These Deep Solitudes

Chapter Seven - Vide Vocaro

"Now entertain conjecture of a time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel of the universe."

-- Henry V 4.0.1-3

Remus was out of favour. Between teaching Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, he kept kicking himself for his romantic ineptitude. He had spent the day drafting apologies to Rain, dismissing each in turn as too pompous, too craven, too loquacious, or too supercilious. He had seen Harry and Hermione giving him strange looks as he lectured halfheartedly on primitive deflective spells. Somehow he had dragged himself through each lesson, skipping lunch and avoiding the Great Hall at dinner.

Ensconced in his office, he busied himself with meaningless tasks that occupied his hands but, unfortunately, left his mind free to roam. He felt powerless as he watched his cherished hopes of a future with Rain spiral down the drain with the water from his grindylow tank. He had been foolish, had lashed out at her when she was vulnerable, and he had thrown away his chance. She had turned to Snape. Snape! He gave the tank an extra-hard polish, scowling ferociously. If it had been Sirius, he could have understood, could even have forgiven her. If it had been Sirius, he could have snarled "Back off, dog boy," and known he would get away with it. But Snape!

Growling, Remus tossed his rag into the dustbin and stalked across his office. He was such a stupid prat! He conveniently ignored the memory, persistent as a hungry cat, of the moonlit walk in Hunter's Combe, the tears in Rain's eyes as she told him she'd loved him for twenty years. No, perhaps she had loved him, or thought she loved him until he made an ass of himself over her secret. And Snape had known already, and accepted her--loved her.

Oh yes, Remus could see it, even if Rain couldn't. No one had ever imagined Snape could love anything, but Rain had always given him more credit than that, and Remus could see now the effects of the years of her belief in the Potions Master. Snape would hurt her. Might even have to betray her in order to bring Voldemort down. And he would, if he had to. Slytherins used any means to achieve their ends, and Severus Snape was all Slytherin.

Then again, Rain had lived with Slytherins half her life. She could handle Snape--probably the only person in the world who could, besides Albus Dumbledore. He wondered what Dumbledore thought of the whole affair. He would have seen the potential there; he knew more about what went on in this school than anyone, and he knew Snape better than anyone. Remus clenched his teeth. He had promised to help Dumbledore protect her, and he would. He still loved her, no matter how angry she was with him. No matter if she was finished with him.

Remus was a tidy man by nature, but his fevered search for references on lamia had left his volumes on dark creatures scattered across every horizontal surface in his office. He began collecting the books and stacking them haphazardly in preparation for replacing them in order on the shelves. Before he had finished, however, he was startled by a knock on the door. "Come in," he called, and placed the last armful of books on his desk. He picked up Hogwarts: A History and turned to greet his caller. When he saw who it was, he dropped the book.

"You owe me an apology," she said in a low voice.

He clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, and nodded. "You're right," he said. "Again. I shouldn't have been angry with you for not telling me. I--Dumbledore made me see that--" He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and started again. "I was going to tell you that I'm a werewolf, you know. Before I left school, I mean. At least, I planned to. I--I know how hard it is to divulge a secret like that to--to someone you care about." He gulped and took his hands out of his pockets again. "To someone you love."

To his surprise, she crossed the room and took his hands in hers. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "Sorry that I hadn't figured out how to tell you yet. Sorry that I said what I did...about leaving."

"You were right," he protested, but she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter if I was right. I said it, knowing it would hurt you. I--You know what a horrid temper I have. It's no excuse, but--well, you know what you're getting yourself into."

He was startled into a laugh. "Why did you come to me?" he said. "I would have made me suffer for a bit yet."

She lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. "Funny, isn't it? I thought love meant never having to say you're sorry."

"No," he said, smiling. "Love means always having to say you're sorry. And I am most sorry, Rainy Day."

"Then love must also mean always being forgiven."

He bent his head and kissed her hesitantly, amazed at his own daring, and was gratified when Rain put her arms around him and pulled him closer. She kissed him with a vehemence that surprised him, until she pulled back and said, "Don't give up on me, Remus. Don't ever give up on me, and I won't give up on you."

"How do you read my mind like this?" he whispered, and she leaned back further, smiling impishly. "I use my powerful Ravenclaw intuition," she replied. "Or maybe it's just a woman's particular magic."

He answered her with another kiss, and for several minutes they abandoned words for a conversation of a different sort. But finally she pulled away with a regretful sigh. "I'll need your help, Remus," she said, and her eyes were troubled again. She sounded strangely uncertain. "I have to find out who did this. They know what I am. Maybe--maybe they knew Esme was lamia, too. And my mother. Maybe they're the ones who had her killed."

That thought hadn't occurred to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed the top of her head. "That job, I'm afraid, like the one that restored your sight, has gone to Severus."

She looked up at him in surprise, and he smiled crookedly at her. "The headmaster seems to think the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor should concentrate on defending you."

She smiled. "My white knight."

He felt a little sad. "Grey, I'm afraid, Rain. Grey, and a little weary and ragged about the edges. But yours, most assuredly. Always yours."

~*~

For once Severus was glad to see Peter Pettigrew. Usually the sight of the ratty little man made Severus's fingers curl with the urge to throttle him--a rare desire in itself, since he much preferred poison over physical violence. Usually Pettigrew turned his stomach with the hypocrisy of his obsequious fawning to Voldemort and the attempts he made at high-handed superiority over the other Death Eaters. Usually.

This time, Pettigrew had met Severus alone, at the Three Broomsticks, in disguise, and he was obviously afraid. Why shouldn't he be? With one well-timed shout in the crowded pub, Severus could undo the illusion of his death. Severus's mouth twisted bitterly; Pettigrew ought to know that as long as his disguise left Sirius Black a fugitive, Severus would help him maintain it.

"Why am I here, Wormtail?" he hissed, interrupting Pettigrew's inane nattering.

"P-please, S-Se-Severus," the plump man whined. "I'm trying to te--"

"You're a fool," Severus said suddenly, leaning over the table. "A fool to ever abandon Potter and his crowd. They used you, but at least they pitied you, as well. Voldemort knows no pity. He'll use you up, and then dispose of you as he did so many others. So many of his more faithful followers." He leaned back in his chair, pleased to see he had rattled the other--man? Hardly a man. A rat.

The rat was, at this moment, extremely pale. He reached under the hood of his cloak to wipe his forehead. He was breathing very rapidly. "S-Severus, you have to help me!" he bleated.

"Help you do what?"

"Protect me...protect me from Remus. He'll find out, and he'll hate me."

"News flash," Severus sneered. "He already hates you, Peter. For such a small, impotent little rat, you certainly managed to ruin more than your share of lives."

"But you don't know Remus," Pettigrew replied, his stutter easing. "He'll take any t-treatment he's given; he thinks he deserves it, by being a werewolf. B-but if you hurt his f-friends--"

Snape folded his arms across his chest. "Perhaps you should explain to me what you've done," he suggested in a friendly tone.

"It was only a little curse." Pettigrew seemed almost to be talking to himself. "It wasn't as if it were my idea. It couldn't have hurt her too badly."

Severus took a deep breath, feeling the insane desire to hit him or to exclaim "Aha!" and laugh maniacally. Neither suited him, so he settled on pinning the little rodent with a serpent's glare. "So it was you." The coldness of his voice, paired with sudden icy understanding, made Pettigrew rise halfway.

"Sit!" Snape snapped, and the rat dropped back into his chair as if Stupefied. "So. You were the one who sent the curse against Katraina."

Peter dropped his gaze. Severus studied him, intrigued. He wasn't at all shocked that Peter had sent the curse; he was, after all, the natural choice. Even the doltish Gryffindors had to have seen that. What surprised Severus was the notion that, in addition to a healthy fear of Remus, Pettigrew seemed to feel guilty about having done it.

"Yes, you'll need protection," Snape agreed after a moment. "It won't take Lupin long to realize it was you. I'll try to throw him off your scent, but of course, wolves are very good trackers, and he's been looking for you for some time already. He must be getting close. Mm. I'll do what I can for you, but you were a fool to attack her."

"I had to, Snape! Our lord s-said he w-would t-take away m-my hand! My s-sweet silver hand," he murmured, stroking it. "I c-couldn't let him take that."

"But why Katraina?" Severus mused. "I remember her at school. She was kind to you, Wormtail, genuinely kind, though all the others pitied you and looked down on you. She was never like them, was she. She was compassionate."

Pettigrew looked up from his silver hand, and for a moment Severus saw a flicker of the old Peter Pettigrew in that soft, saggy face. It transformed Peter as he grinned. "She was kind, wasn't she? Funny, she always treated me as though she liked me on my own. Just like she did you, Severus." And for a moment his expression was sly.

It was that brief, so quick Snape almost felt he'd imagined it, but Peter was for that instant more confident, almost comradely, the Gryffindor who dared become a Death Eater. The intelligent and boyishly eager young prat that a bitter and prejudiced young Snape had known.

Not that he'd cared much for Pettigrew while they were at school. He hadn't hated him as he had Potter and Black, nor had he held him in the grudging respect he'd had for Lupin--his only rival in Potions--until the latter had tried to kill him. No, he hadn't hated Pettigrew, but he'd had no use for anyone except those who could help him advance, and Rain. He found he was clenching his teeth, and forced himself to relax. "Very well," he said finally, and Pettigrew looked relieved. "I'll be in touch in a few days. I'll need time to brew the potions."

"P-protection potions?" Pettigrew stammered, and Snape sighed. Yes, P-P-Peter, p-protection p-potions, he thought. But it was beneath him to mock Pettigrew's infirmity, so he simply inclined his head and watched as the rat's relief grew stronger.

He had had enough. He stood up and swept his cloak around him. "You will owe me, Peter," he hissed. With a final glare, he turned and strode to the bar, where he dropped a few sickles for Rosmerta. Then he went out into the gloomy afternoon.

~*~

Remus put down his pen and sighed. He had crafted a terse message in response to Bill Weasley's letter--I will come. Name the terms. Church.--and sent the response with a dubious-looking owl by the name of Errol, borrowed from the twins for the occasion. He was trying to craft a report for Dumbledore, but kept getting distracted by thoughts of Rain.

She was, he knew, in the library, doing some research on something for her next lecture. He had walked her to the door after dinner, and they had parted with only an exchange of glances and hasty smiles. Indiscretion of any sort, he knew, would not be tolerated among the Hogwarts staff. Still, he couldn't help thinking wistfully that if things had gone differently, they could have begun the term here with a more open relationship.

They had met in the library, all those years ago. Remus was the only one of the Marauders who voluntarily went to the library, and once he realized she helped Madam Pince there three afternoons a week, his visits had become more frequent.

There she was! That pretty, animated little Ravenclaw girl. She was standing on a stepstool that magically extended itself several inches as he watched. In her arms was a stack of books, from which she was selecting volumes to place back on the shelves. Her auburn hair hung in two plaits, and her horn-rimmed glasses--which he had noticed she only needed for reading--had slipped to the tip of her nose. Remus had never been close enough to her to see the colour of those eyes behind her glasses, and as he imagined it now, he felt his face heating up. You are here to do research, he reminded himself sternly. Behave.

Oh, bollocks. He was here because he knew the pretty Ravenclaw worked here. He just happened to have a convenient excuse. He walked up behind her. "Excuse me."

"Oh!" She dropped a whole pile of books.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was only wondering if perhaps you could help me find the books on--the books on--er, magical laws regarding beasts, erm magical beast--ah, beings, that is, er, er--werewolves." Right. Smooth, Lupin.

"Oh, of course! There's a paper for Defense Against the Dark Arts, isn't there?"

"Yes, that's right--ah, fourth year."

"Yes." She smiled at him. "Oh! Yes, er, they're this way. Follow me."

"I should introduce myself," he began, but she interrupted.

"Yes, I know! You're friends with--"

And here it was. He knew what she was going to say, what they always said: You're friends with James Potter, aren't you? Not that he really resented the popularity James had acquired; Remus didn't want to be popular--he didn't like being in the limelight. But it would be nice, just once, to be recognized as himself.

"You're friends with Sirius Black, aren't you? Lupin, is that right?"

He blinked at her, startled. "Yes. Yes! Remus Lupin. Gryffindor. Glad to meet you."

"Oh, I'm Rain. Katraina McGonagall. Ravenclaw." She smiled shyly over her shoulder at him.

He smiled back. "I know who you are. You're in my Ancient Runes class, aren't you?"

"Yes. Only I've just noticed--it's a bit odd, isn't it? I'm only a third year, but you just said you were fourth year."

"Er, well--they let me switch." He grinned sheepishly. "I started out in Divinations."

She laughed. "Oh, Lord, Professor Trelawney! I spoke with her when I was trying to decide which classes to take, and she told me I was hopelessly mundane. So are you enjoying Ancient Runes?"

"Oh, yes, I find them fascinating. You know, to think that people were communicating a long time before even Latin and Greek."

Her face lit up. "I know! It's really interesting! So, have you done Latin or Greek, then?"

"Well, yes, actually--" He blushed. "I'm quite good at Latin, but Greek gives me a bit of a problem."

"Oh, I'm top student in Greek. I could help you with that."

"Would you? That'd be really nice of you. I'd have to think of something to make it up to you."

She laughed. "I'm sure you could think of something. Besides, I'd like it. It's nice to meet someone else who's enthusiastic about languages. Most people in my house are good at them, I suppose, but in my year, no one else is interested in the classics."

Remus reminded himself to take a breath. She was even more breathtaking when she talked. Part of that, he suspected, was the whirlwind pace at which she walked and talked. It took a lot of energy to keep up with her. But then, what good were silly, shy, retiring girls who didn't have a brain in their silly, fluffy heads?

The librarian was waiting at the end of the stacks, a severe look on her face. "What's all this racket? Miss McGonagall, I would have expected a better example from you," she said severely.

Instantly the Ravenclaw girl looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Madam Pince. It won't happen again." But her eyes twinkled at Remus from behind her glasses.

The librarian sniffed. "See that it doesn't." She bustled back to her office and watched them with a gimlet eye for some time.

Stifling a giggle, Rain deposited her books at the check-out desk, then beckoned Remus to a section of shelves. "Here you are: werewolves, case studies, lycanthropy research, the search for a cure, laws concerning werewolves." She turned to grin at him, and he was delighted by the hint of mischief in her eyes--green eyes, a lovely glowing green. He felt himself blush. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said. "I expect I'll see you again soon, Socrates in hand."

"Absolutely," he replied, a bit too fervently, and she disappeared into the stacks, leaving a soft peal of laughter floating in her wake.

~*~

Rain pulled out her lecture notes for her next lesson as the fifth year Gryffindors began filing into the classroom. Hermione smiled at her and sat in the front row. Ron rolled his eyes and sat down behind her, but he grinned cheekily at Rain. Harry came in a few moments later, looking preoccupied, and sat down next to Hermione.

When everyone was seated, Rain stood up and drew a circle in the air with her wand. "Vide Vocaro." Show as I speak.

Immediately the room went dim. Students stirred in their seats, and Rain stood up to walk slowly between the desks. Now to create a word pictures that, thanks to the spell, would form in their minds, showing what Voldemort's world was truly like.

"Imagine," she said, her voice low, "that you are enjoying your summer holidays. You've been down to the local pub for dinner with your friends, and you've had a brilliant time." As she spoke, she knew, each student experienced it in his or her mind. "It's getting late, nearly curfew, and you're on your way home. It's dark. No one is on your path except you. Bushes are rustling in a faint breeze, the moon is three-quarters full over your head. As you walk, you are humming your favourite song, looking forward to the cheery lights of home.

"You round the last bend, and that's when you see it. In the starry night sky over your house, shines a lurid green skull with a snake in its maw--the Dark Mark."

Somewhere in the classroom, someone whimpered. Rain shuddered in sympathy, remembering the one time she'd seen it herself.

"You begin to run, heart pounding, hands shaking, a cold dread in your heart telling you what you will find. You hesitate when you reach the door, but by then of course the Death Eaters are long gone. You burst into your house and find your family, all murdered. All curse killed. You are the only one left.

"All because you sneered at a threat you were certain didn't concern you."

She paused for a long time, feeling the fear and sudden understanding in the room. She whispered, "Finite incantatem."

It had been effective. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown both had wet cheeks; Dean Thomas looked shaken; Seamus clutched his head in his hands; Neville was the one who had whimpered--he was thumping his head against his desk; Ron was gripping Hermione's shoulder; Hermione's hand covered his. Harry was white and tight-lipped, and his green eyes burned. He was clutching his desk.

"That is how your parents lived. It was in that world that my generation came of age." She paused and looked at each of them in turn, waiting for them to meet her eyes. "That is the world which you must never allow to rise again."

There was silence in her classroom. She allowed it to continue, giving them time to think about what they had just experienced. In a way she regretted having to do that; Harry and Neville certainly didn't need any reminder of what the Dark Lord was capable. But they had to know. These children would be adults soon enough, and the burden of protecting their world would fall largely on them. They had to understand just what it was they were protecting it against.

She noticed suddenly that Dean's face had gained a new resolve. A protective expression dawned on Seamus' face as he gazed around at his housemates--yes, he was good prefect material. Lavender, who had wiped her eyes on her sleeve, was nodding slowly. Hermione looked up and met Rain's eyes.

"Very well," Rain said, and everyone jumped. "Your homework was to read about the establishment of Hogwarts. Let's turn to chapter two in our books and discuss the different roles each of the Founders played..."

After class, the Gryffindors filed out with less laughter and noise than usual. Last to go were Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Harry stopped at Rain's desk, paused for a moment with his mouth half-open, then stuff out his hand rather awkwardly. "Thanks, Professor Rain," he said, as she shook his hand in surprise. "Just--thanks." He turned and left quickly, Ron and Hermione on his heels. As they went, Rain thought she heard Ron say, "You reckon she's a bit mad?" in a heartily admiring tone.

It was the Slytherins, of course, who presented the real trial. Rain watched them enter the classroom, so very different to the Gryffindors. These students held their chins differently, and they strutted or sauntered into the room, gazing boredly about them as they dropped gracefully into their seats and waited, arms folded, lips twisted, eyes judging. In their midst sat their prince, silvery-golden and cool as he gazed expectantly at her. Rain felt her blood thrill in her veins. Yes, these students--more even than the Gryffindors--were the real reason she was here. These students were the ones she prayed desperately that she could reach. Here was the challenge.

"Imagine that you are enjoying your summer holidays. You've been down to the local pub, had a bit to drink with your equals. You've had an entertaining time, made fun of the underage Gryffindors who hadn't cadged a drink, called Potter a prat, compared the season's social maneuvers. It's late, well past curfew--closer to dawn, really--and you're ready to head home. It's dark. No one is on your path except you. Bushes are rustling in the faint breeze, the moon three-quarters full over your head. As you walk, you're humming quietly, a bit off-tune with the liquor, and enjoying the warm kiss of air against your face.

"You round the last bend, and that's when you see it. You gasp. This can't happen to you; your parents assured you they had made certain it wouldn't happen to you! You begin to run. In the starry night sky over your house shines a lurid green skull with a snake in its maw."

Somewhere in the classroom, someone whimpered. Someone else snickered. Rain frowned.

"You've seen it before, on your father's arm, on your sister's. Perhaps you've thought of receiving it yourself. Think of the glory! Think of the power!

"You push the front door open, and there is the glory and the power. Your parents, your older sister, your baby brother, sprawled on the sitting room floor. The baby is still clasped tight in your mother's cold arms. Your brother is staring in horror at something you will never see."

Someone gasped and was quickly shushed.

"You turn, rage flaring in your heart. 'No!' you shriek. 'No! I gave you my word! I gave you my soul! Why did you do this? Why did you take them?'

"With a flutter of wings, the rook settles onto your gatepost. There is a paper gripped in its beak. It croaks at you, and the paper flutters towards you. On the page, in ink the colour of dried blood, a crawling spidery hand has written:

Now you are all mine."

She sat back, once again allowing the silence to lengthen before whispering, "Finite incantatem." The room had very little light, but her eyes were good in the dark. She waited.

She didn't recognize all the members of this house, though of course she knew Crabbe and Goyle, and that young lady with long hair the colour of pitch bore a great resemblance to the Zabini who had been sorted to Ravenclaw. And there, of course, was Draco. His face betrayed very little. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched. A single lock of silvery blond hair had fallen across his face, making him look younger and more innocent than he was.

Slowly he opened his eyes and fixed them on Rain; they glinted steel hatred at her...yet in their depths she imagined she saw confusion, too. In another heartbeat, Draco unclenched his hands from his desk, stood, and stalked out of the classroom. The rest of the class followed suit.

One girl was left. Blaise, that was her name. She had risen with the others and now stood hesitantly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said softly. "But we are Slytherins, after all. We have solidarity."

And then she, too, was gone. Rain sat down at her desk and stared out the window. Well, she thought, smirking, now I have a free period.

~*~

Draco felt his pulse pounding as he strode away from History of Magic. How dare she? How dare that Ravenclaw wench try to bully the Slytherins? Particularly after she had rejected her own Slytherin heritage! Pansy was following him--all of the fifth year Slytherins were, in fact, but Pansy was the only one twittering at him, trying to get his attention.

Finally Draco had had enough. He stopped and whirled on Pansy, feeling his cloak billow around him. "Don't you have homework, Parkinson?" he asked, his voice cold. "If your poor marks count against Slytherin again, you'll be sorry. There must be something to occupy that vacuous mind of yours."

Pansy gaped at him. "What?" she said finally.

He smiled nastily and leaned close to her. "Sod off, Pansy," he hissed.

Flustered, Pansy sputtered for a moment as Draco spun on his heel and stalked away. Damned silly chit! Just because she didn't know how to think-- He ground the thought to a halt. It wasn't his fellow Slytherins who had infuriated him--well, not today, at least. Today they had all had the sense to follow their prince when he left the class of that Muggle-loving excuse for a professor.

He found himself out at the Quidditch pitch. "Accio broomstick!" he snarled, and it came shooting into his hand. He kicked off from the ground, hard, and let the cold November air sweep his hair back from his forehead. His fury was twisting inside him, making him feel as though he'd eaten a dozen chocolate frogs. Growling under his breath, he rocketed to the other end of the pitch, knocked two second year Hufflepuffs off their brooms, and laughed as they tried to brush the mud off their robes. It was petty malevolence, true, but it amused him.

Professor Rain McGonagall. He scowled again when he pictured her face--lord, she was pretty for such a stupid tart, hard to believe she was related to that hag who taught Transfiguration. Lucius had spent a great deal of time telling Draco all he knew about the woman--information he had acquired, he said, from Professor Snape. Draco wondered if what his father had said was true, if Professor Snape truly had been meant to marry her after they left Hogwarts. Good thing he had come to his sense before he went through with it, though.

Still...Draco reflected on the first lesson he'd had with the irritating woman. She had looked at him oddly, almost as if she knew him. And then, when he answered correctly that Salazar Slytherin had been born in a cottage between the Wizarding village of Abergavenny and Offa's Dike, she had not exactly smiled at him--but she had given him a look of approval, such as he had only ever received from Snape. Lucius rarely looked at his son in approval.

Draco clenched his teeth and dove so rapidly that the wind brought tears to his eyes. And for that bloody Ravenclaw woman to show up in his vision of Erised! Damn her! He would tell his father to target her first.

Only they already had, he remembered as he levelled out and shot towards the opposite goal. After all, how else had she ended up in the hospital wing? And there had been the owl from his father, telling him to look for her that night. Someone had attacked her, and his father had certainly had knowledge of the event. He thought of the way she'd looked in the hospital wing; with the bandage over her eyes, she was still almost regal, and she still seemed to see into him. She should have been one of us, he thought.

And, inexplicably, he was furious again. He didn't know who he blamed or even why he was so angry, but he was full of a raging turmoil of wrath. He veered away from the pitch and headed for the Forbidden Forest.