Stages of Hope, Chapter 2
Chapter 2
The girl woke first.
The alerted Albus had decided to place both strangers in the hospital wing and not involve the Ministry for now. While Sirius had argued that this wasn’t safe - his friend was a tiny bit paranoid - Severus had agreed that two wandless, unconscious teenagers didn’t constitute a threat to Hogwarts. So Sirius had left to gather the Order members currently in residence, while Albus and Severus had assumed watch position in the infirmary.
They’d settled in for a long wait, but obviously they’d underestimated their visitors’ resilience. And now the girl was awake.
One moment her eyes were closed and the readings showed her to be deeply unconscious, the next her eyes were open. She blinked once, focused, and then she was off the bed, stumbled, nearly went down and just barely kept hold of the bedpost with her left hand while her right arm snapped out in a perfect attack/defence position.
She blinked again, then stared at her empty hand and her empty wand holster with honest confusion, as if being without a wand hadn’t happened to her for years. She repeated the gesture, as if the wand would suddenly appear out of nowhere, which, of course, it didn’t, being safely secured in the pocket of Severus’ robes.
Only then did she look up and, for the first time, truly notice them. Another blink. This one was either incredibly slow or incredibly fast.
“Okay,” she finally said in a hoarse but not unpleasant mezzo-soprano. “Either this is the worst impersonation attempt ever or things have just become very complicated.”
Yes. Definitely not the first words Severus had expected. But Albus remained as unfazed as ever.
“Perhaps we should start with your name, my dear?” he offered. “I find that introductions are usually the best way to proceed in cases such as this.”
In all his years as a student, comrade, and finally friend of the great Albus Dumbledore, Severus had seen this tone fail only twice. The first time was with a very old, very cranky lady who had refused to believe Minerva McGonagall was not, in fact, her lost cat, and the second time with Alastor Moody, who was a force all to himself.
Now he had the honour to witness a third time.
“I’m afraid I won’t cooperate until I have my wand back,” the girl said coolly. “Not a bit. But you are very welcome to tell me your real names.”
If Albus was perturbed by this, he didn’t show it.
“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and this here is my dear friend, Severus Snape, renowned Potions Master and researcher.”
Another blink. Then she startled fumbling in her pocket and produced a small, scuffed looking rectangle of wood.
“Would you be willing to repeat that on a truth rod?”
So she was slow. And more than a bit mad, Severus thought with an internal sigh. But one look at Albus told him that the Headmaster actually seemed quite overwhelmed by this turn of events, staring at the piece of wood with slightly bulging eyes. Well, he’d always been a bit mad, too, but…
“Where did you come by this?” Albus asked. “There are only three of these artefacts in existence, and they are invaluable! Their use is restricted for ritual purposes, and for good reason, I’d say.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” The girl swatted his protests aside like a fly. “Not to forget that Veritaserum is decidedly more reliable and adds an important psychological element to the process. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to brew Veritaserum without a stable lab environment? The stuff has to simmer for twenty-three point seven days, for goodness sake. We couldn’t really carry it around with us. And since we were breaking into the Ministry anyway…”
“You broke into the Ministry?” Severus interrupted.
Another blink.
“You didn’t know that, huh?” she then asked. “I guess we can rule out mysterious resurrection for good then. So, the truth rod?”
Albus stretched out his hand and the girl handed the piece of wood over without hesitation. Albus examined it, tapped it with his wand, and again squinted up at her with the accusing indignation of a white-bearded Indiana Jones.
“Your names?” she repeated sweetly, and after a reluctant nod from Albus, they both placed a finger on the rod and stated their full names and professions.
When they were finished, something in her face had changed. It looked less hard, less forbidding, and perhaps there was a hint of grief added around the edges. She took a deep breath, nodded, then turned around to her still unconscious companion.
Only now did Severus realize that she hadn’t looked at him, not once, hadn’t turned her back to them for even a second until their identities had been confirmed.
But now she had eyes only for him.
“What’s the matter with him?” she asked. “Will he be alright?”
“Perfectly fine, my dear.” Albus had not quite regained the state of full-blown serenity he usually sported, but he was well on his way. “He simply suffers from magical exhaustion, the same way you do.”
“And the others? Where are they?”
Dumbledore’s smile dimmed.
“I am afraid we found no others with you, Miss…”
She closed her eyes, and the grief on her face increased.
“Damn it!” she whispered. Then nothing.
When she opened her eyes again, however, the perfect control was back. Severus was really beginning to wonder about this girl.
“What’s the year then?” she asked, and while Severus wondered if he should step in about now, put his foot down, and demand her name and what she’d been doing on the grounds of Hogwarts, unconscious in the snow, she came closer. Much, much closer.
First, she inspected Albus, who inspected her right back without the slightest perturbation. But that was Albus’ nature.
“1999, my dear. The December of it, to be precise,” he answered pleasantly, as if she wasn’t close enough to count his nose hairs.
She nodded. “No time travel, then,” she murmured to herself. She turned to inspect Severus even more closely.
It was an uncomfortable experience, to put it mildly. The girl was a good deal smaller than he, and her bushy hair smelled unpleasantly of sweat and damp, with something wild and dangerous underneath it.
She squinted up at him silently, frowned, and then walked around him slowly before returning her attention to his face.
“Your robes are…red,” she finally said, strangely accusing.
“Burgundy!” Severus protested. Red was tacky. Burgundy, however, had class.
“And what did you do to your hair?” she asked in horrified fascination.
Snape’s hand rose to his scalp.
“Nothing! What is wrong with you? I just washed it and blow-dried it like every morning…”
“Ah, I see.” She nodded and stepped back. “Alternate dimension. It must be.”
Albus lips were twitching. “You deduced this from the state of Severus’ hair?”
“Believe me, you would have, too,” she deadpanned; then she suddenly broke into an excited grin.
“But this is fascinating!” she exclaimed, and several layers of exhaustion seemed to simply drop away from her. “It has been theorized, of course, but I never read a convincing hypothesis of how… perhaps when we… and then the dragon… oh, yes, yes, that must have been it, but how… I need to read Bedsdoel again!”
“You read Bedsdoel?” Albus inquired at the exact time that Severus asked: “What dragon?” and so there was a moment of confusion.
“Well, I only skimmed through it once when I was looking for…” The enthusiasm vanished abruptly. “But there’s no reason to get into that, yet. I assume that you will want to organize an Order meeting, if you haven’t called one yet, and I’d rather not explain all of this twice.”
“Now listen here…” Severus began, determined to finally wrestle control away from her. This simply wouldn’t do anymore. But Albus, who was watching the girl very closely indeed, rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I have been very indulgent until this point,” the Headmaster said seriously, and his words were laced with authority and power. “But I am afraid that I really must insist now, my dear. I will need your name and that of your companion, the reasons you came to be at Hogwarts, and why you know of things no stranger should know.”
The girl met Albus’ eyes and matched the serious expression on his face exactly.
“Those answers will take time, Headmaster,” she said calmly. “I won’t give them without my companion being awake, and certainly not without our wands safely returned. But this should be sufficient reason for you to trust me.”
She stepped forward, then rose to the tip of her toes, and whispered something into the Headmaster's ear.
Albus’ face paled enough to match his beard. He stared at the singed head of curls that only reached his chin and continued staring when she stepped back a bit and stretched out her hand.
“Our wands, please,” she demanded. And as if in a dream, his movement slow and sluggish, the Headmaster stretched out his hand, silently accio’ed the two wands from Severus’ pocket, and handed them over to the girl.
“Thank you,” she said, tucked one of them into her wandholster and kept the other one in a firm grip. “I am going to wake my friend now.”
“Headmaster?” Severus asked quietly as soon as she had turned away from them.
Albus blinked, shook his head in silent bemusement, and finally met Severus’ concerned gaze.
“It is a sure sign of true age when being surprised becomes this surprising,” he mused. “I do not know whether we should be looking forward to her explanations or fear them, Severus.”
Severus knew his old mentor well enough not to pry for now. As much as Albus loved to talk at great length about irrelevant topics, he could be like an oyster where anything important was concerned. So he concentrated on the one question that truly mattered right now.
“So we can trust them?” he asked.
Albus sighed.
“I sincerely hope so, my friend,” he answered softly. “For if this woman should truly wish us harm, I fear our future endeavours might be doomed.”
0o0
A/N: A white-bearded Indiana Jones = Indiana Jones has the endearing habit to shout “This belongs in a museum!” whenever the invaluable piece of art that is being stolen isn’t being stolen by him.