The Overlooked

Nineteen

Severus Snape never had much use for Muggle technology. However, as he made his way to the front entrance of Voldemort's abode, he reflected that perhaps the simplest way to end the entire mess would be for someone to drop a bomb on the shabby estate and blow it -- and its shadowy occupant -- into a million bits. Unfortunately, since the Dark Lord had somehow managed to cheat death all these years, Snape somehow doubted that he would meet his end at the hands of Muggles.

That a second summons had come so quickly on the heels of the one from earlier this morning disquieted him. He had faced Voldemort that first time and managed to conceal all thought of Celeste from the Dark Lord, but for some reason keeping this secret felt a thousand times more difficult than any subterfuge Snape had managed in the past.

As he had feared, Bronwen Cadogan's gossiping ways had proved her undoing. Oh, Celeste had told Bronwen not to inform anyone of her niece's whereabouts, but just telling Owen Cadogan of the girl's existence apparently had been enough. Even though Snape had sent Celeste back to her aunt's flat to make sure that Bronwen spoke to no one on the matter, the damage had already been done the night before. She'd rung up her brother-in-law and dropped several pieces of vital information, and Celeste's Uncle Owen had been impolitic enough to mention the happy news of his niece's miraculous reappearance while making his usual round of the pubs that same evening. No doubt he'd thought the story would earn him a few free pints. Still, the indiscretion, in and of itself, might not have been disastrous...except that one of Voldemort's informers had also been in attendance at the Three Sickles that same evening and had lost no time in hurrying to the Dark Lord and telling him of Celeste's existence.

Voldemort followed up this piece of remarkable intelligence by dispatching the Carrows to interrogate Owen Cadogan. He'd shown unexpected resilience by surviving most of the night under the force of repeated Cruciatus Curses, but in the end he had told them where to find his sister-in-law. The Fidelius Charm had held, however; at no time did he ever mention Celeste by name, or that her primary residence happened to be in Manchester.

And Bronwen...again, for a witch who was barely more than a Squib, she had acquitted herself well. Celeste's name and any information regarding her whereabouts she took with her to her grave, but enough damage had been done. Voldemort knew that the Seer he had sought had been right there in Aber, and even now he had his agents fanning out through Wales in search of her.

Keep looking, Snape thought, allowing himself a small sneer. She's much farther away than that....

But how long the spurious safety of London might protect her, he couldn't begin to guess. Bronwen hadn't disclosed any details of Celeste's appearance, but Alecto, following the informer's tip that "Celeste was the spit of her mother," according to Owen, had cadged an old photograph of Bettina and Bronwen from the time they were seventh-years off Bronwen's bedroom dresser, then had given it to the Dark Lord. Snape himself had seen the photograph resting on the table next to Voldemort's throne-like chair, and the similarity in appearance between mother and daughter was startling. Celeste might almost pass for her own mother, save for the minor differences in their coloring; the memento Bronwen had kept of her schoolgirl days might prove to be her niece's undoing.

Forcing those thoughts away, Snape took a breath, and another, then made himself enter the front door of Voldemort's home. Immediately he heard the murmur of voices coming from the salon where the Dark Lord spent the majority of his time, and Snape directed his steps there, chin high, no thoughts in his head but how he might serve Voldemort and help him find the young woman he so desperately sought.

"Severus," said Voldemort, and the people who surrounded him immediately fell silent. Snape saw the Carrows looking sleek and self-satisfied, like cats who had just dined on a particularly juicy mouse, and standing far closer to Voldemort's throne than they had in the past. No doubt the Dark Lord had already rewarded them for their part in the hunt for Celeste Jenkins. Beyond them Snape spotted Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, Antonin Dolohov, and a narrow-faced younger man with fox-red hair whom he did not recognize. Quite the party, then -- Voldemort seemed to have most of his favorites around him.

"My lord," Snape replied, and made a low bow.

"A favor, my old friend."

Voldemort's "favors" were usually anything but. However, Snape assumed an expression of interest, as if he'd been waiting his entire life to fulfill the Dark Lord's smallest request. If he'd dared, Snape might have allowed himself a small smile, for Bellatrix scowled on hearing Voldemort's calling him "friend." She hated to see the Dark Lord to show favor to anyone but herself -- and even though Snape had made the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa to protect Draco, he knew that the boy's aunt still didn't trust him. Luckily for Snape, the Dark Lord so far had not heeded her counsel on that particular matter.

"Anything, my lord."

"Such a trifle," Voldemort said in musing tones, laying one skeletal hand over the carved armrest of the chair in which he sat. "Just this one girl, this young woman who believes herself a Muggle and certainly has no way of defending herself. And yet she somehow seems to possess a distinct gift for Disapparating...or at least the Muggle equivalent."

Snape allowed the slightest questioning note to enter his voice. "My lord?"

"The Cadogan girl -- although I have the feeling that is not the name she uses these days. This child of a seventh son and a seventh daughter." The Dark Lord cast a baleful look at the group of sycophants who had clustered around him; all of them, save Bellatrix, shrank backward slightly. "And yet my faithful Death Eaters tell me that there is no trace of her to be found, even though we know she was in Aber as recently as this morning."

"Indeed?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "When we met earlier, I was led to believe that her relatives had proven remarkably resistant to questioning."

"True," the Voldemort agreed, "but Muggles will let drop all sort of information...when properly persuaded."

Snape said nothing, made himself think of nothing, but only waited to hear what might come next.

The Dark Lord frowned a little, as if nonplused by Snape's lack of response. "The aunt's neighbor saw a young woman of about the right age leaving the apartment late yesterday afternoon. She didn't see where the girl was headed, but Rhys here was able to get quite a good description -- one that matches this very closely." One of Voldemort's skeletal fingers trailed along the edge the ornate gilt frame, while the girls inside giggled and rolled their eyes at what must have been a very funny joke. No doubt their expressions would have been quite different if they'd realized that their eventual fates would be.

The unfamiliar red-haired man gave a little bow as Voldemort inclined his head in his direction. Then the man spoke, his accent betraying his Welsh heritage. "A girl matching that description was seen with a group of students early the next day, although no one seems to have discovered where she went after that. The students were from Cardiff, although we've been unable to find any trace of her there."

"Interesting," Snape managed. That wasn't even a lie -- he hadn't known what Celeste had done with herself all morning after she'd discovered the murder of her aunt, but obviously she had fallen in with a group of university students in an attempt to give herself some sort of protective cover. In other circumstances, he would have allowed himself an approving thought on her resourcefulness, but he knew he didn't dare think of her in those terms here. "And so...?"

"She must be found," Voldemort rasped. "If her Sight is as true as it sounds, then she would be invaluable to me." The reddish eyes fastened on Snape, who could only hold himself still, waiting with feigned eagerness to receive the Dark Lord's commands. "She must not meet up with Dumbledore and allow him to use her gifts. He hasn't spoken of her to you, has he?"

"Dumbledore?" Snape repeated. "No. If he knows anything -- which I doubt he does -- he has kept that knowledge to himself."

The Dark Lord scowled, an unpleasant furrowing of the hairless skin along his brow bone. "Unfortunate. That could have made our task so much easier. On the other hand, at least she hasn't fallen into the hands of that bumbling fool and his equally ineffectual cohorts."

"May I inquire as to how you intend to locate her?" Snape lifted an eyebrow in the direction of the assembled Death Eaters; they all shot him looks of varying hostility, and Bellatrix lifted one corner of her lip in something that closely resembled a snarl. Obviously they did not appreciate the look of mild scorn he had given them.

"Of course." Voldemort smiled unpleasantly. "I want you to coordinate the search, Severus."

***

The only good thing about the entire unfortunate situation, Snape thought bitterly, was that at least he could bid adieu to his dingy quarters at Spinner's End for the near future. Voldemort wanted him back at Hogwarts so as not to miss anything Albus Dumbledore might let drop -- when Snape wasn't out scouring the countryside for Celeste, of course.

If it hadn't been so bloody dangerous, Snape would have found himself amused by the irony of his predicament.

But for now he allowed himself the time to return the few belongings he'd kept at Spinner's End to his familiar rooms in the Hogwarts dungeons. He'd been relieved to find that Dumbledore had returned to the school, because now more than ever he knew he needed the Headmaster's counsel. All during that last interview with the Dark Lord, Snape had felt himself pressed to the limit, forcing himself to make the correct replies to Voldemort while keeping any thought of Celeste buried in the farthest depths of his mind. He thought he'd acquitted himself well, but by the time he left the Dark Lord's shabby manor house, Snape had been as weary as a man who'd spent the afternoon swimming the English Channel.

Nor had matters been helped when he found that Voldemort planned to pair him up with Rhys Davies, the Welsh Death Eater who had overheard the gossip about Celeste in the first place. Thankfully the Dark Lord didn't intend for them to share lodgings, as Snape had with Peter Pettigrew, but still they were to keep in contact, share their findings, compare notes -- in short, pool their resources as they went about trying to locate the young woman. Despite Snape's carefully worded protests that he worked better alone, Voldemort overruled any demurral and said that he preferred that they carry out their search in teams. Snape knew that any further dissent would raise the Dark Lord's suspicion, so he had acceded, with poor grace. Davies would return to Aber to make further inquiries; Snape was expected to meet with him in two days, after he had settled himself at Hogwarts and made contact with Dumbledore.

The Welshman was something of an enigma to Snape; he hadn't encountered the man before and didn't know quite what to make of him. Davies was too young to have been one of the original Death Eaters who had been rounded up and sent to Azkaban, so he must have come over to the Dark Lord's cause in the last few years. On the other hand, he was just old enough that he had graduated from Hogwarts before Snape began teaching there, so Snape couldn't even take the man's measure from recalling what he had been like as a student. For a Death Eater, Rhys Davies seemed almost too innocuous, too friendly and open-faced. No doubt that was what made him an effective spy. In any case, the man was the Dark Lord's tool, just like all the other Death Eaters, and therefore to be viewed with distrust.

As to the rest -- how long he could keep Celeste safe, and how long he could possibly hope to conceal her whereabouts -- Snape had no idea. He climbed the steps to Dumbledore's office slowly, feeling as if the robes that trailed from his shoulders had been fashioned from lead instead of fabric. Very possibly the Headmaster could do nothing to help him, but at the moment Snape only wanted to unburden himself to the only person in the world who knew the truth about his situation.

Actually, he thought, as he stood on the step outside the office door, there were now two such people in the world. He'd spent so many years concealing his true loyalties that he'd almost forgotten Celeste knew almost as much about him as Dumbledore did -- in some ways, even more.

The Headmaster stood by the window, looking over the brilliant green expanse of the Quidditch pitch. He did not turn, but said, "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Severus."

"Albus," Snape said, then paused in the center of the chamber, unsure as to how to proceed. How much did he dare tell Dumbledore, anyway? And how much did the Headmaster even need to know? Certainly what had gone on between Celeste and himself was a private matter. It didn't change the fact that Voldemort now hunted her actively, or that Snape had been dragged into that same pursuit.

"Tea?" asked the Headmaster.

For the first time, Snape noticed the heavy silver tea service that sat on a table next to the wing chair. A wisp of steam drifted out of the teapot.

"No," he said.

"Pity," Dumbledore replied, then moved away from the window to pour himself a cup. "Soothes the nerves. Or at least that's what my mother used to say."

"My nerves are just fine," Snape ground out, and the Headmaster lifted an eyebrow.

"Are they, Severus?"

Annoyed, Snape settled for crossing his arms and then gave Dumbledore an even stare. "Yes."

Without comment, the Headmaster watched as a cube of sugar dropped of its own accord into the cup. A silver teaspoon stirred through the steaming liquid, and then Dumbledore bent down and picked up the cup and saucer. Snape couldn't help wondering if the china were a relic of Dolores Umbridge's stay in the office; certainly it was pink and floral enough.

"How is Miss Jenkins?" asked Dumbledore.

"Hidden," Snape said curtly. "There have been...developments."

Other than lifting an eyebrow while blowing on his tea, the Headmaster showed little reaction. He raised the cup to his lips, then paused and shook his head. "Too hot," he murmured, and set the teacup back down on the little side table. After that he settled himself into the overstuff chair usually reserved for guests, conjured a matching seat out of thin air, and pointed at it. "Do sit down, Severus. You look quite done up."

"Hmph." But after that token protest, Snape did as Dumbledore had instructed. In truth, it did feel good to sit down. Certainly the Dark Lord never allowed any of his followers to be seated in his presence. "Voldemort wants me to find Celeste for him," Snape said abruptly.

"Ah." The blue eyes twinkled. "Awkward."

"That's one way of looking at it."

The Headmaster did not seem at all offended by Snape's sour tone. Then again, he'd had plenty of years to get used to it. "You say she's hidden?"

"Yes. In London." Snape had a sudden flash of the shabby little hotel room where he'd left Celeste and wondered how she was. It had been hours since he'd parted from her; he had to assume that she was safe, that she had followed his instructions and not gone out, except to take care of utter necessities.

"And is she all right?"

"For now." Worry twisted inside him. So far she had eluded Voldemort, and certainly the nation's capital could do much more to conceal one lone woman than the small seaside town where she had been staying. He knew, however, that the Carrows had been ordered off to London to take up the search there. Those bumbling idiots couldn't find their own ass with both hands, he thought, but was that really true?

He became aware of Dumbledore's shrewd gaze resting on him, no doubt reading far more from his expression than he would have liked. Defiantly, he met that stare, jaw clenched.

Those pale blue eyes seemed to hold infinite understanding, and infinite sadness. "It is always difficult, isn't it, when one begins to care?"

Snape felt the tension tighten through his shoulders and gut. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, I fear you do."

How could Dumbledore guess immediately what Snape had been able to hide from the Dark Lord? He looked away then, down at the black wool that covered his knee, the sweep of heavy robes that pooled in the floor at his feet.

"Voldemort has no understanding of the human heart," the Headmaster said quietly. "Indeed, he has tried -- with a good deal of success, unfortunately -- to make himself something other than human. He has never cared for anyone but himself, so how he could possibly recognize that emotion in someone else?"

Still Snape remained silent. So much for the mask of cool indifference he'd cultivated over the years. So much for the impenetrable façade he'd adopted to shield himself from the world and its pain. He thought of Celeste then, of the quick dimple in her cheek, the flashing smile she had given him when he approached her in that seaside café. In spite of everything she had gone through, somehow she still found joy in existence, still embraced the world. And in her arms, he'd discovered a happiness he knew he didn't deserve and thought he'd never have.

The thought of her brightness quenched in Voldemort's shadow, her lively mind subverted to the Dark Lord's will, made Snape feel almost physically ill. Never, he thought. Not if I have to kill him myself.

Failing that, he would rather see her dead than in Voldemort's hands.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Then Snape said simply, "Albus, what should I do?"

No doubt the other staff members at Hogwarts would have been startled to hear the Potions Master utter such a naked plea for help. Dumbledore, however, merely settled back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and appeared to consider Snape's question with utmost gravity. "Difficult," the Headmaster said at last. "Voldemort has given you this duty...but is it merely because you are one of his most trusted servants, or because he suspects something and sees this as a sort of subtle torture?"

Snape stared at Dumbledore, somewhat taken aback. He hadn't considered that notion. That made the situation even more disturbing; if nothing else, he'd always thought that so far he had successfully deceived the Dark Lord as to his true loyalties and intentions. He gave his last few meetings with Voldemort a quick mental review to see if in hindsight anything had seemed amiss, if any of his exchanges with the Dark Lord had felt off. Try as he might, however, he could find nothing that felt wrong. Snape should have felt relieved, but instead his feelings of disquiet only grew. "I don't think he suspects anything," he said slowly. "At least, not yet. This is my fault, though -- I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have let myself -- "

"You shouldn't have let yourself be human for once?" interrupted Dumbledore gently. "Your isolation has always troubled me, but your personal life was always yours to manage. None of my business, of course. Despite everything, I can't help but feel glad for you, even if this has complicated the matter."

That was an understatement. Even though Dumbledore obviously approved of his connection with Celeste, still Snape felt as if he'd allowed himself to lose control. He should have thought of a way to keep her at a distance, to hold her at arm's length so that she couldn't engage his emotions. It had been sloppy and foolish. Never mind that the hours he'd spent with her were the happiest of his life.

"Go on with the self-flagellation, if it makes you feel better," Dumbledore remarked, with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "I know how difficult it must be for you to accept any measure of happiness in your life. But once you're done with that, we should probably attend to the matter at hand."

As rebukes went, it was very gentle. But Snape got the point. "She left Manchester because she encountered dementors there. Whether they were after her in particular or just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I don't know for certain. She fled to Aber, thinking it out of the way enough that it would be safe. And it was for a time -- except that she encountered a relative there, who ended up talking more than she should. Hence Voldemort's current involvement."

"Interesting." The Headmaster leaned over and picked up his tea. Obviously he judged it safe to drink, as he lifted the cup to his mouth and allowed himself a small sip. "So the Fidelius Charm didn't prevent her from talking about Celeste?"

"Not to another member of the family. It was the girl's paternal uncle whom the aunt told." Snape frowned, thinking of this unknown Uncle Owen, who had apparently thought a few free pints were of more worth than his niece's safety. Then again, the man of course had no idea that a follower of Voldemort's would be lurking in the pub, ready to seize upon that information. In any case, Owen Cadogan had paid the ultimate price for his indiscretion. "Pity we can't follow up with either relative -- Voldemort's agents killed them both once they were deemed of no further use."

Someone who didn't know Dumbledore very well would have thought he showed no reaction. Snape, however, saw the fractional tightening of the lines around his eyes, the slight compression of his lips. A pause, and then the Headmaster said, "Two more to Voldemort's account. Very well -- so you've taken her to London?"

"I thought it safest, even though the Dark Lord's followers have been seen there. At least one woman is more difficult to find among millions instead of merely thousands." As he spoke the words, though, Snape wondered how true they really were. "But that is still only a temporary solution."

"Of course." Dumbledore sipped at his tea again. "And have you thought of what a permanent solution might be?"

Kill Voldemort, Snape thought immediately. Lacking that, however -- "I thought perhaps it would be prudent to take her out of the country altogether."

"That is no perfect remedy, as Igor Karkaroff discovered." The Headmaster's tone was uncharacteristically grim.

Too true. The former headmaster of Durmstrang had been found dead on the continent, the Dark Mark hovering over the shack where he'd been hiding. In that case, distance had proved no impediment to the Dark Lord's fury. Still, if one young woman were difficult enough to find in a city such as London, Snape couldn't help but think that she might be easily hidden in the vast expanses of a place like America. Surely in an area as populated as the Northeast or possibly Southern California, she would be very difficult to locate....

"And would you condemn her to a life in hiding among strangers?" Dumbledore asked.

"At least it would be a life," Snape retorted. Could he stand the pain of taking her someplace so far away, though? Could he leave her there, force himself never to think of her again? Could he bear the thought of her starting over somewhere else...perhaps with someone else one day?

Something inside his gut knotted. No, there had to be another way...

"If you have a better idea, now would be a good time to tell me," said Snape, the words rasping past the tightness in his throat.

At that Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired and immeasurably old. "One would hope that her exile would not be permanent, that as soon as Voldemort was defeated, she could return to her home and take up the life in the wizarding world she's been denied. But until that time -- " The Headmaster spread his hands in a gesture of baffled impotence. "I don't know. Hiding her seems to be the only solution. I wonder, however -- " The words trailed off, as Dumbledore gave Snape a measuring glance.

"What?" he snapped.

"Do you think, Severus, that it's entirely wise for you to know of her whereabouts? If Voldemort has enlisted you to find her, then perhaps her location should be entrusted to someone other than you."

Outrage flared in him -- after all, hadn't Snape managed to keep his loyalty to Dumbledore a secret from Voldemort all these years? -- while the rational side of his mind tried to tell him that perhaps the Headmaster had a point. But how could he suggest that Snape simply walk away, especially since Dumbledore had been the one to suggest that he train the damned girl in the first place?

"Excellent plan, Albus," Snape replied, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his tone. "Shall I entrust her to you? And what are your plans for her? Hiding her in the Hogwarts kitchens with the house-elves? Smuggling her into Molly Weasley's turnip cellar?"

Instead of taking offense, the Headmaster only gave Snape a weary smile. "If I thought any of that would work, of course I would. But while Hogwarts is safe in some ways, in far too many others it is exceedingly visible. As for the turnip cellar -- well, I doubt that Molly would take kindly to the suggestion, as she has high standards for how she treats guests. I'm not asking you to do anything this instant, Severus. I'm only asking you to consider the option."

"Very well," Snape said ungraciously. "Perhaps I will consider it." Consider it...and then come up with something else, he thought. "In the meantime, however, I should check in on her. I've left her too long as it is." That sounded very sensible and responsible. Unfortunately, Snape knew deep down that he only wanted to reassure himself that she was still safe, and to steal a few more precious moments with her.

For a short time Dumbledore said nothing, but only watched him with those calm, all-seeing blue eyes. Then he replied, in neutral tones, "I'm sure Miss Jenkins will be grateful for your concern."

Of course she will, Snape thought. He wondered then whether he could even convince her to go somewhere without his knowledge -- if he gathered enough courage to admit that was the safest course. Sunny-tempered as she was, Celeste still had an independent streak wider than the Thames. He doubted very much whether she could be forced to do anything she truly didn't want to do.

Without bothering to answer directly, Snape said, "I should Floo from here. I know the Dark Lord has no knowledge of this particular conduit."

Dumbledore merely inclined his head. Snape knew that the Headmaster wouldn't bother with any further arguments. He would merely sit back and watch, and wait for Snape to do the right thing.

Snape could only hope that he would find the strength in himself to do what must be done....