The Overlooked

Seven

Severus Snape Apparated into Celeste Jenkins' front parlor at precisely three o'clock on Monday afternoon, eliciting a startled yowl from her wretched cat before it bolted from the room altogether. Smiling thinly, he looked around but saw no evidence of the cat's mistress. However, he deduced that Celeste must be home -- he spied her battered brown suede bag sitting on a table across the room, with her house keys dumped unceremoniously on top.

"What the devil was that noise?" came her voice from down the hallway. Snape heard the click-clack of her heels against the wood floor, and then she paused in the entrance to the parlor, looking at him in some consternation.

He'd opened his mouth to make some sort of illuminating point about Apparating, then stood there, gazing at her for a few seconds before he remembered that staring at a female while looking like a gaffed fish probably wasn't the sort of impression he wished to make. But really, he'd had no idea she could look so -- so --

Well, beautiful.

Oh, he'd noted that Celeste was a pretty girl; although he had little enough to do with women, he wasn't blind, after all. But she'd presented a somewhat rumpled appearance the first two times he'd seen her, and he had assumed that she was the sort who didn't trouble much about her looks...an assumption which apparently had been quite wrong.

She'd done something to her hair, and it lay in long, loose waves over her shoulders, looking almost auburn against her black dress. And it was a dress, Snape noted thankfully, not jeans. He still couldn't comprehend the odd impulse that drove Muggle women to dress in trousers. But then he also noticed the low scooped neckline of the gown, the curve of the breasts beneath it, and the contrasting slenderness of her waist. He'd thought he was well past such feelings -- he'd spent almost the last twenty years repressing them -- but the wave of desire that hit him as he looked at her was as strong as it was unexpected.

"So?" she said, and spread out her arms to show off the long bell-shaped sleeves. "I told the girl in the shop I needed something positively Stevie Nicks. Is it all right?"

Look at her face, you idiot! he thought fiercely. Dragging his eyes upward, he stared at Celeste blankly for a second, wondering who the hell Stevie Nicks was. "It'll do," he said, his tone sounding curt even to himself. But it had been so long since he'd given ungrudging approval for anything he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

If he had wanted to nitpick, he could have pointed out that most witches reserved that sort of neckline for dressy functions in private homes; at least, most of the women he'd observed in Diagon Alley tended to be far more buttoned up. But he was also forced to admit to himself that currently he was enjoying the view very much. Besides, he'd brought along a spare cloak for Celeste, as he hadn't been sure whether she'd be able to procure one -- if nothing else, it would help to cover up some of the more distracting portions of her anatomy. One of the girls in his House had left the cloak behind when she departed for the summer; he couldn't be certain, but he guessed it might have belonged to Millicent Bulstrode, whose parents were quite wealthy. Privately he thought the black velvet garment with its emerald-green silk lining would do much better on Celeste than it ever could have on square-jawed, sallow Millicent.

For a second Celeste looked somewhat disappointed by his apparent lack of response, as if she'd hoped for a better reaction than the one she'd gotten, but then she forced a smile and said, giving him an appraising glance of her own, "That's quite the ensemble. Is that standard wizard garb?"

He looked down at himself. The tight black buttoned coat and sweeping robes had been a part of himself for so many years that he had long since ceased thinking about them. "There's no such thing," he replied. "I think you'll find quite as much variety in the clothing of wizards as you would in the Muggle world. More, probably, given your predilection for..." he paused, then said, the word dripping disdain, "...denim."

"If you say so." Her green eyes gleamed a bit; obviously she refused to take offense. Then she inquired, "So what was that noise, anyway? It sounded like an air gun going off."

"Simple Apparation," Snape replied, relieved to be back on familiar territory. "Displacement of air as the person Apparating arrives on the scene."

"So you just popped in here, like a genie out of a bottle?"

"The principles are somewhat different, but -- " He caught her amused look, then said waspishly, "It's fairly advanced magic. Not until students turn seventeen are they trained how to Apparate."

"So are you going to teach me how to do that?"

"Probably not."

Crossing her arms, Celeste gave him an annoyed look. "You're not going to teach me how to Apparate...you're not going to teach me how to make potions...what precisely are you going to teach me, Severus?"

"As I told you previously," Snape replied, emphasizing the last word and trying -- with incomplete success -- not to sneer, "we will focus on Occlumency, the shielding of your thoughts and memories from others. I will also teach you some elementary defensive spells -- though I sincerely hope you will never need to use them." If you're even able, he thought. Divination or no, after all these years lying fallow your abilities in other areas may be sadly lacking.

"Am I in that much need of protection?"

"You do appear to be rather trusting." Raising an eyebrow, he went on, "You did allow me into your home without asking very many questions, after all."

Instead of taking offense, she appeared almost amused. With the usual small smile playing about her mouth, she asked, "Do you think so little of me, Severus? I can sense somehow when people mean me harm...and I felt no such ill intentions from you."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." Her expression grew sober, and Snape watched as she played with the lace edging on one voluminous sleeve. It was a nervous gesture, and one unlike her. "Luckily, I've only run into that sort of thing twice. The first time was the ex-boyfriend of one of my clients -- he'd been using her as his punching bag, but the thing that finally got her to clear out was me telling her that I'd seen him throttle her little dog and throw it in the dumpster behind their flat."

Snape made a disgusted noise low in the back of his throat, and she nodded, her delicate face uncommonly grim. "Quite. So he found out somehow that she'd left because of what I'd told her, and he came looking for me. But I could feel the wrongness of him even as he came up the front walk, so of course I wouldn't open the door. He pounded and yelled until the McDonnells next door called the police. They hauled him off for disturbing the peace or some such, and I haven't seen him since -- or felt him hanging around. But it was still a little frightening."

To say the least. Snape hadn't really thought of the possible ramifications of giving out the sort of psychic insights Celeste offered, but he supposed she should count herself lucky that she'd only had one such ugly incident to deal with. He knew all too well the sorts of cruelties that went on between men and women behind closed doors....

"And the other?" he asked, pushing that thought away before the bitter memories could rise too far from their burial place in the depths of his mind.

Celeste cast a sidelong glance at the front window, almost as if she expected to see someone standing outside on the walk, looking in. Then her gaze slid back to him, and he was surprised to see something approaching fear in her eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly, after an uncomfortable pause. "I don't know what it was. Just a feeling of -- of malice. Something cloudy and murderous. It lingered outside for some time, and then it just sort of drifted away. And I know it wasn't just me sensing it -- HBC's hair was standing on end."

"HBC?"

"The cat," she replied. "For 'Helena Bonham Carter.'"

"Ah," Snape said, although he had no idea who or what Celeste was talking about. As to the rest -- well, it was disturbing, true, but at least the girl had had the sense to stay inside where she was relatively safe. Could it have been one of the Death Eaters, following the rumor of a young Muggle who was more than she seemed? If that were the case, Snape didn't know what would have stayed the hand of any of the Death Eaters he knew, save for the fact that Celeste lived on a fairly busy street, and even the more audacious of Voldemort's followers tended to work in the shadows whenever possible. All the more reason that she should learn to defend herself as soon as possible.

"But enough of that," Celeste said briskly, and she lifted her chin a little, as if defying the unpleasant recollections to take up any more of her time. "You said we were going shopping?"

"Yes. To a place called Diagon Alley, where we must purchase you a wand."

You'd think she was twelve years old and had just been told she was getting a new broom for Christmas. Her eyes lit up, and she said, "Really? A wand? For doing magic?"

"Well, they're not for stirring sauces," he said sourly.

"You must terrify your students," she remarked. "Such a scowl! Do you practice it in the mirror every morning while you shave?"

His first instinct was to intensify the forbidding frown that seemed to be permanently etched on his brow these days, but that, he decided would be playing right into her hands. Instead, he replied, with an evenness of tone that probably would have shocked most of the staff and students at Hogwarts, "I don't look in the mirror much." Why bother? he thought. It's not as if looking at my reflection is going to improve it....

The dimple flickered in her cheek as she appeared to concede him the point. "So, then. Diagon Alley. I take it we're not driving?"

"Hardly." He paused for a second, then said, "We'll be Apparating."

"I thought you said I couldn't Apparate."

"Not on your own, no," Snape replied. "We shall be doing what is known as Side-Along Apparition. I shall perform the actual spell, and you will need to hold tightly to my arm."

At that statement she smiled slightly, but said nothing.

Snape wasn't sure if he wanted to know what might be going through her mind. Did she think that he had come up with this method of travel just so she would have to cling to his arm? "The sensation can be...unpleasant," he went on. "But it will only last for a few seconds." He undraped the cloak from his arm and handed it to her. "You should put this on. It's been quite damp in London."

Celeste took the cloak from him without comment, but he could have sworn he saw her give him the slightest of winks before she fastened it demurely at her throat, covering up the distracting décolleté. "So Diagon Alley's in London?"

"Yes."

Looking thoughtful, she went to her purse and pulled a much smaller black velvet pouch out of the recesses of the brown suede bag. "How much are wands, anyway?" she inquired, retrieving a battered black leather wallet and beginning to stuff a series of bills into the velvet pouch. "I've got about a hundred pounds here. Is that enough?"

"I'm afraid that sort of money will do you no good in Diagon Alley," Snape replied. "I will purchase the wand for you."

Celeste said immediately, "I couldn't possibly -- "

He held up a hand. "No arguments." It's not as if I have much to spend my salary on anyway, he thought.

With a resigned air, she said, "Very well. But you will let me feed you dinner tonight, at least."

"I assure you that's not necessary -- " he began, feeling vaguely alarmed.

"I happen to be a very good cook," Celeste said, overriding his feeble protests. "And if you continue to argue with me, I think I shall have to be offended."

And she gave him such a stern look that he decided it wasn't worth the argument. Good meals had been spotty of late, anyway -- the barely edible provisions he had on hand at Spinner's End were a far cry from the house elf-prepared food he got at Hogwarts, and he'd only been eating at the school two or three days a week since the summer term began.

"We should go," he said, unable to keep the testy note out of his voice, but Celeste remained silent, closing the drawstrings on her pouch and then stepping close to him. She slid her left arm through his right, and then knotted her fingers together so that there would be no chance of her hands sliding off his arm. With her standing this close, Snape could smell a faint herbal perfume drifting up from the loose masses of her hair. His mind immediately began classifying the separate scents: chamomile, and cherry bark, and lavender...was that sandalwood? Then he shook his head at himself. What the devil did it matter which elements made up whatever Muggle shampoo she used?

Annoyed with himself, and certain that he'd wasted enough valuable time already, Snape gripped Celeste's arm firmly in his, fixed the spot just outside Ollivander's to which he intended to Apparate firmly in his mind, then turned slightly to the left. Immediately the familiar crushing pressure descended on his chest, but as always it lasted for only a fraction of a second. Then they stood on the cobbled street outside the wand shop.

Celeste had his right arm in a death grip. "You might have warned me," she gasped.

Unconcerned, he disengaged his limb from her clutching fingers. "I did."

"You said it was 'somewhat unpleasant.' 'Somewhat unpleasant' is someone stepping on your toe, not a steamroller parking itself on your chest."

"You'll get used to it."

"Not bloody likely," she muttered, but then she shook herself slightly, like a cat that had just come in from a rainstorm, and looked up at him. "What now?"

"In here," Snape said, pointing to the narrow front door to Ollivander's shop, which swung outward on his unspoken command.

He saw her set her jaw slightly at the door opening with seemingly no one touching it, but she lifted her chin and marched in as he followed a pace or two behind.

As always, the interior was dim, the half-hearted foggy light of this dreary summer barely penetrating the narrow, half-covered windows. Shelves and shelves of wands, each encased in its own rectangular box, surrounded them. From somewhere in the back room a thin voice called out, "Yes, yes! A moment!"

Snape waited in some impatience while Celeste looked around, avid curiosity gleaming in her dark-green eyes. Then Mr. Ollivander stepped out from between two rows of shelves, fastening the Potions master and his charge with a pale, moon-eyed stare. He blinked several times at Celeste, as if not quite sure what to make of her presence, and then looked back over at Snape.

He knew he had to make some sort of introductions, but there was no need for superfluous chit-chat. "Mr. Ollivander, this is Miss Jenkins. She has need of a wand."

Ollivander again fixed the young woman with his watery gray eyes, then gave a quick, furtive look over at Snape.

No doubt wondering what a woman like that would be doing being seen in public with me, Snape thought sourly, but he only narrowed his eyes slightly and waited.

"A replacement, no doubt?" Ollivander asked delicately, but although Celeste shot him a quick, confused look, at least she had the sense to say nothing, but merely produced one of her brighter smiles.

It was most likely the smile that did it. Radiance like that probably hadn't been seen in Ollivander's shop for a good many years, and the little man gave her a rusty-looking grin of his own. "Something light, I think," he said. "Birch...beech..." And, mumbling to himself, he disappeared back between the dusty shelves.

"Why did he think I needed a replacement?" Celeste whispered.

"Because no one your age is buying a wand for the first time," Snape replied. "Students receive their wands before they start their first year. Occasionally they do get damaged or lost, but let us hope that does not happen with you, Miss Jenkins."

He could see her expel an exasperated breath. "Celeste," she reminded him, with a narrow-eyed look of her own.

No point in explaining to her that he preferred to think of everyone by their last names; it was a distancing mechanism, a way to regard them as not quite individuals. So much easier to dislike "Potter," the boy favored by teachers and students alike, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who carried the name of his hated father, than to consider that he might be simply Harry, a youth fearful of the fate he faced, who struggled with all the normal cares of schoolwork and social pressures, who had been orphaned at an even earlier age than Severus Snape....

Memory was a black ocean whose waters he had no desire to breech. Snape gave Celeste a cool glance, complete with slightly lifted eyebrow, hoping that would quell her high spirits. Instead, she gave him a raised eyebrow of her own, then stuck her tongue out at him before placing one hand over her mouth to cover up a sudden fit of the giggles.

Well, really. You'd think the girl was a silly fifth-year instead of a young woman of twenty-six. He tried to remember the last time someone had stuck their tongue out at him and failed miserably. But there was something infectious about her stifled laughter, something that made him remember one of the few times he been in on the pranks of his fellow Slytherins...something about an explosive mixture of hundreds of slugs and a pack of fizzing Whizz-bees on the steps to the Gryffindor common room....

"Aha!" said Ollivander, coming back into view, looking a bit cobwebby but carrying a slender box of white cardboard. "I think I have just the thing. Beech, with the wing feather of a griffin."

Naturally, Snape thought, not without some bitterness. Miss Jenkins would of course have been sorted into Gryffindor....

Celeste took the pale, slender wand from Ollivander and held it uncertainly between her thumb and forefinger. She shot Snape a beseeching look, and he decided to take pity on her.

"Just a small flick," he advised. "See if you can raise that stack of empty boxes over by the window -- "

Celeste traced a delicate arabesque in the air with her wand, a half-doubtful look on her face. Immediately the boxes exploded outward in all directions. Snape barely had enough time to raise his own wand and mutter a Shield charm before the flying cardboard shrapnel rained down around them.

"Oops," she said.

"Excellent," beamed Mr. Ollivander. "It likes you."

"What would it have done if it hadn't liked me?" she asked Snape in an undertone.

"You don't want to know," he replied. Then he fished in his pocket for a few Galleons and laid them down on the counter top. "Wrap that one up for us, Ollivander." Best to keep the bloody thing safely contained until he could get Celeste someplace a bit less public and begin to show her the basics of wand control.

Again with that half-perplexed, half-curious gaze, the wand-maker glanced from Celeste to Snape and back again, then shook his head slightly and gathered up the gleaming gold coins. After he had secreted them away someplace under the counter, he reached across and plucked the wand from Celeste's hand with a murmured, "If I may?"

She startled, then surrendered the slender beech stick, watching silently as Ollivander placed it back in its box and tied it up with a pale blue ribbon. Once he was finished he handed the box back to her with the air of bestowing a great gift. "I hope you get many years of use from it."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Celeste said. "You obviously know a great deal about wands."

"Oh -- " And Ollivander waved a hand. "The wand does the choosing, as I always say. Haven't given out that combination for a great many years. Last one went to a Gryffindor girl...she disappeared during the first war with You-Know-Who..." He trailed off, focusing his myopic eyes on Celeste as if really seeing her for the first time. "You have a look of her -- what was her name? Wooster -- "

"That will do," Snape cut in. The last thing he needed was for Mr. Ollivander to let fall any more startling revelations. Bad enough that he had to mention Voldemort and the war; Snape had hoped he might have been able to avoid that particular subject for a while longer. He added, "Celeste, we have other places to go," even though the statement was an outright lie. Ollivander's had been his only destination for this shopping trip. Then Snape looped his arm through Celeste's and firmly hauled her out of the shop, even as her lips parted, no doubt to ask Ollivander what on earth he had been talking about.

Once they were outside she dug her heels into the cobbled paving stones, resisting his efforts to pull her along any further, and gave him an irritated look. "What the hell was that all about? What did he mean, a war? And who's 'You-Know-Who'?"

"Not here," he replied immediately, casting a swift glance up the street. Luckily, he saw no one he recognized; the return of Voldemort had kept the less hardy souls indoors, and it was far too early in the summer for the throngs of returning students and their parents to choke Diagon Alley in their quest for books and parchment and school robes.

"Is there a pub?" Celeste asked, and although she still looked angry, Snape thought he could see a quick light dance in her eyes. No doubt she was recalling his hasty escape to Topham's of last week.

The Leaky Cauldron would not have been his first choice in deciding where to take her, but at least it had several dark corner booths where they could converse quietly and, he hoped, escape notice.

"This way," he said with ill grace, dropping her arm and moving quickly down the street. With spiteful satisfaction he noticed that she had to work to keep up with him; the cobbles beneath their feet did not lend themselves to easy walking for someone in heels.

At this odd hour of the afternoon, the Leaky Cauldron held only a few occupants, including a group of witches in garish purple and vermilion hats sharing an early tea at a table in the far corner. They glanced up briefly as he and Celeste entered.

By now he was used to the looks of startled recognition and the inevitable pall of disapproval that followed. But then the witches transferred their scrutiny to Celeste. A few seconds of shocked speculation appeared to follow, and then the coven bent their heads together and began whispering furiously.

Probably just gave them something to gossip about for the next fortnight, he thought with an inner smirk, but he never paused in his progress toward the booth in the darkest corner of the pub. Without comment he settled down onto one bench, then watched as Celeste set the box containing her wand down on the table top and slid into place opposite him.

"Butterbeer?" Snape asked.

"What's that?"

From the neutral tone of her voice, he surmised she was still angry with him. "A popular wizard drink. I find it far too sweet, but -- "

"I'll have whatever you're having," she said immediately.

"Two glasses of elf-made wine," he said, and Tom, the hunch-backed proprietor, appeared immediately, setting two goblets filled with deep blood-colored liquid in front of them. Once he had finished his task, he left as quickly as he came.

"How did he do that?" Celeste asked in some awe, looking after the innkeeper's departing form. "It was like -- like -- "

Dryly, Snape inquired, "Like magic?"

A faint blush rose in her cheeks. "Well, yes. Sorry I sound like such an idiot -- it's just that all of this takes a bit of getting used to."

He lifted his goblet and took a sip. "I expect it would."

She raised her own glass and drank hesitantly, her expression of caution turning to one of amazement. "That's just about the best thing I've ever tasted."

"I will admit some partiality myself."

But after she had allowed herself another small swallow of wine, her expression sobered. "Are you going to give me some answers now?"

Snape had not been looking forward to this moment, but he had never been one to shirk an unpleasant duty. Still, he saw no reason why he couldn't cover the less unpleasant subjects first. "I believe Mr. Ollivander may have been referring to your mother."

"My mother? How could he have possibly known my -- " The words trailed off as Celeste fastened him with sharp-eyed look. "Are you telling me my mother was a witch?"

"Yes."

"But why wouldn't she have said anything -- and what about my father?"

"Your father was a wizard."

"A wizard?" She shook her head slowly, as if in an effort to keep this last bit of information from settling in her brain. "He wasn't a wizard -- he was a chartered accountant, for God's sake -- "

Dumbledore's words came back to Snape then. A very gifted Arithmancy student, the Headmaster had said of Celeste's father. And then the poor bastard had had to spend a good chunk of his life in the modern-day equivalent of a counting house. Then again, he'd made his choice. Everyone had to live with the consequences of their decisions.

"A wizard," Snape repeated firmly. "Your parents chose to live in the Muggle world, and to keep you unaware of their magical abilities -- and yours."

Celeste's slender fingers played with the stem of the goblet that sat on the table before her. After a long moment she looked up and met Snape's gaze with a puzzled, sorrowful look. "But why?" she asked finally.

"As to that, I'm not entirely certain. But I think they were trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? And Snape himself knew so little; even the few bits and pieces he thought pointed at the truth were more the result of speculation and educated guesswork than any real knowledge. "As to that, I'm not sure. Their secrets died with them, after all. But I believe they were trying to keep you hidden from -- " He hesitated, knowing that he did not dare utter Voldemort's name aloud here. " -- from the one whom Ollivander mentioned."

"You-Know-Who?" she asked immediately, her voice carrying enough that the witches across the room left off their gossiping and cast a series of horrified stares in their direction.

"Quiet," Snape commanded, then continued, pitching his voice so low that Celeste was forced to lean across the table and strain to hear his words, "Ollivander also spoke of a war, a war that took place between the followers of You-Know-Who and the rest of the wizarding world fifteen years ago. I needn't go into the details now, but know that many people died. Others were tortured and maimed." He saw her flinch at those words and wondered what this fresh-faced girl would do if he told her that once he had been counted among those followers, had participated in their iniquities. Fighting down a wave of self-loathing, he went on mercilessly, "This Dark Wizard would have had a keen interest in finding someone with your gifts -- your skill at Legilimency, your talent for Divination. And so we -- I -- believe that your parents erased your memories of your early childhood and completely removed themselves from the wizarding world, raising you in a normal Muggle household where you would never be found." Snape paused then, wondering whether he should reveal exactly what had actually occurred during that first reading Celeste had given him, then decided against it. Time for revelations of that nature later.

For a long moment she said nothing, but merely stared at him, her face pale in the gloomy recesses of the booth where they sat. Then she asked, her voice flat, sounding quite unlike herself, "Did he win?"

"What?" Snape wasn't quite sure what she was driving at.

"This Dark Wizard you mentioned. Did he win the war?"

"No," he replied, again wondering how much he should tell her. But she would discover the truth soon enough. "We thought he had been defeated, and he did go into hiding for many years. But he's just come back into his power, and is gathering his followers once again."

Again that charged silence, as Snape watched the unnatural stillness of her features, the tension in the slender hands as they lay on the age-darkened oak of the table. He could understand her being worried, frightened, or upset, but somehow he sensed something else was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, surprising himself somewhat with the gentleness of the question.

"Oh," she said, and gave him a humorless smile. "It's just that -- well..."

"Yes?"

Celeste looked away briefly, then appeared to gather herself. She took a deep breath.

"It's just that I dream of him sometimes...." she said, in a small, thin voice.