Fic Post: To Know Who I Am -- Chapter 11
Title: To Know Who I Am
Author: firefly_124
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Angel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: SS/OFC
Acknowledgements: Huge thanks to my beta reader, ubiquirk, who also made the lovely banner, my Brit-picker, saracen77, and my alpha readers, bluedolfyn and willow_kat.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize and I'm not making any money from this. If you think otherwise, there's this nice room in St. Mungo's for you.
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Chapter 11
Severus looked out over the room full of Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years as they chopped their nettle leaves. Some were taking appropriate precautions. Others had forgotten to bring their dragon hide gloves and were stinging themselves regularly. Most had learned not to make any noise about it. Except one.
“Mr. Clayworth,” Professor Snape intoned darkly. “Why are you making those abhorrent noises in my class?”
The boy cowered.
“Answer me!” Snape barked as he loomed over the boy’s cauldron.
“I … I forgot my gloves, sir,” Clayworth replied.
“Did you think that once you were finished growing them the nettle plants would lose their sting?”
Celia was delusional when she decided these imbeciles would learn a healthy respect for the things they handle by starting out with something that caused no lasting effects.
That entire line of thought was infuriating.
“N-no, sir?” The boy gave him a look that suggested he was seeking mercy.
“Then why, Mr. Clayworth, did you come to class without the protective gloves you were told to bring?” Snape placed his hands on either side of the boy’s cauldron and leaned over to look at the pile of mangled leaves.
“I forgot, sir,” the boy managed, yanking his hand back from yet another sting. Silently, for once.
Snape pushed off the desk and straightened to his full height. “Fifty points from Slytherin for carelessness and coming to class unprepared,” he said. “And you’ll lose another five for each time I hear another sound out of you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, s-sir,” Clayworth replied as he bent to resume his pitiful attempts at slicing the leaves.
As he turned to go back to the front of the class, Snape saw Lightfeather mouthing something to his little Gryffindor girlfriend.
“Another fifty points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor,” he snapped, “for talking in class and possibly cheating. You are to do your work alone, Miss Hollingberry, and you are not to help her, Mr. Lightfeather.”
Both children flushed and turned their eyes to their desks.
This promised to be a truly hideous day.
~ ~ ~
Her eyes shot open, and it took her several minutes to realize where she was. The cot-like bed surrounded by a white curtain told her it was a hospital. Great Goddess, why was she in the hospital? In hospital, she corrected herself. That’s how they say it over here. Here? Where am I? They say it like that in Britain, right? What am I doing in Britain?
She noticed her wand lying on the nightstand, and things began to come back into focus. Hogwarts. But am I in the hospital wing or at St. Mungo’s? And why? Did I hit my head? The curtain opened, and Madam Pomfrey stepped in.
“You’re awake!”
Celia looked at her dumbly. Apparently this was big news. She wondered why. The matron was scanning over her with her wand and appeared pleased with what she was finding.
“What …” Celia tried to say, but her throat was dry and barely any sound came out at all.
Poppy gave her a measuring look. “If I bring you some water, will you drink it for me? Or will we have to wait for Severus?”
Wait, what? Celia’s eyes widened, and she sat up and mimed drinking the water herself. The matron left and quickly returned with a large goblet of water.
“Drink it slowly,” she cautioned.
Celia sipped a little of the water until her mouth and throat felt well-moistened, then took a much larger swallow. Setting the goblet down on the little table beside her bed, she asked, “What happened?”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
Celia closed her eyes. “I was patrolling Hogsmeade, then I came back onto the grounds. I sent a Patronus saying that all was clear …” She decided she didn’t need to fill in the whole message. “And then I woke up here.”
Poppy looked unsurprised by this. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you,” she said. “It may be best if you recover the memories on your own.”
Celia fumed. “What good am I supposed to be to anybody if I don’t know what happened?”
The matron was clearly not going to be budged.
“Fine,” she conceded with a huff. “Would you at least tell me if anybody else was hurt?” Apparently not Severus, anyway, even if I still don’t get what she said about him before.
“No, although Minerva has increased security substantially over the past couple of days.”
“Couple of … Poppy, how long was I out?” she demanded, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Almost three full days.”
“It’s Monday?”
The matron nodded.
Celia’s shoulders slumped. What the hell could have knocked me out for three days?
“Has anything else happened since … whatever happened to me?”
“No.” Poppy resumed casting what were apparently diagnostic spells.
“And you’re really not going to tell me anything else?”
“I’m sorry.”
She scowled. “Okay, last question for now, then. May I take a shower?”
Poppy considered this. “First I want to see how you do standing,” she said.
Celia swung her legs out from under the covers and noticed for the first time that she was wearing a very simple white shift. “At least it’s better than a johnny,” she said wryly.
“A what?”
“Muggle hospital gown. I like your version better.”
“I should think so.” Poppy held out her hand to guide her patient to her feet. Celia winced at the cold stone floor, but she stood readily and took a few steps when asked to do so. Poppy pronounced her safe for a shower and conjured a dressing gown and slippers for her before pointing her to the hospital wing bathroom.
~ ~ ~
It was debatable whether anyone had actually learned anything in a Potions class today, except perhaps the upper limit of House points that could be lost at one time. Severus thought it might actually have been better to simply cancel his classes. If this went on much longer, he might try to pry Slughorn back out of retirement and take a leave of absence. Ironic that he had managed to live a double life - complete with multiple bouts of the Cruciatus - for years while managing to continue to teach, hardly missing a day until he’d had to leave the school entirely. Now, suddenly, he was contemplating a leave of absence for someone else?
As he drew closer to his destination, he tried to impose some sort of discipline upon his emotions. This became easier as the distance lessened, and he felt the pressure to hurry back decrease proportionally. He focused on the fragment of an idea he’d had during the aftermath of a particularly noxious student error. The fool had mixed hellebore with moonstone powder in a base of vervain. An infusion of hellebore and vervain, however, minus the moonstone powder, might form a worthwhile base for a potion that could help her. Looking at possible solutions to the problem helped, at least when he was not looking at her lying there with her eyes so tightly shut.
If any of his students ever saw this side of him, they would undoubtedly collapse on the spot. Perhaps they would call St. Mungo’s to come collect him. Perhaps they should because his behavior and his actions were incomprehensible even to him.
He took a breath and let it out slowly before opening the hospital wing door. He heard voices inside, and that meant there was probably a student in hospital now as well. It had been too much to hope that the privacy they’d had could last.
Surprised to find no students occupying any of the other beds, he walked quickly to the curtained-off bed at the far end, seemingly the source of the voices. He expected to find Poppy and Minerva holding some sort of conference. When he opened the curtain, he wondered how he had not registered the identity of the second voice.
Celia was awake, eyes open and standing, and Poppy was helping her detangle her hair, which appeared to be damp. Their conversation stopped when they heard him enter, and he wondered irrelevantly what they had been discussing.
“You are back,” he said softly.
“Yes.” She smiled slightly, and Poppy nodded confirmation.
He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to yell for joy. He couldn’t do either of those things, so he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and glared.
“You could have been killed,” he snarled. “You could have spent the rest of your life in St. Mungo’s. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Severus!” Poppy admonished. She was ignored.
Celia scowled back at him. “Hell if I know! Nice to see you, too!”
“You don’t know? You don’t know? Is that the best you can do?” he demanded.
“Probably,” she snapped. “Right now it’s definitely the best I can do, considering I really don’t know what happened.” She crossed her arms, echoing his posture seemingly unconsciously. “I did warn you,” she added more softly.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
He swallowed hard. There might still be permanent damage then.
Some of that thought must have been evident in his expression, as she proceeded to ask Poppy to give them a moment of privacy. The matron nodded and stepped around them, exiting through the curtain, though not without giving him a last warning glare.
She looked up into his eyes and demanded, “What is it, Severus?”
“I would not have you remember being tortured,” he said hoarsely. “That … is good. But what else …”
Her eyes widened. “I think I’d probably rather not remember that either,” she agreed. “But I need to know what happened. Why was I tortured? By whom? Why have I been out for three days? Have they been caught, or do I maybe have some sort of clue that we need?”
“Poppy has told you nothing?”
“No.” She scowled. “She thinks it would be best to recover the memories myself.”
That was a reasonable theory.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She sighed, some of the fight appearing to go out of her. “You want objective? Not my department right now.”
“Then perhaps it is best to wait and see.”
“Do we have time for that?” She straightened once again and looked at him sharply. “Poppy did say there are Aurors here now, though she also said no one else has been hurt.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “One of your assailants was captured. He died of an apparent allergic reaction to Veritaserum.”
She blinked several times - a sign he was coming to recognize indicated she was working to assimilate a new bit of information that seemed not to fit.
“That sounds like something out of a science fiction novel,” she said at last. “Is there any way to tell if the allergy was natural or somehow induced?”
“I am unaware of any way to induce such an allergy or of any test to discern that it had been done.”
She closed her eyes briefly. Thinking, he realized, though the sight bothered him. He was relieved when she opened them again.
“There was more than one assailant, then, and apparently human.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a start.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why don’t you tell me everything you can, without spelling out the parts I ought to remember. Maybe then I’ll be able to fit the pieces in.”
He considered this, nodded, and almost returned to his accustomed spot on the edge of the hospital bed. Catching himself, he instead took the chair beside it. He gave her an extremely abbreviated explanation of his own part in the events surrounding Friday’s attack, leaving out any description of her assailants or what they appeared to have been doing to her. When he finished, he watched her face carefully. As her expression darkened, he thought she must be starting to remember and was surprised to see her face set into anger that was apparently directed at … him.
“You did what?” she demanded loudly. “Are you insane?”
He was dumbstruck.
“You realized that I was in over my head, and you’re going to have to explain that in a minute, and you came after me alone? Without notifying anyone? Have you completely lost that supposedly cunning Slytherin mind of yours?”
“It is so rare for me to have the opportunity to say this, Severus,” came McGonagall’s voice from behind him, where she had just pulled aside the curtain, “that I find I simply must point out that I told you so.”
He turned and glared darkly at the Headmistress, then whipped back to face the enraged Slayer.
“Apparently I have,” he snarled and stood to leave.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she snapped, jumping up grabbing both his arms in a viselike grip.
Clearly she retained no physical impairment, he thought somewhat irrelevantly.
“You do not get to come in here, yell at me for something I don’t even remember, and then run off as soon as you get yelled at for something you do remember,” she continued. “Don’t get me wrong - I’m grateful you came after me. I’m grateful for what Poppy tells me you’ve done while I’ve been in here. I’m also frustrated as hell that no one will tell me more than bits and pieces of what happened, because if there’s some big bad out there, then I should be helping to deal with it, and I can’t do that if I don’t know what or who or how or why, because whatever the hell I walked into, I’ll probably walk right back into again, and that’s about as much use as running out of the castle in the middle of the night without telling anyone else that there’s something wrong!” She glared at him as she appeared to run out of breath.
He glared back in stony silence.
“So you do not remember what happened?” Minerva asked.
Celia appeared startled that the Headmistress was still there.
“No,” she replied. “I’m starting to remember being here in the hospital wing. I think I remember Willow, my teacher, doing something … that’s still a little fuzzy. Was she here?”
“No.”
“Not that she’d need to be.” She paused. “But there’s still a giant gap between when I arrived back on the grounds and sent an all-clear and when I woke up. I know it involved humans, not vampires, and that one was captured but died during interrogation. I know it apparently involved torture of some kind. I know that fortunately no one else was hurt. And I know there are Aurors here now. But that’s it.” She looked up at him. “Are you still planning to storm off?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Good.” She released his arms. “Then can we please sit back down and discuss this?”
He nodded and extended his hand to the single chair beside the bed, gesturing for Minerva to sit first.
“I believe that chair is yours,” the Headmistress said, drawing her wand and conjuring a chair of her own. She seated herself, and Celia followed, perching on the edge of the mattress. Severus sat last, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the two determined witches as Minerva cast a Privacy Charm.
~ ~ ~
Half an hour later, Celia had no more idea what had happened to her than she had before. They were determined, it seemed, to let her restore her memories on her own. She was relieved that there had been no further attacks but appalled that Minerva was considering dismissing her for the safety of the school.
“If we can apprehend these assailants,” the Headmistress was saying, “then there should be no further concern. Otherwise, I am afraid that your presence may simply pose too high a risk to Hogwarts and its students.”
“So you’ve decided that these attacks are focused on me personally?” she asked. “And have you forgotten the whole thing we talked about last summer where an untrained Slayer is at least as dangerous to have around as an untrained witch or wizard?”
“This Potential Slayer has yet to be identified,” Minerva pointed out, “and you could have been misled.”
“I told you, the message couldn’t have been clearer …”
“It could have been planted,” Minerva spoke over her.
Celia snapped her jaw shut. It wasn’t like the Powers had never messed around with dreams, prophecies, and visions before. She didn’t think that was happening now, but how could she prove it? Without stinking up the Great Hall and lighting the poor girl up like an orange Christmas tree anyway.
“Celia,” Severus added, “can you not think of any enemies you might have made who would have tracked you here?”
“Not human ones,” she replied. “And if I had left any lying around that I couldn’t round up, I’d like to think they’d be just a teensy bit more competent.”
“What do you mean?” Minerva asked.
“Well, we’re sitting here having this conversation,” she replied. “If they wanted me dead, they obviously had their chance. So they wanted something else, but instead of stunning me and taking me off the grounds, they stuck around, got one of themselves caught and killed, and unless it’s part of what you’re not telling me, didn’t get whatever they were after.”
“That is a reasonable analysis,” Severus said, “though surely not the only one.”
“No,” she agreed. “We thought we had a reasonable analysis of the vampire incident, and assuming the two are connected, that was wrong. Or incomplete. Or something.” She let out a harsh sigh, closed her eyes, and tried to fish around inside her mind. When she found her usual room of cupboards and closets filled now with padlocks that had clearly been very recently undone, doors left ajar, she thought she might have at least part of the answer. Her eyes opened and she blinked several times, her gaze focusing on a speck on the floor.
Quickly going through and checking behind all of the doors, she found things organized the way they always had been. They just had seriously stronger locks now. The basement door had a really impressive number of new locks on it. They had all been undone, but it was still closed. She left it. Next to it was a small, square door built into the wall. It, too, had been unlocked but left unopened. It was completely new. She tugged at it experimentally, but it wouldn’t budge.
Looking up at Severus and Minerva, she said, “I think I’ve got some idea what happened, and where that information is, but I can’t seem to get at it.”
“What is your idea?” Minerva asked.
“Someone tried to break into my mind,” she replied, “and I locked absolutely everything down completely and totally. Does that fit any theories you’ve come up with?”
“Yes.” Severus’ face darkened.
She sighed, more softly this time, and ran her fingers through her hair. “You said I was tortured, Severus. I think the reason I can’t access this last bit is plain old repression.”
“If that is the case,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her, “perhaps you could access the memory using a Pensieve. I know they ‘do not agree with you,’ but that might be preferable to actually remembering it and could bypass the repression mechanism.”
She considered that for a moment, then nodded. He drew his wand and flicked it in the direction of his quarters, Summoning his Pensieve. It would take a moment to arrive.
When it floated into the curtained area, she was amused to notice that it was accompanied by a vial of Anti-Nausea Potion. Smiling, she thanked him and was troubled by his stiff acknowledgement.
He set the Pensieve and the vial on the small table that held her wand and water glass, then handed her the wand. She accepted it and sat for a moment thinking about how to do this. She had never used a Pensieve to retrieve a memory she couldn’t actually … remember. Finally, she shrugged and decided to focus on that little door and whatever was behind it.
She placed her wand at her temple and willed it to connect with that memory. A wisp of silvery threadlike substance seeped around the crack of the door and connected to the wand. Carefully, she drew the wand away from her temple and felt the familiar, nauseating sensation that always accompanied a memory extraction. As she pulled the wand further away, the thread became taut. She tried to pull at it more firmly, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, she gave it a stronger tug. Instead of pulling further away from her head, it snapped off the end of the wand and back into her mind, where it hit the little door and cracked it open. The wand fell from her hand.
“Celia?” she heard Severus call as if from very far away.
She saw a figure in black before her, and it turned so that she could see its skull-like mask. As she fired a Stunning Spell at it, she felt another spell hit her from behind, and pain ripped through her. She became aware that she was screaming and shoved her fist in her mouth to stop the noise, gripping something cold and hard with her other hand. This isn’t happening. It’s just a memory. Ride it out. It’s just a memory.
Someone was telling her to open her eyes … someone was trying to pry her eyes open … the pain stopped, and Severus was speaking, but she couldn’t understand … she felt herself being carried …
When it stopped, she tasted copper and realized she had bitten the hand she had stuffed into her mouth. She thought to apply pressure to it with her other hand, but it seemed locked into place. Looking down, she saw that she had gripped the frame of the bed so tightly that it had molded around her fingers. Carefully, she forced herself to release it. She gradually became aware that Minerva and Severus were speaking.
Before she could process what they were saying or reassure them she was okay, her stomach roiled, and she vomited onto the floor. The mess was quickly Vanished, and the Anti-Nausea Potion pressed into her trembling hand, already unstoppered, as well as a handkerchief. She wiped her mouth and took a small sip first, then gulped it down when she was sure it would stay put long enough to do its job. Looking up at Severus, she smiled wanly. Without saying a word, he exchanged the empty vial for another that contained a potion she didn’t recognize. She drank that one down as well and was relieved to feel the residual pain slip away and to see the tremors in her hand subside. The bite looked nasty, but it had already stopped bleeding. The water on the little table beckoned, and she took a large swallow of it. Severus and Minerva were looking at her warily, she realized.
“I’m okay,” she said weakly.
“I do not believe that is possible,” Severus said, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe a slight exaggeration,” she agreed. She set the goblet back down on the table.
“What happened?” Minerva asked.
“It looks like when I locked everything down, I locked some of the pain in, too,” Celia replied. She tried to smile. “Not one of my better ideas.”
“Clearly,” Severus replied. “You should lie down,” he added. “The Cruciatus Relief Potion will have you asleep soon.”
She nodded, beginning to feel that effect already. Then she shook her head. “Wait a sec - don’t you want to know what I saw?”
Severus’ jaw was set tightly. No wonder. Minerva, on the other hand, nodded for her to continue.
Fighting the sleepiness that was creeping over her, she gave as clear of a description as she could. She could tell from Minerva’s expression and Severus’ lack of one that there was nothing new here. Minerva confirmed as much.
As the two of them rose to go, Celia pulled down the sheets and toed off her slippers. She wished Severus wouldn’t leave, but squashed that thought. From what she could tell, he’d been here most of the past three days, and he looked like he’d barely slept. He deserved a break, and she didn’t need a babysitter. Anymore. She really didn’t want to think about that part even more than she didn’t want to think about being tortured. Pain? Part of the job. Being helpless? Really, really not.
There were other things she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time, and she was quickly losing the battle against sleep. She pulled the sheet over her legs and watched as he approached the break in the curtain. Minerva was dropping the Privacy Charm.
“Severus,” she called out softly, and he turned. Minerva nodded at her and exited.
“Yes?” he answered.
“What would people dressed as Death Eaters want with me?” she asked.
He came back over to her side, guided her to lie back against the pillow, and kissed her on the forehead more tenderly than she would have expected. “I don’t know,” he murmured as she felt herself drift into sleep.
~ ~ ~
The contrast in leaving her for a couple of hours in order to do some marking and attend dinner compared to leaving for class this morning was amazing. The sensation of being drawn back to the hospital wing was still present but far less insistent than it had been earlier. Severus was able to eat his dinner in relative peace and to make a quick inspection of the Slytherin common room before returning to check on her.
When he arrived, Poppy was predictably hostile.
“You’re not to upset her again, Severus,” she said, shaking her finger under his nose. “I know she’s supposed to heal quickly, but if she is not allowed to rest, I don’t see how she can. She’s only just woken up and then been made to relive what happened! I still cannot believe you and Minerva …”
“I am not here to upset her,” he said firmly. “I merely wish to see how she is doing. You had no objection before …”
“Come to join me for dinner, then?” Celia asked brightly as she exited the loo and tightened the belt on her dressing gown.
“Actually,” he replied, “I have already eaten, but may I join you anyway?”
Poppy looked them both over sternly, huffed, and stalked away to her office.
“Of course.” Celia took his arm and led him to her curtained-off “room.” Once inside the curtain, she turned to him, no longer smiling, and asked, “Are you over your little snit?”
“For now.”
“Good.” She reached up and drew him down to her for a kiss. He was surprised at first. When she teased his lips open with her tongue, he found himself relaxing into the embrace. His arms stole around her as she caressed his face with her fingertips.
“Now that’s a decent greeting,” she said with a grin once they broke the kiss. “Much better than the yelling and recriminations for future reference.”
“You seem awfully cheerful,” he replied as he drew his wand and cast a quick Privacy Charm.
She shrugged, led him over to his chair, and seated herself on the remade bed next to the table that held her mostly-liquid dinner. “Nothing like a nice little late-afternoon nap to make excruciating pain feel like a distant memory,” she said.
He winced.
“That and whatever was in that potion you gave me,” she added. She looked over her tray, picked up an extra teacup that seemed to have just materialized, and handed it to him.
“It is the standard post-Cruciatus treatment,” he said, surprised.
“Remind me to ask you how to make it so’s I can add it to the Slayer-witch curriculum,” she replied. “Coffee,” she added to her own cup.
“Why is it not part of your curriculum already?” And why did I not notice this glaring deficit? He muttered, “Tea,” over the cup, and it filled. He took a steadying sip.
“You couldn’t have asked me that two weeks ago?” she asked wryly. “You know, when you were upset over the other potions I’m planning to teach her?” She tasted her soup and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Seriously, though, it hasn’t been needed. The post-Cruciatus thing, I mean. I’m the first Slayer we know of to get hit with the real thing, witch or otherwise. And the other Slayer-witches went to school in areas that weren’t at war in the recent past. So, unfortunately, I’ve now proven that the Imperius is, in fact, the only so-called Unforgivable we’re immune to. And, apparently, the first to learn that there is a standard post-Cruciatus treatment.”
“I see.”
She tore up a piece of bread and added it to her soup. She looked at it for a moment, appearing very uncomfortable.
How much does she remember? Too much, from the expression on her face.
She looked up and seemed to be debating whether to say anything. Fortunately, she opted to merely eat a spoonful of soup and bread and then continued speaking. “Do you know how I recognized you? Your voice, of course, even though I couldn’t understand the words. And the scent of your robes.”
He felt mildly affronted. “I do not wear scent.”
“Not on purpose, maybe, but your robes pick up the smells from everything that you work with, or that your students work with in your classroom.” She smiled a little. “Obviously one of the ‘dunderheads’ did something pretty foolish today, for example. How bad was it?”
He rolled his eyes and treated her to a description of the afternoon’s fiasco with the moonstone powder. It didn’t escape his notice that this gave her a chance to eat without needing to do more than make the occasional encouraging noise. He probably ought to be annoyed at her manipulation but merely found himself amused. By the time he had finished, so had she.
“What happened with my classes today?” she asked. “And where do the students think I am?”
“Free periods for today,” he replied. “I believe your sixth-years chose to work on their projects anyway. And they were told that you were ill. Minerva had already called Pomona to see if she would come out of retirement until you were well if you did not recover soon.”
“I guess she still might,” Celia said.
He did not answer. He hoped Minerva would see reason on that.
“And she’s explaining the fact that there are Aurors here how, exactly?”
He rolled his eyes. “Training exercises.”
She set down the coffee she had just refreshed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, I am not. While the staff has been told what really happened, Minerva does not wish to panic the students or their families.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want the kids on the lookout for anything that can attack in daylight and apparently doesn’t need an invite!”
He shrugged. She was correct, but had less experience in managing a school under threat. Panicked students or, worse, students determined to be heroes were dangers in and of themselves, and for the moment it appeared that the key was to keep the school boundaries closed.
“If the matter is not resolved by the next Hogsmeade weekend,” he said, “that will be canceled, as it appears they came in with you through the gate.”
She glared at him. “Okay, not that they didn’t manage to get behind me without me noticing, but I think I’d have seen someone actually coming through the gate with me, Severus. I mean, I did look!”
He shook his head. They had no idea how the Death Eaters had left either. There was no point in arguing this now.
She propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “So we come back to my question from earlier, but with a twist. If I weren’t here, and those Death Eater wannabes might have come onto the grounds anyway, then what were they after? Then the next question is why did they come after me since I was here? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? That seems a little unlikely.”
“Why do you call them that?” he asked, perplexed.
“Well, they can’t be the real thing,” she said with a shrug. “The remaining loyal Death Eaters were all accounted for, right? If any of them had managed to either successfully fake their deaths or escape unnoticed from Azkaban, you’d think they’d have been just a little more effective.”
His mood darkened considerably. “It seems they were effective enough.”
“No, I mean, whatever they wanted, they didn’t get it and didn’t take the most obvious precautions to get it without being caught,” she said. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
“What is it?” he asked. She should not be experiencing further tremors so soon after that last dose. What now? “Celia?”
She opened her eyes, and a palpable wave of relief washed over him. “What if … what if they actually accomplished exactly what they intended?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I hadn’t been the person attacked, if three people dressed as Death Eaters had appeared on the grounds and been caught before they had a chance to do anything, who would be their assumed target?”
Of course. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. But then why attack her? That explanation works for the vampire attack, but not this one.
“Their timing was either really, really bad or … hugely cruel,” she continued. “Well, okay. Cruel was definitely the goal, what with the torture and all, but … I don’t know how they could have known. I can’t imagine that they’d consider it worth dying to accomplish. But if they picked that night deliberately …” She swallowed hard. “Maybe they weren’t exactly after me. Or not only me.” She touched her cheek and looked at him strangely, as if remembering something. “Seems to me they managed to hurt you while they were at it.”
“And that is something any real Death Eater or sympathizer would consider a worthy goal,” he finished for her, a cold, leaden feeling forming in his stomach. “As would sending the message that they can arrive easily on the grounds of Hogwarts.”
“We need to speak to Minerva,” she said, standing up as she spoke.
He rose as well, saying, “I don’t think Poppy will want you to leave.” He was not sure he wanted her to. She seemed back to herself, but there could still be residual damage, something he would prefer to be discovered or ruled out here in the hospital wing.
“I think this conversation needs to happen in Minerva’s office. I want her and Giles in on it.” She began looking about for something. “I can’t go like this, though.”
No, she certainly could not. “Dobby!” he called out.
With a loud CRACK, the house-elf, wearing what had to be a dozen hats in a riot of colors, appeared at the foot of her bed. “Yes, Professor Snape?” he asked. “What is Professor Snape be wanting?”
“Where are Professor Reese’s clothes?”
“Oh, Madam Pomfrey sent them for elves to be cleaning. Only it took a long time, because …”
“Yes, yes, that’s all right, Dobby.” He waved off the tide of explanations that threatened. “But are they ready now?”
“Dobby shall get them, Professor Snape. Dobby will be right back!” And with another CRACK he was gone again.
Celia looked at him curiously. “Is he yours?”
“No,” Severus replied. What would I want with my own house-elf? “I simply knew him before he came to work at Hogwarts. He used to serve the Malfoys.”
“Oh.”
There was another CRACK, and the elf had returned, this time standing on the bed itself. He was holding out a neatly folded pile of Celia’s clothing with her cloak on top. He looked very sad.
“Dobby is sorry,” he said, “but Professor Reese’s cloak is being damaged.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly. “It probably got torn when I fell or something.”
“No, no,” he said anxiously. “It was still waiting to be cleaned, and when Dobby went to clean it, the button fell off, and it will not go back on.”
“I’m sure it’s all right,” Celia replied hastily. Then she appeared to realize what he’d said. “Button? What button? It has a clasp, but that’s not really a button, is that what you mean?”
“No, Professor Reese. Dobby means this.” He handed her a small white disk, which she let lie in the palm of her hand.
They both looked at it curiously.
It could hardly act as a button anyway, he thought. There is no way to attach it to the cloth save a Sticking Charm.
She flipped it over. It was the same smooth white surface on this side, too.
“Did you see where it was on the cloak before it came off?” she asked.
“It was on the hem,” Dobby replied. “It was looking very pretty, but there was dirtses, so I cleaned it, and then it fell off.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be there,” she assured the elf. “It must have gotten stuck there somehow, but it wasn’t part of the cloak, so don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Yes, Professor Reese.” He looked much relieved. “Is Professor Snape be needing anything else?”
“No, Dobby, you may go.”
“Thank you,” Celia said, just as the elf disappeared with a last CRACK.
“What is it?” Severus asked.
“I’m not sure.” She picked up her wand, waved it briefly over the disk, and said, “Reveal.”
A haze of light formed over the disk, and within it, a shape took form that slowly resolved itself into an image of Celia, sitting on a hospital bed, looking at the disk in her hand projecting an image of herself. And that image was sitting on a hospital bed … and so on. Her eyes widened in alarm. With a quick jab of her wand, she said, “Reverse!”
Another image started to form, but then the disk started to smoke. Before she could react, it disintegrated completely, not even leaving any particles of itself behind. She looked at Severus, tension written harshly on her face.
“What was that?” he asked dangerously, all too certain he already knew.
“That was how they knew,” she replied. With a wave of her wand, she checked the pile of clothing for any other magical artifacts. With another wave, she was wearing them, and the shift and dressing gown were folded on the bed in their place. “Let’s go see Minerva.”
A/N: There’s an interesting bit of Brit vs. U.S. culture that I picked with this chapter related to caffeine. ubiquirk questioned whether Celia would really be allowed to have coffee so soon into her recovery and at night. I gave it some thought, decided she was right, and changed it to make the cup give Celia decaf, which she didn’t like at all. saracen77 then told me that would never happen in the U.K., as they just don’t think about caffeine the same way at all over there, and if anything coffee would be seen as a way to get some milk into her. So Celia’s back to having her coffee and much happier about it.
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Author: firefly_124
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Angel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: SS/OFC
Acknowledgements: Huge thanks to my beta reader, ubiquirk, who also made the lovely banner, my Brit-picker, saracen77, and my alpha readers, bluedolfyn and willow_kat.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize and I'm not making any money from this. If you think otherwise, there's this nice room in St. Mungo's for you.
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Chapter 11
Severus looked out over the room full of Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years as they chopped their nettle leaves. Some were taking appropriate precautions. Others had forgotten to bring their dragon hide gloves and were stinging themselves regularly. Most had learned not to make any noise about it. Except one.
“Mr. Clayworth,” Professor Snape intoned darkly. “Why are you making those abhorrent noises in my class?”
The boy cowered.
“Answer me!” Snape barked as he loomed over the boy’s cauldron.
“I … I forgot my gloves, sir,” Clayworth replied.
“Did you think that once you were finished growing them the nettle plants would lose their sting?”
Celia was delusional when she decided these imbeciles would learn a healthy respect for the things they handle by starting out with something that caused no lasting effects.
That entire line of thought was infuriating.
“N-no, sir?” The boy gave him a look that suggested he was seeking mercy.
“Then why, Mr. Clayworth, did you come to class without the protective gloves you were told to bring?” Snape placed his hands on either side of the boy’s cauldron and leaned over to look at the pile of mangled leaves.
“I forgot, sir,” the boy managed, yanking his hand back from yet another sting. Silently, for once.
Snape pushed off the desk and straightened to his full height. “Fifty points from Slytherin for carelessness and coming to class unprepared,” he said. “And you’ll lose another five for each time I hear another sound out of you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, s-sir,” Clayworth replied as he bent to resume his pitiful attempts at slicing the leaves.
As he turned to go back to the front of the class, Snape saw Lightfeather mouthing something to his little Gryffindor girlfriend.
“Another fifty points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor,” he snapped, “for talking in class and possibly cheating. You are to do your work alone, Miss Hollingberry, and you are not to help her, Mr. Lightfeather.”
Both children flushed and turned their eyes to their desks.
This promised to be a truly hideous day.
~ ~ ~
Her eyes shot open, and it took her several minutes to realize where she was. The cot-like bed surrounded by a white curtain told her it was a hospital. Great Goddess, why was she in the hospital? In hospital, she corrected herself. That’s how they say it over here. Here? Where am I? They say it like that in Britain, right? What am I doing in Britain?
She noticed her wand lying on the nightstand, and things began to come back into focus. Hogwarts. But am I in the hospital wing or at St. Mungo’s? And why? Did I hit my head? The curtain opened, and Madam Pomfrey stepped in.
“You’re awake!”
Celia looked at her dumbly. Apparently this was big news. She wondered why. The matron was scanning over her with her wand and appeared pleased with what she was finding.
“What …” Celia tried to say, but her throat was dry and barely any sound came out at all.
Poppy gave her a measuring look. “If I bring you some water, will you drink it for me? Or will we have to wait for Severus?”
Wait, what? Celia’s eyes widened, and she sat up and mimed drinking the water herself. The matron left and quickly returned with a large goblet of water.
“Drink it slowly,” she cautioned.
Celia sipped a little of the water until her mouth and throat felt well-moistened, then took a much larger swallow. Setting the goblet down on the little table beside her bed, she asked, “What happened?”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
Celia closed her eyes. “I was patrolling Hogsmeade, then I came back onto the grounds. I sent a Patronus saying that all was clear …” She decided she didn’t need to fill in the whole message. “And then I woke up here.”
Poppy looked unsurprised by this. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you,” she said. “It may be best if you recover the memories on your own.”
Celia fumed. “What good am I supposed to be to anybody if I don’t know what happened?”
The matron was clearly not going to be budged.
“Fine,” she conceded with a huff. “Would you at least tell me if anybody else was hurt?” Apparently not Severus, anyway, even if I still don’t get what she said about him before.
“No, although Minerva has increased security substantially over the past couple of days.”
“Couple of … Poppy, how long was I out?” she demanded, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Almost three full days.”
“It’s Monday?”
The matron nodded.
Celia’s shoulders slumped. What the hell could have knocked me out for three days?
“Has anything else happened since … whatever happened to me?”
“No.” Poppy resumed casting what were apparently diagnostic spells.
“And you’re really not going to tell me anything else?”
“I’m sorry.”
She scowled. “Okay, last question for now, then. May I take a shower?”
Poppy considered this. “First I want to see how you do standing,” she said.
Celia swung her legs out from under the covers and noticed for the first time that she was wearing a very simple white shift. “At least it’s better than a johnny,” she said wryly.
“A what?”
“Muggle hospital gown. I like your version better.”
“I should think so.” Poppy held out her hand to guide her patient to her feet. Celia winced at the cold stone floor, but she stood readily and took a few steps when asked to do so. Poppy pronounced her safe for a shower and conjured a dressing gown and slippers for her before pointing her to the hospital wing bathroom.
~ ~ ~
It was debatable whether anyone had actually learned anything in a Potions class today, except perhaps the upper limit of House points that could be lost at one time. Severus thought it might actually have been better to simply cancel his classes. If this went on much longer, he might try to pry Slughorn back out of retirement and take a leave of absence. Ironic that he had managed to live a double life - complete with multiple bouts of the Cruciatus - for years while managing to continue to teach, hardly missing a day until he’d had to leave the school entirely. Now, suddenly, he was contemplating a leave of absence for someone else?
As he drew closer to his destination, he tried to impose some sort of discipline upon his emotions. This became easier as the distance lessened, and he felt the pressure to hurry back decrease proportionally. He focused on the fragment of an idea he’d had during the aftermath of a particularly noxious student error. The fool had mixed hellebore with moonstone powder in a base of vervain. An infusion of hellebore and vervain, however, minus the moonstone powder, might form a worthwhile base for a potion that could help her. Looking at possible solutions to the problem helped, at least when he was not looking at her lying there with her eyes so tightly shut.
If any of his students ever saw this side of him, they would undoubtedly collapse on the spot. Perhaps they would call St. Mungo’s to come collect him. Perhaps they should because his behavior and his actions were incomprehensible even to him.
He took a breath and let it out slowly before opening the hospital wing door. He heard voices inside, and that meant there was probably a student in hospital now as well. It had been too much to hope that the privacy they’d had could last.
Surprised to find no students occupying any of the other beds, he walked quickly to the curtained-off bed at the far end, seemingly the source of the voices. He expected to find Poppy and Minerva holding some sort of conference. When he opened the curtain, he wondered how he had not registered the identity of the second voice.
Celia was awake, eyes open and standing, and Poppy was helping her detangle her hair, which appeared to be damp. Their conversation stopped when they heard him enter, and he wondered irrelevantly what they had been discussing.
“You are back,” he said softly.
“Yes.” She smiled slightly, and Poppy nodded confirmation.
He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to yell for joy. He couldn’t do either of those things, so he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and glared.
“You could have been killed,” he snarled. “You could have spent the rest of your life in St. Mungo’s. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Severus!” Poppy admonished. She was ignored.
Celia scowled back at him. “Hell if I know! Nice to see you, too!”
“You don’t know? You don’t know? Is that the best you can do?” he demanded.
“Probably,” she snapped. “Right now it’s definitely the best I can do, considering I really don’t know what happened.” She crossed her arms, echoing his posture seemingly unconsciously. “I did warn you,” she added more softly.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
He swallowed hard. There might still be permanent damage then.
Some of that thought must have been evident in his expression, as she proceeded to ask Poppy to give them a moment of privacy. The matron nodded and stepped around them, exiting through the curtain, though not without giving him a last warning glare.
She looked up into his eyes and demanded, “What is it, Severus?”
“I would not have you remember being tortured,” he said hoarsely. “That … is good. But what else …”
Her eyes widened. “I think I’d probably rather not remember that either,” she agreed. “But I need to know what happened. Why was I tortured? By whom? Why have I been out for three days? Have they been caught, or do I maybe have some sort of clue that we need?”
“Poppy has told you nothing?”
“No.” She scowled. “She thinks it would be best to recover the memories myself.”
That was a reasonable theory.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She sighed, some of the fight appearing to go out of her. “You want objective? Not my department right now.”
“Then perhaps it is best to wait and see.”
“Do we have time for that?” She straightened once again and looked at him sharply. “Poppy did say there are Aurors here now, though she also said no one else has been hurt.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “One of your assailants was captured. He died of an apparent allergic reaction to Veritaserum.”
She blinked several times - a sign he was coming to recognize indicated she was working to assimilate a new bit of information that seemed not to fit.
“That sounds like something out of a science fiction novel,” she said at last. “Is there any way to tell if the allergy was natural or somehow induced?”
“I am unaware of any way to induce such an allergy or of any test to discern that it had been done.”
She closed her eyes briefly. Thinking, he realized, though the sight bothered him. He was relieved when she opened them again.
“There was more than one assailant, then, and apparently human.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a start.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why don’t you tell me everything you can, without spelling out the parts I ought to remember. Maybe then I’ll be able to fit the pieces in.”
He considered this, nodded, and almost returned to his accustomed spot on the edge of the hospital bed. Catching himself, he instead took the chair beside it. He gave her an extremely abbreviated explanation of his own part in the events surrounding Friday’s attack, leaving out any description of her assailants or what they appeared to have been doing to her. When he finished, he watched her face carefully. As her expression darkened, he thought she must be starting to remember and was surprised to see her face set into anger that was apparently directed at … him.
“You did what?” she demanded loudly. “Are you insane?”
He was dumbstruck.
“You realized that I was in over my head, and you’re going to have to explain that in a minute, and you came after me alone? Without notifying anyone? Have you completely lost that supposedly cunning Slytherin mind of yours?”
“It is so rare for me to have the opportunity to say this, Severus,” came McGonagall’s voice from behind him, where she had just pulled aside the curtain, “that I find I simply must point out that I told you so.”
He turned and glared darkly at the Headmistress, then whipped back to face the enraged Slayer.
“Apparently I have,” he snarled and stood to leave.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she snapped, jumping up grabbing both his arms in a viselike grip.
Clearly she retained no physical impairment, he thought somewhat irrelevantly.
“You do not get to come in here, yell at me for something I don’t even remember, and then run off as soon as you get yelled at for something you do remember,” she continued. “Don’t get me wrong - I’m grateful you came after me. I’m grateful for what Poppy tells me you’ve done while I’ve been in here. I’m also frustrated as hell that no one will tell me more than bits and pieces of what happened, because if there’s some big bad out there, then I should be helping to deal with it, and I can’t do that if I don’t know what or who or how or why, because whatever the hell I walked into, I’ll probably walk right back into again, and that’s about as much use as running out of the castle in the middle of the night without telling anyone else that there’s something wrong!” She glared at him as she appeared to run out of breath.
He glared back in stony silence.
“So you do not remember what happened?” Minerva asked.
Celia appeared startled that the Headmistress was still there.
“No,” she replied. “I’m starting to remember being here in the hospital wing. I think I remember Willow, my teacher, doing something … that’s still a little fuzzy. Was she here?”
“No.”
“Not that she’d need to be.” She paused. “But there’s still a giant gap between when I arrived back on the grounds and sent an all-clear and when I woke up. I know it involved humans, not vampires, and that one was captured but died during interrogation. I know it apparently involved torture of some kind. I know that fortunately no one else was hurt. And I know there are Aurors here now. But that’s it.” She looked up at him. “Are you still planning to storm off?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Good.” She released his arms. “Then can we please sit back down and discuss this?”
He nodded and extended his hand to the single chair beside the bed, gesturing for Minerva to sit first.
“I believe that chair is yours,” the Headmistress said, drawing her wand and conjuring a chair of her own. She seated herself, and Celia followed, perching on the edge of the mattress. Severus sat last, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the two determined witches as Minerva cast a Privacy Charm.
~ ~ ~
Half an hour later, Celia had no more idea what had happened to her than she had before. They were determined, it seemed, to let her restore her memories on her own. She was relieved that there had been no further attacks but appalled that Minerva was considering dismissing her for the safety of the school.
“If we can apprehend these assailants,” the Headmistress was saying, “then there should be no further concern. Otherwise, I am afraid that your presence may simply pose too high a risk to Hogwarts and its students.”
“So you’ve decided that these attacks are focused on me personally?” she asked. “And have you forgotten the whole thing we talked about last summer where an untrained Slayer is at least as dangerous to have around as an untrained witch or wizard?”
“This Potential Slayer has yet to be identified,” Minerva pointed out, “and you could have been misled.”
“I told you, the message couldn’t have been clearer …”
“It could have been planted,” Minerva spoke over her.
Celia snapped her jaw shut. It wasn’t like the Powers had never messed around with dreams, prophecies, and visions before. She didn’t think that was happening now, but how could she prove it? Without stinking up the Great Hall and lighting the poor girl up like an orange Christmas tree anyway.
“Celia,” Severus added, “can you not think of any enemies you might have made who would have tracked you here?”
“Not human ones,” she replied. “And if I had left any lying around that I couldn’t round up, I’d like to think they’d be just a teensy bit more competent.”
“What do you mean?” Minerva asked.
“Well, we’re sitting here having this conversation,” she replied. “If they wanted me dead, they obviously had their chance. So they wanted something else, but instead of stunning me and taking me off the grounds, they stuck around, got one of themselves caught and killed, and unless it’s part of what you’re not telling me, didn’t get whatever they were after.”
“That is a reasonable analysis,” Severus said, “though surely not the only one.”
“No,” she agreed. “We thought we had a reasonable analysis of the vampire incident, and assuming the two are connected, that was wrong. Or incomplete. Or something.” She let out a harsh sigh, closed her eyes, and tried to fish around inside her mind. When she found her usual room of cupboards and closets filled now with padlocks that had clearly been very recently undone, doors left ajar, she thought she might have at least part of the answer. Her eyes opened and she blinked several times, her gaze focusing on a speck on the floor.
Quickly going through and checking behind all of the doors, she found things organized the way they always had been. They just had seriously stronger locks now. The basement door had a really impressive number of new locks on it. They had all been undone, but it was still closed. She left it. Next to it was a small, square door built into the wall. It, too, had been unlocked but left unopened. It was completely new. She tugged at it experimentally, but it wouldn’t budge.
Looking up at Severus and Minerva, she said, “I think I’ve got some idea what happened, and where that information is, but I can’t seem to get at it.”
“What is your idea?” Minerva asked.
“Someone tried to break into my mind,” she replied, “and I locked absolutely everything down completely and totally. Does that fit any theories you’ve come up with?”
“Yes.” Severus’ face darkened.
She sighed, more softly this time, and ran her fingers through her hair. “You said I was tortured, Severus. I think the reason I can’t access this last bit is plain old repression.”
“If that is the case,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her, “perhaps you could access the memory using a Pensieve. I know they ‘do not agree with you,’ but that might be preferable to actually remembering it and could bypass the repression mechanism.”
She considered that for a moment, then nodded. He drew his wand and flicked it in the direction of his quarters, Summoning his Pensieve. It would take a moment to arrive.
When it floated into the curtained area, she was amused to notice that it was accompanied by a vial of Anti-Nausea Potion. Smiling, she thanked him and was troubled by his stiff acknowledgement.
He set the Pensieve and the vial on the small table that held her wand and water glass, then handed her the wand. She accepted it and sat for a moment thinking about how to do this. She had never used a Pensieve to retrieve a memory she couldn’t actually … remember. Finally, she shrugged and decided to focus on that little door and whatever was behind it.
She placed her wand at her temple and willed it to connect with that memory. A wisp of silvery threadlike substance seeped around the crack of the door and connected to the wand. Carefully, she drew the wand away from her temple and felt the familiar, nauseating sensation that always accompanied a memory extraction. As she pulled the wand further away, the thread became taut. She tried to pull at it more firmly, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, she gave it a stronger tug. Instead of pulling further away from her head, it snapped off the end of the wand and back into her mind, where it hit the little door and cracked it open. The wand fell from her hand.
“Celia?” she heard Severus call as if from very far away.
She saw a figure in black before her, and it turned so that she could see its skull-like mask. As she fired a Stunning Spell at it, she felt another spell hit her from behind, and pain ripped through her. She became aware that she was screaming and shoved her fist in her mouth to stop the noise, gripping something cold and hard with her other hand. This isn’t happening. It’s just a memory. Ride it out. It’s just a memory.
Someone was telling her to open her eyes … someone was trying to pry her eyes open … the pain stopped, and Severus was speaking, but she couldn’t understand … she felt herself being carried …
When it stopped, she tasted copper and realized she had bitten the hand she had stuffed into her mouth. She thought to apply pressure to it with her other hand, but it seemed locked into place. Looking down, she saw that she had gripped the frame of the bed so tightly that it had molded around her fingers. Carefully, she forced herself to release it. She gradually became aware that Minerva and Severus were speaking.
Before she could process what they were saying or reassure them she was okay, her stomach roiled, and she vomited onto the floor. The mess was quickly Vanished, and the Anti-Nausea Potion pressed into her trembling hand, already unstoppered, as well as a handkerchief. She wiped her mouth and took a small sip first, then gulped it down when she was sure it would stay put long enough to do its job. Looking up at Severus, she smiled wanly. Without saying a word, he exchanged the empty vial for another that contained a potion she didn’t recognize. She drank that one down as well and was relieved to feel the residual pain slip away and to see the tremors in her hand subside. The bite looked nasty, but it had already stopped bleeding. The water on the little table beckoned, and she took a large swallow of it. Severus and Minerva were looking at her warily, she realized.
“I’m okay,” she said weakly.
“I do not believe that is possible,” Severus said, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe a slight exaggeration,” she agreed. She set the goblet back down on the table.
“What happened?” Minerva asked.
“It looks like when I locked everything down, I locked some of the pain in, too,” Celia replied. She tried to smile. “Not one of my better ideas.”
“Clearly,” Severus replied. “You should lie down,” he added. “The Cruciatus Relief Potion will have you asleep soon.”
She nodded, beginning to feel that effect already. Then she shook her head. “Wait a sec - don’t you want to know what I saw?”
Severus’ jaw was set tightly. No wonder. Minerva, on the other hand, nodded for her to continue.
Fighting the sleepiness that was creeping over her, she gave as clear of a description as she could. She could tell from Minerva’s expression and Severus’ lack of one that there was nothing new here. Minerva confirmed as much.
As the two of them rose to go, Celia pulled down the sheets and toed off her slippers. She wished Severus wouldn’t leave, but squashed that thought. From what she could tell, he’d been here most of the past three days, and he looked like he’d barely slept. He deserved a break, and she didn’t need a babysitter. Anymore. She really didn’t want to think about that part even more than she didn’t want to think about being tortured. Pain? Part of the job. Being helpless? Really, really not.
There were other things she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time, and she was quickly losing the battle against sleep. She pulled the sheet over her legs and watched as he approached the break in the curtain. Minerva was dropping the Privacy Charm.
“Severus,” she called out softly, and he turned. Minerva nodded at her and exited.
“Yes?” he answered.
“What would people dressed as Death Eaters want with me?” she asked.
He came back over to her side, guided her to lie back against the pillow, and kissed her on the forehead more tenderly than she would have expected. “I don’t know,” he murmured as she felt herself drift into sleep.
~ ~ ~
The contrast in leaving her for a couple of hours in order to do some marking and attend dinner compared to leaving for class this morning was amazing. The sensation of being drawn back to the hospital wing was still present but far less insistent than it had been earlier. Severus was able to eat his dinner in relative peace and to make a quick inspection of the Slytherin common room before returning to check on her.
When he arrived, Poppy was predictably hostile.
“You’re not to upset her again, Severus,” she said, shaking her finger under his nose. “I know she’s supposed to heal quickly, but if she is not allowed to rest, I don’t see how she can. She’s only just woken up and then been made to relive what happened! I still cannot believe you and Minerva …”
“I am not here to upset her,” he said firmly. “I merely wish to see how she is doing. You had no objection before …”
“Come to join me for dinner, then?” Celia asked brightly as she exited the loo and tightened the belt on her dressing gown.
“Actually,” he replied, “I have already eaten, but may I join you anyway?”
Poppy looked them both over sternly, huffed, and stalked away to her office.
“Of course.” Celia took his arm and led him to her curtained-off “room.” Once inside the curtain, she turned to him, no longer smiling, and asked, “Are you over your little snit?”
“For now.”
“Good.” She reached up and drew him down to her for a kiss. He was surprised at first. When she teased his lips open with her tongue, he found himself relaxing into the embrace. His arms stole around her as she caressed his face with her fingertips.
“Now that’s a decent greeting,” she said with a grin once they broke the kiss. “Much better than the yelling and recriminations for future reference.”
“You seem awfully cheerful,” he replied as he drew his wand and cast a quick Privacy Charm.
She shrugged, led him over to his chair, and seated herself on the remade bed next to the table that held her mostly-liquid dinner. “Nothing like a nice little late-afternoon nap to make excruciating pain feel like a distant memory,” she said.
He winced.
“That and whatever was in that potion you gave me,” she added. She looked over her tray, picked up an extra teacup that seemed to have just materialized, and handed it to him.
“It is the standard post-Cruciatus treatment,” he said, surprised.
“Remind me to ask you how to make it so’s I can add it to the Slayer-witch curriculum,” she replied. “Coffee,” she added to her own cup.
“Why is it not part of your curriculum already?” And why did I not notice this glaring deficit? He muttered, “Tea,” over the cup, and it filled. He took a steadying sip.
“You couldn’t have asked me that two weeks ago?” she asked wryly. “You know, when you were upset over the other potions I’m planning to teach her?” She tasted her soup and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “Seriously, though, it hasn’t been needed. The post-Cruciatus thing, I mean. I’m the first Slayer we know of to get hit with the real thing, witch or otherwise. And the other Slayer-witches went to school in areas that weren’t at war in the recent past. So, unfortunately, I’ve now proven that the Imperius is, in fact, the only so-called Unforgivable we’re immune to. And, apparently, the first to learn that there is a standard post-Cruciatus treatment.”
“I see.”
She tore up a piece of bread and added it to her soup. She looked at it for a moment, appearing very uncomfortable.
How much does she remember? Too much, from the expression on her face.
She looked up and seemed to be debating whether to say anything. Fortunately, she opted to merely eat a spoonful of soup and bread and then continued speaking. “Do you know how I recognized you? Your voice, of course, even though I couldn’t understand the words. And the scent of your robes.”
He felt mildly affronted. “I do not wear scent.”
“Not on purpose, maybe, but your robes pick up the smells from everything that you work with, or that your students work with in your classroom.” She smiled a little. “Obviously one of the ‘dunderheads’ did something pretty foolish today, for example. How bad was it?”
He rolled his eyes and treated her to a description of the afternoon’s fiasco with the moonstone powder. It didn’t escape his notice that this gave her a chance to eat without needing to do more than make the occasional encouraging noise. He probably ought to be annoyed at her manipulation but merely found himself amused. By the time he had finished, so had she.
“What happened with my classes today?” she asked. “And where do the students think I am?”
“Free periods for today,” he replied. “I believe your sixth-years chose to work on their projects anyway. And they were told that you were ill. Minerva had already called Pomona to see if she would come out of retirement until you were well if you did not recover soon.”
“I guess she still might,” Celia said.
He did not answer. He hoped Minerva would see reason on that.
“And she’s explaining the fact that there are Aurors here how, exactly?”
He rolled his eyes. “Training exercises.”
She set down the coffee she had just refreshed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, I am not. While the staff has been told what really happened, Minerva does not wish to panic the students or their families.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want the kids on the lookout for anything that can attack in daylight and apparently doesn’t need an invite!”
He shrugged. She was correct, but had less experience in managing a school under threat. Panicked students or, worse, students determined to be heroes were dangers in and of themselves, and for the moment it appeared that the key was to keep the school boundaries closed.
“If the matter is not resolved by the next Hogsmeade weekend,” he said, “that will be canceled, as it appears they came in with you through the gate.”
She glared at him. “Okay, not that they didn’t manage to get behind me without me noticing, but I think I’d have seen someone actually coming through the gate with me, Severus. I mean, I did look!”
He shook his head. They had no idea how the Death Eaters had left either. There was no point in arguing this now.
She propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “So we come back to my question from earlier, but with a twist. If I weren’t here, and those Death Eater wannabes might have come onto the grounds anyway, then what were they after? Then the next question is why did they come after me since I was here? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? That seems a little unlikely.”
“Why do you call them that?” he asked, perplexed.
“Well, they can’t be the real thing,” she said with a shrug. “The remaining loyal Death Eaters were all accounted for, right? If any of them had managed to either successfully fake their deaths or escape unnoticed from Azkaban, you’d think they’d have been just a little more effective.”
His mood darkened considerably. “It seems they were effective enough.”
“No, I mean, whatever they wanted, they didn’t get it and didn’t take the most obvious precautions to get it without being caught,” she said. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
“What is it?” he asked. She should not be experiencing further tremors so soon after that last dose. What now? “Celia?”
She opened her eyes, and a palpable wave of relief washed over him. “What if … what if they actually accomplished exactly what they intended?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I hadn’t been the person attacked, if three people dressed as Death Eaters had appeared on the grounds and been caught before they had a chance to do anything, who would be their assumed target?”
Of course. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. But then why attack her? That explanation works for the vampire attack, but not this one.
“Their timing was either really, really bad or … hugely cruel,” she continued. “Well, okay. Cruel was definitely the goal, what with the torture and all, but … I don’t know how they could have known. I can’t imagine that they’d consider it worth dying to accomplish. But if they picked that night deliberately …” She swallowed hard. “Maybe they weren’t exactly after me. Or not only me.” She touched her cheek and looked at him strangely, as if remembering something. “Seems to me they managed to hurt you while they were at it.”
“And that is something any real Death Eater or sympathizer would consider a worthy goal,” he finished for her, a cold, leaden feeling forming in his stomach. “As would sending the message that they can arrive easily on the grounds of Hogwarts.”
“We need to speak to Minerva,” she said, standing up as she spoke.
He rose as well, saying, “I don’t think Poppy will want you to leave.” He was not sure he wanted her to. She seemed back to herself, but there could still be residual damage, something he would prefer to be discovered or ruled out here in the hospital wing.
“I think this conversation needs to happen in Minerva’s office. I want her and Giles in on it.” She began looking about for something. “I can’t go like this, though.”
No, she certainly could not. “Dobby!” he called out.
With a loud CRACK, the house-elf, wearing what had to be a dozen hats in a riot of colors, appeared at the foot of her bed. “Yes, Professor Snape?” he asked. “What is Professor Snape be wanting?”
“Where are Professor Reese’s clothes?”
“Oh, Madam Pomfrey sent them for elves to be cleaning. Only it took a long time, because …”
“Yes, yes, that’s all right, Dobby.” He waved off the tide of explanations that threatened. “But are they ready now?”
“Dobby shall get them, Professor Snape. Dobby will be right back!” And with another CRACK he was gone again.
Celia looked at him curiously. “Is he yours?”
“No,” Severus replied. What would I want with my own house-elf? “I simply knew him before he came to work at Hogwarts. He used to serve the Malfoys.”
“Oh.”
There was another CRACK, and the elf had returned, this time standing on the bed itself. He was holding out a neatly folded pile of Celia’s clothing with her cloak on top. He looked very sad.
“Dobby is sorry,” he said, “but Professor Reese’s cloak is being damaged.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly. “It probably got torn when I fell or something.”
“No, no,” he said anxiously. “It was still waiting to be cleaned, and when Dobby went to clean it, the button fell off, and it will not go back on.”
“I’m sure it’s all right,” Celia replied hastily. Then she appeared to realize what he’d said. “Button? What button? It has a clasp, but that’s not really a button, is that what you mean?”
“No, Professor Reese. Dobby means this.” He handed her a small white disk, which she let lie in the palm of her hand.
They both looked at it curiously.
It could hardly act as a button anyway, he thought. There is no way to attach it to the cloth save a Sticking Charm.
She flipped it over. It was the same smooth white surface on this side, too.
“Did you see where it was on the cloak before it came off?” she asked.
“It was on the hem,” Dobby replied. “It was looking very pretty, but there was dirtses, so I cleaned it, and then it fell off.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be there,” she assured the elf. “It must have gotten stuck there somehow, but it wasn’t part of the cloak, so don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Yes, Professor Reese.” He looked much relieved. “Is Professor Snape be needing anything else?”
“No, Dobby, you may go.”
“Thank you,” Celia said, just as the elf disappeared with a last CRACK.
“What is it?” Severus asked.
“I’m not sure.” She picked up her wand, waved it briefly over the disk, and said, “Reveal.”
A haze of light formed over the disk, and within it, a shape took form that slowly resolved itself into an image of Celia, sitting on a hospital bed, looking at the disk in her hand projecting an image of herself. And that image was sitting on a hospital bed … and so on. Her eyes widened in alarm. With a quick jab of her wand, she said, “Reverse!”
Another image started to form, but then the disk started to smoke. Before she could react, it disintegrated completely, not even leaving any particles of itself behind. She looked at Severus, tension written harshly on her face.
“What was that?” he asked dangerously, all too certain he already knew.
“That was how they knew,” she replied. With a wave of her wand, she checked the pile of clothing for any other magical artifacts. With another wave, she was wearing them, and the shift and dressing gown were folded on the bed in their place. “Let’s go see Minerva.”
A/N: There’s an interesting bit of Brit vs. U.S. culture that I picked with this chapter related to caffeine. ubiquirk questioned whether Celia would really be allowed to have coffee so soon into her recovery and at night. I gave it some thought, decided she was right, and changed it to make the cup give Celia decaf, which she didn’t like at all. saracen77 then told me that would never happen in the U.K., as they just don’t think about caffeine the same way at all over there, and if anything coffee would be seen as a way to get some milk into her. So Celia’s back to having her coffee and much happier about it.
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