only playing their parts in this odd dance, serving their friends' needs.

"I hear it is all about regular opportunities," – the boy told her. "Perhaps you and your friend are amenable…?"

Anne looked at Sophie, who was already conversing deeply with Jacques about the Squid. The French boy pointed out that the species usually like shrimps and was surprised by Sophie's offering, to which she hinted about the kelpies' penchant for toasts and now acted as if she didn't wish to reveal a secret.

"I'm sure we can figure out something," – she told Romain, "Preferably at a warmer place."

The boy caught on quickly and suggested that his friends escort the girls back to the castle, winning an honest thought of gratitude for a change. After an awkward goodbye that assured them about the Beauxbatons coach's warmth and comfort, they finally got rid of the guests and closed the cold out of the Entrance Hall with a decidedly relieved thud of the heavy oak door.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" – Anne mumbled. "Two more minutes, and I would have frozen into cubes!"

Disturbingly, Sophie was less forward than usual, and Anne sensed a strange duplicity she couldn't place about her.

"I promise I will tell you everything, but not tonight. But you worked nicely on Romain! I could never speak with him, and you chatted like you knew each other!"

"Perhaps in a way, we know…" – Anne lamented. "I will explain when you will. Just don't make me walk out there every night!"

Sophie chewed on her lip for a second and shook her head. "I needed them to think about the Squid, right? I have a plan, Annie, and it has nothing to do with those silly cows. But Jacques is such an adventurous berk he might even be of use. Also, he would choose me for Hogsmeade if I gave him a chance to have some fun."

"Sophie, his sense of fun is –"

"I didn't mean it that way!" – Sophie hurried to say. Her whispering became awkwardly rushed: "I heard him telling Chad that it was boring here and that if he couldn't be a champion, it was a waste of time… and then I also heard them brag about all kinds of adventures, climbing hills and meeting Amphitheres…"

Anne stared at her. "And do you believe any of it?"

"Even if they didn't, they would clearly like to… I can give them a chance if they do as I say…"

"Sophie!"

Anne hated the way Sophie looked at her. "I promise it will all make sense. Just trust me, will you?"

It sounded stupid, and Anne only knew she was tired and that her place should have been back at St. Mungo's, room #14.

"Are you all right, Annie? You're looking odd… hey, if it was the cold, I–"

Anne tried to smile in vain, and she shook her head again. "I'm fi-" She halted because suddenly, it occurred to her that she could escape the castle. "D'you know what? …I think I'm feeling a little funny. I'll have Madame Pomfrey look at me."

"Shall I go with you? Annie, if it was the cold…" – Sophie began, but Anne finally managed a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about it!"- Anne forced a smile. "Just tell people I stayed there if I don't return by curfew, will you?"

"Sure," – Sophie promised. She seemed worried and suspicious, but Anne decided she wouldn't care. Sophie obviously had her little secrets, too.

Finally, on her way, Anne thought she should ask Poppy about whatever she knew about the frog flu. There could be some remedy or treatment she developed since she'd left St. Mungo's and could help her with a baby and a Squib who both refused the potions….

The mediwitch was making her evening rounds in the Ward, so Anne sat in her office after checking if the Brewing Room was open. It wasn't, of course. She didn't really anticipate seeing Snape either… she just made sure…

On Poppy's desk, she found the St Mungo's pamphlet warning about the epidemic, which she knew from Ulfhild, the hospital sent all over the country. She wondered how much help that would be… Under the official lines, there was also a handwritten note:

Thanks for looking at my nephew. I know he can be a handful. Your protégé is doing well. I let her in the deep end as we agreed, and yet she floats. We'll soon see if she can learn to swim. See you on the 19th for that cuppa if the weather finally turns cold. As it is, it wouldn't be a day too early… Cheers, Fifi B.

Learning that Poppy still watched over her was nice and awkward at the same time. Anne tried not to imagine what the two older witches could discuss behind their rare and long between "cuppas", but seeing that, apparently, she wasn't their only subject of interest was something of a consolation. Still, to read she was yet to "swim" diminished her budding self-confidence, and she regretted reading what wasn't for her eyes.

"Anne, did you come for a talk?" Poppy entered her office, and her genuine joy over seeing her protégé filled the air. "You don't come as often as you used to, duck. What happened?"

She tried to convince herself and Poppy that nothing extraordinary had happened. She had only experienced an epidemic from the frontline, which shouldn't have floored her within four days. When the mediwitch pulled out the decanter she'd only seen after the unholiest messes a school's Infirmary could witness, Anne's flow of words came to a sudden halt.

"I believe you deserve this," Poppy poured the violet-coloured drink into the two cordial glasses. "You were not there from the get-go but could join Spleen's team and stand your ground. Bottoms up, duck. I'm proud of you."

Anne hesitated. "You're saying that as if it was over. I wanted to ask you for advice about… about a patient…."

Poppy smiled at her inexperience. "It's snowing, my dear, haven't you noticed?" When Anne stared toward the Ward's tall window, she added: "This means you're over the thick of it. By next week, all will be as it had always been. You shall see."

"And will I learn to swim then?" – Anne couldn't hold back the question and gestured at the pamphlet on the desk, naked without its envelope.

"So that is where the wind is blowing!" – Poppy laughed and sipped from her violet liqueur. "Don't you worry, duck, that came on Monday. I'm sure I'll hear her singing your praises when we finally meet. Which reminds me," – she put the small glass down. "Annie, you know that Argus' birthday will be on the nineteenth, do you? I cannot change plans, it's impossible to organise with Fifi. So I thought this year, you might want to take things into your own hands, hm?"

Anne had no idea why that idea gave her such a fright. "I don't even know what he expects. Are you usually throwing a party for him, or does he like a cake?"

"It's all up to you, duck," – Poppy assured her. "He usually hates the whole mess and only stays for a quarter of an hour at best. He doesn't like many of the faculty anyway."

Anne made a mental note to keep Filch's birthday small and cosy – not that she imagined anything else, but knowing she wasn't wrong about it was good. This strange assignment came so out of the blue that she didn't even know how to manoeuvre the conversation back to her problem at the Bug's Ward – more closely at room #14.

Instead, she apologised for not emptying her glass, but she was about to return to duty and hoped she could spend a few hours sleeping at the Infirmary at dawn when she returned. Poppy, of course, promised to prepare a bed for her, and off she went for the portal on the fourth floor, across the Hall of Mirrors.

She turned back time only in London, enjoying the view of the night lights through the swirling snow in Hogsmeade. As much as she hated the cold when she finished her shift, the weather now complemented her mood before she Apparated to the foggy, soggy wetness of the Town. There, she had no qualms getting rid of the dampness and hurried inside through the side door to change into her uniform. That was at least dry and familiar.

Her first route led her to the baby, but when she approached the door, she saw Frank in the corridor. The tough and hardheaded wizard she had learned to appreciate over the months for his resilience and good cheer now stood by the wall and watched the number on the door with reddened eyes. For him, time hardly had passed more than half an hour since they had a laugh and a fag down at the backstreet.

She sensed his grief before he noticed her and looked up, shaking his head. It was enough to send a sudden cold down her spine and chase the blood from her face. Anne teetered and reached for the wall to stop herself from stumbling. Whatever she was planning, whatever she'd been hoping for, could never come to pass… she wouldn't even be allowed another chance to comfort that baby girl… she'd even missed her last breaths or a chance to hold her while she took them. Fuck Hogwarts!

They stood by the wall watching each other with Frank Strawman, and there was no need for words. The afternoon shift's unlucky nurse assistant walked out of the room with the folded and neatly packed away remains of a small bed to return it to the fifth floor and nodded to them sombrely, not waiting for a reply. The moment of mourning was cut short, though, as soon as Nurse Prix stumbled out of room #7's door, calling for help, and they both hurried to do whatever Augustus Pye, Mediwizard Smethwyck's Apprentice, thought best to order. And from there, there was no stop into the evening.

When Anne reached the hour of the fifth years' curfew for the second time that day, she was somewhere in the backstairs between the A-Room and the Bugs Ward, and she only realised the time when she tried to figure out what made her feel so faint and useless. Apprentice Pye, who helped out that evening, only threw a look at her when she eventually arrived with the potions and asked:

"Aren't you one of the morning shift, Assistant?"

Anne couldn't do more than to nod.

"You cannot help more before you get some rest, witch. Go home, have a good meal or a drink, and return tomorrow!"

She saw the wisdom in his words but still felt reluctant to obey. Because, in her particular case, there was more than one thing wrong with the advice. First, she had lost her sense of home long ago, so she was hesitant about which way to go there. The other problem was her panic about being left alone with her thoughts and nothing to occupy her hands to avoid them. She wandered down to the dressing room and found Frank making half-hearted jokes about being kicked out by a mere apprentice after twenty and some years on the job. He asked Effie if she was in a hurry to leave.

That led to her second cigarette that day and the first she more or less enjoyed.

"I hated Tinker when he implied I was doing myself a disservice," – she finally managed to talk while they hid by the hospital's wall from the rain.

"Aye, that berk knows his stuff better every day," – Frank believed. "Doesn't mean he found his better manners."

"I didn't mind his manners. I hate that he was right."

"Was he?" – Frank sent the butt flying into a puddle. "Without foolish birds like you and fucked up bastards like myself, he and his precious lot could close the bazaar and just go back to praying for the olden gods."

"So what makes you think we did anything at all if she still – "

"She was one," – Frank told her. "A precious one, and there were two others yesterday you wouldn't have wished to hold, and another on Monday I would have beaten with a shovel if I met him any other place. It's still screwed they're gone… but the old fellow from the ninth will live and the posh hags and their bloody tentacles will go on spewing hate as they are supposed to. It's not our job to select. We just wash their dirt and clean their sheets. Learn your lot, love, before you drive yourself into madness."

Anne nodded because that all sounded so honest she didn't even contemplate the wisdom. "I just wish it wouldn't hurt so much," – she mumbled, making Frank snicker at her side.

"You're doing your best to make me buy two drinks, love" – he mentioned. "But I don't take home birds younger than my daughter, so when I say I corrupt you, that would only be in principle. I hope we agree about that."

Anne stared at him for an awkward second before she burst out laughing. "Bold of you to think I wouldn't have hexed you already if you meant otherwise!"

Frank had the good sense to laugh with her. "No offence, love, I've just been at the wrong spot with others… so? D'you want a drink at a cheap place? I know the one to take you to, you would absolutely hate it," – he offered.

His plan sounded marvellous at the moment, and Anne nodded warmly. Frank had tried to get her to call him her uncle all summer, but now it might be the right time to let him teach her bad things. Her worthless lot wasn't anywhere around to do that after all!

When she woke up the next morning at Rachel's and looked at the time, she needed a few moments to digest that she was late for everything and had a vicious headache. Mayhem's was unforgiving, and her mouth tasted funny after smoking more. She hazily remembered that she'd even thrown up after she'd arrived here and couldn't recall whether Rachel was privy to the mishap.

It took an hour to wash off the dirt and smell of the night, and by breakfast, she remembered to use her wand after she Apparated to the corner to clean up the mess. At least she didn't do magic at Rachel's, and her aunt only suspected whatever she'd been up to. A walk in the cold rain to reach St. Mungo's by Muggle means restored her enough to think clearly, and she turned back time to take up her morning shift only under a shadowy doorway a corner from the backstreet.

Poppy's prediction about things getting smoother was yet to be proven right, but an errant night somehow numbed her against the worst pain. She had problems enough not to multiply them by giving the job too much of her heart, and miraculously, that seemed to make her efficient enough even to find some time to assist Bert in the A-Room. Nothing made her ready to return to Hogwarts, though, and Anne would have agreed to double shifts for a month to get rid of inane school matters and instead focus on her life.

Accepting the grumbled advice with the next cigarette from Frank that she might consider buying her own if she was about to take up the habit, Anne sardonically lamented exactly what life she was so concerned about. She missed her brothers and hardly knew more about Rachel lately than whatever she could shell out of her half-words. Aida was right about it if that was what she'd meant. She had no one to think of when she desired to be held, and she had no goal more personal than advancing at her job. On the other hand, at Hogwarts, she had a friend who behaved like a mad teen, although promising to have something greater on her mind. Another friend, whose birthday now relied on a clumsy, unsociable nerd's first attempt as a party organiser, and a House Head, who – she didn't even have any idea…. Oh! And, of course, an intricate piece of porcelain!

She began to snicker, watching the rain, earning some more questionable nicknames from Frank, who jovially emitted his long puffs of smoke, competing with his pal Gus from their team to recall a tune they hadn't heard for a while.

Then she remembered it was a Thursday, which meant Charms and Potions and detention in the end. She was quick to excuse herself, dress, and Apparate to Hogsmeade to turn back time for the morning classes. She'd completely forgotten Poppy and the bed she'd laid for her at the Infirmary.

The breakfast in the Great Hall was, again, her lunch. Sophie was so happy to see her she sat close and whispered some titbits about the Carrows' disinterest and Snape's apparent worry when they learned she would stay away from the dorms she missed last night. The Beauxbatons boys waved from the Ravenclaw table, and Sophie's attention wandered to them, so she couldn't see how Anne promptly searched the High Table, but the only one who returned her glance was Moody.

"Where's Snape?" – she nudged Sophie to make her listen, but her friend shook her head with nonchalance.

"I'm having a class with him first thing after breakfast. Perhaps he's setting up the new seats for the Durmstrang girls. Last night, he came to the Common Room and announced we should behave."

Anne peeked at Karkaroff's empty place and pondered the sudden interest. The last time she heard, the Durmstrangs were about to join the Charms and the Transfiguration NEWTs. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that the Durmstrang Headmaster plotted to plant a student or two to watch his potential adversary. If he took Snape as his likely foe after he'd betrayed him, Anne wouldn't dispute his wisdom. It was more concerning how Snape must have taken the news, but she had no doubt he would be equal to the challenge.

Probably that's why she was so surprised when, after she calmly went about her business and survived Charms class with minimal effort, only wishing she didn't need to waste time in such a manner, she ran into Snape on the second floor. She was glad she'd chosen the back staircase behind the Charms classroom to avoid the crowd, for his eyes were burning with intent as he pointed a finger to make her turn right into an unused classroom.

When he closed the door and flicked his wand, Anne only guessed he must have cast a Hominum Revelio when a shiny orb zipped around and stopped above her head. There were no other orbs to see. With his shoulders relaxing, he also sealed the classroom, adding his usual privacy spells and one more that was familiar from the football stand. It made her feel as if he closed them into some kind of a bubble, which hummed and buzzed around them before he even bothered to turn against her and speak:

"Where the bloody hell have you been, girl?" His voice was lower than usual and almost cracked with threat and emotion. At first, Anne could only blink at him in surprise. It obviously wasn't enough to soothe him:

"You told Borgin you felt unwell and would spend the night at the Infirmary. You told Poppy you would return there, although you never said where you were about to go. Yet you never showed up and didn't return through the portal, either," – he took a step closer, almost standing on her toes, and his fury and something else she couldn't quite name but felt dangerous prickled the air around them. "I am asking you calmly one more time, Rosier, where the fuck have you been?!"

Anne's first thought was that if this was his calm, she wasn't ready to see his version of agitated, but his eyes burned into hers, recalling when he last time accused her of breaking his rules and taught her the hard way what she was to expect of a trained Legilimens. It wasn't the right time to joke or prevaricate.

"I did tell her," – she finally found her voice and frowned to remember the exact words she'd said to Poppy. "I told her I had unfinished duty and went straight to the portal to Apparate."

"WHERE?" – Snape demanded with all signs of losing his patience.

Anne was so surprised she struggled for the words: "To St Mungo's! I've been working double shifts before… We have an epidemic! All week, I've been –"

"Don't you DARE to Lie to Me!"- He interrupted frantically, his nose less than an inch from her face – "Do you think I haven't guessed that? I left the House for Filch and the Baron only to make sure, but the host knew NOTHING of your whereabouts at the Entrance!" He was shouting now but at least partially turned away, so his involuntarily lifted hand only slapped at a desk behind her.

The bang made Anne jump, and he visibly loathed that.

"You will not get to fool me into this, girl… you will not force friendship and show me nice things to think about, only to…" – he halted for a second, and his gaze returned to her face, his hands clenching into fists. "Who sent you to lure me?! Lucius? Was it your father?" When he moved closer this time, Anne felt forced to step back. "Had they had a good LAUGH ABOUT YOUR STORIES?! DID YOU ENJOY THIS FUNNY LITTLE PRANK?!"

Anne was lost. He never made less sense than right now, and all she felt was a stunned disappointment. Her following words were so unlikely that she could hardly utter them without huffing a disbelieving short laugh.

"I never pranked you!" Before he could shout more nonsense, which was quite plain to see would come, she backed away, shaking her head and trying to find either time or distance to think and understand this.

"I have no idea what led to this, sir. I had to go back, and I only regret being late!"

Her hands lifted before her as if she was to protect herself from the nonsense, which had a strange effect on him. She saw how he stared at them and swallowed with a glimmer of regret and sobriety.

"The host has no way of knowing about a mere assistant. We are using the backdoor anyway… and later, I was so drunk it never occurred to me to notify Poppy I would sleep at my Aunt's!"

He lifted his gaze from her hands to stare at her. "What did you say?"

She felt so awkward she couldn't give much thought to how miserable he looked standing there with a heaving chest, the worst suspicions, and eyes so troubled they showed him raw.

"I said I messed up…" – she tried to sum up her last night. "When Frank looked so glum… and I even sensed that… that she was dead… that I couldn't… I knew I couldn't save her, but it was so hard not to try or hope! …I did everything! …just wanted to be there… but she was dead already, and her bed shrunk, and I…" – her voice slowly turned into sobs, and she struggled to continue through them because it was all nuts and there was no way Snape would believe such nonsense! That last thought finally made her angry enough to take a deep breath and strive for coherence:

"There was nothing, just the bloody flu, and we all worked late till Pye sent us packing. But you don't just switch off like that! I scrunched almost half a pack of fags from Frank like a bloody freeloader, and he took me to his local, where the whisky was the worst I'd ever smelled. But it was cheap. And I was sad… and I didn't think at all… because she bloody died, and I can't do a thing about it!"

She sensed his Legilimency well before it hit her mind and was worked up enough to smash all her pain and exhaustion into his metaphorical face, rounded up with ample images of a dying infant, a dirty pub, and by some reason a weathered darts board she had kept attacking because it felt so freaking good to throw things she couldn't stop. When she saw his face again, just in time before her mind turned his curiosity against him, Anne almost asked if he was satisfied.

It was strange, but she knew she was angry rather than felt it because her lingering disbelief was so great it suppressed every other feeling. Whatever Snape must have felt, she couldn't surmise, but his posture sagged, and his mouth hung slightly open. She only recognised he softly panted when he finally took a step towards the desk he'd previously abused, and his hands caught his weight on it before he made himself turn and flop down on the edge. Whatever he needed the time for, his head hanging low now didn't compensate for the scene before. Anne experienced enough as an Empath to know that those were his regrets that deflated his posture but hurt slowly took over disbelief, and she simply couldn't deal with one more source of pain at the moment.

"I will be late for Arithmancy," – she detachedly announced, looking at the closed door.

"Rosier…!"

His voice sounded rough with emotion he didn't bother to show, and it was not good enough for Anne after this nonsense.

"Sir, with respect, I need to get out of this room."

He closed his eyes and lifted his wand, and the next second, she felt his magic dissolving. With a parting look at him watching her leave, Anne slipped out to the emptied corridor and hurried to her class.

It would have been too much to ask if she followed Professor Vector's lecture. Still, at least she wasn't alone in her tower, thinking in circles about Snape and insanity, and grief and life, and bad decisions… it felt better to do so among living, breathing human beings who didn't close their emotions behind Occlumency and behaved at least partially predictably.

What an absolute certifiable lunatic horror of a man! The sheer nerve of going so utterly berserk over baseless and deranged allegations! The pure and total lack of logic or any kind of reason!

Failing to recognise how Snape must have worried when he couldn't find her, Anne scribbled it all up mainly as a disappointment.

Because she would have never thought that in a battle of wits, Snape would ever fight with a spoon, but all he managed to blabber out was showing that not only was his receiver suddenly misplaced, but all the telephone with the box was missing and replaced by two or a dozen unhinged doxies playing tag with fucking pixies in an unlit echoing hole!

"Miss Rosier, kindly focus and read up the next line!" – Professor Vector said after she loudly huffed, forgetting herself.

Bloody hell, she would have had at least half a dozen more idioms and about a hundred curses!

She read up the line, missing every word's meaning, and folded into herself again, biting hard down on her lip. "You are never to call attention!"- was only a part of his usual tirades, and then what was he doing? The Absolute Madman took it upon himself to ask about her(!) at the St. Mungo's Arrival Hall!

The least she hoped was that he had asked after Effie… She was so used to believing that whatever the Maniac was doing eventually made sense that she couldn't drop the bone...

BUT HER FATHER? She'd just told him she didn't care about the Dementor-mishap… why would he keep thinking about him? Was it his present closeness to the creeps?

Anne hazily realised how dangerous it must have all seemed for an outsider, but despite all the horrors surrounding her father, she would never have believed he would put her in real danger… maybe some, but nothing like Snape seemed to have been worrying about….

Vector had enough of her meandering attention and made her do the next calculation aloud. It also proved a welcome reprieve. At least after class, Anne's thoughts didn't run on the same tracks. It was lunch at the Great Hall, but she dared him to accuse her like that again, so instead of joining the crowd, she opted for freedom, sausage roll, hot chocolate brownies at London, and two cups of soup she took with them to Rachel.

And in the old kitchen, there was finally peace.

Anne munched on the brownies and blessed her aunt for planning for the Season instead of asking all she could sense she was deeply curious about. She agreed to be present all evenings to celebrate the Light and was adamant about keeping her promise. She would talk to Snape about it if that were needed….

"Rachel, I know you had good times after Gran got married," – she cautiously began.

Her aunt thought for a few seconds. "I doubt my story would help you," – she examined her face. "Either if I told you the sad one or the nice one.""

"I didn't know there had been two stories," – Anne laughed, intrigued.

"Who said there were only two?" – the old eyes twinkled mischievously. "But there is one, that stands out… There's always one like that."

"And is it the sad or the nice one?" – Anne tried to push her, but Rachel shook her head.

"Both are the same. The difference is where you cut it… or how you prefer to think about it. That is all."

Her curiosity was piqued, and Anne was glad her aunt didn't ask questions. When she told her that, it made her chuckle.

"Oh, Anne," – Rachel put a light hand on hers. "Your mother was the same after she met that blockhead. Forgive the word! She never liked to talk about her feelings, but after she met him, she worked on her paintings or turned the volume on and hid behind her records whenever she felt lost." She stared into the air as if she could look through time, then smiled again. "Rose could sometimes reach her, but I never could. It's lovely enough that you showed up with this lunch when you felt the same. I can eat all the soup in the world if that makes you feel grounded or calms your heart."

Anne loved every word, but Rachel misunderstood, making her feel guilty.

"It's not quite the same, I am not… I mean, I haven't met anybody. It's just a friend, or I thought he was. Maybe I was wrong. He didn't want to be friends anyway."

"And what did he say? Why would he miss out?"

Anne laughed. "Because he was a horrible friend. His words. I don't believe him, and I don't even think I pushed him… although he said something to that effect. Well, I did apologise when I thought I hurt him, and I gave him a gift, and George says it was a little over the top… and I might have implied I liked him enough to want to… comfort him. Because he was sad recently. But I didn't do anything after, didn't even hold his hand or …hugged him," – she laughed a little abashed. "And I don't think he wanted that either. He doesn't have many friends. Well, not any I know of but one guy who is some kind of a substitute father in his life, or I misunderstood everything…"

Rachel watched her long before she asked: "He is a little older than you, isn't he?"

Anne felt her cheek flushed red, and she didn't really know why. "Well, he is… not so much, but yes… It doesn't really matter. It's only about friendship. A friendship he obviously doesn't want anymore. I just thought he did…" – she added bitterly. "If things were different, it might even be easier if it was something more frivolous because I wouldn't feel like I didn't know the lyrics…" – she shrugged to mask her confusion.

It couldn't have been plainer, though, and Rachel readily squeezed her wrist encouragingly. "Will you tell me what he said when you implied you wouldn't be averse of comforting him, as you say?"

That was actually a pretty lovely memory, and Anne's smile was finally genuine.

"He didn't say a thing. He just… looked at me. And I know he smiled even if he tried to hide it. I left him alone then because I felt he wanted that."

"Are you sure about that?" – Rachel asked with surprise.

"Quite! Especially after he totally flipped out today about a misunderstanding, saying things implying I betrayed his trust and whatever nonsense, which I didn't, and I proved that! But now I only want to break his nose, and that's not a good place to be to return and try working with him… I cannot avoid that, so to speak."

Rachel thought it all over, and it was good how seriously she took the problem because Anne began to feel decidedly silly as they talked.

"If you proved him wrong, he might be at serious odds with himself right now…" – she thought aloud. "If you want to know what I would do, I would give him space, Anne, and wait for his next move. The ball is on his side now. He must figure out whether you are also worth him an apology like he was for you. But you must know I never had your grandmother's luck and tact in these matters. My advice is only worth so much!"

"I can easily do that because space is what I would need," – Anne shrugged. "I can't break his nose, now can I?"

Rachel smiled at her wide as a grin. "You never know. But I doubt he was about to refuse you when you offered him kindness. Men don't smile or brighten up when they don't welcome you. If he doesn't have many friends, maybe there's a reason. Perhaps he is afraid of making any? Isn't he a little uncertain about himself?"

Anne stared at her aunt, and for a second, she couldn't believe she wasn't an Empath or a Seer. Ephsos said even Muggles could have the gift to a point.

"Well, someone who has known him for a long time once said he was shy. People only see his strength and endurance. He is exceptionally skilled and often behaves like a prick about it, even if he's maybe the most intelligent man I have ever met."

That made Rachel suddenly serious. "Listen, Anne, and I want you to consider that I don't know him. But such a man with no friends who accuses you of betrayal just after you managed to draw him out doesn't strike me as someone comfortable with himself. If I were to guess, I would say he is hiding either himself or something dangerous, and I'm afraid this is what draws you to him. I hope you are careful!"

An image emerged in her mind about Snape's intensity in his fury and her fright when he slapped that desk, and Anne found herself nodding. "I'll give him space," – she promised. "A wide berth," – she added laughingly, not to worry her aunt.

It was easier said than done when her afternoon classes were no longer avoidable, and she had to decide if she was about to show up at Potions or provoke a reaction she couldn't foretell. Taking courage with Rachel's kindness and her opinion that Snape had indeed welcomed her friendship at least once in a while. Anne took a deep breath, and after a short reprieve in her tower, she braved the dungeons.

The caution wasn't necessary. As soon as the classroom door banged close behind him, Snape sailed down to his desk between the workbenches. He pointed at the blackboard, and the recipe showed up, then he performed his sarcastic introduction to the Draught of Peace with the usual energy. Anne almost calmed down and put her head to the job, only looking up once, and his lingering glance promptly left her.

She finished her potion and the homework essay, read the title from the board, and skipped the expected research from memory. She still had time left, so she pulled out her Charms textbook and got to half of the assigned chapter by the time the class was dismissed, and she could pack quickly to leave.

"Rosier, stay behind for a moment!"

shite.

After the last of her classmates left – Flora theatrically rolled her eyes – the door banged closed, and the sense of that bubble-like privacy charm returned. She looked up expectantly only to find him sitting on the edge of his desk, deep in thought, and grabbing the desk's edge behind him.

"I have warned you that I am a bad choice for the friendship you decided to bestow upon me," – he said without looking up. "You need to know that I am nonetheless honoured by the… intent." He glanced up shortly, but his eyes didn't linger. "Of course, after all that's been said, your detentions are not compulsory in the future."

He could only see how Anne gaped at him when he lifted his face after a few seconds of awkward silence. She wouldn't have been surprised in his place; he stunned her, and she had no idea what this conclusion actually meant.

"I will not influence your decision," – he suddenly said when it became clear he wasn't about to receive an answer. His wand swished, his spells vanished, and he pushed himself from the edge of the desk, aiming for the door with long strides. Anne panicked, although she wasn't sure why.

"I haven't betrayed you, sir!" – she finally spoke up. That one thing she knew. And it was urgent.

Snape halted mid-step with his posture rigidly still.

"I realise that," – he told her without turning. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for the loss you had to face."

He stood there for a heartbeat, but when Anne didn't react, he walked out of the classroom and disappeared behind a corner of the corridor, leaving the door open for her to do as she pleased.