The Essence of Susan Jones

Many a colour may shade an emotion.
I'm in the neutral, staying grey with devotion.
Black fades to charcoal, fades to grey, then to white,
As I slowly surrender to the shadow of my plight.
But if I had my way and could wander and stray,
I would go in between shades of amber and green.

Snape opened his eyes and looked across his private chambers, his eyes settling on his office doors. The first of September. With a groan of displeasure, he rolled out of bed and made his way to the bath. The cold, smooth stone floor was a sharp contrast to the plush rug that adorned his bedroom. That change was enough to jolt him completely awake.

A swift, inarticulate warming spell eased the chill on his feet as he drew himself a bath. His nightshirt dropped to the ground, then he stepped into the tub, enjoying the sting of hot water on his chilled flesh.

Susan Jones... He began to devise a plan for research. He could always begin with Albus. After all, the old wizard had chosen to send him half way across the world to retrieve the woman. Surely, this entitled him to some bit of information regarding her background.

Other bloody form--what, in the name of Merlin, was she alluding to?

It could mean that she was some sort of changeling, perhaps. Severus Snape had known a few changelings and dismissed the idea that Susan Jones was one of them. There was always something about a changeling that remained unchanged when they shifted. Usually, it was the colouring of their skin; changelings had a hint of their true colour about their skin, be it pinkish or bluish. Sometimes it was in the hair or the eyes, that abnormally inhuman colouring.

Susan was normal. There was not a hint of abnormality about her. That, in itself, was abnormal.

Metamorphmagus?

That was a very rare trait. Snape knew of only one metamorphmagus, Nymphadora Tonks. He made a mental note to check for other known metamorphmagi.

That explanation seems far too simple. Albus told me that Susan Jones is not a witch. That rules out the Metamorphmagus hypothesis. Or, does it?

Snape had no more time to think about Miss Jones today. The students were arriving, and he had preparations to make. Still, the mystery galled him. All he wanted was more time to figure out what in the bloody hell was going on.

Susan Jones--who the hell is the chit?

Susan Jones awoke with a start on September first. The gravity of her situation was beginning to bear down on her at last. She was no longer alone in her little house, far away from everyone and everything. She was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the other side of the ocean from her safe haven.

Children, loads of them, would be arriving today to start a new term. People about the castle, day and night. Questions. Questions about her. Snape, for one, would want answers, and he would want them soon.

For a long, silent time I have waited in stillness, away from the eyes of the people I know. If I break from the peace I meticulously assembled, Susan will crumble, the end of the show.

It was nearly time to join the staff for breakfast but Susan was still sitting in bed. With steely determination, she rose and entered the bathroom, quickly casting her wrapper to the floor.

After a brief soak, she slid into the only spare outfit she had brought with her. They were Muggle clothes, consisting of an olive green, cotton blouse and a pair of brown, twill trousers. After completing the outfit with her worn, brown boots, she made her way out of her rooms and into the hallway to meet with Professor Snape.

He was waiting for Susan just outside her door. In his experience, it was unusual for women to be on time consistently, but he expected that discipline from her.

The woman stepped out of her room. "Hello," she said, closing the door behind her.

"Miss Jones."

Together, they began to make their way out of the dungeons. "It is so confusing the way the stairs move all the time," she remarked. "How many students get lost trying to negotiate the castle?"

"A fair few, especially during the first month. I could suggest drawing up maps and passing them out to the new arrivals, but I enjoy removing house points when they are tardy to my class. My colleagues are far too generous in awarding them. I level the pitch by deducting them," he admitted.

Chuckling, Susan said, "How very noble of you."

"Noble?" Snape snorted. "Noble is not a term one generally uses when describing me."

They had arrived at the staff room now. The start-of-term breakfast meeting was about to begin. Susan paused just outside the door. "Professor Snape, just how many teachers are there?"

"Fourteen professors live and teach at Hogwarts. There are other members of the staff, such as Mediwitches, a librarian, a groundskeeper, et cetera. Occasionally, guest lecturers or instructors come to stay here throughout the term," he informed her.

"Will they all be at breakfast?" There was a note of apprehension in her voice.

"I believe so," he replied impatiently. "We must be seated immediately."

Susan bit her lip. She seemed visibly distressed, very unlike her usual stoic demeanour. "You know, I'm not really hungry," she said.

"Regardless, you will attend the meeting. Surely a cup of tea wouldn't--"

"No, I think I'm going to go back to my room for a bit," Susan replied quickly. "Give my regards to Dumbledore and tell him I'll come to the luncheon."

Susan had already begun to scurry away from the staff room when Snape called out, "Miss Jones, the Headmaster instructed you to attend this meeting!" It was futile. The woman had bolted, and he refused to chase after her.

Snape made his way into the room and directly to the tea service before noticing that he was the last to arrive, yet again. When he had his cup, he found a seat next to McGonagall.

"Where is Miss Jones, Severus?" Minerva asked, placing her cup on the table. Dumbledore, seated next to her, was waiting for his reply, as well.

"She refused to join us," Snape answered. "I think she was reluctant to be introduced to so many people at once." Snape looked at Dumbledore, thinking, Really, Albus, she looked terrified. Why won't you tell me who the hell she is?

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore said, "She will reveal herself to us all in good time, I'm sure. I trust you will let her know what we discuss at this meeting, Severus."

Snape nodded his agreement, and then turned his attention to Quirrell, who sat to his right. Idiot. If the staff and the meeting were any indication of the coming year, there were tiresome days ahead.

Even though she had been expecting him, the knock on her door startled her. Susan let Snape inside her room.

"Sorry I dashed away like that," she offered.

"No matter, Miss Jones. I'm here to brief you," Snape replied curtly.

"I think I need to speak with Dumbledore privately. Could you ask him to come down here and see me?"

"He is very busy. In case you have forgotten, he has a school to govern, and today is start of term."

"I know but,well, maybe you could help me," she said.

He sighed dramatically before asking, "Help you with what?"

"I want you to ward my door and make it unplottable."

"No."

"Professor Snape, I have thought about it and I really don't want students stumbling in on me. If my door were unplottable, then no one would--"

He held up his hand to silence the woman. "This is Slytherin territory. I am the head of Slytherin House, Miss Jones, and I assure you that my students will not harass you. Albus placed you here for that reason." While he spoke to her, he noticed that she kept her eyes on the door, more concerned with that than with what he was saying. "Are you expecting someone?" he inquired.

"No, and I would like to keep it that way," Susan replied. "If I could speak with Albus about this, I'm sure he--"

"He will be at the luncheon. You may talk with him then."

"Will you stop interrupting me?" she snapped.

Amused by her loss of composure, Snape allowed a rare half-smile to grace his lips. "So, you do have a temper," he mused.

She closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. "You said that you were here to brief me. What did I miss?" Her blank expression had returned and her voice had reverted to its normal monotone.

"Shall we sit?" he asked, nodding at the chairs by the hearth.

"Yes," she said, with resignation.

The luncheon proceeded without Miss Jones. Again, she refused to attend, and Snape made no attempt to change her mind. He suspected she would be absent from the feast, as well. Snape dismissed her and her problems, realising he had much to do before the students arrived. The last thing he needed was to play nursemaid to a grown woman.

His lesson plans were in order, the dormitories were ready, his classroom was properly equipped, and his potions store was full: Snape was prepared for the new school year. Only one thing left to do now: go to the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony and start-of-term feast.

He sat at the staff table throughout the event, watching the new arrivals nervously introduce themselves to their respective housemates--and carefully observing the Potter boy. He looks like his sodding father. Another ginger-haired, spotted boy sat near Potter. That makes a half-dozen Weasleys to date. The word Contraceptus comes to mind.

Down in the dungeons, Susan sat before a mirror examining her own reflection. She released her shoulder-length, brown hair from its plait, allowing it to frame her face and neck. Her spectacles were deposited on the vanity, next to a box she had opened less than twenty minutes ago. Standing, she let her clothes fall in a pile around her ankles. She turned to examine her profile. After one last look into the mirror, she walked into the bathroom and submerged her form into steamy liquid. She closed her eyes, resting her head on the lip of the tub, letting her mind drift...

..."Papa, can I come in?" a small child asked as she peeked into her parents' bedroom.

"

For Snape, the first weeks of teaching had been arduous. In addition to his duties, he'd been busy researching Susan Jones. According to his investigations, there were thousands of women named Susan Jones living all over the globe. He narrowed the search to include only those between the ages of 20 and 30, which he assumed she was. It was such a common name that he eventually conceded defeat and decided to go to Dumbledore with his questions.

On a Friday night, Snape broached the subject of Susan Jones. Snape refused the sweet atrocities the Headmaster offered him--this time it was chocolate-covered Jelly Slugs--and seated himself on the visitor's side of the desk.

"What can I do for you, my dear boy?" asked Dumbledore warmly.

Severus always had to keep from cringing when he was addressed as such. "I have some questions about Miss Jones."

"Of course, you do."

"Specifically I wish to know who she is," Snape began. "Have you any idea how many Susan Joneses there are?" Dumbledore did not answer, though he looked amused. "If she is in danger, then allowing her to stay on here is not in the students' best interest."

"Severus, I know you don't trust people easily, given your, er, troubled background," Dumbledore said, looking over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Susan merely needs time to adjust before she confides in anyone."

"Headmaster, whatever you tell me about the woman, I will keep to myself," Snape assured him.

"I will say this much: You will not find what you are looking for by investigating her name."

Snape leaned on one hand, scowling at Dumbledore. He blinked, slowly. Finally, he said, "Obviously, you do not trust me." He leapt up from the chair and strode swiftly to the door. There he turned, muttered a brisk "Good evening, Headmaster" over his shoulder, and left the office.

Roiling with emotions ranging from exasperation to fury, Snape stormed back to the dungeons. He had half a mind to barge into Susan's room and demand answers. The other half of his mind contemplated the scene that would cause, drawing attention to the woman down the hall--and his own lack of control.

He would have his answers. In time, she would reveal her secrets. Scrupulous observation and a talent for stealth--skills that had saved his life many times--would serve him once more. He had evaded even Voldemort's scrutiny. Spying on one woman would be child's play.

For the next few weeks, Susan spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was called to serve in a classroom. She had spoken to very few of the students, and that was fine with her. One girl, though, caught in the act of trying to hand in a dirty cauldron, had reacted with fear when Susan called her to task. The girl revealed there were rumours circulating through the school about Susan--that she was a student who had misbehaved in Potions and had been given a detention, which had turned into a life sentence of potion brewing and servitude to Snape. Susan neither acknowledged nor denied the rumour. When the student returned with cauldron, it was immaculate.

Finally having grown tired of lurking in the dank dungeons, Susan decided to go into Hogsmeade, without the aid of any escort. The air was colder than she had anticipated, but she found it invigorating; it was a fresh and welcome change.

She observed the townspeople, unnoticed by them as usual. For years now, Susan had been living in absolute anonymity, but something was awakening within her that was both distressing and bewildering. It wasn't that she craved recognition or even acknowledgement. What Susan wanted was to remember, without regret or fear, the way life used to be. How? How do I move past the barrier in me--the place where you were? This emptiness can never be filled. Were you the start of me, or I the start of you? If I look in a mirror, whose eyes will I see?

Susan expected him to be there in the pub. Snape had just returned from his monthly errand of delivering the potion. When she opened the door and looked across the room, sure enough, he was there.

She took a moment to look at him. She'd been so surprised the first time she'd seen him, she hadn't dared study him closely. Now, she saw that he hadn't changed much over the years, except he had grown a bit taller. He still had that ever-present aura of sad acceptance. Her heart ached.

Susan was surprised by the feeling and even more surprised by what happened next. Empathy turned to boldness. As she glided across the pub to his table, she cautioned herself, bland, ordinary, Susan.

"Good afternoon," she said plainly.

Remus Lupin looked up. His eyes were tired, but full of kindness, and his smile was warm and genuine when he replied, "Miss Jones is it? Good afternoon." Lupin stood, pulling out a chair for her. As she sat beside him, he said, "How nice to see you, again. I'm sorry our first meeting ended so quickly. Severus can be rather abrupt."

"I have gathered as much," she replied. "Please, do call me Susan, won't you?"

"Well then, Susan, you must call me Remus. Would you care to join me in a glass of wine?"

She smiled. "Thank you, Remus."

He signalled to the barkeep. "You are quite welcome. So, how is it that you know Professor Snape?" he asked.

"I don't know Professor Snape," Susan replied flatly. "I doubt that anyone does."

Remus chuckled, and said, "Then, you do know him. Are you staying at Hogwarts?"

"I am."

"Pardon me for asking, but you don't seem like a teacher. What do you do there?"

"Technically, I am a professor's assistant. Mostly, I hide in the dungeons and bide my time," she answered.

"They put you in the dungeons with Snape?"

"My rooms are in Slytherin House, yes, but I am not with Snape," Susan said firmly. She lifted her head and looked around the pub.

"Are you expecting someone?" Lupin asked.

"No, but I am not supposed to leave the grounds."

"Prisoner, are we?"

"Of sorts." Susan nodded to the bartender, who had brought her wine. She took a sip. "So, Remus, what do you do?" She already knew the answer, but wanted to see if anything had changed.

"Oh, well, I do odd jobs, mostly. I aspire to be a teacher one day, though," he said brightly.

Her smile returned and broadened. "Teaching is an odd job, Remus. Every mind is different than the next, and every talent, unique." Susan leaned toward him. "It takes a chameleonesque individual to adapt to the vagaries of the immature mind."

"I have never heard it put quite that way before."

"Haven't you?" she quipped. Watch it. What are you playing at? Retract.

"Perhaps..." he thought for a moment, "perhaps, I have. By any chance, you wouldn't know…oh, never mind."

Susan was relieved by his casual dismissal of her statement. She shouldn't have gone so far. She changed the subject. "Do you come here often?" The triteness of that question made her wince, and she added, "That came out wrong. I do promise that was not my attempt at a pick-up line. If it were, I'd do ever so much better, rendering you incapable of resisting my many charms."

Lupin roared with laughter and assured her, "Susan, if you were you coming on to me, I would not recognise it unless you clubbed me about the head with a Bludger bat and dragged me to the dungeons by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin."

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference," she promised.

He smiled speculatively and said, "You have a way with words."

"Wayward, that's me. Some think I should be evaluated for mental instability."

"Snape, no doubt."

"Spot on, my dear Lupin!" she exclaimed.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded the woman before him with perplexity. "Miss Jones, have we met before? There's something about you."

"In another lifetime, perhaps. Past or future," she said longingly. She looked over at the door again, this time seeing the one person she had hoped to elude. "Bugger, I'm in this arse over tit now."

He had just returned from his trip to Hogsmeade when he heard Miss Jones' door open. Rather than approach her and ask questions, which he knew she would not answer, Snape slid into the shadows of a corridor to his left.

She appeared to be in quite a hurry as she stole down the hall and then up the stairs. After following her out of the castle, Snape realised that Susan Jones was on her way to Hogsmeade. He drew his wand and placed a tracking spell on her. He would wait for her to reach her destination and then he would Apparate; there was no need for him to make the long walk. Roughly an hour later, when she had been idle for twenty minutes or so, he did just that.

He entered the pub and scanned the room, spotting the werewolf first. His eyes narrowed. Lupin and Jones were laughing and enjoying their drinks in sweet oblivion, like two old friends. As the dark wizard approached them, they snapped out of their reverie.

"Miss Jones, I see that, yet again, you have taken it upon yourself to flout the headmaster's directives," he accused.

"Will you join us, Professor Snape?" Susan inquired.

"I have no intention of socialising with present company," Snape informed her.

"I thought you were at Hogwarts."

"It is not for you to concern yourself with my location, Miss Jones. Unfortunately, I have been saddled with the tedious chore of monitoring yours."

"Severus, I think you are being harsh. Susan is a grown woman capable of making her own decisions," Lupin pointed out.

With a wave of one hand, Snape was about to ignore that comment, but then changed his mind. "Susan, is it?"

"It has been since you found me, Professor," she retorted. Turning to her companion, she said, "Remus, I have to go back with Professor Snape, but I thank you for a most pleasurable conversation."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to stay?" Lupin looked at Snape but spoke to Susan. "I am rather enjoying your company."

"Amazing," Snape snorted. "Already sniffing after her tail, Lupin? Pity it's nearly the wrong time of the month for you."

"That was tasteless, Snape," Lupin said hotly.

"Not as bland as the bait, I assure you," Snape replied.

Susan exhaled heavily. If I had wand, I would conjure a demon, then to Hell you would go in a shroud of blood. Tempt me not; I need barely a reason to watch your head fall to the floor with a thud. She patted Lupin's hand, then rose to stand next to Snape.

Gratified, Snape said, "Come, Miss Jones. The headmaster will want a word with you." He turned on his heel, clearly expecting her to follow him out the door.

"Remus, you know where to find me," Susan called over her shoulder.

"If you need anything, send for me. The dungeons can be very nasty," Remus said, with feeling.

At the Hogsmeade side of the Forbidden Forest, Snape came to a stop. "In the interest of time, we will Apparate to Hogwarts," he decided.

"You do realise that you will have to touch me for that to work, don't you?" Susan asked.

"Yes," Snape huffed.

Susan wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his heavy, black robes encircle her. He tensed as he put one arm around her waist. In an instant, the journey ended. "I forgot how strange that feels," remarked Susan. "I've never gotten used to it."

Snape arched an eyebrow, examining the woman. I am weary of this charade. "What are you hiding, Miss Jones?"

"There is nothing up my sleeve or under my hat," she sang out as she walked purposefully across the lawn toward the castle.

Severus Snape had had enough of games. On the stairs, he caught her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her around to face him. "This has gone on too long! I went to the back of beyond to bring you to this place. I want an explanation!"

"I am not obliged to tell you anything!" Susan shot back.

Snape released his grip in order to draw his wand and point it in her face. "I have many talents, Miss Jones," he hissed. "You need not speak to give me answers. Legilimens!"

Susan felt him enter her mind, but she did not resist. Instead, she decided to give the professor a bit of a picture show. If he wanted to see her memories and thoughts, he was going to get his money's worth. She couldn't block him out, but she had learned how to misdirect her thoughts when being violated. She knew that certain things would never be found in the recesses of her mind. Albus Dumbledore had taken care of that years ago, when he became her secret keeper.

Hydrogen plus oxygen yields water. Water freezes at 0 degrees Celsius, 32 degrees Fahrenheit, or 273.15 Kelvin. The capitol of Mexico is Mexico City. Tequila is an alcoholic drink made in the arid highlands of central Mexico from fermented and distilled sap of the agave. Fill a large glass with ice. Add one part tequila, one part lime juice, and a dash of cointreau. I prefer mine shaken, not stirred. La cucaracha, la cucaracha, Ya no puede caminar. Porque no tiene? Porque le falta? Marijuana que fumar! Somebody pass me the salt.

When Snape pulled away, Susan laughed hysterically. "What in the bloody hell was that?" he hissed.

"Yo no sé!" she howled.

"Silence!" Though he was attempting to control her, his command lacked force. Snape shrank back.

Susan moved closer. "Would you like to have another go at it? I have an excellent recipe for Martinis. Oh, and I think Luck Be a Lady would go smashingly with that, don't you?" She paused, tapping a finger on her lips. "My German is a little rusty, but I'm sure I could recall something to go with a weißbier."

"Enough!" Snape roared.

In sheer exasperation, he seized her wrist and marched into the castle. Inside, he prodded her toward Dumbledore's office with the tip of his wand. "I will have my answers now! Chocolate Lacewings, " he spat out to the gargoyles flanking the spiral staircase. They sprang apart. When Snape and Susan reached the office door, it swung open, catching them both by surprise.

"Kindly step in and take a seat--after apologising to Miss Jones, of course," Dumbledore said evenly to Severus Snape.