Mist and Vapors

Four weeks, and I am finally starting to believe this will actually work out. Today, I introduced the students to the joys of the limerick. As far as the rest of the staff is concerned, my job is to teach the students the most prosaic and utilitarian of writing skills. I think there really is nothing wrong with just letting them have fun and play with words on occasion, as long as I don't neglect the job for which I was hired.

Be that as it may, the lesson was a great success. I told them they could write a limerick about any person they chose, from the Minister of Magic to a fellow student, and the assignment would be treated as anonymous and confidential. From the amount of giggles and whispers going on, it seems they had a lot of fun with their verses.

Strangely enough, Severus seemed to figure in a great many of them. I thought one student's attempt to rhyme 'there once was a scary old wizard' with 'who instead of a heart had a gizzard' was a bit desperate, though!

I saved some of the ones about Filius to give to him. He will get a kick out of them.

As Hannah closed the diary, a look of trepidation crossed her face as she thought about tomorrow - time to face the music. It was Severus' turn to provide the assignments for the Composition class, and for some unfathomable reason, she didn't think he would be thrilled.

The next morning after breakfast, she hurried to catch up with him before he disappeared into the dungeons again.

"Severus, do you have a moment?"

He stopped and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "Yes?" His voice was not even remotely encouraging.

"I would like to use your homework next week for the students' writing assignments. If you could let me know the topic and length you are assigning the First and Second Years? We are using Professor Castor's Muggle Studies assignment for the Third Years, so you don't have to worry about them. Oh, and we need to agree on a date and time to get together to do the corrections."

Severus gave a small huff of exasperation.

"Very well, you will have the information on your desk by tomorrow. I'll be marking the assignments on Thursday evening at six - I assume you can find your way to my office?"

Hannah was not at all sure about that, but would have rather bitten her tongue off than admit as much. She would just have to hunt up a house elf or - heaven forbid - ask the portraits again.

"I'll be there," she said brightly. That had actually gone much better than she had expected.

"Is that all then?" he said coldly, already turning to go.

She nodded, and watched him sail down the stairs, his black cloak billowing behind him most impressively.

She looked after him, a small line between her eyebrows. More than once, she had seen him in conversation with McGonagall and the Headmaster in the last few weeks, and each time there had been worry written on their faces. She could have sworn that there was something going on, but what? She supposed she could ask Filius; maybe he would know. Until then, there was still another mystery she needed to solve.

---

That evening, after she had completed her marking session with Professor Sprout, she made her way to the library. At this time of night, it was almost deserted - most of the students had already returned to their common rooms.

She approached the librarian's desk and smiled at the stern, grey-haired witch who occupied the chair behind it.

"Do we have back issues of the Daily Prophet around, do you know?"

"Of course we do," Madam Pince said contemptuously. "All issues from the last year. Reference section." With her chin, she indicated an area near the back.

Hannah thanked her and walked towards the section, only to be called back by a strident whisper.

"Professor...?"

"Hannigan."

"Just a reminder to put everything back exactly as you found it and where you found it. And you are aware that newspapers and periodicals may not be removed from the library, are you not?" Madam Pince glared at her with her best imitation of a Ministry inquisitor, as if daring Hannah to disturb her carefully ordered kingdom.

"Certainly." She made her way over to the reference section still feeling the dagger-like stare of the librarian between her shoulder blades.

She had no problem finding the papers - they were in a bookcase, suspended by a hover spell, floating half an inch apart, around fifty to a stack. When she pushed down on one of them to see the front page, the rest yielded gently to the pressure, and then jumped spring-like back into position when released. A marvelous bit of charm work, really.

Deciding to start with February, she began rifling through them, looking at the front pages.

Death Eaters Attack Muggle Village

Former Auror Alastor Moody Killed in Battle

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Sighted Near Inverness

Attack near Hogwarts - Are the Children Safe?

In March, the triumphant head-line:

VOLDEMORT KILLED

She quickly skimmed the article. Half way down the page, she saw his name on a list of those wounded in battle:

Severus Snape, 39, Potions professor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Heavens, he was only thirty-nine. She had guessed him to be in his late forties.

She quickly skimmed the issue, but there was nothing else. He had said the incident had been front page news, so she kept going.

Harry Potter - Hero of the Hour

Death Eaters Sent to Azkaban

Memorial Service at Ministry Well Attended

About two weeks' worth of papers later, her heart skipped a beat.
Below the headline, there was a picture of Severus.

It was a slightly grainy black-and-white. Escorted by two Aurors with wands trained on his heart, he was being led into the chamber of the Wizengamot. He looked terrible - gaunt, white, strained, tired; his hair disheveled, his skin stretched tight over his cheekbones. Walking with a pronounced limp, he looked straight ahead, avoiding the camera. There was a hard, almost haughty expression on his face.

She felt her throat clench. Gently, her finger traced the outline of his face and figure as the picture stopped moving before resetting itself. Finally, she looked at the head-line above it.

Death Eater to Face Wizengamot

Severus Snape, 39, was brought before the Wizengamot to face the charges brought against him. The accused, presently employed as Potions master at Hogwarts, was captured among the Death Eaters during the last battle waged against Tom Riddle, the former self-styled 'Lord Voldemort'.

Frank Hannigan, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, says, "In the next days you will see evidence that the accused behaved in unconscionable ways. He is, in fact, a Death Eater, has participated in acts of unspeakable violence and depravity, and will have to reap the consequences for his actions."

Meanwhile, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, caused no small stir when he announced that he would resign his position temporarily to represent the accused in court. "I have nothing but the highest respect for my colleague. I feel quite confident that he will be acquitted on all counts," the Hogwarts Headmaster said.

Severus? A Death Eater? Icy fingers ran down her spine. She took that one and the next few papers, and sat down at an empty table. Quickly, she skimmed over the next issue.

Testimony heard in Severus Snape case. Another picture, a close-up face shot. It might as well have been a still photo for all the movement or expression it showed.

Around the main article on page three, there was side box after side box of testimonies. Small photos of the missing and dead. Wives recounting in heart-wrenching detail the way their husbands had been killed; mothers describing the way their children had been tortured. Victim after victim of Death Eater atrocities. All of them had suffered horrendously, had watched loved ones die, had seen their homes and dreams go up in smoke. All of them swore that it had been Severus Snape who had carried out the Dark Lord's orders. There were excerpts of transcripts, with her father asking questions sometimes, but mostly just letting the victims tell their stories.

With growing horror, she read description after description. "...I begged and pleaded, but he shoved me aside..." "...stretched out his wand, and I just saw my daughter go limp, this surprised expression on her face" "...screamed and screamed after the curse hit, and he just laughed..." It went on, story after story. From this, it was clear that the man she had spent time with, cared about, saw every day, was, in fact, a monster.

She looked at the next issue - another day of testimony, more boxes of text surrounding the story, more victims, more horrors.

Quickly, she looked over the next few issues, but there was nothing on the front pages any more. Her eyes returned to the trial reports in front of her. Horrid. This was horrid.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, and saw his angry, contorted face looming over her. She could almost believe this. Almost. Among the growing revulsion and anger, there was a niggling feeling that there was something she was missing. She just couldn't make the picture painted by the stories in the paper mesh with the picture of the man she thought she had come to know, at least a little bit. And he was here, wasn't he? If this was true, why wasn't he in Azkaban, at least?

So engrossed was she in the papers that it was a minute before she registered that someone was standing in front of the table. When she looked up, she met the stern, forbidding gaze of Minerva McGonagall. Hannah flushed, as if she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.

"May I ask what you are doing?" The Deputy Headmistress' voice was icy.

Hannah met her gaze levelly, her cheeks still pink. "S... Professor Snape made some allusion to a run-in with my father. I'm trying to find out what happened."

"By reading the Daily Prophet?" McGonagall's voice was freely laced with sarcasm.

"I figured if I am going to be judged by the sins of my father, I might at least find out what those are," Hannah said calmly. "And since he told me the incident was head-line news, here I am."

"You know nothing about this?" McGonagall looked at her with tightened lips, unbelief written on her face.

"No, I don't," said Hannah, a tinge of impatience in her voice. "I haven't talked to my father in years, and I spent the last year teaching English at an international boarding school on the continent, a fact that can..."

A 'shhh' and a disapproving look coming from the direction of Madam Pince interrupted her.

The Deputy Headmistress looked at her for a moment, as if weighing a decision. Finally, she made up her mind. "You want to know the truth?" she said. "Then follow me."