The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 20

By Pigwidgeon37

The atmosphere at lunch was, to use but an understatement, strange.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were in high spirits. Lupin was silent and pensive. Nimue almost fell asleep over her plate of lamb chops with potatoes and vegetables. The Malfoy family was incomplete—only Yelena, Draco and Selene had come to the Great Hall. Except for Selene, who was her usual ebullient self, they seemed to have trouble not looking away when their eyes met Severus’s. Sybil and Owen were absent as well; they had gone to Hogsmeade for lunch, as Yelena told the Headmaster, and Severus presumed they would be back in time for the staff meeting.

The round table, large enough to seat at least twenty persons, had not been shrunk to accommodate today’s rather small party, so that there was more than enough space between the tablemates. This suited Severus, who had sat down between Yelena and Lupin, just fine. Too many different trains of thought were crisscrossing, intersecting and at times even colliding with each other in his mind for him to take part in a conversation, be it serious or merely small talk. Right now, he was pondering Nimue’s words, spoken in a rush of anger and indignation: You have no idea how much you mean to other people.

Well, he thought, she was probably right. As far as human relations were concerned, he was suspended in a void, like a single fish in a goldfish bowl. That was all well and fine until somebody dumped the poor creature into an aquarium with rocks and stones and plants and—most importantly—lots of other fish. Smiling to himself at the simile, which somehow seemed uncannily appropriate, he poked at his boiled cauliflower with his fork. Yes, he had truly been a solitary goldfish, who mistook the limpidity of the water surrounding him for clarity of mind, and the distorted images of the outside world, refracted as they were by the liquid, for accurate perception. His bowl had been placed in close vicinity of the big aquarium, so close that the curved and the plane surfaces touched, and sometimes he had put his snout against the glass at the same time as an inhabitant of the other side. And he had thought of it as touching each other.

That, he mused, had definitely been an illusion. Delusion, rather.

If he truly wanted Nimue—and he had no doubts as to that—he would have to exchange his solitary bowl for the big aquarium. His mind did not turn to fully face that idea, but even so, contemplating it out of the corner of his eye, he shuddered at the thought. For a brief moment, he tried to persuade himself that it was a shudder of revulsion. But in moments of brutal honesty with himself, and this was certainly one of them, these attempts usually failed. Spectacularly. With a sigh, he shoved away his plate and admitted to himself that he was just afraid.

Not because of Nimue. Whatever the reason, which he was sure he would find out one day, if maybe only in hindsight, he did not feel the same reluctance where she was concerned. True, there were things he would rather not tell her, or tell her much later, but he sensed an essential readiness to open up and let her in. The others, though, were an entirely different matter.

He absentmindedly helped himself to coffee and some ginger biscuits, thinking that he really did not have a choice. If he wanted her, he had to leave the bowl. Maybe she might even go back there with him, to share his isolation. But he had absolutely no right to ask that of her, and besides he instinctively knew that it would prove detrimental to their relationship. She had already lost or given up so much—he simply must not deprive her of anything else. After all, what could he possibly offer her in return? Even with the best of intentions, he would never be able to make up for friends, family and whatever else she needed. No, he had to take the big jump.

His eyes strayed towards Yelena, who was surreptitiously watching him, and he gave her a tentative smile. She winked at him. Well, he thought, it might be a small beginning, but it was definitely a beginning. But all the same, the avalanche that was likely to come racing towards him, once he picked up a small snowball called Nimue, made his stomach clench in anguish. So many people… People he would then feel compelled to call his friends, once the glass walls were down and gone. People with emotions, with problems, people requesting attention and… well, whatever people expected of their friends. Severus had the distinct feeling that he was going to bite off more than he could chew.

But, as he had already recognized, he really did not have a choice.

At the very moment Nimue had been revealed as the woman mentioned by the prophecy, an inner process had started, the dynamics of which he could not control. He could make attempts, yes. He could negate it. But that did not cancel the fact that it was there and that, as he grudgingly admitted to himself, it had been enhanced, or maybe just focused, by his stint into the magical roots of Hogwarts.

He wanted to belong, and as soon as he established a true connection with one person, Nimue, he would automatically become part of the whole complicated spider’s web of human relations in all their diversity and complexity. Much as he hated the thought, it also held a strange fascination, like a system of subterranean tunnels all his to explore.

“Draco?” he said, coming out of his stupor.

The silvery eyes held a slightly disconcerted look. “Yes, Uncle Severus?”

“Did you have any plans for early afternoon?”

Draco chewed his bottom lip, evidently unsure whether saying ‘no’ equalled disloyalty towards his father. “N-nothing I couldn’t do later,” he finally answered.

Severus found it hard not to grin at the boy’s subtle diplomacy. The ball was in his hands again. “Do you think you might accompany me down to greenhouse five after lunch? The plants haven’t been properly cared for since the beginning of the holidays, and I might need a hand.”

“Hmm…” From under long, blonde lashes, Draco shot him a look full of doubt. Then, a grin spread over his face, and he said, “Not exactly my favourite holiday activity…”

“Neither is it mine. And I don’t even earn house points…”

Yelena smiled into her napkin, while Lupin, seated at Severus’s right, snorted softly.

“How many?” Draco inquired, business-like.

Pretending he was thinking hard—after all, haggling was no fun at all without the necessary histrionics—Severus snapped a ginger biscuit into almost equal halves. “That depends… Five or ten, I would say.”

Draco leaned forward to look past his grandmother, his face a mask of indignation. “Those plants are dangerous, Uncle Severus. Fifteen?”

“Did I say you would actually have to handle the plants? Ten, but only if you manage to avoid injuries. That seems more than ample recompense for two hours of work.”

“Two?” Draco frowned. “Why only two?”

“Staff meeting at three o’clock. Are you ready?”

Draco gave a small grunt that probably meant he was, and got up. “No,” he said, stroking his sister’s hair, “you can’t come with us. Uncle Severus has dangerous plants, they’d bite off your fingers.”

“But…” Large green eyes filled with tears. “But Lene want greenhouse!”

Had Dumbledore not had the serendipitous idea of transforming her plate and cutlery into a miniature pasture complete with thumbnail-sized, bleating sheep and border collies chasing them around the green circle, her protests would have been difficult to stifle.

“She’s still a little disorientated,” Draco said while they were crossing the entrance hall. “And scared… She won’t set foot into the common room unless one of us is with her.”

“You’ll see how much more at her ease she’ll be in the Headmaster’s quarters. And once the students are back…”

“Well…” Draco pushed open the heavy entrance door. “I don’t think she’ll be allowed to mingle with them. Father seems a little preoccupied.”

“About her safety?”

Draco nodded. “Yep. There’s going to be a lot of students who won’t like him being the new Headmaster. Both he and mother wouldn’t put it beyond them to take their resentments out on Selene.”

“That would be bad indeed.” Severus scanned the sky—it was overcast, but did not threaten rain. “What about yourself, then? You’re as likely a target as she is.”

“Theoretically, yes. But you can’t deny that I’m able to defend myself. Besides…” He peered up at Severus. “Do you think... I mean… Oh, bugger!” He kicked viciously at a stone.

“Language, Draco. Bugger what exactly?”

“You and father—you don’t seem to be on friendly terms, are you?”

Severus sighed. “There has been a… well, I’d call it a misunderstanding. Nothing that won’t pass, though.”

Draco harrumphed. “You know exactly that such things don’t ‘pass’ where father is concerned. Remember the time you sent me ‘Alice in Wonderland’? Took him two weeks to calm down.”

“Only because I called him a bigot.” He nudged Draco towards the small path leading to the greenhouses.

“Yeah, so I wonder what you called him this time. He was absolutely livid when he returned last night. And it wasn’t about Nimue.” He unearthed a Chocolate Frog from one of his pockets and tore open the wrapping. “Although,” he added, after biting the frog’s head off, “he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about having to go to the Weasels’ pigsty.”

“I can imagine,” Severus said, smirking down at Draco.

“Uh-huh. So what happened to make him so furious? If it wasn’t about Nimue.”

They had arrived at the greenhouse, and Severus undid the spells protecting the entrance. “I think I… disappointed him,” he said, looking everywhere but at Draco. The heat that encompassed them inside the closed space was, fortunately, a more than valid excuse for his suddenly flushed face.

“Pah!” Draco shook his head. “You can’t disappoint him. You’re like brothers.”

“Ever read the story of Cain and Abel?” Severus said lightly, while unbuttoning his jacket.

Draco, who was wearing merely a shirt and trousers under his robes, proceeded to roll up his sleeves. “Of course I did. But please—” he clutched Severus’s forearm and locked eyes with him “—please tell me it won’t come to that! Not murdering each other, I know that won’t happen, but… If you aren’t on speaking terms anymore, you know whose side I’d have to be on and…” He released Severus’s arm and turned away. “I’d hate that!” he muttered.

And that was exactly where leaving your bowl got you, Severus thought grimly. He was honest enough to admit that last night, the fault had been entirely his. Essentially right though he was in wanting to keep the prophecy from Nimue, he had certainly overreacted. Not to mention that reminding Lucius of his debt, which he would have honoured anyway, was very bad behaviour indeed for a wizard. Such things were silently acknowledged but never openly mentioned, and to use them as a means of blackmail was nothing less than a metaphorical slap across the face.

He undid the buttons of his shirt cuffs. “I promise I’ll talk to him and… well, try to make things right again.”

“You mean…” Draco stepped close to him and poked his forefinger into Severus’s upper arm. “You mean you’re going to apologize?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Draco. I said I was going to—what?” he interrupted himself, seeing the half-pained, half-incredulous look on the young wizard’s face.

“You’re doing this for me, aren’t you? That’s—” he swallowed “—that’s awfully decent, really.”

“Aren’t we the little egotist? I’m doing this for everybody’s sake, just so you know. And now let’s see how the Chrysolanthia Acidula Obnoxia is doing.”

They walked over to a row of red clay pots holding small, bushy plants with minuscule, almost circular turquoise-green leaves arranged in pairs left and right of the twigs. The leaves’ short stems grew out of tiny knobbles, which made the branches vaguely resemble the spine of a fish, and on every third or fourth knobble sat a small purple blossom, its diameter about a third of an inch. Severus sat down on his haunches and carefully examined the plants. “Well,” he said, looking up at Draco, “these certainly need to be re-potted.”

As they went to the shelves at the far end of the greenhouse to retrieve the necessary tools, Draco said, “What about the staff meeting this afternoon? There are so few of you…”

Severus, who was pretty sure what Draco was aiming at, merely asked, “Didn’t Lucius tell you anything about it?”

“N-not really.” Draco drew his wand and levitated a bag of fertilizer. “It can’t be that important, can it, if there’s only a small part of the faculty.”

“If there is anything you mean to tell me, Draco, I suggest that you simply do so.” Directed by Severus's wand, a bag filled with potting compost became airborne, and several gardening tools followed in its wake. The more delicate magical plants had to be treated manually, as any charms or spells might damage their magical properties.

“Well, I was wondering… Father dropped some hints that maybe, if I was a prefect, people wouldn't dare attack me…”

“That seems to be sound reasoning.”

“Yes, but…” Draco lowered the fertilizer to the floor near the flowerpots. “I mean, if you two are at odds…”

“As I believe I already told you,” Severus said, doing likewise with the compost and tools, “that I intend to right this situation as soon as possible. Besides—” he pulled two pairs of goggles from his pocket and handed one to Draco “—do you really think that your father or I would put whichever conflict we might have above your well-being and safety?”

“N-no. Not really. I guess I was just… well, anxious.”

“Well, you may stop being anxious. Rest assured that, if Lucius really brings it up, I’ll support it. And now be careful not to touch the blossoms. Your eyes might be protected, but you wouldn't want to have scars on your face. What would Pansy say if she saw them,” he added, winking at Draco.

“I’d willingly accept a facial with Chrysolanthia acid, if it made her stop adoring me,” Draco replied gruffly. “Why on earth did father have to make that arrangement?”

“You know that well enough. To prevent an engagement between you and Nimue.”

“Well, she’s not that bad, is she?”

Glad that he had to keep his eyes on the plant he was cautiously de-potting, Severus tried to sound as natural as possible when he replied, “No, she certainly isn’t. But back then, we had no way of knowing how things would develop. Just imagine if she had been brought up by her biological parents…”

“Well, I don’t know them,” Draco said reasonably. “From the pictures I saw—”

“When did you see their pictures?” Severus interrupted him, frowning.

“Nimue wanted to look at them, and so I got the albums from the library. The ones grandmother Yelena keeps like a dragon his treasures.”

“Ah, of course.” With the back of his hand Severus wiped a few droplets of sweat from his brow. “They certainly were a handsome enough couple.”

“Nimue didn’t like them, though. Not that I did, mind you. Especially her mother, Thalia—”

“Tabitha,” Severus corrected.

“Whatever. Nimue said she looked like a beautiful hyena. Can't say I disagree. But I certainly understand that her Head of House was after her. As were the others, I suppose.”

“Many of them, yes.” Severus grinned at the memory of their Big Prank. “Black, for example.”

“Oh, him.” Draco snorted. “What about father?”

Severus shot him a sideways glance. “He wasn't suicidal, you know. St. John’s interest was pretty obvious right from the beginning—”

“When she was eleven?” Draco shook his head. “What a pervert!” The heel of his right hand brushed a blossom, and he ducked the spurt of acid just in time.

“Careful!” Severus hissed. “I don't want the conflict with your father to escalate because you come back with a mutilated face!”

“Sorry. So who was father’s girlfriend while he was at school?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Don't you think you should ask him that question?”

“Probably. But I suppose he wouldn't tell me. Besides—” he carefully deposited the plant he had successfully pulled out of its pot on the stone floor “—it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I’m sure all I’d get is a vague answer and then a lengthy lecture on contraceptive spells.”

“Well, that wouldn’t hurt—”

“No, but I already had one from mother. Believe me, it was embarrassing enough. Not that I need it,” he said gloomily, “what with that Pansy harpy constantly at my heels…”

“Anybody you’d fancy?” Severus tried to convince himself that his heartbeat was not as audible to Draco as it was to himself.

“Hmm… Maybe the Chang girl. She’s quite dishy… So is Angelina Johnson, but she's a Gryffindor and therefore out of bounds. Pity,” he said, grinning at Severus, “when the most interesting girls are practically wearing a ‘Don’t trespass’ sign around their necks. Limits your choices quite awfully. So who used to be father’s girlfriend? Sybil?”

Severus almost dropped his shovel. “Certainly not,” he said, suppressing the unmanly and un-Slytherin-ish urge to giggle. “No, he—look, Draco, I really don’t think I should tell you things your father doesn't want you to know.”

“McGonagall?”

“Draco, really!”

“He didn't prefer… boys, did he?”

Severus sat down on the floor and stared at the young wizard. “What on earth makes you think he might have preferred boys?”

Shrugging, Draco replied, “Well, lots of men do, don't they? Not necessarily for all their life, but they like to experiment. Considering that you’re so reluctant to tell me, I thought—”

“No. Definitely not.” Severus threw up his hands in exasperation. “All right. Your father fucked every available female, regardless of their house affiliation. There was no regular girlfriend. And if you tell him that I told you, you’ll wish you had been born deaf-dumb.”

“Who would have thought…” A dreamy expression on his face, Draco slowly shook his head. “Father, shagging himself through the female Hogwarts population…” Suddenly, he became serious and grabbed Severus's right forearm, heedless of the stains he made on the sleeve with his grimy hands. “He doesn’t… I mean, he’s faithful to mother now, isn’t he?”

“Always has been, since the day they got married. And yes, that’s the truth.”

“Good.” Draco nodded. “That’s a relief. Not that I would have loved him less, but… I’d hate it if he hurt mother.” For a while, they worked in silence, pouring compost into the larger pots they had prepared, and mixing it with fertilizer. “May I ask you a question?”

“Considering that you’ve been doing exactly that for half an hour, the request seems a trifle redundant, doesn't it?”

“Probably. What I meant was: can I ask you a question you might not like, and do you promise not to bathe my face in Chrysolanthia acid if you don't like it?”

“May I bathe it in Bubotuber pus instead?”

“Deal,” Draco said and grinned. “Okay. It’s something I’ve been wondering about for quite some time, really. Since I…” He blushed. “Well, since I became aware that… certain urges can't be easily repressed. And I’ve never seen you in company of a woman, so I thought that maybe… you know, maybe you prefer men but don't want people to know… Not that I would mind,” he added hastily, seeing Severus's incredulous stare, “You’ve never… I mean, you never showed any interest in me… that kind of interest, I mean…” He swallowed and shot Severus a very uncertain look.

How strange, Severus thought, when something you had been afraid of as a boy suddenly became reality so many years later. After that terrible holiday at his uncle’s house in Italy, he had been convinced that the abuse he had suffered had to show on his face or in his movements. And he had dreaded the taunts and questions of his peers. While he had no idea how he would have reacted, had Draco asked the same question a year ago, it did not overly irritate him now. “No,” he replied calmly, holding Draco's gaze firmly in the grip of his own, “I don't prefer men. Never have, to be exact. As for girlfriends…” He sighed, looking up at the pewter sky, its monotony turned into blurry patterns by the irregularities in the roof’s glass panes. “You know me, Draco. I’m not the kind of man…” He did not finish his sentence but continued to stare up into the cloudy grey.

“You’re not what kind of man?” Draco got to his feet and looked down at him, catching his eye. “You’re not what kind of man?” he repeated, quite heatedly. “Are you telling me you don’t need anybody?”

“No. Although that’s exactly what I would have told you… some time ago.”

“Ah.” Draco pushed his goggles up over his forehead, making his hair stand on end and leaving blackish streaks on his face. “But you’ve changed your mind.”

“I have indeed changed my mind.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Severus smiled up at him, returned to his kneeling position and started to reinsert the first plant into its new pot. “I would prefer not to, right now. Call me superstitious, but it’s still too fragile to be out in the open. Like early blossoms, you know? They think it’s already spring, but then the frost—What is so funny?” he asked, looking at Draco over his shoulder.

Still sniggering, Draco put the goggles back in place. His face now resembled that of a poacher, smeared as it was with black. “Dear Uncle Severus, the fact that you’re talking in poetic metaphors is more than enough proof that something must have changed. Early blossoms, my arse,” he muttered, kneeling down beside Severus.

“You, my dear boy, are a precocious, cynical brat.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Both chuckled and continued their work in companionable silence.

~~~~*~~~~

Vividly regretting his decision to leave the goldfish bowl, Severus threw a pinch of Floo powder into his fireplace shortly after two-thirty. “Hallo, Narcissa,” he said, when her blonde head appeared on the grate, “I’d like to have a word with Lucius, please.”

Her smile seemed a little forced. “I’m not sure whether this is really a good idea, Severus, he is—”

“That’s exactly what I want to talk to him about. Before the staff meeting, if possible.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression suddenly more cheerful, “Well, that’s good news. I’ll go and fetch him, then.”

“Tell him to come right through, if you don’t mind. I’ll be waiting for him here.”

She nodded, and Severus sat down at some distance from the fireplace, knowing that the Floo traveller’s mood had some effect on his or her cruising speed and landing. Knowing Lucius’s temper, he was probably going to shoot out of the flames and right into the wall on the opposite side of the room, and Severus did not want to be in his way.

The landing was indeed rough, though not overly so. “I’m not a House Elf, Snape,” Lucius snarled once he had regained his balance, “So don’t you think you can send for me whenever you feel like it.”

Biting back a sharp retort, Severus replied calmly, “I merely wanted to speak to you without being overheard by the whole family. Otherwise I would have come to the Slytherin quarters.”

Lucius crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the other wizard. “And what, pray, did you want to talk about? Did you feel the urge to control whether I’m keeping my promise?”

“Don’t be such a prat, Lucius. Sit down, have a drink—” he summoned a bottle and two glasses “—and listen to me.” Grumbling under his breath, Lucius complied. “Look, I—” he handed Lucius his glass “—I think I overreacted last night. I was… well, not quite myself, I suppose. First, Black’s hair-raising comments, and then Nimue’s outburst… it was a little too much. None of it was your fault, of course, but…”

“Couldn’t very well take it out on the little girl, could you?” Lucius said, smirking.

“Not really, no. Not that her reaction wasn’t understandable, but…” He stared into his glass.

“These things happen, Sev. They happen in every relationship.” Apparently more relaxed, Lucius leaned back and circled the rim of his tumbler with the tip of a forefinger.

“I suppose so. That doesn’t make it easier, though…”

“I never said it’s easy. On the contrary, it’s as bad as can be, especially if you don’t have a sufficient number of House Elves you can use as a surrogate target for your anger. I went through quite a lot during the first times of my marriage, believe me.”

Severus felt unaccountably amused. “You did?”

“Sure as hell I did. Or did you think Narcissa accepted my frequent, unexplained absences without a question or reproach?”

“To say the truth, I never gave it much thought.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t. But rest assured, we used to have the most terrible scenes. Once I told her everything, the situation improved immediately, of course.” He emptied his glass. “I hope you have achieved some sort of understanding by now?”

“Sort of, yes. But I really don’t want her to know anything about the prediction, Lucius.”

“I can’t fathom why, but if you really want to have it that way…”

“For the time being, yes. I don’t want her to feel obliged in any way. If things really proceed like I hope they will, it has to be because she wants it as much as I do, not out of some Gryffindor-esque sense of duty.”

“Hmm…” Lucius scrutinized him out of half-closed eyes. “Sounds reasonable, yes. Listen Sev, concerning the staff meeting—”

“Draco already told me. Yes, I’m all for making him a prefect. And I think Nimue should become prefect as well, for the same reasons.”

Lucius grinned. “That, and because she’s allowed to be out after curfew. What a fortunate coincidence indeed… Or should we do the outrageous thing and make her Head Girl in her fifth year? So she’d have a room of her own.”

“Lucius, really!” Severus said, half-laughing, half-angry. “Should the necessity ever arise, I believe that my quarters will be more than sufficient.”

“Virgins usually like having a home advantage,” Lucius said nonchalantly and rose to his feet. “Time to get going, Sev, we don’t want to be late for the staff meeting, do we?”

~~~~*~~~~

“I’ll try to make this as short as possible,” Dumbledore said, almost apologetically, when they were all gathered around the staff room table. “Flitwick and Sprout have sent their suggestions by letter.” He snatched two rolls of parchment and flattened them. “Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff, and Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw.”

“All right for Ravenclaw,” Lucius said, “But we can’t have Finch- Fletchley. He’s Muggle-born, and I don’t want to get into trouble with Voldemort for trifles like these.”

“What about Ernie Macmillan?” Sybil suggested, “He’s a little shy, but well-liked and well-behaved. Plus, he’s a pureblood.”

McGonagall wagged her head. “I’m not sure whether he’ll have sufficient authority.”

“Trust Hannah Abbot to make up for that,” Severus said. “That girl is as bossy as… well, almost a bossy as Miss Lestrange.”

Owen’s eyebrows rose. “Is she? Well, that’s saying something. I’m already pitying Macmillan.”

Lucius chuckled. Nodding his assent, Dumbledore said, “Macmillan and Abbot it is, then. Excellent. What about Gryffindor?”

“Ron Weasley and Parvati Patil,” McGonagall answered, almost before the Headmaster had finished his question. She threw Lucius a belligerent look.

“Don’t glare at me like that, Minerva. And no, for both. The Gryffindor Patil is, if I remember correctly, not exactly what you might call a role model for the younger girls, and I won’t have a prefect snogging in every corner of the school, merely to prevent her from being jealous of her twin sister.” McGonagall glared, but said nothing. “And Ronald Weasley is absolutely out of the question,” he continued, “he’d never be loyal to the faculty, not with me as the Headmaster. And the Gryffindors will be difficult enough to handle without a rebellious prefect.”

McGonagall’s mouth thinned. “Believe me, Lucius, I’m well able to maintain order—”

“No you aren’t,” Lucius interrupted her, quite rudely. “Your own school days may belong to the distant past—” Dumbledore frowned at him, but Lucius continued, totally unperturbed “—but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten them. Nor have I mine. If students want to make mischief, they will make mischief, come hell or high water. Never underestimate student solidarity, Minerva. And if Weasley thinks I put you under the Imperius Curse to make you obey my sinister commands, he’ll sooner kill me than hear reason.”

“I understand your scruples concerning Parvati Patil,” McGonagall said, her voice dangerously low, “but what you said about Ron is simply preposterous, if not paranoid.”

“Maybe,” Severus interjected, seeing Lucius’s imperceptible wink, “we might attempt a compromise. I’m sure that Miss Lestrange would be more than able to keep Weasley’s rebellious tendencies in check. Don’t you agree, Lucius?” The soon-to-be Headmaster merely shrugged. “Or do you have any problems with Miss Lestrange being a Gryffindor prefect, Minerva?” he addressed McGonagall.

She sniffed indignantly. “She would have been my first choice, were it not for her…” She sent a pleading look in Dumbledore’s direction.

“Her parentage?” Lucius purred, before the Headmaster could intervene. “Well, try to look at it from this point of view: many of her housemates will share your prejudice—”

“I’m not prejudiced, I—”

“Call it as you like. Many Gryffindors won’t be able or willing to accept her new… let us say identity. I would even go as far as predicting flat-out hostilities. There aren’t many Gryffindors who haven’t lost at least one relative during Voldemort’s last rise.” He looked up from his sheet of parchment, on which he had been doodling intertwining snakes, and spoke directly to Dumbledore. “A prefect badge may not be a panacea against all kinds of sufferings, but most students respect it enough to at least think twice before trying anything stupid.”

Dumbledore rubbed the deep line between his brows with his forefinger. “This is a difficult decision… Because if she were to be a prefect, that would also mean placing her in the centre of attention…”

“I think the Daily Prophet has already taken care of that,” Owen said. “Of course the brats will try to question her authority by throwing her parents’ misdeeds into her face, but she’s a tough girl. She’ll survive and grow stronger.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Well, Lucius, this is really more your decision than mine. You will have to handle any trouble she might get into, whether prefect or not.”

“Then I opt for Lestrange and Weasley. They’ll have to cooperate, whether Weasley wants to or not.”

McGonagall gave a prim nod. “Very well. What about Slytherin, then?”

“Draco,” Severus said, “and Morag McDougal. Parkinson and Bulstrode are far too interested in swapping boyfriends and make-up. They have both been laid by every male Slytherin over thirteen—you know how boys are, they would never respect them.”

McGonagall looked scandalized. “I can’t believe that you’re taking this so lightly, Severus. I would never tolerate such promiscuity in my own house.”

“They behave like rabbits in spring whether you tolerate it or not, Minerva. At least my girls come to me for contraceptive potions. Or do I need to remind you that Gryffindor has the highest rate of unmarried mothers?”

“Well, I certainly—” McGonagall bristled and fingered her bun.

“I didn’t say that it’s your fault. We have different ways of handling hormonal teenagers, that’s all. But let us return to our topic. Any objections to Draco Malfoy and Morag McDougal?”

Nobody said a word. Busy rummaging through the pile of parchments in front of him, Dumbledore said, “What about the Head Students, then? I was thinking of Fred Weasley and Gemma Frump.” He beamed at everybody in turn.

“With all due respect, Headmaster, you have to be joking,” Severus said. “Okay for Frump, although she isn’t the kind of girl the female students would turn to willingly, I think. But Fred Weasley? I’ve lost count of the detentions I alone assigned him, but he certainly won’t set an example for the younger students. Not one they should imitate,” he added.

“Really, Albus,” McGonagall agreed, if with visible reluctance, “The Weasley twins are quite brilliant in their own right but…” She raised her hands. “I really don’t see how one of them becoming Head Boy might help.”

“Well,” Sybil said pensively, “I suppose the Headmaster was thinking of James Potter’s wondrous transformation, once he was wearing a Head Boy badge.”

Dumbledore reached across the edge of the table and patted her hand. “Very astute observation, Sybil. That was exactly what I was thinking. And trust me, it will work. The Weasleys might be pranksters, but they would never let down their parents. Getting detentions by the dozen is one thing—to lose a Head Boy badge is quite another. George might not care about having to scrub the corridors of Hogwarts without magic, but believe me: he would never want his parents to be truly ashamed of him.”

“Then why didn’t you make George Weasley a prefect two years ago?” Severus asked gruffly.

“Because Percy was Head Boy, and they would have been unable to work together. Fred and Ron, on the other hand, get along very well.”

“Birds of a feather…” was Lucius’s acid comment. “But I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, I can even present it to Voldemort as a personal success: the terrible Weasleys, my very own contribution to the erosion of order and discipline at Hogwarts. He’ll be impressed.”

“As you are referring to the Weasleys,” Sybil remarked, “”I’d say landslide instead of erosion. So he’ll be even more impressed.”

“I hope he will. And now,” Dumbledore said, fishing a wad of parchments from the stack, “please have a look at the timetable I have set up for the first three days of monitoring the map. Beginning tonight at midnight.” With a flick of his wand, he floated the parchments from one to the other, so that each of them could take a copy.

Severus intently studied the list, which read:

“I didn't put couples together, for obvious reasons,” Dumbledore explained.

Owen and Sybil merely grinned at each other. Harmony seemed to have been re-established between the two, Severus thought. Maybe Sybil had not had any more visions; or she simply had chosen not to tell her lover about them, and succeeded in relegating them to some remote part of her mind. He still felt uneasy, though, thinking back to the conversation with Lucius—he had not told Dumbledore about Sybil’s letter or the images she had described therein.

“Well,” McGonagall said, eyes still fixated on her timetable, “it looks quite reasonable. Everybody will get enough sleep, and the pairings certainly make for interesting conversation. At least—” the corners of her mouth curling slightly, she turned towards Sybil “—we’ll be able to talk to each other without constantly having to remember to put in some insults.”

“As if you didn't enjoy it,” Sybil mumbled.

“You have to admit that my offer of tripe last Christmas—”

“Two years ago, Minerva. Last year there was the terrible Yule Ball. But the tripe rejoinder was lovely, I agree.”

~~~~*~~~~

“I can stay until a quarter to midnight,” Severus said, closing the portrait door behind him.

Nimue nodded. “That's fine. I’m dead tired anyway. Would you like to stay here, or rather go to the dormitory?” Seeing Severus's rather sardonic smile, she blushed and hurriedly added, “I didn't mean to… I hope I’d be a little more subtle if I wanted to seduce you.”

“I’m sure you would.” He pulled her towards the protuberance-laden canapé he had found her on last night, lowered himself into one corner and made her sit next to him, his left arm around her shoulders. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

She merely shrugged, without meeting his gaze. “Uh-huh,” was all she said when he squeezed her shoulders slightly.

“Do I detect a hint of moodiness?”

“I’m never moody. Not even—” she shot him a rueful sideways glance “—when I have PMS.”

“I see.” He took her left hand, but it rested limply between his fingers, without returning the gentle pressure he exerted. “Are you just tired?”

“No, I…” her head rolled against his shoulder. “I spent the time between your meeting and dinner with Sybil.”

Whatever had occurred during that hour, Severus thought, fortune had certainly dealt her the better cards. He had had to endure the company of Black, fully restored and brimming with energy. Severus liked him better when exhausted. “Did you have an in-depth discussion about the right way to read tea leaves?”

“No, we… She showed me some pictures.” Her fingers moved under his, stroking the pads of his fingertips. “How was your time with Draco?”

“Very pleasant. But—” he removed his hand from hers and tucked her hair behind her right ear, so he could see her face, if only in profile “—I’d rather hear about the pictures Sybil showed you. They did disturb you, didn’t they?”

“Yes…”

He saw a tear run down her cheek and wiped it off with his thumb. “Your… parents?” he asked, preparing himself for a violent reaction. It did not come, though. She merely nodded and remained silent. “I thought you had already seen photos at Malfoy Manor, haven’t you?”

She sighed. “Of course I did, but those were the official ones. Sybil… she told me she got a camera from a girl… don't remember her name… anyway, Sybil had predicted that she'd marry some guy, whom she actually married, and the camera was a present to express her gratitude.”

“Really?” Severus shook his head, staring into the fire and trying to remember whether Sybil had ever taken photographs. “Do you remember when?”

“Er… I think she said it was at the end of your sixth year, and she used to sneak up on you during the seventh. She also said that you rarely noticed—Was she really such an outsider?”

“More or less, yes. We didn’t treat her too decently. No curses or hexes—well, except for Tabitha, of course. They hated each other. The rest of us just left her in peace… a bit of taunting now and then, nothing more.”

“She doesn’t seem to bear you any grudge, though.”

“No, I don't think she does.” He leaned his cheek on her hair. “And what made her pictures so different from the ones you saw at the Malfoys’?”

She tilted her head to look up at him briefly, in silent appreciation of his patience. Then she stared off into the fire. “They moved…”

“All wizarding photos move.”

“Yes, but those official pictures just smile or wave. It seems a bit artificial. In Sybil’s Album, they were moving so… so naturally. Little things, you know, like that boy… the one with the brush haircut…”

“Cedric Nott.”

“Yes, Nott. He was sitting in the grass, leaning against a tree and devouring a fairy cake… he kept brushing crumbles from his robes, and there was that other boy… Stuart something… he laughed and laughed, and he kept gesturing to Nott to lean sideways, so the crumbs wouldn't fall on his robes…” She sighed, and Severus felt her body relax. “There was Tabitha… my—” she swallowed hard “—my mother, barely older than I am now… sitting in the common room and studying… I was always wondering where I had got that mannerism from, you know, putting up my hair, when it really irritates me, in some kind of loose bun, and fixing it with my wand. And there she was sitting, doing exactly that. I still didn’t like her, and it was a triviality, really, a mere nothing… But I suddenly felt that… that connection…”

Severus nodded, burying his face deeper in her hair. “So many of them are dead now.” He felt her nod.

“Many people would say they deserved it, you know. But to see them as they were back then—it makes me think of all the students here, and whether maybe in ten years’ time somebody will look at my picture, saying ‘That’s Nimue Lestrange, she died before even finishing school’…”

He did not know what to say, for any attempt at cheering her up or ‘talking her out of it’ would have done injustice to her feelings. So he merely tightened his embrace, and they sat in silence, listening to the crackling flames.