The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 29

By Pigwidgeon37

Being called a boy by Madam Rosmerta was obviously not to Lucius’s liking.

“The boys, Madam Rosmerta,” he answered her question, scowling at her, “would like a bottle of whisky and two glasses. But you might want to consider that you are speaking to a Head of House and a School Governor of Hogwarts, and address them accordingly.”

The landlady’s ample bosom was heaving, but Lucius’s steely glare brooked no objection. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” she snapped, her previous joviality gone without a trace. She sent her barmaid to their table with the tray, a young girl with gold-blonde hair and rosy complexion, who eyed Lucius with more than just passing interest. He stared her down until she lowered her eyes and, blushing deeply, left their table.

“Seclusio Arcana!” Lucius pronounced and then turned to Severus, grinning and pocketing his wand. “Those were the times, eh? When we used to cast the privacy spell in the Common Room. So, how are things going?”

Severus shook his head. “Worse than I thought. I know I’ll survive till the summer holidays, but don’t ask me how I’m going to get over the next school year.”

“Here,” Lucius said, offering him a glass half-filled with whisky, “The panacea for everything. Your health!” And he raised his own tumbler.

For a while, Severus relished the feeling of the strong liquor burning down his oesophagus and into his stomach; slowly, the warmth spread out from his centre through his whole body. He opened his eyes. “Black is absolutely insupportable,” he began.

“Why am I not surprised? What does he do, though?” Lucius asked, leaning back and crossing his legs, careful not to crease his dark blue robes.

“Well,” Severus said with a smirk, “his mere existence would be enough to irk me. But, besides breathing and moving, he also talks. Mostly in heroic Gryffindor phrases, uttered at the top of his lungs.”

“Did he already call you a Death Eater?”

“You bet. His first words to me were ‘So you’re back, filthy Death Eater? You won’t be staying for long, mind my words!’ Come to think of it, it was pathetic. Then again, I have to live and work there, without the possibility to avoid him completely. Dumbledore didn’t react too well to his outburst, but Black seemed quite unabashed.”

“Black will be unabashed until he dies,” Lucius observed. “Nothing is more resilient than stupidity. Speaking of stupidity: how are the students?”

“Mmmh…” Severus took another gulp of whisky. “Right now, I only have to deal with the seventh-years, who haven’t seen a cauldron since their O.W.L.s. So you can imagine. The Slytherins do of course remember me, which is, I suppose, a good thing. They had finished their fourth year when we graduated, and thus are bound to have some unpleasant memories of Owen’s more refined intimidation tactics.”

“Fourth-years,” Lucius muttered, apparently deep in thought. “Ah, yes, of course! How is sweet Miss Madison?”

Severus chuckled. “Still sweet. Only now she seems to be lusting after Black. He’s got quite the fan community among the girls.”

Lucius’s eyes lit up. “Does he make any use of his popularity?”

“You wish! Don’t you think that would have been the first thing I’d use against him? But either is he extremely cautious or he really doesn’t screw his students. More’s the pity. I would have enjoyed getting him fired because of an illicit relationship.”

“Well, I suppose there’s still hope,” Lucius said philosophically and poured them another glass. “What about the resistance group, then?”

“Did you honestly expect Dumbledore would issue an invitation?”

Lucius shrugged. “You never know with that barmy old goat…”

“True, but not even Dumbledore would go that far. I have no idea as to where they are holding their meetings—it’s more or less like in our seventh year. More so as I can’t afford to spy, at least not yet. You know,” he said, twirling the tumbler between his fingers, “not that I regret having chosen Serpens Tower as my living quarters, on the contrary. But on the other hand, it is quite isolated from the rest of the castle, and, short of discovering a hidden passageway, I have to cross the most frequented areas of the school if I want to go anywhere but to the Slytherin quarters or my office.”

“How very ingenious of the old man. But for the time being, there’s no need to worry, I think. Voldemort doesn’t expect any sensational revelations. Except for the potion, of course. Have you already told Dumbledore?”

Severus grinned and shook his head. “I am not an idiot, Lucius. That is a trump card I intend to keep up my sleeve as long as possible. The first new moon after the summer solstice is fortunately also the second day of the summer holidays, so I won’t need to ask for a leave of absence. Did you and Owen already start the Astrology Talk?”

“Not yet. But I have invited St. John and Tabitha for dinner next Friday, and Owen will be there as well. I suppose you’d prefer not to be present?”

“Apart from the fact that I really shouldn’t, don’t forget that I am now Head of House. I can get away for some hours on a Saturday afternoon, but Friday evening is absolutely out of the question. You should remember that, at least from a teacher’s point of view, it is the worst day of the week.”

“How boring,” Lucius said and rolled his eyes. “But in this particular case, it provides the ideal pretext for your absence. What do you think, should I invite some stunning female for Owen?”

“Better stunned than stunning,” Severus retorted, and both laughed. “Do you think he’s missing Heather?”

“You must be joking,” Lucius said, pouring himself the third whisky. “He used to fuck her, nothing else, and not in the most… er, appetizing way, if I may say so.”

“I know. However, he might have… well, got used to her.”

“Of course he had got used to her—after all, she was available whenever needed. But from that to actually mourning her… No, no, Severus. He’s perfectly all right, if lacking… how did Tabitha so elegantly phrase it?”

“Ejaculatory loo.”

“Exactly. Anybody he might fancy? He’s becoming a little jumpy these days. Hormone overload, I’d say. Raping not only females but recently also boys at every operation he leads doesn’t seem to help. He needs a woman, and one of solid constitution. Any ideas?”

Severus let his mind wander. “Difficult…” he said after a while. “What about Stuart’s mother? I think I recall she’s quite sturdy.”

“Sev, she’s more than twenty years older! Sturdy or not, there are limits even to Owen’s appetites.”

“You told me about the hundred-year-old!”

“Yes, but that was rape! Just a one-time thing, for fun. He wouldn’t take a centennial mistress, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Lucius, this discussion is becoming more preposterous by the second. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but it is utterly senseless.”

“That,” Lucius replied cheerfully, “is probably due to the alcohol.”

“Indeed. Oh, wait! What about Mathilda? She must be in dire need of sex! When did she break the engagement with Barty? One year ago? Two?”

“You’re one to talk about needing sex,” Lucius said, cocking an eyebrow. “However, Mathilda… no. Definitely not. He’d never go for her. Did you ever hear anything from her again, by the way?”

“No.” Severus shook his head and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “And I have no idea why she suddenly popped into my mind. Honestly, I think Owen will have to look for a woman all by himself. Short of a Valkyrie, I can’t think of any female that might survive his attentions.”

“Yes,” Lucius remarked, “Bronze breast plates are wondrous things indeed. All right, so we will be five at the table unless I come up with a suitable playmate. Maybe it is even better like that. After all, Narcissa, Owen and I know exactly which game we are playing. A stranger might be a disturbing factor. And we want to convey the message, don’t we?”

Severus heaved a deep sigh. “Yes,” he said, “We do. And I truly hope we will succeed.”

~~~~*~~~~

The meeting with Lucius on Saturday afternoon had been the first truly enjoyable human contact since Severus had started teaching at Hogwarts. Considering that the Bloody Baron was a ghost; otherwise the encounters with him would have counted as well. He had floated in through the wall of Severus’s living room on the evening of his arrival, after dinner. Severus was busy writing out the syllabus for the seventh-years, when he felt a sudden chill creeping over his back. Frowning, he turned to have a look at the windows, although he was convinced they were all closed, and looked directly into the semi-translucent, narrow face of the Slytherin house ghost.

“Baron!” he exclaimed and rose from his chair. “What a pleasant surprise. Thank you for coming.”

The spectre nodded, his lips curling into a thin smile as volatile as a streak of smoke. “Welcome back, Professor Snape. It has been a long time.”

“Three years,” Severus said. “To you, it cannot possibly have seemed long.”

“That,” the Baron conceded in his raspy voice, “is true. However, ghosts do not measure time by minutes and seconds anymore—it would be quite futile, considering that we have crossed the threshold to eternity with one foot. But I have witnessed so many changes since you left…” His voice trailed off into a mere whisper.

“Changes…” Severus echoed. “How very true.” And more than those the ghost was alluding to. His own world had been turned upside down so many times that he had completely lost orientation.

“So,” the ghost continued, piercing Severus with a sharp look, “What has brought you here?”

“I applied for the position of Potions teacher and was accepted,” Severus responded, with as much calm as he could manage.

“Of course, that much was obvious. Although by no means the answer to my question,” the Baron remarked. “It is your reasons that I am interested in.”

“My reasons. I am not sure—”

The spectre frowned at him. “Professor Snape, you certainly remember where my loyalties lie? I was not the one who told the Headmaster about St. John Lestrange’s clandestine activities, if I may remind you.”

“I am not worried about the Headmaster, Baron. But you used to be on quite amiable terms with students, among them Mr. Malfoy, Mr. McNair and myself.”

The thin smile appeared again. “That more or less answers my question,” the ghost said, floating over to perch atop the desk.

Severus followed him and sat down in the chair he had previously occupied. “More or less,” he agreed.

Silence ensued, and, as the seconds ticked by, the Baron merely regarded the young wizard out of narrowed eyes. “Let me just tell you this,” he finally said, “I am loyal only to the Head of House. And to the Headmaster, to a certain extent. But the Head of Slytherin can trust me with his or her life. Unconditionally. It is not… a choice. Call it my punishment if you will. However, I am bound by… well, powers of a higher order. Even if I wanted, I could not act otherwise.”

Severus dimly remembered their first conversation years ago in the Slytherin Common Room. Back then, the Baron had spoken of love… “Were you…” He hesitated. It was not an appropriate question. On the other hand, his curiosity had been stirred. “Were you in love with the Head of Slytherin’s wife?”

The ghost shook his head. “No, the Head of Slytherin was a woman at that time. But I loved her, so your guess was not entirely wrong.”

“Oh!” was all Severus could say.

The Baron’s ghostly complexion turned a faint, pearly grey. “I was the one who was married. Very unhappily so, as I had wedded the woman out of mere necessity, to join the bloodlines of our families. Not to mention the properties,” he added dryly. “I fell in love with Gwydhwen when I was twenty-three and had been married for more than six years. My wife had given me four children already—there was no way out of the marriage, as it would have led to unforeseeable consequences concerning the family heritage. So I had to stay, and be content with seeing my beloved once every three or four weeks.”

“And… what happened?”

A slim, spectral hand briefly covered the ghost’s heavily lidded eyes. “Gwydhwen told me she was expecting a child. And she did not want it to be a bastard. Even seven hundred years ago, illegitimate children did not have an easy life among the wizarding community, if for different reasons than nowadays. She demanded that I divorce my wife and marry her. It was impossible, of course.”

Completely fascinated by the tale, Severus leaned forward. “And you… killed her?”

“Kill her?” The baron gave a raucous laugh. “My dear young man, I would rather have killed myself than hurt so much as a hair on her head. Although, in a way, I did kill her, if inadvertently. Unbeknownst to her, I gave her a potion to end the pregnancy. It… was her death. She died from blood loss and exhaustion. The Sanguiplenus Potion had not yet been invented.”

“I know,” Severus said, more to himself than to the ghost, “It was created in the late seventeenth century…”

“Much too late for Gwydhwen, at any rate. I confessed what I had done, and she forgave me on her deathbed. But she was a powerful witch… And so she bound me to the Head and the House of Slytherin, under the form of a ghost, from the day of my own death on, for as long as the walls of Hogwarts will stand.” His words reverberated from the stones, the grey horizon of his ghostly existence, and he stared at them, probably remembering the woman who had tied his and their existence together in a magical knot she had taken with her to eternity.

“Then you should wish for them to be destroyed,” Severus remarked quietly.

“Believe me, I do. But as I am inexorably bound to this House, I cannot do anything to bring about its fall. And all my memories are here…”

Severus nodded. “I understand,” he said slowly. “What if the Head of Slytherin works actively against the school and therefore his own house?”

“There always is a way for a Slytherin,” the Baron replied with a mysterious smile. “However, I am glad to hear that I will not have to use any of them in your case.”

“No,” Severus agreed, “You won’t have to. In fact, I came here to end this madness, much as it costs me.”

“You do love him.” It was a mere statement, devoid of emotion or judgement.

“Love him… I suppose I do. Still do, in spite of everything. And it is breaking my heart.”

“And your soul is dying.”

“Yes, Baron. My soul is dying. I can feel it wither, and nothing will ever be able to set that right again.”

“Do not make hasty predictions, Professor Snape. Remember what I told you, when you were still a scrawny little fourth-year.”

Instinctively, Severus touched the medallion. “You are not the only one who has told me so, Baron. Although I must admit that I have my doubts.”

“Your doubts,” the Baron replied darkly, “will not change destiny. Good night, Professor Snape. Sleep well.”

And he floated through the wall.

~~~~*~~~~

 Albus Dumbledore looked wearily from Black to Severus. He was very near the end of his patience, Severus thought, and understandably so. He himself was on the verge of exploding. This was the sixth time in only four weeks that the two youngest faculty members were fighting in the Headmaster’s office.

“I demand respect, that’s all!” Black shouted.

“In that case,” Severus drawled—he had by no means forgotten that remaining outwardly calm was the best means of driving the Gryffindor half-mad with fury, “I may suggest that you earn it, esteemed colleague. Respect is not something you can have delivered on request, just in case you did not know.”

“You goddamned—”

“Sirius!” Dumbledore’s voice did not hold any gentleness; it was pure, cold steel. Still cold, luckily for Black. “Put that wand away immediately!”

“Albus, I—”

Dumbledore rose from his chair. “I said put that wand away, Sirius. This is an order. Do it. Now.”

Thoroughly amused, Severus watched his antagonist of old shove his wand back into his sleeve. Like a dog, he thought. Yes, Black had something of a dog, come to think of it. It was the instinctive shrinking-back, lowering his head and slightly tilting his hips forward, that reminded him of a mongrel, seemingly ferocious but essentially harmless, that pulled its tail between its hind legs at the first sign of disapproval from its master.

The Headmaster sat down again. “And now, could we please discuss the matter like civilized wizards? Have a seat, Severus, Sirius.”

The two young men pushed their chairs as far apart from each other as possible and sat down—Severus comfortably crossing his legs, Black reluctantly perching on the edge.

“Severus, would you care to start?”

The old man really tried to make him feel at his ease, Severus thought. This, however, was not a critical or dangerous situation. It remained to be seen what would happen if push came to shove, one of these days. “I think Professor Black should speak first,” he said amiably, “After all, he is the one who complains—I am merely here upon his request.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, frowning at him, “Sirius, you heard Severus. Please tell me what caused you such fury.”

“At the last staff meeting, you told us to put our names into the provisional time-table for next year,” Black began surly, “And this morning, I wanted to add mine.”

“Ye-es?” Dumbledore said, carefully unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. Severus had difficulties keeping a straight face.

“But when I looked at the timetable, I noticed that he—” he pointed at Severus accusingly “—had already occupied an inordinate amount of lessons. Much more than he deserves, anyway,” he added.

Severus raised his brows. “My dear Professor Black, the number of lessons I am going to teach is not calculated on the basis of personal merit, much as that might surprise you. I signed up for exactly the number I had previously agreed upon with the Headmaster.”

“This is insane!” Black hissed, “Who needs Potions anyway? We didn’t have a Potions teacher for two years, and I assure you, we didn’t miss anything. So why—”

“Sirius!” Dumbledore interrupted him again, “It was a decision of the Board of Governors that this school needs a Potions Master. And I sincerely approve of that decision.”

“Ha!” Black spat. “Of course! You only agreed because that slimy bastard Malfoy would have—”

This time, it was Severus who interrupted him. “Would you kindly limit your insufferable insults to those present in this room, Professor Black? If you have the guts to abuse Mr. Malfoy to his face, by calling him a slimy bastard, then do so, by all means. And don’t you think that you somewhat overestimate his influence?”

“No, I honestly don’t think so,” Black retorted heatedly. “He’s a goddamned Death Eater, and probably threatened all the others and their families into submission. And yes, I would tell him so personally, if the slimy git weren’t too cowardly to show his face here.”

Severus merely shrugged. “If you say so. Although I seem to recall that the kind of accusation you just uttered have been expressly forbidden by the Headmaster.” Dumbledore merely nodded, and Black audibly gritted his teeth. “Could we now please return to the point? This discussion is getting a trifle tedious.”

Dumbledore took a bite of the Chocolate Frog and picked up the thread where Severus had left it. “Yes, I think it is useless to discuss the sense or lack thereof of the Governors’ decisions. To clarify matters, Sirius: you had been given most the vacant Potions units for Defence Against the Dark Arts, in addition to those you already had. Now we are returning to the status quo—Minerva had to give hers back as well. And that is all there is to it. Besides, I think we all should appreciate the fact that Severus is now teaching outside the regular schedule, which is extremely tedious for both him and the students.”

“Oh, of course,” Black said, with a theatrical gesture of his right hand, “We should be eternally grateful that Professor Snape is teaching half the amount of units we have to do. While getting a full salary, of course. So he can corrupt the seventh-years and attend Dark Revels in his leisure time. Outstanding, truly remarkable!”

“I assure you that all I am doing in my spare time is preparing holiday assignments and N.E.W.T. questionnaires, trying to squeeze three years of Potions syllabus into one without losing too much, and brewing medicinal potions at Madam Pomfrey’s request. Many of them for students who get hurt during your lessons, just to add a piquant little detail. As to Dark Revels, they seem to be a figment of your imagination, Professor Black. Or are you speaking from personal experience?”

“From personal—You bastard!” Black shouted, shot out of his chair like a striking viper and, without even bothering to draw his wand, drove his fist into Severus’s face. A second later, he was lying on the floor, hit by Dumbledore’s stunning spell.

Still maintaining his perfectly calm façade, Severus produced a white handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, crumpled it into a ball and held it to his lips. It was drenched in blood when he removed it. Gingerly, he prodded his teeth with his tongue. Just as he had expected—he had heard the telltale crack when Black’s knuckles had made contact with his left cheek. The tooth came off, and he spit it into the red-soaked fabric. The left side of his face hurt like hell, and his ears were still tingling from the force of the blow. Slowly he raised his eyes to look at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was still standing behind his desk, bearing an expression of utter defeat. “I… am sorry, Severus.”

Severus snorted. “I don’t think you are the one who has to apologize here, Headmaster.” The tooth had come off only partly, its remainders were still embedded in skin and bone; they had sharp edges that scratched his tongue when he was speaking.

“Not for hitting you, no. I should have reacted a little faster. But I did not expect him to attack without drawing his wand.”

“Aurors are a resourceful lot,” Severus said, shrugging.

“Yes, I suppose they are.” Dumbledore gave him a twisted half-smile. “Severus, I know I am asking a lot of you, but please try not to react to his provocations.”

He could raise only his right eyebrow; it hurt too much on the left side. “Do I look like somebody who has reacted to a provocation?”

Dumbledore’s steady gaze held his in a tight grip. “I think you understood me, Severus. I meant this provocation.” He pointed at the left side of Severus’s face that was constantly swelling. “May I suggest that you go to the infirmary by Floo? It wouldn’t do for the Head of Slytherin to be seen wandering the corridors with a black eye.”

“Given to him by the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Severus added. “I suppose you want me to leave before you restore this piece of scum to life?”

Tensing visibly, Dumbeldore nodded. “I think it would be preferable.” He went over to the fireplace and tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the flames, calling “Poppy!”

Madam Pomfrey’s round face appeared on the grate. “Yes, Headmaster?”

“Do you have any patients right now?”

“Are you joking?” she replied gruffly, “Sirius had three Defence classes today, sixth- and seventh-years. I am seriously considering adding a Sirius Black Ward to the Hospital Wing. And tell Severus—”

Severus stepped forward. “You called, Madam Pomfrey?”

Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Sweet Merlin, what happened?”

“Black happened. Could you maybe come here for a moment and patch me up? I don’t want to be cured in the presence of students—unless Black has taught them the Excaveo Vista Curse, of course.”

She frowned at him. “That is a Dark Curse, Severus, and a very nasty one at that. But I’ll join you immediately. Did you lose any teeth?”

“Only one,” he said, holding it up for her to see. “A bit of Skele Gro should do the job.”

“No need to teach me the basics,” she replied primly, but then smiled at him. “You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

~~~~*~~~~

He might be able to feign aloofness, Severus thought, but it was exhausting. A healthy dose of Cruciatus for Black would have done wonders for his own composure. But that was not an option right now, unfortunately. He had to keep his calm and wait for Dumbledore to ladle out the punishments. Not that Black ever got what he deserved; besides, Lucius had been right: there was nothing as resilient as stupidity, and Black had more than his fair share of that. All he could do was wait, with gritted teeth—the one Black’s blow had broken had re-grown by now—until time was ripe for having his revenge. Sooner or later, the occasion would present itself.

He sighed and tried to concentrate. Spread in front of him on the desk were open books and sheets of parchment—soon, the second-year syllabus, complete with lesson plans, would be finished. Five more to go… He was lucky indeed that, for the time being, there was no possibility to work towards a formula for the potion Voldemort was so eager to test. Double luck, for the next stage of his experiments could only begin after he had found the Devil’s Lily and thus when the holidays had already begun. He was not sure, though, what to do in case he did not obtain a more or less final result until the start of fall term. That would put him on the horns of a dilemma he did not really want to think about. Either he had to tell Dumbledore about the potion earlier than he intended to, or he had to ask for Voldemort’s patience. Come to think of it, it was not that much of a dilemma after all…

Elias, perching on his desk and attentively following the movements of the quill with his beady black eyes, head slightly tilted, gave a sharp croak.

“What?” Severus said, looking up. “Did I make a mistake?”

Then he heard it. Somebody was knocking at his door. Impossible, he thought, nobody except for himself knew the password. Shaking his head in wonderment, he got up and went to open the door. Only to set eyes on ‘sweet Miss Madison’, as Lucius had called her. She was wearing her school robes, but more by way of a formality—they were unbuttoned, and underneath a nightgown that did not even deserve the attribute ‘scant’ showed lots of creamy-soft skin.

Severus swallowed convulsively. This was not a situation he wanted to find himself in. Alone with a half-naked student in some remote part of the castle… “Miss Madison,” he said, as sternly as possible, “How did you get here and what do you want? It is long past curfew.”

He had to admit that she was very pretty indeed, if in a slightly vulgar way. Her hair was the wrong shade of red by a mere fraction of a tone; her nose was just a trifle too short; the lips a little too pouting. The nightgown was downright cheap, and the perfume slightly nauseating.

“I am so sorry, Sir,” she said, batting her eyelids, “But I’ve got such a beastly headache.”

“Indeed?” he snarled, “Then why didn’t you go to the Hospital Wing? If I remember correctly, Madam Pomfrey is the matron and I am the Potions Master—or did I miss any recent developments?”

“N-no, Professor, of course not.” She made a half-decent attempt at producing a dazzling smile. “But you are always up till late—”

“And how did you come by that particular information, if I may ask?”

Now she was puzzled, and that made the pieces of the puzzle come together in his mind with a sharp ‘click’—the resulting image showed Sirius Black’s face, sneering at him. Black, that bastard… Always so adept at getting females to do his bidding…

“I… I saw light in your windows the other night…”

“Does that mean you were out after curfew?” he purred.

Her face blushed a deep shade of purple. “I… well…”

“I shall take that as a yes. Ten points from Slytherin.”

Eyes as big and round as a puppy’s, she shot him a horrified look. “But… but Sir, from your own house!”

“Yes, Miss Madison, from my own house. Very fast thinking, my compliments. How did you come by my password?”

It seemed that she was on safe territory again. “I just told the ladies—”

“The ladies, Miss Madison, are nymphs, dryads, to be exact.”

“Uh, yes, Sir. I told them I was in such pain, and they let me through.”

“How very interesting. And… are you still in pain?”

Now that he had seen through her little act, the sudden gleam of triumph in her eyes merely disgusted him. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, “It hurts like mad. I think it would get better if I lay down for a moment.” Her eyes darted towards the sofa.

“By all means. Be my guest,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the Chesterfield. “I will be with you in a minute, I just have to fetch the appropriate potion for you.”

“Thank you,” she breathed in what she probably thought was a sultry tone of voice, and glided over to the sofa.

The appropriate potion, indeed, he thought, while climbing the stairs to his laboratory in the second floor. If she were not so abysmally stupid, she might have understood the hidden threat. But there was nothing but cotton in that pretty little porcelain doll’s head, and not a single brain cell. He crossed his laboratory with a few determined strides, opened a cupboard and reached for a vial of Veritaserum. Before he left the room, he charmed off the etiquette. Better safe than sorry, just in case his suspicion was unfounded, much as he doubted that.

When he re-entered the living room, where she had arranged herself on the couch in the meantime, he sent a reassuring smile towards her supine form. She was not wearing anything under that flimsy excuse for a nightgown. On a low table near the fireplace, a bottle of wine was sitting; he had already opened it for later, as the wine needed to breathe for at least an hour in order to become drinkable. Not that it was going to make any difference to Miss Madison, of course. He poured half a goblet and added four drops of the truth serum.

“Here you are,” he said, forcing his face into a smile, and handed her the goblet. “Drink it down, all of it. The effect should settle in after about ten minutes.”

She sat up, nodded and drank. Her small, plump hands were holding the glass in an oddly childlike way. He did not find it very endearing, though. He took the proffered, now-empty goblet back and said, “I think it would be best if you waited here until you feel the effect. One never knows, you might have an allergic reaction.”

When she nodded, she reminded him even more of a china doll. A superfluous toy, useless and void, the head of which was coming off, lolling back and forth. How Lucius could ever have stood her presence was a mystery to him. Maybe she had been a little more tolerable at age fourteen. He checked his watch. A minute had passed—the interrogation could begin.

“Miss Madison, do you have a headache?”

“No, Sir.” A chubby little fist hovered halfway between her lap and her face, frozen in confusion.

“Who gave you the information how to get to my quarters?”

“Professor Black.” Now tears were pooling in those watery-blue eyes. Water to water, earth to earth, dust to dust… What a pleasure to shatter that empty porcelain head…

“Did anybody tell you my password?”

“No, Sir, I asked the dry—” she stumbled over the unknown word “—the two ladies to let me through…I told them my head was hurting so badly.”

“And why did you come here in the first place?”

Tears, as round as everything about the girl, glided down her cheeks. “Professor Black told me it was going to be a prank… just a friendly prank he wanted to play on you… he said that it was enough if I managed to remove your shirt… he would do the rest.”

Completely ignoring the girl’s sobs, Severus turned his back to her—no way he could control his face now. Too overwhelming was his anger. Remove his shirt, indeed. The Dark Mark was not prominent, but certainly visible. That bastard! That utter, utter bastard! Using a student from Severus’s own house!

He heard her just in time to go after her before she could escape. “Oh, no, Miss Madison,” he said, dragging her to the fireplace behind him. “You are going to stay here, the Headmaster will be exceedingly interested in your story.”

She merely whimpered, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arm.

“Yes, Severus?” Dumbledore was still in his magnificent robes. “Severus, what—is that a student?”

Severus nodded grimly. “Yes, Headmaster. And she would like to tell you a fascinating little story. Could you come here for a moment? I don’t want to manhandle her through the Floo.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said curtly and, a few seconds later, stepped off the grate.

The interrogation of the hapless Miss Madison was repeated, much to the Headmaster’s dismay. When she had finished, Dumbledore took off his glasses and, in a gesture of immense fatigue, covered his eyes with his hands.

“Shall I obliviate her?” Severus asked. At Dumbledore’s nodded assent, he guided the girl outside, down the stairs and through the tapestry door, and then a little further along the corridor, where he cast the memory spell. “Five points from Slytherin for being out after curfew, Miss Madison,” he said sharply. “Go back to your quarters immediately.”

She threw him an upset look and fled. Severus turned back towards the entrance to his tower. “Come out!” he called the dryads. When they finally skulked into view, the expression on their faces was guilty and embarrassed. “I see that you have recognized your mistake,” he addressed them sternly, “And I sincerely hope that it will never happen again. No-one enters my quarters without my explicit permission. Understood?”

They nodded and mumbled their apologies. Severus stepped on the path and returned to Dumbledore, anticipating his unexpected triumph over Sirius Black.