TN_Chapter 37.
November 1994
(18/19)
November rushed ahead at full speed, propelling Anne through the next two weeks like she was caught up by the cold wind that rattled the tall windows along the Hogwarts corridors and swept the fog out of Town. It finally proved that Poppy's prediction was based on decades of expertise, and the cold wave finally reduced the number of Frog flu patients to a manageable minimum, alleviating the three crews of taking double shifts until Mediwitch Brunswick restored the usual schedule and a sense of normalcy returned to St. Mungo's life.
Anne spent more time with her aunt than ever since the summer was over. They needed to build new habits because the puddles froze in the evenings, and Rachel wasn't comfortable risking an early morning walk to the park. So her niece took over her shopping and most of her errands, and they unearthed some old board games and set aside books for entertainment. Those hours were the cosiest Anne could recall in too many years.
Caleb was also glad about her free time because Anne methodically cleaned up his small flat above Everard's Venoms and made sure he couldn't complain anymore about only seeing her in case of some trouble. The side effect was, of course, telling him more about Hogwarts and hearing more about the Ministry, which wouldn't have been a bad thing if Sophie Borgin's sudden and profound interest in the company of the Beauxbatons boys didn't trouble Caleb. Anne couldn't help it; that was the truth, and Sophie demanded her involvement at every step. She also couldn't help sensing her brother's mild jealousy. He felt inadequate, and a sister could not chase away such troubles.
Hogwarts was last on Anne's list. She put effort into supporting little Nellie Podmore because she was her freedom of the House business and tried to be a good friend to Sophie, listening to Chad Noir and The Tale of His Many Heroics in sequels three times a week. It was astonishing how much time she earned by returning to a more or less normal workload with her classes, the restored St. Mungo's shifts, and skipping Snape's detentions…!
Actually, that last bit sometimes bothered her when she couldn't sleep at night. The day she remembered as Snape's Mad Day had finished with an awkward but necessary conversation at the Brewing Room's door. That, if one may call an interaction a conversation, where one party only sits still in surprise, while the other erases all traces of liveliness from his face, as she announced her need to work in London instead, supporting her crew. He nodded, and she was gone already.
Nodded. Anne sometimes wondered whether he might have said anything if she lingered. If. However, he only nodded mutely, and ever since that evening, he hadn't strung three words together for her sake.
That was a fortnight ago. Or was it longer?
McGonagall had to make most members of the faculty sign a birthday card for Filch in secret because Anne did not have enough courage to ask the same of Snape, especially because she couldn't even force her imagination to fly far enough to see him walk around with a birthday card… Thankfully, old McGee was the happiest about having an evening for herself and assured Anne that the rest of her colleagues felt the same, just like Argus, who'd never liked being celebrated in the first place.
"That, Miss Rosier, was a revolutionary idea I commend. Poppy obviously knew why she trusted you with this chore. Now, if you need anything else for the evening, a house elf to make the cake or some other thing of the matter, do not hesitate to ask, girl! The Headmaster signed your card, too, and as his Deputy, I can assign an elf to assist you while you finish with all the details."
"Thank you, madame, but that won't be necessary," Anne assured her. "I have already sorted everything out. Mr Filch will receive the card with all the faculty's signatures, well wishes, and a chocolate cake, which I heard he likes. Professors Sprout and Snape said they could spare the time to present it all to him. I thank you for your help!"
The old witch let her go in high spirits, and Anne hoped she didn't say too much about Snape's readiness, which bore the seed of truth. She had actually told him about the event, the hour, and the location, only to receive another nod. Sprout also swore to come and greet her friend, and Madame Pince promised to join them "as long as the old grouch could bear their sight". Thus, gathering two more members of the Four who'd taken the trouble to commemorate her coming of age, Anne hoped that her friend would enjoy his birthday this time, even if Poppy couldn't alter her calendar for their sake.
The last part of her preparations came the evening before, turning back time and Caleb's kitchen upside down while she attempted to make the red wine chocolate cake Professor Sprout remembered Argus used to like. It took Rachel two days, three telephone calls, and a – these days rare – visit to the library, but they believed she had the right recipe.
"You should have accepted that house elf," – Caleb snickered and tried to sneak the bowl out of the sink to stuff more spoiled cream into his grinning mouth.
"The part of the gift is that I make it!" – Anne explained before she caught him with the bowl. "Enough, you pig! I messed that up!"
"There's no problem with the taste," – he licked his spoon, "and you wouldn't be so stuck up if you saw your skirt!"
"What?" Anne tried to turn to see what he meant, spinning awkwardly around and missing the flour patch on her backside while Caleb "saved" the bowl and had another spoonful.
"You should get this batty more often," – he commented after she wrestled the bowl from his hands and finally poured the whole lumpy running mess down the drain where it belonged. "I only wish you were less envious."
"I'm not envious, you berk, that was hardly edible!"
"Beg to differ," – Caleb sat on the counter and reached for the chocolate, but she slapped his hand. "So, what other news at the old castle? You haven't said a thing about Moody for ages! Some need info to work with, you know…"
"Don't you tell me you went back to those creeps again!" – Anne momentarily forgot to quarrel about his arse occupying the third of her workspace in the small kitchen and stopped looking up the cream's recipe to glare at him.
"Should have," – Caleb said, "but there's no use. I think I gathered all that was to know. Father dearest has gone mad for my precious sake, telling every puffed-up jerk I was way too immature to join yet, and as I'm not planning on becoming any wiser, it's a stalemate."
Anne read the recipe and measured an adequate lump of butter. "Good. Now we only have to find a way to somehow knock some sense into him and get rid of the whole bunch."
"As if!" her brother sighed. "But you won't get that without changing our name and leaving the country. I've been spending some time with Borgin lately. He needed a favour to get in an extra shipment, and I managed to unsee the flying carpet above Portsmouth."
"Nimue's cave, you won't get into trouble, will you?!"
"Nah, it's just business. But he's telling me things about our granddad," – he waited for a second until his sister finished measuring the sugar and the cocoa before he nudged her: "He also says you might be as talented as he was, only not yet ready to delve into our legacy."
When Anne rolled her eyes, he asked her, "What could you do with your friend there in the summer to make him believe you will have anything to do with our legacy, A-bee? The man talks as if Father should have offered you for the dogs."
"Packing old potions?" – Anne couldn't spare the time for this idiocy. "Hand me that wooden spoon! By the way, aren't you supposed to keep off the Borgins? Last time, you said you had better things on your mind than to figure out a girl who makes nice to the French!"
"Don't remind me! It was hard enough not to dish it all to her uncle. She would deserve it."
"Big words from someone who didn't even bother to ask her out!"
"Hey, the time was not right, and you know it! We've been hiding criminals following your bloody sense of justice. I only played along… but something's cooking, and you're a part of it if I believe Borgin, and I don't care for it, A-bee."
Anne rounded up the cream, and it finally dropped from the spoon the way it should. She cut the sponge cakes to fill them. "Blame it on his niece," – she grumbled. "I don't like her game, and I bet she will regret it, but she is the only friend with magic I have around my age."
The cake began to look decidedly as it should. It was even and tall, and she stepped back with a satisfied smile. It didn't last long, though. She hated what she had to tell Caleb.
"Sophie had an idea for years but didn't know how to go about it. D'you remember the prefects in my first year? Lee and Ismelda, and that Merula you told me to avoid?"
"Sure."
"It turns out they had some serious fallout with the Ministry and some secret society behind Rakepick. Sophie says Snape knows about the whole thing but never mentions it, and I doubt I could ask…" It hurt a little to recall exactly how far she found herself from asking him anything lately.
After the Frog flu, she tried to make him renew her detentions, but she never saw him around the Brewing Room, and it would have been a gamble to bring it up after class… She envied that Potter brat for serving det with him last Friday, and the poor sod didn't even seem to realise how lucky he was! It all made her think about Halloween again and that she maybe should have given more attention to the Gryff boy and Moody, but every time she tried, she was either reminded of what she'd lost or Sophie stepped in with the next 'marvellous' stage of her plan!
"Go on, you haven't said anything yet," – Caleb pushed her when she didn't realise she had fallen silent.
"Okay, so the tale goes that there are secret corridors at Hogwarts, some of which two siblings discovered in the eighties, and one of them was in the same year as Merula Snyde. Coincidentally, if you recall Miranda, she knew all about the mishap."
"I heard about it too," – Caleb nodded. "Those were good times. Always had some gossip or another."
"Yeah, but there was also dark magic, and there's residue in those rooms. Sophie thinks if she strings the Beauxbatons through the rougher parts of the castle, they would be happy to explore a chamber those guys couldn't find."
Caleb stared at her. "And you're telling me that Snapey's okay with that?"
"No, silly," Anne shuddered. "I'm telling you, he has no idea, and I hate to think about when he finds out. Because he will, if I know anything about him. And then I'll probably move here to escape his wrath."
"We'll be a tad too snug if your friend plans the same, but I don't mind!" – Caleb cried out and received a serious hit by the wooden spoon with a glance that explained why no one should daydream about their sisters' friends. "All right, chill, you harridan! What does the old Borgin have to do with the whole mess?"
"He wouldn't mind getting what Sophie hopes to find…" – Anne more-or-less shared all she could gather and suddenly didn't mind that Caleb made her tell. "I don't know what it is, and I have only seen one of the chambers. It felt awful… wickedly cold and… I don't know… I used some of what Moody had shown me in September so we could enter. If Sophie had told her uncle about it, I wouldn't have been so surprised he thought I was into the Dark Arts."
Caleb eyed her keenly. "And are you?"
Anne turned away and prepared to finish the cake with the wine sauce and icing. In theory, she wasn't, but…
"It was more fun than I thought it would be. Also, Miranda had the whole thing planned out with Sophie, and it's kind of funny how those boys follow her into all through this rubbish." She noticed her brother's disbelief, and she knew he was right.
"You know, there's not much entertainment in all the work down here, and I'm honestly fed up with the buzz about the tournament and Harry bloody Potter's fucking love life in the Prophet between classes and homework I have done for years before now I'm getting them assigned. Snape showed a lot of things at det I would be happy to learn about, but there are no more dets, and there are only so many board games I can play…"
She would have complained more, but Caleb nodded with a sigh. "You're bored out of your skull there."
"Sometimes," – Anne admitted. It felt nice to speak her mind, even if there wasn't much to be proud of in her thoughts right now. "I also researched a new lung potion when we got rid of the worst of the flu..?"- she tried.
"You should try to impress Snapey with that, I don't give a rat's arse… but…"
"What?"
"I just thought you should watch yourself before things get out of hand. I don't know what made Snapey like you, but even Gavin had noticed he was giving you attention. More than to the rest of us, and he's nothing if not present, you know what I mean."
"Yeah," – Anne nodded bitterly. "He might have used to, but… Clear off now. I didn't buy enough wine just to spoil this. I promise I'll take care!"
Caleb obediently jumped off the counter and kissed her forehead, which gave Anne an ominous feeling. Her brother had never advertised his emotions, and if he did so now, it was because he was more worried than he wished to let on. She also felt that in the air, and it was unsettling. But how could she leave Sophie alone with her bad plans now? It's been two weeks, but her world seemed to have changed as soon as she had chosen the St Mungo's over the Brewing Room, maybe even sooner, and there was no return.
She finished Argus' cake and remembered how she had finished his potion. Hardly more than a month went by, two and a half for her, and she knew she wouldn't have cried now like she had then. Maybe the world hadn't changed, only she'd grown older. Too old to endure all the madness without trying to find a way out.
Friday morning saw her at St Mungo's again, cleaning the bedpans up at the Thickey, then cleaning up after Bert's night shift in the A-Room when a new demand came in for a batch of Fever Reducer improved with anti-inflammatory potions so the Bugs Ward could cut back on the dose. Apprentice Scott was yet nowhere, and Bert had already signed out. Effie readily assembled the ingredients plate and waited, but nothing happened.
She looked at the cauldrons, freshly cleaned and orderly, hung on their hooks, and the silence felt deafening. When the door finally opened, she was ready to jump on the Apprentice, but it was Sheambaum instead, and without thinking, she gabbled all she knew about the potion mix, literary begging to be allowed to brew. It was entirely against protocol, and Sheambaum looked stunned.
"Sorry, Mediwizard, I know I shouldn't have asked," – Effie returned to her senses, and her eyes fell in shame. The St Mungo's Alchemy Room was the last place to break code, and with a reason. One mistake here would get the whole hospital down.
"Assistant Brown, is it?" – Sheambaum looked her over. "Wiggins says you are reliable."
"Thank you, sir," – Effie gasped, sensing his appreciation in the air.
"Prove it!" – Sheambaum commanded, and she saw him roll up his robe's sleeves.
The next half an hour was dream-like. Mediwizard Sheambaum didn't win his place by gambling; his style and method were refined, and although different from Snape's intuitive and elegant brewing, his moves carried sophistication and skill. She didn't have much time to admire any of it as she cut and ground, peeled, plucked, and pasted everything under his hand, assisting the wizard as if she were trying to impress Snape in detention.
And it worked. The Brewery slowly filled with not only the steam of the enormous cauldron but also the wizard's amusement and approval, which only broke for seconds when Apprentice Scott arrived to pick up his shift, late just enough to see them finish and bottle the potion.
"Well done, Brown. Proceed with these to the fourth floor! Scott, a word!"
Anne filled a tray with the small bottles and phials and hurried out of the room before she humiliated the apprentice even more by overhearing Sheambaum's words of dissatisfaction. She thought she'd never had a better day in her life until she found herself back at Hogwarts, and Professor Moody ordered the class to stand aside while he made a place for duelling, sending their desks to the wall.
All she could do was quickly get out of the way of the Ravenclaw Eddie Carmichael before they'd been told to stand up in pairs, and she found herself facing Marietta Edgecombe, which wasn't as scary. The task should have been simple: cast a Protego – verbal or non-verbal – against whatever corridor spell their opponent chose. The problem was Anne's lack of practice and absolute ignorance in corridor duels.
Marietta bowed to her, and she lifted her wand. Anne wished she was anywhere else and jumped to the side from her first spell, something mildly bluish that felt oddly gluey in magic. She hated its imprint around her and bumped an elbow against a stuck-out chair.
Anne knew it was her turn and struggled to recall an adequate spell. She knew she had once practised these with Gavin! They had been down in Hogsmeade, and her brother first asked her to knock him back… the Knockback Jinx!
"Flipendo!"
Unfortunately, she wasted so much time coming up with the spell that Marietta managed to prepare for any attack with a Shield Charm, and her jinx fell without causing any damage. Not that she wished to cause damage… Anne felt the idea was silly, and the maple wand must have sensed that. Marietta's Tarantellagra partially hit her even if she produced the shield charm, more out of sudden panic than conscious thought… at least she owed that to Gavin!
Her leg swung in the air on the rhythm of some music she couldn't hear, but if there was a handful of spells, she practised enough at the St Mungo's, one of those must have been Finite Incantatem, which she now produced with only a thought and the minutest flick of her wand. Then she wished she had waited a moment because she lost balance and landed among the pushed-aside desks and benches, calling all the attention she wanted to avoid and showing her stockings up to her thigh before she managed to clamber up again on her feet.
Slytherin's embarrassment was worse than Moody's gleeful remark about her uselessness and loss of points. She could only fault herself and wouldn't have minded Edgecombe winning if the girl had stayed away. However, when she stepped closer and oh-so-gently asked if she was all right, Anne finally understood how much easier the task would have been with this motivation. She wasn't all right. She hurt at twenty-odd places and wanted to hide, but that would have been a bad idea, showing even more vulnerability.
Then lunch break came, and she needed all her self-control to shut up and smile while all her blasted classmates shot their jokes. It couldn't go down without the whole House knowing all the details, and Higgs even called Snape's attention when he walked through the Hall to get to the High Table.
"Professor, will there ever be another Duelling Club?"
Snape stopped to look over the fifth-year part of the table, and Anne secretly thanked Nimue for the Carrows had yet to arrive. It wasn't uncommon to address Snape at lunchtime, but usually, no one went further than a homework question or a free pass from Preps for Quidditch practice.
"Am I hearing a braggart? Mr Higgs, who was your victim?"
Miles laughed and patted Higgs on the shoulder. "It was Carmichael, sir, but he had to do it right if we didn't want Rosier's point-loss kill the balance."
Anne closed her eyes, not even trying to stop the inevitable, so she never saw the frown before Snape lifted the well-known questioning eyebrow at Bletchley. "Could it be?"
"I thought she would need a levitating charm to magic herself out from the debris,"- - Bletchley cut it as fat as he could get away with.
"We would really need a Club again after Moody's class," – Higgs explained.
"You should have seen it, sir, it was hilarious!" – Vaisey joined in. "Painful but funny!"
"She couldn't point her wand if her life depended on it!" – said Bletchley.
"I'll think about it, Mr. Higgs," Snape drawled as if she wasn't even there. "Until then, you might want to mark the day you outperformed the top girl in your year. Am I to write to your uncle, or have you already sent the owl?"
The boys snickered outrageously, and Higgs assured him: "I haven't yet, sir, but I will. It's time he heard something good about me for a change."
"Truer words… Mr. Higgs," – Snape said, and Anne would have sworn she could hear his smirk, "Try to keep it that way!"
"Yes sir," – Higgs promised to his back as he strolled towards the Head Table. Bletchley and Vaisey kept reiterating exactly how much he trashed Carmichael and eventually also how much of a loser Anne was on a ten-point scale.
She focused on her plate but had no appetite. The remarks about her threatening the Claws with her dangling calves, or that her duelling style was one described as arse over teakettle, only subsided after Sophie arrived and told the boys if they thought they saw her knickers, at least they wouldn't die without ever seeing one in their lives. She had the good sense to ask for her help in the library and finally removed her from the madhouse.
"What the hell had happened there?" – Sophie asked her in the Entrance Hall. "I thought Edgecombe wasn't even a player…"
"Yeah, but neither am I," – Anne had to admit. "Do you remember when Miranda promised to defend me in the House if I did the job as she wanted?"
"There wasn't much to defend," – Sophie remembered, "we all had your back."
Anne nodded. "And you did a fine job."
"Do you want me to believe that you got to the fifth year without ever having a duel?" – Sophie stared at her like at a rare curiosity.
Anne shrugged. It was only one instance in which she had ever used her wand against another when she cast Lapiforse on Flora Carrow and transfigured her sister into a badger. Sophie had to agree that neither of those spells would have sufficed at DADA.
"It would also be in bad taste. You wouldn't gain friends reminding people of Moody's stunt turning Malfoy into a ferret."
"Pity, because I found two more good spells since," – Anne tried to regain her balance and think about something funny. "There's also Ducklyforce and Vermiculous. I don't know what would be if the duck ate the worm, though."
"Aren't ducks herbivores?" – Sophie played along to cheer her up. "Listen, I don't know why you want to stick to transfig when that's not even your forte. If I had to do a quick job, I would petrify them, or if it's not important, just throw a Jelly-leg Jinx or a Flipendo."
"I did," – Anne argued. "It's just… never mind! I'll work it out."
"You'd better," – Sophie told her. "Because if the lower years smell the blood, you might have at least three years of eager little twerps trying to prove themselves target-shooting at your hindside whenever you turn."
Anne winced. She hadn't considered that prospect, but it didn't sound terrific. She made short work of sorting the needed tomes from the catalogue for Sophie and decided to look up some handbooks on duelling.
Research was her forte, even if she lacked practical experience. Reading through the lists of spells one could inconvenience their fellow witches and wizards, she kept thinking about their possible dangers and medical consequences. Leek jinx sounded funny, but she knew it needed a brew to remove it without damaging the eardrums. Inflatus could harm tissue and, if cast on the head, could cause long-term damage. Finger-removing Jinx, Melloforse, or the Stretching Jinx could be only removed at the Infirmary, and all projectile spells like Oppugno, Relatio or the whole family of Blasting Curses (Bombarda, Reducto and Confringo) left the victim for the care of a good wiz-surgeon like Dagworth if they were unlucky. She'd seen them all.
If she looked at it that way, Impedimenta, Stinging Jinx, Jelly Fingers, or anything cast on the opponent's wand, like Slippery Jinx, seemed the safest. She was also lucky that Edgecombe didn't go further than a Tarantellagra. That and other classics like Rictusempra and the Tickling Jinx were childish but easily removable. She made a list of those and swore never to mix them. The memory of Urquhart lying with various tentacles on the Infirmary bed in their second year taught her what she wanted to avoid. And, of course, there was Expelliarmus, which was good enough for Snape to dispose of Lockhart in her third year.
Her quill stopped above the line, and she finally let herself feel the hurt of his indifference. In the past weeks, she sometimes tried to understand him and had long abandoned feeling affronted by his stupid accusations. If Rachel was right, he must have felt bad enough without her holding a grudge. Although she would have been happy to know what made him go mad, she understood how he tried to mend fences later. It was a pity she couldn't make the offered choice. She simply had to leave for the St Mungo's, and he probably never understood that.
Anne lamented – for about the thousandth time – over his sudden loss of good sense. Her only clue was his words, "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… prank me", and that he seemed to have gone out of his way to find her when Sophie reported she was unwell. She didn't know precisely what she would have tried to fool him into, but she understood that he had cared – before she begged off detention that night, she knew he did. When a small voice suggested – yet again – that she maybe should have put in more effort and turn time to really talk to him that evening, she quenched it with the memory of his repeated wish she used the device less. There was no way to do right...!
Although she also got that he was trying to do the right thing. There were only two things she didn't get: How could that care just vanish without a trace? And what the hell did he mean by she showed him nice things to think about? The safe bet was that he meant her baby steps into real potion making, and the riské one was her wordlessly offered embrace on Halloween night. Neither mattered anymore because he just didn't care if they hurt her. He refused even to ask whether she was all right and praised Higgs, goading the others. Anne pulled out a parchment from her book bag with the recipe for the upgraded lung potion she thought to show him at Argus' party, taking Caleb's words at face value. Now, it felt stupid to try.
A profound sense of loss washed over her, and she stayed hidden behind the silly DADA books until Madame Pince appeared, ready to close for the day.
Anne forced a smile, then grabbed after the recipe in a near panic when the witch's wand lifted all her books to send them flying back to their assigned places, and the parchment flew up with them. Irma Pince quickly grabbed it, and when she saw the Arithmancy, she halted to ask:
"What have you been working on, Miss Rosier?"
Anne explained what she had come up with and said she wouldn't show it to her Head of House.
"He wouldn't care," – she shrugged and packed away the parchment, missing Pince's dubious eye-roll, only hearing her rare huff.
"That'll be the day, girl, when Rus Snape wouldn't care about a new recipe! You could also ask a pixie to abandon its bush. You used to have more sense than that! Here, let me see!"
Anne handed her the ingredient list with her equations and the suggested measures. It had all her additions divided from their previous work together, just so she felt more awkward about the blasted 'cough drops', as he used to relegate her first attempt. There were lines and lines under it to show what she'd learned along the epidemic at the St Mungo's, and Madame Pince read through it all with her face getting longer with every line.
"I don't even understand all the nuances," – she lowered the parchment. "And this at the beginning looks like his knack," – she pointed at a daring shortcut Snape had shown Anne at their first session over six weeks before. "I can see you repeat it in a variation… This, Miss Rosier, would be good to break his foul mood, I dare say."
Her praise felt almost as good as Snape's would have, but Anne also sensed Pince's mild worry, and it wasn't directed at her problems. "You make it sound as if he wasn't always in a foul mood," – she tried to joke. "I haven't noticed a great change, but I admit I've barely shared a few words with him for weeks. Is something the matter?"
Pince looked her over and returned her parchment. "Don't judge too quickly, Miss Rosier," – she advised. Then she seemed to have remembered she had known her for too long to believe that she would. "Your Professor has always had a turbulent inner life. None of us can always follow the tide, but I dare say that a distraction like this wouldn't go amiss now."
She swished her wand, packing the books away from the desks and counters, and sighed, only mumbling the rest: "This year began on such a good note, despite all the reminders of the past… I wondered what the secret was. But lately, it's dulled into the usual lifeless chase for duty. I find it sad, Miss Rosier, I will not make that a secret. You owe him enough to reconsider offering a diversion. I take it you will also join us tonight."
Anne nodded and got ready to leave before her. "I think I will skip dinner and get ready. I planned a small feast for Argus, and the cake must be cold, too. I will pick it up before ten. By then, he'll be done with his errands."
"Pomona returns to Hogsmeade for the early evening. I will join her so we can arrive together,"- Pince promised. "Are you sure you posted your professor about all the details? It would be like him to congratulate Argus and leave before we arrive."
Anne assured her that she did. However, she wasn't sure whether she hoped that Snape skipped the occasion or to pass a night in his presence, especially if he was genuinely indifferent to her struggles. Madame Pince wanted to push her to show off nonetheless.
The dorms were empty with everyone having dinner at the Great Hall, and Anne happily hid under the shower without distraction. Her favourite scents enveloped her, and she couldn't care if her soap brewing had been labelled childish as long as it ended with fineries like this. Only the damned mirror could spoil her mood when it showed a map of different bruises in a wide colour range from red and purple to blues and greens. She had chosen her dress for the evening days before. It was one made after her Gran's sketches and went beautifully with the hairpins she got from Argus last Christmas. She wanted to show him how she liked them and wear them for him, but a Hogwarts robe didn't do them justice, and they looked silly with her usual Muggle assemble of jeans and tee or a pullover.
Time was ticking, and she didn't want to spoil the evening with unnecessary turns of time that only exhausted her. She learned that year that her precious device could fail her as much as it helped her if she overused it and gave herself exhaustion just to be on time. So Anne quickly slipped into the dress, chose the warmest stockings and an enlarged black cardigan that would serve as a version of a robe if someone's eyes happened to turn at her, and before she donned it, she placed a series of notice-me-not charms all over the bruises on her arms and right shoulder, so they didn't peek out from under the dress. It was quicker than a long series of healing spells and foul smelling bruise pastes. Blast Marietta Edgecombe! If she thought about all this, she might have even fought against her.
Argus always talked about the roast fish in a nearby town. No matter how hard they tried, the house elves could never do a cod justice like those folks did, and whenever he had a day to spare, he didn't mind travelling by Muggle bus to taste it. Anne was determined to serve him his favourite, with adequate chips and peas and all she could think of, including the ale she found at the same place, and suspected that Argus also kept sampling when he got near them. Last Thursday, she had already gone around the neighbouring towns and was quite surprised how close to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was a vivid Muggle community, maybe with unique folklore, but show a place in Britain that wouldn't brag about that! Now, she could Apparate conveniently, make her purchases, and even walk around to amuse herself before she returned for the tunnel exit at the far side of Hogsmeade, where she hid the loot and turned on her heel to pick up the cake at Caleb's.
By when she clambered out of the portal on the fourth floor, it was already curfew, and she had to tread carefully not to bump into Moody so close to the DADA tower. With all the packages, she was so nervous that she cast a protecting and silencing charm on all and her shoe soles before she turned invisible, although the menace would have seen through that. She didn't regret it when she ran into Peeves on the first floor, and she had to hide behind a suit of armour so the poltergeist wouldn't notice her entering Filch's office.
She was about to turn tail and approach the caretaker's quarters from the outside when she heard footsteps and sensed Snape's annoyance before he even turned the corner of the corridor. He must have thought himself alone because he didn't occlude his emotions, and along with his average dissatisfaction and mild headache, there was also embarrassment, a sense of weariness and a hesitant wish for something he was ashamed about… he was annoyed with himself, Anne realised. But then he spotted Peeves, and his emotions flared into glee and vengeance. He looked around the empty corridor, and a satisfied smile crossed his lips. When he pulled out his wand, the speed was bedazzling, and Anne already heard him chant:
"Recludo, Claudo, inter moenia Constringo!" – his voice betrayed his gloating, and the three red ribbons that erupted from his wand's tip closed around the screaming poltergeist like a cage, dragging it into the castle's wall and fixed it there till its form dissolved without a trace. "I told you I would catch you for that one," – he grumbled, looking at the piece of wall that entrapped the poltergeist, and his satisfaction reverberated on the corridor.
Anne's shock must have somehow made him aware of her presence because he suddenly turned his wand against the suit of armour and took a hesitant step closer. "Hominum Revelio!"
Afraid of angering him and wishing his wand would lower, Anne willed herself visible, awkwardly reminded of their last similar encounter in the Entrance Hall the night before Halloween.
"I was…" – she showed a hand towards where the spirit had vanished, still gobsmacked by what she had to witness. "Will it ever return?"
Snape's mistrustingly narrowed eyes finally left her, and he peeked at the ceiling. "Unfortunately," – he said. "There's no cure for mischief, is there, girl," – he returned to her.
"I only hid from Peeves, sir," – Anne hurried to explain. "I had no idea – "
His wariness and a wistful thread of hope reached her and made her stop. Snape's emotions gradually faded from the air, but his glance still showed hesitancy and uncertainty. Was he wary of her? Anne averted her eyes and approached Filch's door. Balancing all the packages, she hardly knew how to grab the latch or knock, but Snape stepped closer and carefully touched the cakebox, only stopping short when her surprised gaze met his questioning eyes.
The sudden sensation as if her stomach was filled with lead distracted her from every thought. He only tore his eyes away when the footsteps approached, and he felt complied to back away as if giving space for Sprout's surprised cry:
"Severus! Why are you waiting outside?" She hurried to the door and took the cake from Anne with one hand, knocking with the other; she had already entered the office cheerfully calling for Filch. "We are looking for someone who could use a cake here! Argus! What a wonderful day!"
Anne let Irma Pince enter before her, too distracted to notice how Snape's face changed from blank to mocking when he greeted the librarian with a simple "Madame"! She would have let Snape proceed before her, but he nodded towards the door with minimal impatience, which she knew well enough to gulp a smile and walk inside.
Argus's surprise was more palpable than any sign of joy at their sight, but his mood decidedly brightened when Anne unpacked the little feast. He offered the ale around, telling everyone how special he thought it was and thanking Anne for the trouble.
"Oh, she's such a sweetheart, isn't she!" – Sprout happily took up from there. "Bless Poppy for the idea! She takes precious care of this girl!"
Snape grumbled something unintelligible, and Pince noted, "It is a pity she couldn't make it."
"You cannot fault her!" - Sprout dismissed her words in good cheer. "I hear there has been great havoc at the St. Mungo's. She must be curious about the details… Anyway, she thought of everything!"
Anne looked at Argus, having no way to tell that the surprises were her idea. She did everything to show him her friendship and love. Thankfully, the old grouch, as Irma called him, lifted an amused eyebrow at her, and they shared a smile of secret understanding.
Sprout went on pestering Snape to take a seat closer to the table and drink more ale, then finding him as unmovable as it was expected, she turned to Madame Pince:
"She's such a good girl, Irma! It reminds me of Cyanide Thorn. Can you recall her? She had an admirable skill in balancing schoolwork and trying to gain experience! I made her my apprentice as soon as she finished her seventh year. Alas, seventeen is too young for regular work. She left to discover herself, and I have never seen her returning, although it is said she'd done well abroad!"
"That might have had more to do with the era than her age," – Pince disagreed. "A lot sought new ways in '83. I could use crueller words for that kind of self-discovery."
"What on Earth do you mean?"
"Only that self-exploration may be the only way once one fails self-actualisation, and the discovery of self might not even follow," Pince suggested bluntly.
Snape softly snorted, but when the witches turned towards him, he busied himself drinking his ale and refused to share his opinion. Anne did the maths quickly, and her jaw almost dropped. That girl must have been in her last year when he began teaching if Slytherin's memory served and her leaving matched the date of the Dark Lord's fall.
Sprout didn't let such a minor inconvenience perturb her and carried on with her benevolent attempt to give Anne unnecessary support among her betters.
"Whatever the reason, she was a joy to teach, and I never had an apprentice ever since or before with so much promise. Poppy also acts like you were some kind of an apprentice for her, Miss Rosier. You must be very proud!"
Anne looked around, feeling a little odd and failing to force out the probably expected word of gratitude. Filch suggestively watched Madame Pince, and Snape seemed to wince.
"Well, you did well today," – Sprout smiled at her. "I hope you don't dread your OWLs too much, dear. Poppy must know what she can expect of you."
"I hope she does," – Anne finally answered, maybe keeping more distance than she was ought to. She wished to acknowledge what Sprout intended as a kindness, but her smile was forced against the patronising tone.
"There's more to Hogwarts than OWLs can measure," – Pince answered Filch's silent plea as much as Sprout's words. "You shouldn't worry, Pomona. Which reminds me, Severus, I've seen today a new potion you would find fascinating!"
Anne closed her eyes against the inevitable, trying and failing to find a way to stop Madame Pince politely.
"Oh, tell me!" – he sighed without the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
"Miss Rosier, here is your chance," – Irma Pince encouraged Anne. "This foolishness has to stop."
While Anne still sought the words to stop the madness, Snape tilted his head aside, trying to mask the weariness that returned to his eyes. "What foolishness exactly?"
"Why, Miss Rosier seems to labour under the misconception that you wouldn't care for her findings," – Pince explained.
As embarrassed as Anne suddenly felt, it was a miracle she also sensed Snape's bafflement.
"Did she tell you that?" – he asked, watching Anne as if he was talking to her.
"Maybe not with so many words, but" – Pince began, and Anne's panic finally gave her voice back:
"This isn't my night, madame," – she gabbled, forcing herself to smile at Pince and escape Snape's incredulous eyes. "Argus, wherever did you hide Mrs. Norris? I thought she would enjoy the fish even more than the rest of us!"
Blessing the sergeant for playing along, Anne spent the next quarter of an hour finding the cat in Filch's living room and giving her a thorough scratch on the ears and the leftovers. At the same time, the witches continued their conversation, recalling memories of Argus and past celebrations. He also found and read the card, not hiding his relief only to receive so much of his colleagues to commemorate the day. He generously filled all glasses with the ale again, making Sprout light-hearted and Madame Pince sitting straighter. Anne dared not peek at Snape, and he avoided talking, hiding behind his glass at all odd moments he would have been expected to add something to the discourse.
Deciding to be safer by the cat on the floor, Anne didn't give up her crouching hiding spot and looked them over. She was the odd one out here, or it must have been Professor Sprout. As it was, the five of them had nothing in common, and she had no hope ever since the four around the table had such a different well of knowledge to base their opinions on. Madame Pince knew her more than Sprout, but Snape knew her better, yet neither of them would share any of the details, and the twisted play probably amused Argus. Just when she thought she could as well opt for French leave, someone remembered the cake, and she readily served them, only cutting a slice for herself when Filch grumbled a joke about poisons.
She had to sit back by the table, and oddly, the commotion around the cake left her with the only choice of taking a chair between Argus and Snape. The sergeant's joy, however, erased most of her misgivings.
"This, lass, was worth counting the years," – he said, looking at her with all the warmth she knew he reserved only for their friendship. "Life is not empty as long as someone takes so much trouble…"
His emotions were strong and enclosed them in a soft bubble in magic, Anne sensed with joy and it finally gave her a sense of safety to let her guard down and genuinely smile. "Only a cake, sergeant," she told him softly, then Sprout's good intent to support her burst the bubble of tranquillity:
"I was so happy to remember which to order! But who thought the girl would trouble herself even to bake it herself? You go over and beyond for Poppy, my dear, and I commend that!"
Ann's smile faltered, and it was little consolation that Argus let the rubbish fly and only looked amused. Pince chimed in, knowing about their friendship and trying to save the moment, but she couldn't give her attention. The mood was spoiled, and she was wary enough of Snape's random glances, being sure he was still disturbed by the previous words about her new potion.
Irma asked about the plants in the Sprout Hogsmeade garden, and Filch occasionally added some thoughts about the weather influencing the saplings. Snape stoically munched, only stopping sometimes to lick the filling better from his fork, but Anne lost her appetite and felt like an idiot. Then, something nudged her shoe under the table to gain her attention, and she was floored when she saw it was Snape's dragonhide boot.
"Eat, Rosier," – he softly told her. His voice was low enough to get lost among the other three. "It's not half bad. Would be stupid to miss," – he added, lifting a forkful of cake when Anne's stricken look finally matched his.
His eyes were grey like when he didn't occlude, and there was the additional warmth she hadn't seen for weeks. It could have been the ale or the cake that softened him, or perhaps her struggles somehow made him act; whatever the reason, the sparkle of care hit Anne like the Knight Bus, and her words just bubbled forward: "I want the detentions back!"
She escaped into eating when he paled.
Snape's shock was palpable, even if he tried to hide it, and Anne sensed Filch's intent on reaching out for Pince. She only peeked up once to ensure she wasn't wrong about it, and she saw how her friend silently pleaded with the witch to cut the evening short. One look at Snape and Irma Pince must have convinced her and she put her fork down, claiming fatigue.
As soon as they had taken their leave, Anne turned to Argus to embrace him and whisper many happy returns before she fled. As much as she prepared for this evening, it was less than anticlimactic. She had never felt the contrast between what she was and what she should be more keenly, and the comparison drained her of every last bit of balance. She chose the snake passage instead of the staircase so she wouldn't run into the leaving witches, but she couldn't take twenty steps before she collapsed against the wall in the darkness, fighting tears she would have felt ashamed to cry.
It was stupid, really, to feel devastated by only the reality of her life. Sprout couldn't be faulted, and Argus knew the truth… The small memory of Snape's boot at her toe didn't match anything she had ever expected, and it confused her, but couldn't someone show kindness without her reacting like a fool?
The passage's entrance opened behind her, and she heard hurried steps before the torch lit up. As soon as the flames lighted Snape's face, his steps faltered. When he didn't move, the torch above his head went out, leaving them once again in darkness that hid their stunned surprise.
Anne had to admit that it was dramatic. However, after she counted about half a dozen breaths, she began to wonder whether she was supposed to cast a Lumos or if it would be more polite to wait for him to do it… Snape softly cleared his throat.
"How did you learn about this shortcut?"
Anne felt the mild accusation in his voice, and she hurried to explain how the Baron had shown her the engraved snake. "He wanted to protect me. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to use it."
"The passage belongs to Slytherin," – he informed her. "If you take advantage of it, at least keep it a secret!"
"Yes, sir."
Anne wasn't in the mood for more awkwardness, but his keenly careful tone when he spoke again pushed her back into all the painful thoughts at Filch's quarters:
"Your former decision about the detentions-"
"You misunderstood, sir!" she hurried to point out and cringed at the impudence of cutting in.
"Did I?" His short words carried exasperation. Oh, gods, she didn't want to start this on the wrong foot again!
"Yes. I mean… I wanted to halt them temporarily… it was all kinds of insane at work, and I –" She tried to gather herself after her near-breakdown as quickly as she could – "I thought… hoped… the detentions would resume if… when I didn't need to work double shifts anymore." She fell silent and waited. In an ideal world, she would have seen him or at least sensed his emotions, and she wouldn't have been forced to thread literally in the dark. She heard his sigh. It sounded resigned.
"I cannot accommodate your wishes."
She felt silly even before she asked: "Why?"
His boots shuffled. "Because, contrary to the popular misbeliefs, I do actually know what I assign and when, Rosier, and after months of unnecessarily punishing you, as the world had seen it, I cannot repeat your abuse without calling attention!"
He spoke less softly now. Anne felt his patience waning, but something told her he wasn't angry with her. Not exactly.
"Stop playing games with me, girl! I accepted that after all that had been said, you-"
"This is not what had happened!" Anne faltered by her own dare, but she had already silenced him, and there was only one way to flee: forward. "I'm not playing games, sir!" – she stated firmly, showing that she was on the verge of taking offence. "And I never wanted to force you into anything! I feel safe and inspired with you – in the Brewing Room," she hurriedly added. "If I ever wanted to give support as I received it, that was meant to be a gift, not a chore."
She heard his breath in the darkness, which was muffled enough to tell her he must have rubbed his hands against his face.
"Once we should address the occurrence of overheard thoughts," – he noted. "I am yet to find the reason or the remedy, but it bears particular importance."
First, she was glad his tone subdued, and he didn't repeat any rubbish she found hurtful, then panic kicked in: "Did you overhear something again, sir?"
"Not recently," – he replied wryly. "But on Halloween night…" he stopped, and Anne had the impression he was forcing himself to speak. "What I overheard on Halloween…"
"I remember," – she tried to help him out.
"And did you mean it?"
His voice sounded demanding and fascinatingly hesitant at the same time. It was unnerving.
"Yes," – she only dared to whisper. "Why?"
"Because you were wrong, girl…" – he sounded thoughtful and wary. "The sentiment…" He halted for so long that Anne gave up hearing the rest, and then his words rushed forward: "I thought it was painfully clear that the sentiment wasn't entirely unwelcome."
Anne could sense his discomfort without any kind of magic. Snape was a reserved man, but still a man, and she must have forgotten what that meant, at least what that meant if he merely counted thirty-some years instead of Argus's additional decades and fatherly attitude. He could accept her freely given embrace on his birthday. Just like Frank Strawman could refer to his age and compare her to his daughter. However, if Snape had misunderstood her intentions on Halloween and – gods forbid it – acted upon the error, they could have been in a severe mess. Even without that, she would say that her exuberance and his not being entirely unwelcoming-ness still ended them in a pickle. She was afraid to imagine what other errors could have arisen if they had failed to stop this occurrence.
"You wanted me to end the detentions," – she told him with the surprise of the new discovery.
"I found your choice reasonable, yes," – he admitted.
Anne forced herself to breathe and had no idea how to answer. Thankfully, he carried on without encouragement.
"I have a hard time trusting, Rosier. I never expected you to forgive the consequences of that fact."
Secretly admiring the courage that made him capable of such blunt honesty, Anne also noticed the significance of receiving it. There was nothing for him to gain here but the potential to lose, yet Snape, her House Head and Potions Master, finally behaved as only a true friend would have and ranked her need for support and an explanation before his reserve and self-preservation.
"We all have shortcomings, sir," – she answered him slowly. "Mine is that I have a hard time forsaking what I value for how others perceive it. When you told me you could work with a wiz-nurse, I understood that as a deal."
His sigh came from everywhere and nowhere as if it gusted along the passage and returned to them in waves. "Oh, bloody hell!"
Anne expected some kind of retreat and a goodbye, but instead, he – belatedly – replied with a question:
"Is it true that you came up with a new brew?"
Anne almost laughed at his hopeful tone. He was as curious as Pince had suggested.
"Indeed. It might elevate the cough drops to proper potions."
"Ah, the confidence, Rosier! From you a novelty!"
"Well, I certainly needed to gain some after brewing with Sheambaum!" – she strung him on cheekily, happy to be able to taunt him and brag.
"You will not trick me into brewing with you, girl, by making it a contest. He wouldn't be the first to see your skill nor your first potion."
"He had no idea what hit him, that's true," – Anne chuckled. "I assisted him the way you like it. He only reaped the results of your endurance in training me."
"And by the gods, was that an effort!" His tone was light, and Anne enjoyed the levity. "We still need to solve the problem of what either of us may overhear if you expect further input", – he returned to his initial dilemma, this time in a less humourless tone. "Fractions of thoughts or ideas are prone to misunderstandings… but if you can find a way to pass me the recipe, I will do my best to give it a look."
Anne felt as if she had won a prize, and she grinned into the darkness until he pushed himself from the wall, and the movement lit the torches. He smirked at her silly beaming, gesturing for her to proceed toward the dungeons. Before she could leave the passage, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, and she tried to believe she sensed his magic wash over her. However, the mood swiftly changed, and his voice sounded urgent:
"Who did this?"
Anne followed his pointing hand to one of the bruises under her collarbone. How he noticed her charm, she couldn't fathom, but the Notice-me-nots had fallen with that gust of magic, and now his gaze stubbornly demanded an answer.
"You heard in the lunchbreak that I lost a duel, sir," – her voice showed the remains of her dissatisfaction, but he gave it no thought.
"There had been nothing said about an injury."
"Only bruises," – Anne tried to knock it off with a smile. "I have a collection," she said, pulling the cardigan lower and showing her arm and wrist. He didn't find it amusing.
"Who did you duel with?"
"Edgecombe," – Anne admitted, but seeing his face, she quickly added: "It wasn't her fault. She only partially hit me, and only once… I… tried to dodge her spell and fell into a pile of desks by the wall. It won't happen again,"- she added, embarrassed. He didn't seem to mind or recognise her discomfort, only cared for the bruises.
She watched his hand lift to the level of her collarbone as if in slow motion – slow enough to see it tremble.
"Allow me–"
Anne had no idea what he asked permission for, but she nodded like in a dream, already feeling his magic freely oozing from his palm. He held his hand close to her skin, only the tip of his long fingers accidentally grazing down her shoulder and arm while he mumbled Sana immaculata in a low, sing-song voice that reverberated deep in her stomach as he reached her wrist and healed her bruises.
She sensed when his magic returned to him, but he still didn't move or look up. Driven by a strange impulse and perhaps by sharing his reluctance to lift her face and look him in the eye now, Anne's hand turned under his, and her fingertips lightly skimmed his as she breathed, "Thank you!"
"Take better care," – his voice was a little throaty, so she wasn't surprised when he swallowed hard and pushed the sign on the stonewall so she could slip out into the dark corridor.
He didn't follow. Anne hurried to her dorm and refused to reason.
She was certain again about finally having made another friend, and she was happy about it. He was astonishing with magic, he had issues, and he healed her… there's nothing to think about there! It was just life. She wasn't wrong about that soundless, touchless embrace, and she wouldn't miss calling it detention what she had never truly considered one. It was normal. He was normal. Potions professors were people too, and anyway, she had never thought of him like a professor whenever they genuinely argued, so why now? The whole thing was so fucking normal, she didn't even know why she was grinning into her pillow!