Without Enchantment

And so, compliant to the common wind,
Too strange to each other for misunderstanding,
In concord at this intersection time
Of meeting nowhere, no before and after...

Lord Mark led Snape through a maze of corridors and stairs, and eventually out through a small door into the garden where he had been taken prisoner. They walked quickly along the paths -- the rose scent was stronger in the late afternoon sun, and Snape inhaled it deeply -- and turned left through the shrubbery. He glanced toward the green lawn, and his attention was caught by a tableau laid out before him. Several guards in gaudy uniform were standing sentinel over three people poised in the centre of the greensward: an older woman in a blue dress was pointing in several directions at once, apparently explaining something with a great many levels of detail to the young couple before her, a tall man in a suit like Illyan's and a shorter woman in red. These two stood hand in hand and were illuminated by a shaft of sunlight as it emerged from a bank of clouds; the man put his arm around the woman then and pulled her close, dark head bending over blonde in a gesture that made Snape bite his lip once more. He turned away and followed Lord Mark in the direction of the street.

Snape's first ride in a groundcar, and his impressions of the city of Vorbarr Sultana, were somewhat blurred, and very few of Lord Mark's touristy notes on the ride's highlights, consisting mostly of places where people had been killed, or had barely escaped being killed, penetrated his tired brain. At last, they pulled up in front of a stone wall topped by iron spikes, and Lord Mark spoke briefly to a guard in a concrete kiosk by the gate. Snape could see the house beyond, a massive pile of grey stone. Then they drove around a semicircular drive and under a portico, and got out of the car. Carved double doors that would have looked at home at Hogwarts stood before them; Lord Mark pressed his palm to a pad next to the doors, and they swung open. A few seconds after they entered the hall, a tall man in a brown and silver uniform appeared from a side door. "I'm sorry, m'lord," he said. "I didn't realise you'd be home so soon, or I would have opened the door to you."

"That's quite all right, Pym," said Lord Mark. "Would you please put the car away, though, and then let Ma Kosti know I have a guest for tea? This is Professor Snape."

Pym bowed slightly. "Pleased to meet you, sir." He left through the front doors.

Snape looked around at the entrance hall of the impressive residence. "Quite a place you've got here," he said to Lord Mark, allowing a hint of mockery to cling to his voice.

Lord Mark laughed. "Looming, isn't it? But it's hardly mine, although I do rate higher than the dungeons. Actually, we don't even have dungeons; I hope you won't be disappointed. How about a tour?" He led the way through a series of formal rooms, including a grand dining hall with acres of polished wood table and a forest of chairs. At the back of the house they came to a small tucked-away lift, which shot them up two floors, then they walked down a corridor to Lord Mark's bedroom, where Snape noted items of feminine clothing flung haphazardly across various pieces of furniture. They proceeded back through the corridor to another wing, at which Lord Mark waved a hand, saying, "My parents'," and down a flight to a wing that was "My brother's," ending at the head of the curving stairway above the tiled entrance hall. He offered Snape the opportunity to view the upper floor and what he described as quite extensive attics, but Snape, feeling he'd had enough exercise for the time being, declined. The grandeur of the house was somewhat overwhelming, and altered Snape's perception of Lord Mark subtly; the phrase a very old family uttered in Lucius Malfoy's sneering tones echoed in his inner ear as they descended the stair together.

Pym entered the hall from the rear of the building as they came down, and Lord Mark called out, "We'll be in the library, Pym." He led Snape through an antechamber and into a magnificent room lined with books. They took seats in a pair of wing chairs near a low table, and looked at one another.

Lord Mark broke the silence first. "I have no idea what to do with you, you realise. In fact, you've put me in rather an awkward position, as far as ImpSec is concerned. That was poison in those bottles, I suppose?" Snape nodded, not feeling the need to clarify. "And you're going to tell me you have no idea how you got here?" Snape nodded again. "Having a sort of morning-after experience with the fast-penta, are we?" said Lord Mark, smiling. "I don't suppose I could actually coax any words out of you?"

Snape let a breath out through his nose. "Lord Mark," he said, "I am sensible of the gratitude I need to feel toward you --"

"Oh, stuff it, Professor. And call me Mark." He looked at Snape with an expectant air, and Snape realised belatedly the reciprocal courtesy he should provide.

He nodded briefly. "Severus."

"Charming name," said Mark. "Should have been one of my mother's relatives... ah, here's tea." Pym had just entered with a trolley, from which he took a large silver teapot and the other necessities, including an ample supply of pastries, even considering Mark's appetite. He arranged the table for them, poured the tea, and left, competence purring in his wake.

Mark sat back, looking very smug. "It's not often I get the house to myself," he said. "My parents, and my brother and his fiancée, are all out fulfilling their Vor social duties, attending various functions as proxies for the Emperor and Empress-to-be; nobody wanted me, of course." An odd mixture of pleasure and pain coloured his face. "Kareen and Martya dragged Enrique down to Hassadar for some business-related thing, I've lost track of what; so, here we are." He leaned forward and selected a pastry from the tray. "Talk."

Snape wondered where to start. "I was on a train," he began slowly, after sipping his tea, "-- a Muggle train ("didn't know there were wizard trains" Mark murmured) -- I was watching someone. To be certain he got to... where he was going. We went into a tunnel, and instead of coming out at Chipping Sodbury, I was in the Emperor's garden."

"Rather like a nightingale," Mark commented. "Well, it's not a highly detailed account, but I suppose my adventure reads much the same way: I was at the Orb, and Kareen was taking off her blouse, and... boom. Very disappointing, it was. But whatever it was put me right back where I'd been, when it was done with me, so nothing was lost. Kareen didn't even notice, although she was somewhat distracted by other... stimuli, at the time. She did wonder a bit why I wasn't hungry, afterwards. How are the house-elves, by the way?"

"As overworked and downtrodden as ever," answered Snape sarcastically, "but they enjoy being abused."

"Good to know you're providing a little happiness in the world, then," Mark said, and Snape let his lip quirk up slightly. "Oh, by the way," Mark went on, "nice outfit." He himself was much more conventionally dressed than when he'd appeared in Snape's bedroom, by Barrayaran standards at least (Snape supposed), in a tidy black suit that lent authority to his wide shortness, and half-boots instead of sandals. It wasn't just the suit, either; he looked trimmer, although not quite what one would call slim. "I know, I know," Mark added, "the Muggle train. Espionage, and all that. And how is Lord, er, Voldemort -- did I get it right?"

"Unfortunately," replied Snape, "he is quite well."

"Sorry to hear that. And are you... better with yourself, than you were when we last met?" asked Mark offhandedly.

Snape was taken aback by the personal nature of the question, but after a moment's consideration decided that he would do his part to continue the dialogue. In his heart he knew that his presence in this splendid house, in the city of Vorbarr Sultana, on the planet of Barrayar, was part of his real existence; but it still seemed very much a dream, and dreams required acceptance and participation, or else they vanished. He was not certain where that would leave him.

"Not really... at least I think not. I can barely remember four months ago," he answered.

"Hmm," said Mark, counting on his fingers, "it's been somewhat less than that, for me. But close. Time we saw each other again, I suppose." He didn't look convinced.

Snape found more and more of their last conversation coming back into his mind as they spoke; he was amazed that he had blocked it so thoroughly as to not hear Mark's voice in Cecil's accent, not that Mark didn't appear to have several accents at his disposal. "You're home now," he put in abruptly, another puzzle piece clicking into place.

"Yes," Mark said, "for the wedding. I'll be returning to Beta Colony in the autumn; I think I can leave my business interests here in good hands. Oh, you wouldn't know about that, I forgot. A new investment: I'm enjoying it greatly. Have an éclair, by the way."

Snape poured himself another cup of tea and accepted the pastry Mark handed him; he took a tentative bite, and it was delicious, with a cream filling any house-elf would have died to be able to make. "Glorious, isn't it?" Mark went on, eyes twinkling in a mysterious fashion. "Anyway, it's been quite the summer, but things have been getting boring in the last week or so; clever of you to turn up now. I'll put you to work if you'd like. I'm sure the business could use some of your... sleight of hand."

The helplessness of his situation fell again like a weight on Snape's shoulders; he put down his teacup and the éclair, and rubbed his neck. "I don't think so," he said, feeling suddenly exhausted and resentful. "I don't have my wand with me; it was left in the train."

Mark grinned sympathetically. "A wizard without his wand is like... well, I can see how it would unman you rather. I did wonder why you hadn't done that rope thing with the palace guards, although admittedly it's hard to get the draw on someone with stunner reflexes. Or several someones. But that explains it."

"We don't use magic on Muggles anyway," Snape informed him, "if we can help it. That is," he went on dryly as Mark's grin reappeared, even wider, "not usually."

"Only when you're unfairly distracted by people popping out of nowhere and using ambiguous language, I know. Not that I don't frequently have that effect on people even when I don't make such a dramatic entrance; I thought you did admirably well, considering the circumstances. Oh, I have to ask -- what did you do with the green stuff, afterwards?"

"When I had recovered from the nasty hangover it produced," Snape replied, ignoring Mark's snort of amusement, "I performed some analyses on it, and passed my results on to the Ministry of Magic -- using an intermediary, of course, so as not to compromise my cover. I believe the Aurors are using it for long surveillance missions, with suitable amounts of downtime to follow, naturally." He had, in fact, turned over the only physical evidence of Mark's visit with a glad heart, thus ridding himself, he realised now, of any lingering reason to remember.

"We live to serve," Mark said, with a little half-bow.

The sound of boots on tile was heard from the entrance hall, and then the hiss of the front doors opening, followed by a flurry of footsteps and conversation. Mark froze, looking as though he would like to stuff Snape under a desk somewhere, and then seemed to gather himself and sit up straighter. "No, thank you, Pym, we'll see ourselves in," called a deep voice from the antechamber, and then the door to the library opened, and two people entered.

Snape knew instantly who they were: Mark's parents. His mother was tall, strong-featured, forthright, with red hair well-streaked with grey, and grey eyes like Mark's. His father was close to the same height as his wife, and stockily built; his hair was white and his face was weathered; he had the same bulldog air of tenacity and courage that Snape had seen in Mark at his best. Both were dressed in Barrayaran finery of brown and silver, the husband in yet another uniform, seemingly the near-ubiquitous form of attire here, and the wife in a gown with elaborate embroidery and a sweeping skirt.

They came to a halt when they saw Snape. "Ah," said Mark's father, "you do have a visitor. A rather confused message was passed on to me after luncheon about my son harbouring a dangerous criminal in Vorkosigan House; but as the messenger couldn't be specific about the nature of the crime, or which son, for that matter, I decided it could wait."

Mark was still staring somewhat blankly in his parents' direction. "I thought you were gone all afternoon and evening," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"The guest of honour at the Barrayaran College of Physicians Dinner was called away to a patient, so we have been put off for a week, if we can find a gap in our schedule," explained his father. There was a significant pause as Mark attempted to process this information.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your guest, love?" said his mother.

"Um," said Mark, and then cleared his throat. "Professor Severus Snape. Severus, these are my parents, Count and Countess Vorkosigan. I met him," he went on, finding his voice, "a few months ago, while I was on Beta. He was, er, at a loose end when he arrived on Barrayar, so I invited him to visit. Stay, if he likes. If you don't mind."

"I see," said the Countess. "Is this another one of your... investments, Mark?"

"Possibly," Mark answered, sneaking a glance at Snape. "More like a debt, perhaps. Or a fair exchange of goods." Snape noticed an increased confidence in Mark's voice as he began to define their odd relationship with these economic metaphors. He felt it was time he took some part in the conversation, before he was bought cheaply and sold at a profit.

He rose and bowed to the Countess. "I am honoured to meet you, madam," he said, his voice at its silkiest and most urbane. "Mark has told me a good deal about you."

Quoted you, rather: "Great tests are a great gift." Convince me, why don't you?

He nodded to the Count. "Very pleased to meet you, sir." The Count bowed his head in return.

Mark has told me next to nothing about you. I wonder why?

Mark's continued neglect of his duties seemed to be forcing Snape's latent social graces to the fore; he felt a curious reluctance to offend these people, which was only partially due to their aura of influence and contained power. And they were, of course, the owners of the richly appointed bolt-hole in which he found himself. He waved a hand at the tea table. "Join us?"

"Thank you, Professor," said the Countess, sounding faintly amused. She seated herself on a small sofa opposite the two younger men, and the Count took his place next to her. "Pym will be bringing more tea, I believe. It was accommodating of our son to invite you, and you are quite welcome to stay, even if you are a dangerous criminal. Which seems more than likely, given Mark's history."

"Surely not dangerous criminals, Cordelia," put in the Count. "In fact, I can't think of a single rescuee of his who was actually a criminal under Barrayaran law. Jacksonian, Escobaran, yes; but no one home-grown." He looked quite interested. "Has he achieved that with you, Professor? Although I can't say you look very Barrayaran to me."

Mark cleared his throat again. "The Professor is from Earth, originally. He taught at, er, a small school in Scotland."

"Really?" asked the Countess. "What did you teach, Professor? And how did you end up on Beta?"

Snape had just enough presence of mind to answer the first question with, "Chemistry," but had no idea how to answer the second, and was only saved by the entrance of Pym, bringing the tea trolley for its second visit.

"Ah, Pym," the Count said in a satisfied manner, "just what we needed. You're a magician." Pym bowed his head in acknowledgement, just as Snape bowed his to hide what he was afraid was an involuntary flush of embarrassment. Both looked up simultaneously and caught each other's eye; Pym gazed at Snape curiously for a second, then, after a murmured "M'lord. Milady," turned and exited in a butlerian manner.

"I've seen vids of Earth, of course," said the Countess, apparently not noticing that her question had gone unanswered, "but I've never been there. It looks quite beautiful. Scotland is where the heather grows, isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Snape, then, feeling that he should add something and inspired by the remark about heather, said, "Your planet is beautiful as well. What I've seen of it. Are the plants that look like Earth ones native here, or did the settlers bring them?" He had, with his involuntary botanical eye, noted the predominance of familiar trees in his whirlwind tour of Vorbarr Sultana, including a magnificent maple in the grounds of Vorkosigan House, and he saw now for the first time the maple-leaf design worked into the crest embroidered on the Count's uniform. And then there were the Emperor's roses. Ignorant of Barrayaran history, apart from Mark's sparse hints, he hoped that there had been settlers, and he was not making a complete idiot of himself. Somehow he knew, however, that the Count and Countess, however much they might resemble a different species in their confidence and augustness, were his collateral... descendants, in a sense.

"Oh, no," the Count replied, "they were brought by the original settlers, although some have been added since, of course. We're aggressively terraforming some areas of the planet, leaving others alone. Are you interested in botany?"

"My speciality is... botanical chemistry," Snape answered. You could call it that, I suppose. Zoological, at times, too.

"We'll have to get Ekaterin to show you her garden, then," said the Countess brightly. "On the comconsole, I suppose, because the actual site doesn't have much in it as yet. Barrayaran native plants," she explained, insufficiently for Snape.

"You might enjoy a look at... now, where is it?" the Count said, rising and going to a set of shelves halfway down the long room. "Ah, yes," he said finally, removing a book from a high shelf, and returning to the tea table. "This has been in the family for generations. It's a herbal from somewhere in the middle of the Time of Isolation, when the Barrayarans had learned to use native plants as well as the few Earth herbs they had at their disposal." He handed the book to Snape; it was strikingly familiar in its general appearance, though not, of course, one he had seen before. He surreptitiously caressed the worn leather binding and inhaled the musty scent, feeling a wave of homesickness wash over him; if he had closed his eyes, he could have been in the library at Hogwarts. He opened the book carefully, but had barely time to register an impression of the illustrations of odd brown-red plants before a chiming noise across the room brought his head up.

The Count moved to a desk in the corner. He put his hand to the device resting on the desk, and spoke. "Yes?" A man's face and upper torso formed in the air; Snape could not help but find it odd that there were no flames surrounding the face.

"My lord Count," said the man's image, "I'm very glad to have caught you at home."

"What would be the problem, General Allegre?" said the Count. Snape heard Mark curse under his breath.

"Simon Illyan is in the hospital at ImpMil. He came in with severe pains in his stomach; the doctors put a gastroscope down and it seems he has an acute case of ulcers, all over the stomach lining, getting worse by the moment. Apparently that's not supposed to happen. They suspect poisoning."

"I have a feeling," the Count replied, after a second of intent silence, during which Snape thanked whatever gods might be that Illyan had taken the Vesiculaserum, even if internally, rather than the death elixir, "that you're not just informing me of this because Simon is one of my oldest friends."

"No, my lord," said the General. "Simon also suspected he had been poisoned, it seems, and before he lost consciousness, he said something about Vorkosigan House... and your son Mark."

"I see," said the Count, looking very grave. "Thank you, General, for alerting me; if we could keep this at our level for the time being, I would much appreciate it. You may be assured I will inform you if ImpSec personnel are required."

The Countess, who had risen and joined her husband at the news of Illyan's illness, now leaned over his shoulder and spoke. "Is Alys Vorpatril with him?" she asked.

"Yes, Lady Vorpatril arrived twenty minutes after he was brought in," the General assured her.

"Then tell her --" The Countess glanced at her husband, raising her eyebrows; he looked back at her and nodded. "Tell her I'll be there shortly."

"I will, milady. Thank you," said the General, and the screen went blank.

"I'm sure you can handle this, love," the Countess said quietly to her husband, then she approached Snape and Mark, who both rose to their feet in anticipation of her departure. She put a tentative hand on Mark's shoulder, then bent and kissed his cheek wordlessly. Mark gave her an appreciative look. Turning to Snape, she held out her hand. He took it, wondering if Barrayaran etiquette necessitated hand-kissing, but the Countess gave him a firm handshake and looked him in the eyes. "I trust," she said, "that I will be seeing you again, Professor."

I trust. "I certainly hope so, madam," he replied, trying not to betray any lack of confidence, and she favoured him with a little half-smile, and left the room.

Snape and Mark seated themselves again in silence, and the Count returned to the sofa. "I think," he said very seriously, "the two of you have some explaining to do."

The rambling statements that followed, mostly from Mark's lips with monosyllabic amendments and redirections by Snape, made two things at least clear to the Count: neither his guest nor his son could have been directly responsible for poisoning Simon Illyan; and the wholly inexplicable bottles that his guest had carried into the Emperor's garden were likely to be the source of the poison. Also, Snape's refusal to discuss just how and why he had come to be in the garden must be highly suspicious, although he tried to follow the earlier conversational lead and indicate that it had something to do with botanical resources. He doubted the Count believed a word of it. He toyed briefly with the idea of pretending the bottles had contained weed killer, and that he had been attempting to sabotage the Emperor's roses as a desperate bid to win at an upcoming garden show, but it seemed far too thin a story (the Count had probably lunched with the Barrayaran Society of Horticulturalists just last week), and it was quite possible that Imperial floracide was punishable by death on Barrayar, or by a flogging with rose canes.

As though he were reading Snape's mind, the Count said, "Well, the accidental poisoning of the former head of ImpSec is certainly a less serious crime than the assassination of an Emperor, but it still won't be taken lightly, unless we can attach some logical preamble to that 'I found myself in the South Garden' nonsense, Professor. I wonder why Simon thought it necessary to test the poison on himself, though?" he mused. "Not some side effect of his... disability, I hope. Alys Vorpatril will never forgive herself." He pulled himself back to the matter at hand with an effort. "I need answers. If necessary, Professor, I will spell out the political background, but let me say in brief that it is not a good thing for any Vorkosigan to be involved however peripherally in what could be seen as a plot against the Imperium. Or any kind of plot at all, frankly. For Mark's sake, and for mine, I need you to tell me the truth, or as much of it as you possibly can."

Snape mustered his thoughts, which were scattering like a flock of pixies. Until now, he had assumed that his best strategy for returning to England safely was to be as passive as possible, and wait to be sent back by whatever force had brought him here. Mark's revelation about reappearing on Beta in exactly the same place and moment as he had departed it had made him even more certain that waiting, difficult as it was, was the correct course of action. But now he began to wonder if he had some purpose for being here, a goal to be accomplished before he would be allowed to go home. In fact, he was beginning to have a desperate need to do something. He suspected, too, that Count Vorkosigan would not allow him to remain passive.

"I was carrying the bottles for defensive purposes," he said finally. "Only one had a true poison in it; it appears that Illyan took the other one, which was intended for external use. The idea was to throw it in someone's face, if he threatened... the person I was protecting. My mission was to watch over him until he reached his destination. The person under my protection, I mean."

Mark interrupted him. "You know," he said bluntly, "it would be a lot easier for us if you just used names. It's frankly kind of irritating to hear about all these anonymous people. And although I'm quite sure," he looked sideways at his father, "your business has no relevance to us, clarity does help go a little further toward proving a negative."

Snape was frankly irritated as well; it was so clearly none of Mark's business what he had been doing on that train that he felt it an intrusion to speak of it, even in the convoluted fashion he had been forced into. Native caution warred with sense, tainted and reluctant loyalty pulled in both directions, and finally, stretched beyond any need for reticence or reason, he snapped out, "Oh, very well. It was Harry Potter."

It was not as though he hadn't known. Still, the complete non-reaction of both the Vorkosigans to his statement took him aback; it was as though something had shifted subtly in the perspective of the room, the angle of light, the perception of his eyes. Of course these people had never heard of Potter; it was stupid and ridiculous to have thought otherwise. But somehow the blank and patient expressions on the similar faces of these two men brought it home to him, more than anything else he had experienced here, that his world was lost and gone. Harry Potter had been dead for centuries, and whatever he had achieved those many years and worlds away, whether he had defeated Voldemort, changed history, and lived to a ripe old age, or had been cursed to death as he stepped off the train in Plymouth, mattered no longer. And appealing as a world was in which people failed to fall over backwards at the sound of that name, Snape could not help but feel a desperate loneliness creep into him, not so much at the thought of what he had left behind himself (for he still hoped to return to his world unhurt, if not entirely unchanged), but at the realisation that in this time and place he was the only person for whom those things, that name,had any significance. Harry Potter needed him now, far more than he had ever needed him in the world of their mutual birth.

Snape stifled a quite irrational desire to start calling out a litany of familiar names, and forced himself back to the present moment despite the echo of Dumbledore, Voldemort, McGonagall, Black, Pettigrew, Lupin, Malfoy, Karkaroff, Moody, and so forth, sounding in his head. "I need to get back to him," he said aloud, voice tense with the anger he had been suppressing since his arrival, and with something else unexpected: fear, not for himself, but for Potter. "Anything could be happening. So much depends on..." On me? On him. It has to matter, or else I am truly lost. He balled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms.

"If we cannot serve in one place," said the Count thoughtfully, "sometimes we can serve in another. Did you make this... ulcer-producing liquid yourself?" Snape nodded, fighting to concentrate. "Could you make an antidote? Or instruct the ImpMil doctors how to make one?"

Snape nodded again, slowly, grasping with both hands and a relieved mind at a clear, simple, attainable goal. "I think so," he said. "I had better try to make it myself, if I can get access to a laboratory, and the correct ingredients."

"I'm not sure about the latter," put in Mark, "but we can manage the former. Vorkosigan House has some surprising amenities. And since Enrique is away -- well, I'm sure he won't mind in the least." His face lit as a new idea occurred to him. "Ooh, but Miles... Miles is going to shit bricks when he finds out what he missed. Hah." He got to his feet. "Come on, Professor. I'll show you the way."