Smoke

Smoke

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a very large place. There are towers and turrets, corridors and secret passageways. There are rooms which are hidden, and rooms which have just plain been forgotten, some in obvious places and some off corridors which are so far off the beaten path that they have barely been set foot in since a group calling themselves the Marauders had mapped most of the castle in the 1970s.

This was one such room, mid-way up what most students now called the 'divination tower,' unoccupied except by paintings and one fairly eccentric divination teacher. This room had a lovely view out of two windows looking towards the northwest, overlooking the Forbidden Forest. There were two stuffed chairs (one a rocker) and a small set of shelves. Every evening at 8:00, one staff member climbed the stairs to indulge in his two vices.

On rare occasions, the Headmaster might join in. Sometimes the Muggle Studies or Potions professor might join him as well. One year, to his great annoyance, Gilderoy Lockhart had shown up a few times.

John Russell taught 'Runes' -- magical symbols and languages. Muggle-born students sometimes asked if he was related to the famous Muggle noble family of the same name. His branch, the magical branch, was actually the senior branch of the family, emerging from the Muggle commercial class in the late 1300s.

In appearance, Muggles would think he was a thick-set man in his early forties. In actuality, he was in his early sixties. His wife and two sons had been killed in a terror attack early during Voldemort's First Rising. His daughter, his youngest child, had survived (mostly because she had been a student at Hogwarts, leaving in 1982), and the first of his three grandchildren would start Hogwarts in just over a year.

Even after all these years, he had a difficult time associating Voldemort with the teen who had been Head Boy his first year. Russell had not paid much attention to Voldemort until the terror attacks had escalated in the mid-1970s. He had been a well-known magical scholar by the early 1960s. Voldemort had sent three Death Eaters after him, to coerce him into helping decipher some Dark Magic scrolls. Russell had destroyed the scrolls and killed two of the three Death Eaters. He had survived six attacks on his own life, taking down six of his attackers, but his wife and two sons had not been so lucky.

Neither had the three Death Eaters he had learned had been in on the attacks, although the others had escaped him. Russell had proven himself a very dangerous wizard.

After Voldemort had disappeared in 1981, Russell had sat down and thought through what little information had been released. He had gone to Dumbledore, who had confirmed Russell's own suspicions -- Voldemort could someday return. When the Runes job had opened up in 1984, he had taken it, and he now spent a fair amount of his free time at night tracking intelligence for the Order of the Phoenix.

Except between 8:00 until approximately 9:30.

This night, the night the students had left for home, Russell was a bit surprised to see Severus Snape already in the room, fussing with his hookah. "Good evening, Severus," Russell said. Snape merely nodded in return. Russell glanced at his shelves as a large carafe of iced water appeared, cutesy of the house elves. "What is it tonight? Tobacco, cannabis, or hashish?"

Most of the times the man indulged, he knew, Snape smoked tobacco. On rare occasions, marijuana. Once, after he had returned from the ordeal of meeting the risen Dark Lord, it had been hashish.

"Cannabis," Snape replied.

"So he won't be calling for you tonight."

"No," Snape stated. "I do not know what the Boy did to him a few weeks ago, but it did hurt him. He is still recuperating, and calculating his next move."

"Well, it could be worse news. Would you like anything to drink?"

"A glass of water, please. And what are you indulging in tonight?"

"A nice Honduran, with a Cameroon wrapper," Russell answered, handing Snape a glass of ice water. He glanced at his book shelves. The top shelf just held the carafe and a large ash tray. The second shelf down had three cigar boxes, a rack of 8 pipes, two canisters of pipe tobacco, and the paraphernalia of the serious smoker (pipe cleaners, various pipe tools, three different cigar cutters, matches, etc.). The third shelf down had a variety of glasses. The tall bottom shelf had just six bottles: a bottle each of Scotch, Brandy, Calvados, Malmsey, pastis, and absinthe. "And, since it's a warm night, I'll start with a pastis." He opened both windows with a wave of his wand.

As Snape fired up his hookah, Russell mixed the clear pastis with the iced water, making the usual milky green drink. Russell then cut the cigar and carefully lit it with a match, and sat in the rocker.

"I believe you're the only Pure Blood I know who would use a match like that," Snape commented.

"The wand burns too hot," Russell said simply. "I have two vices, two pleasures. I may as well take them seriously and enjoy them."

"Well, there are worse vices, as we know," Snape acknowledged.

"You seem to have mixed emotions tonight, Severus."

"It's been a hard year," Snape said.

"It has. At least that bitch is gone."

Snape looked at Russell with surprise. "You know, I believe that is the first time in twelve years I have ever heard you use language like that."

"I had a very nasty temper, and a very sarcastic tongue, when I was young," Russell said. "I learned to tame it. Believe me, I would have liked to have said worse about that woman all year."

"At least she didn't try to fire you," Snape said.

"True. However . . . now please don't take this the wrong way, Severus. You know I think very highly of your potion skills."

"Thank you, but I think I am about to be insulted."

"Come now, you are not the world's most gifted teacher."

Snape grimaced, but said, "True. At least she didn't fire me or send aurors after me."

"Also true. I do wish she had gotten rid of Binns, though."

"Agreed. Was he already dead when you were here?"

"Oh, yes. He died when my father was here. He said there was no change in the lecture style."

"I suppose she didn't say much to you," Snape commented.

"I have important relatives, I still have friends in the Ministry, I'm an internationally known scholar, and she knows I've killed people before," Russell pointed out.

"So she said nothing?"

"I am not the world's most inspired teacher of adolescents, either," Russell admitted. "As much as I hate to admit it, she did have some pointed comments about my teaching which had some truth behind them. As nasty, interfering, and generally useless as she was, she did point out some genuine deficiencies here. Odd that she was likely the worst teacher on staff. Speaking personally, I rather wish we had the equivalent of a Muggle university. I'd prefer to teach young adults who are serious about the subject."

"There's not a large enough population base," Snape said automatically.

"There is for all of western and central Europe," Russell retorted.

"And what language would the instruction be in?"

"Latin, of course," Russell stated. Snape just shook his head.

The two smoked in silence for five minutes.

"What else is bothering you, Severus?"

Snape sighed. He would hold that he had no friends. Russell was, however, at least close enough, and experienced enough, to act as a confessor of sorts. "You can likely guess," he finally said.

"Potter and Black."

"Exactly. I loathed Black, and he returned the feeling. The only thing we had in common was a common enemy. I know there was nothing I could have said or done to prevent him from going to the Ministry that night, so I do not feel any guilt over his death. Still, as much as I hated him, I wish he was still alive."

"For his own sake, or the sake of Potter?"

"For the sake of the struggle," Snape retorted. "And it was his fault he died as he did. I do not mean running off; Merlin knows that that was merely a glaring flaw in his character, and I realize now I can no more be critical of that than I can be about my own shortcomings. No, he died because he spent most of his time for the last year feeling sorry for himself and drinking. I doubt he practiced at all. As much as I hated him, he was once a skilled wizard. If he had kept in training, he either would not be dead, or he would have at least taken some of those people with him. There is not one of them, except perhaps Lucius, who should have had a good chance at beating him if he had been prepared. Then that Boy would not be depressed at best, and I hate to think of the state he might be in at worst."

"And of course you admit no guilt in this."

"Over Black? No, none at all."

"How about over Potter?"

Snape scowled, and drew in a large relaxing lung full of smoke.

"Don't scowl. Surely there must have been a better way of teaching the Boy Occlumency."

"Why don't you teach him?" Snape almost snarled. "Do you even know how difficult a skill it is? Few can master it."

"At your level? No, I am not close to your level. If you consider yourself still sober enough, you may try me."

"Legilimens!" Snape ran into images he didn't understand, and a language he didn't know. He scowled yet again.

"See, I do know the basics. I am rather sensitive to Legilimency, in fact. I mediate and do the basic Occlumency exercises at night, otherwise I would sleep even worse than I do. Still, I must fill my mind with something. I cannot present blankness, or selected memories at will, like Albus says you can."

"I can."

"Well, I cannot. I have trained myself, therefore, to automatically recite the Catalog of Ships from the Iliad. That's boring enough to stand up to any attack, although of course the attacker will know that I know I am under attack."

Snape shrugged. "Then I'll suggest you teach the Boy the basics if the Headmaster cannot, and we'll see if the Headmaster or I can take it from there."

"I am willing to try. How is he? He wasn't at the Feast last night."

Snape shrugged. "Who can say? You should have asked Granger, assuming she's still not nattering on about her O.W.L.s."

"She is. She made, she says, one major error. If true, she will not score an O+. However, since she writes grammatically and has some rudimentary sense of style, she should still score well."

"Does she write at least twice as much as she needs to for you?"

"At times. Fortunately, most of what she writes now are translations, and those she does not overdo -- once I talked her out of adding end notes."

They smoked in silence for some time. Russell then asked, "How much of your treatment of Albus' Golden Trio is an act?"

"The opinions of them which I express are all accurate," Severus said with a sniff. "Granger is an insecure, overly-excited, know-it-all. She has very little wisdom."

"How many Fifth years have you ever known with any wisdom?"

Snape scowled at that, but said instead, "She does not know her place, and I am certain even you must admit that she is annoying in class."

"She is annoying in class, but she also knows that she will not have a place given to her in this world," Russell argued. "She will have to struggle to achieve what that twit Malfoy will be given as a right."

"Draco. . . ."

"Draco Malfoy is a lazy, sloppy, spoiled, mean-spirited twit. Every time he fails, he blames someone else, instead of his own lack of drive."

"Oh, and you don't think Potter and his lackeys are overly indulged?"

"Malfoy has lackeys, Potter has companions. And don't scowl like that, or argue. I choose my words carefully. Draco Malfoy could not inspire anyone to follow him. Neither could Granger, for that matter. Neither could you or I as far as that goes. Potter is a leader, more so than even his father was. Certainly more than Black ever was."

"You say that like it was a good thing."

"It will be," Russell stated, "and it will be none to our credit when it happens. Albus has spent so much time sharpening the boy into a tool that he has neglected every other aspect."

"He's spoiled the boy," Snape insisted. "Any other boy would have been expelled!"

"Oh, and Malfoy shouldn't have been? Half your upper years should have been expelled for their actions under those inquisitorial squads, and we both know it is unlikely that they'll even get a slap on the wrist. So yes, Albus may have over-indulged Potter, but he is hardly any stricter with any of the students."

Snape inhaled deeply, and held the sweet smoke for some time.

"Now, as I said, Potter showed himself to be an inspiring leader, and a better teacher than either of us, this last year."

"Granger put him up to it, I believe."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Russell agreed. "Despite your murmurings and grumblings, Potter is anything but spoiled. . . ."

"Like I'll ever really believe that!"

Russell glared at Snape full-faced. Snape choked on his smoke under the power of that glare. "You were inside the boy's mind. Are you going to tell me he was anything but abused as a child?"

Snape looked at Russell. "How did you know?" That was supposed to be a secret. Snape had not known until he had invaded Potter's mind

"I am an intelligence officer. I did my research. If someone, the description of whom fits Albus, hadn't interfered, those relatives of Potter would have found themselves under investigation from the Muggle authorities several times."

"If the Headmaster knows Potter is just a tool, then why. . . ?" Snape was speechless for once.

Russell shrugged. "I think he's come to like the boy. Since the Second or Third Task, he's had a difficult time thinking of the tool instead of the boy."

"And now?" Snape asked.

Russell leaned back in his rocker, and sent three perfect smoke rings to the ceiling. "We'll have to see."

"I need a drink," Snape muttered.

Russell held up the absinthe bottle. "Shall we?"

"Indeed."