Destiny of Souls

Chapter 2: The Death Eater

The next few weeks spun dizzily by. She had traveled to Diagon Alley in London to visit Flourish and Blotts, where most of her students would be purchasing their books. Everything on that front was arranged.

She had stopped in Ollivander's to purchase a wand. It was a curious experience to say the least. Professor Nabokov broke her own wand in her second year at Durmstrang. He had become frustrated by her inability to give up using it. It was a Gregorovitch creation and she had never had it replaced.

"I have never seen you here before. What is your name?" replied Mr. Ollivander.

"Kara Lynch. I studied in Europe. I had a Gregorovitch wand, however it has fallen into disrepair and I wish to purchase a replacement," she had told him. It was a clever way of putting things that didn't reveal too much.

"Ah I see. And what did your wand contain? Let me guess. Unicorn hair. You seem like quite the charm worker," he said cunningly as he came close to her.

She suddenly noticed a small tape measure bouncing around her. Measuring her arms, the space between her eyes, then and length of her nose. She attempted to ignore it.

"Phoenix feather actually."

"Oh indeed!" he seemed delighted.

They tried at least one hundred different wands. He was tireless, but nonetheless confused and when they had finally found the right wand he was more than surprised. "I would have never guessed Ms. Lynch. Phoenix feather and birch nine and a half inches and very springy. This particular phoenix was very shy and reluctant. I found him in a forest in Ireland. Quite a delightful bird I must say."

She nodded politely, but didn't really care; it wasn't as if she would really use it. It was merely a prop.

She bought new robes and much to her chagrin they were equipped with a wand pocket. Her old robes, which were custom made in Paris, had no such useless pocket. At least she would have somewhere to stick the thing when she didn't want to look at it. She acquired new black work robes in addition to the more casual ones she had chosen. She doubted she would ever wear them, considering Hogwarts must have a trained Potions Master. However, should the need arise, showing up in a laboratory in stained robes would be unprofessional. Polishnikov had always come to class wearing crisp clean robes, pressed neatly no doubt by House Elves.

Her Aunt and Uncle had no problems replacing her for the more mundane tasks. It only took her a week to show her replacement how the store operated and what potions needed to be made. Her remaining time was spent preparing her lessons and going over the notes of the previous Defense teachers. September was approaching quickly.

The Saturday morning before she was to begin teaching classes, she Apparated to the Hogsmeade train station. Pulling out her wand and using a levitation spell she moved her things towards the school. "What a waste of money" she thought to herself looking down at her wand. It was awkward to have her hands out in this manner. She was used to silently folding them in front of her, tucked inside her robes. Her hands would rest gently on her elbows. Just as Nabokov had done.

She took in the beauty of Hogwarts as she approached. It was nothing at all like Durmstrang and the pictures she had seen in Hogwarts, A History were nothing compared to the real experience. There were fields of green grass with purple and yellow flower patches here and there. There was a huge lake and a thick forest just at the border of the fields. To one side sat a huge Quidditch pitch. It had been such a long time since she had watched a Quidditch game.

As she approached the school, she spied Professor Dumbledore standing at the foot of the castle waiting for her.

"Hello Professor Lynch. Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thank you Headmaster. The grounds are lovely," she said as they shook hands.

"Nice wand," he winked at her, again as he had when they first met. What a strange man, she thought to herself. Strange, in the way brilliant people tend to be.

He guided her into the entrance hall. It was a very open room with a large staircase. Portraits were hung delicately around the open area and sconces provided just enough light to see the figures waving at her. They proceeded up the stairs and to her quarters where she deposited her things. She tucked the wand into the silly wand pocket of her robes. How will I ever get used to this thing? She asked to herself.

"Let me show you your office and classroom," he stated as they walked down the hall. The door to her quarters locked and a detection spell was cast unbeknownst to Professor Dumbledore or any of the portraits in the hall. There was no wand waving involved.

Her classroom was a nice size with tall ceilings. Scorch marks covered the walls.

"This room has been through some battles, Headmaster," she said jokingly at him as she ran her hands over the smooth stained walls. He laughed back at her in response. He was a kind and gentle man. Not at all what she expected considering the legends of his great power.

There were windows too, and lots of them. She hoped over time she would be able to remedy this problem.

Her office was more acceptable. It had no windows and plenty of empty bookshelves. A small fire was lit and the room was comfortably furnished with a desk and two leather chairs suitable for reading in.

When they were finished he escorted her back to her quarters where they chatted briefly in her empty sitting room about the castle ghosts, the portraits, hidden passages and the kitchens; little things that a Professor would need to know in order to maintain order within the school. Other things, like the Houses, how points were maintained and other administrative items were laid out in a book he handed her. She made a mental note to read it cover to cover prior to sleep.

"There will be a staff meeting over tea at 5pm in the Great Hall just down there," he pointed to his left. "See you then." He smiled and drifted off.

She began unpacking. Her room had windows that she covered immediately with the velvet drapes already present. They were red, not purple as she had hoped but that problem was quickly remedied with a single thought. Her books, she decided, would have to stay in her office, as there were no bookshelves here. A sneakoscope, a foe glass and her myriad of singing hourglasses were lined upon the mantle over the fireplace. What few potions supplies she had brought remained in her trunk. "No use cluttering the room" she said out loud.

She hoped the Potions Master was a nice enough person to lend her things when she needed them. If not, Hogsmeade was just a walk down the road. Once she had unpacked everything, including the books into her office she sat down on her bed and rested. Her thoughts drifted to her first day of class, of smiling faces, stern lectures, house points, Quidditch games. It felt good to be back in a house of learning.

* * *

An hourglass she had turned broke into the Ballad of the Harpies, one of her favorite songs. She began to dress for dinner. Black formal robes, she decided, would be most appropriate and give the best impression of her capabilities and knowledge of her subject. She hoped it was a good idea to flaunt that. She braided her long black hair instead of pulling it into a bun. It was the only girlish aspect of her overall look in contrast to the formal robes her own mentor might wear. She took a final deep breath and looked into the mirror.

"I certainly look the part of a Dark Arts Professor," she said out loud as she flattened out the lower part of her robes.

"You sure do laddie!" replied the mirror. She smiled. She was enjoying this.

She put on the most serious face she could muster and proceeded to the Great Hall. Both large doors were standing wide open. She peered quickly at the enchanted ceiling, taking in the deep blue sky that was a reflection of the current conditions outside the school. She did not want to appear too impressed or childish. It was quite a sight though, she thought to herself.

The Headmaster and all of the other Professors were sitting around a rectangular table setup in the middle of the room except one man who had just entered via a door to her left. He could have easily been her twin. Sallow skin, black shoulder length hair, black flowing robes not unlike hers, and a sneer to match. "He reeks of Dark Arts," she thought to herself. "There is no mistaking that look."

Their eyes met and did not leave each other until they sat at the table opposite each other. It was a simultaneous move they made, as if two foes were approaching a negotiating table on equal ground.

Dumbledore rose and the room became instantly quiet. "Welcome most treasured staff to another year. This is going to be an unquestionably difficult year and will test our personal strengths and convictions. After the prior events of last year we must be more cautious about our students, their behavior and our understanding of one another."

What was he getting at? What had happened last year?

"Now that Voldemort has returned."

These words hit her like lightning. Had he just said Voldemort had returned? This was impossible, surely she'd have heard about it. Kara held her face though, refusing to show the rest of the staff that she as unaware of the situation.

"We must take further steps to ensure the safety of the students. Therefore, Hogsmeade trips are cancelled until further notice."

The room began to stir and a short Professor spoke out loudly "The students will not be happy Dumbledore!"

"Yes Professor Flitwick, you are correct. However we have an obligation to our students to protect them. Additionally, two Professors will attend all Quidditch practices and no practices will be permitted after dark. We will be stepping up our nighttime patrols of the castle and the punishment for disobeying the curfew will be more severe. Are there any questions about these measures?"

The group was silent.

"Wonderful, then allow me to introduce Kara Lynch, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

The Professors all bowed their heads and greeted her. Dumbledore proceeded with introductions. "This is Professor Vector, Arithmancy. Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures."

"He has to be a giant," she thought to herself.

Kara nodded at each of the Professors as he said their names.

"Severus Snape, Potions Master," she nodded, as did he. Their eyes glued to each other wearing the same stern look on their faces. She sensed trouble in those eyes. She broke the gaze to nod to Professor Trelawny, McGonagall, Sprout, Sinistra and all the while she could see Snape staring at her, reading her expression. He was a calculating man. He saw her appearance, her own searching looks and he was trying to figure her out. It was not unexpected, but was something she was not looking forward to being distracted by.

When the introductions were finished, Dumbledore made a few more announcements. She looked directly at the Headmaster with a blank expression on her face. Out of her peripheral vision she could see Snape still looking at her. She turned her head. It was a searching look he was giving her; he wanted to play the staring game.

She was familiar with this game. She had played it many times with the boys at Durmstrang. It was a silent interrogation technique. Those not accustomed to communicating in this way always broke down, blinked, turned away first, spoke or broke the tension by smiling. She had been extremely good at it considering she could summon up any spell in a single thought to distract her opponent or force her body to freeze physically.

It was a penetrating stare to test her nerve. She was in no mood to play games right now. She met his gaze to acknowledge she saw him and then turned her attention back to the Headmaster. She had nonetheless accepted his challenge.

The food arrived and they had a quiet relaxing dinner. Professor Sinistra asked her about Paris, the newest fashions and the people. She had a lovely conversation with Hagrid and McGonagall about some of the more interesting students.

"Ah, them Weasley twins. Fred n George. Keepin' themselves in all sortsa trouble. Gotta watch them two," Hagrid said.

"Not to mention Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger!" barked McGonagall. "Always out of bed and distracted in class!"

"Ah now Professor McGonagall, the boy has been through so much!" spoke Professor Sprout.

"All the more reason he should not be stepping out of bounds." replied Snape coolly as he sipped his mulled wine.

Kara's mind was racing. Harry Potter was at Hogwarts. This fact had only just now entered her mind. Harry Potter was here and Voldemort was back. She met Snape's gaze again. He was obviously looking for her reaction to Harry Potter's name. She showed him none. She didn't look away this time and they continued their game. They both sat back in their chairs and stared at each other for several minutes. Kara sensed he was well practiced at this game. They continued on for several minutes. Neither of them blinked or moved a single muscle.

Dumbledore rose and marked the conclusion of dinner. She would play the game properly and wait for Snape to concede defeat by rising first, but apparently he had the same idea. They sat there staring at each other as the staff all left the room, except Dumbledore who was still standing at the end of the table.

He cleared his throat to get their attention. She gave Snape a thin wicked smile to let him know they would continue this later. They both turned their heads slowly towards the Headmaster.

"Severus, if you would kindly show Kara around the castle. It appears you two will have much to discuss."

"Yes Headmaster."

"Dinner was lovely Headmaster," she said as she rose, smiling at him.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it Professor Lynch. Have a good evening." He winked at her, again. She gave him a puzzled look only to find he was staring at the ceiling now.

She and Snape proceeded to the large doors of the Great Hall at equal pace, their robes billowing behind them. Twins indeed. It was a good thing, she thought to herself, that the doors were wide open. Having to compromise on who would open the door for who would have been a difficult game, not unlike the one they had just paused. To open the door for an opponent was a sign of inferiority. At Durmstrang, she and her opponent would often wait for others to open the door for them, and as a result they would sometimes wait for hours standing in the same spot staring at one another. It was a silly posturing move but important overall to the interaction with one another.

He led her to various places, keeping a brisk pace. He spoke very little except to identify rooms, passwords and hidden passages. They had covered the first two floors and were heading to the dungeons when he stopped. He turned to her and stepped in close so they were only a foot apart. He looked down at her. She could see he had deep black penetrating eyes and that his skin was slightly worn with time. He was a man of great trouble. For the first time, in a long time, she wished she could actually read minds.

She put on her innocent face as he spoke.

"We are near the same age. I would have recognized you if you attended Hogwarts. What school did you attend?"

Why did he care about her pedigree?

"Durmstrang." She raised her head proudly and stared him down.

"Impossible. Durmstrang does not admit girls. Do not lie to me. You do not want to make me your enemy on the first day," he replied in a soft but dangerous voice.

"Durmstrang admits girls under special circumstances Professor Snape. I was admitted as a favor to my Uncle. Can we continue this tour now? It is late and I have had a long day," she said in a non-threatening tone, hoping this would silence him. Kara was somewhat curious as to why he was not already aware of her background. Surely, Dumbledore would have told his staff about her past.

His eyes filled with even more hate and curiosity, but he turned away and walked on.

"This is the Potions classroom." She walked inside. She had not done this with the other classrooms, but she was astonished how similar it was to Polishnikov's. The empty workbenches, the cold drafty room with very little lighting, and the light airy smell of burnt ingredients. It had high ceilings to trap heat, and probably remained very cool even in the summer. It was the perfect place for a laboratory. He had good taste at least. She inspected the potions ingredients on shelves lining the walls and some of the equipment on the Professor's desk. He watched her as if he was expecting her to destroy his classroom.

"What was your focus of study at Durmstrang?" he pressed her, obviously not satisfied with his previous line of questioning. He also undoubtedly had some knowledge of how Durmstrang operated; an incredible feat considering how closely guarded its secrets were.

"I studied Potions under Polishnikov and I also studied unofficially under Nabokov," she said casually as if this remarkable achievement was something everyone could brag about.

Intent on not letting him continue with his questions, she left the classroom. He took the hint and continued the tour.

"This is the Prefect's bathroom. The password is pine fresh. It does not change."

As he said it, the door opened. She peered inside and then allowed the door to close. Snape made his move. She was trapped between the wall and him. Intent on not allowing him to intimidate her she stood up straight and stared into his dark eyes.

"Nabokov does not mentor students. You are lying to me. I don't understand why you are continuing with this charade. If all this were true Dumbledore would have told me," he whispered.

Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? Dumbledore had promised her he would only tell two other Professors. Since he didn't already know, Snape was obviously not one of those two. She needed to get over this, or just tell him. It was getting late and she could not keep up her cool demeanor for long.

"It is none of your business, Professor Snape," she snapped at him. She didn't move however.

"It is my business. You are clearly trained to practice the Dark Arts if you schooled at Durmstrang as you claim. I have a need to know what your intentions are. If you are going to lie to me, I will come to my own conclusions."

Several minutes passed and she clearly considered letting him do just that. He could tell she was searching for a way out of this. She could smell pumpkin juice on his breath. It was oddly comforting, and his gaze was penetrating her. She was quickly losing the game.

"I am under no obligation Professor Snape to reveal anything to you. The Headmaster is fully aware of my past already. And it shouldn't surprise you that I am trained in the Dark Arts, I am a Defense against he Dark Arts Professor afterall."

"The Headmaster trusts me and would have already told me about Nabokov Professor Lynch."

Why was Snape so concerned and where was he going with this? How did he know about Nabokov? And it's not as if she was a Voldemort supporter. And then it hit her. That's precisely what he thought.

"I am not a Death Eater, Professor Snape if that is what you're implying." She retorted. "I know you are not a Death Eater, but not everyone that works for the Dark Lord is a Death Eater."

Dark Lord? Why had he used this term? Snape, who so obviously practiced the Dark Arts didn't call him Voldemort. He knew she wasn't a Death Eater and how was he so sure? This could only mean one thing. But surely Dumbledore wouldn't allow him to teach here if he was...

He stepped in closer. She didn't step back but leaned into him. She was going to tell him everything but then she noticed a ghost floating by. They needed privacy.

"Very well Professor Snape, I will tell you anything you want to know, but not here in the corridor where anyone can hear about my personal business. Your office or mine, I don't care which."

Apparently satisfied, he turned and walked towards the dungeons. She followed him. He unlocked his office and stepped inside. Closing the door behind him, he stood in front of it with his arms folded as if guarding her only escape route. It was Nabokov's familiar stance.

"Out with it," he snapped. She looked at him. His brow was furrowed and his face indicated he was intent on getting an answer that suited him.

She stalled, walking further into the room to examine the ever so familiar potions ingredients on his shelves; green slime and the contorted bodies of dead creatures soaking in solution always reminded her of Polishnikov. How was she going to say this in a way that wouldn't provoke Snape to kill her on the spot? She turned to him when she was at a safe distance and had located a suitable place to hide should he pull out his wand.

"I have Inner Focus. I studied under Nabokov to perfect it."

His face became slack. This was clearly the last thing he expected to hear. There was silence for well over five minutes. His face went from fury to confusion and back again. She could practically see him thinking.

Out of nowhere a book flew off the shelf.

She panicked and nearly ducked behind his desk. She was not controlling the book, and his wand was not out. This could only mean he had...

She caught the book mid-air and gazed at the title. One Hundred and One Poisons using the Prixel Berry It was her favorite, and Polishnikov's. What was Snape playing at? She looked up from the book into his face. He was searching her again. His eyebrows were raised in amusement.

Slightly alarmed, she levitated the heavy book in midair and turned to page 369 - Prixel Fury. A Class A poison that meant instant death. No antidote was possible.

She floated the book back towards him and studied his face. He looked at it, back at her and a look of comprehension beamed from his eyes. It was a sign. Prixel Fury was the pinnacle of poisons. He knew it and she knew it. It was complicated, difficult and unstable. It was the last poison any student learned to make while studying under Polishnikov. It served as silent proof that she was what she said. The book flew back to the shelf, again not under her control.

A period of time elapsed. She had stopped keeping track. He fidgeted and visibly she could see him thinking, as he would raise his hand to his chin and then refold his arms continuously. He eventually stopped playing the role of a gargoyle protecting the door and glided over to the fire. "It is a rare gift." He finally said in a tone very unlike the ones he had used before. It was almost soothing and calm. "Tea?"

"Yes"

A fire rose in the fireplace. They sat, in silence.

"The Headmaster knows you studied under Nabokov?" he asked.

"Yes. And he indicated only himself and two other Professors would need to know. I presumed he'd have told you himself." She replied, the uncertainty was showing in her voice, but it was clear he too was unnerved.

"Yes, it would be myself and McGonagall. He no doubt assumed we would discover each other," she simply nodded and sipped her tea.

After a time, he continued, apparently now willing to open up. "I too studied under Nabokov, from the time I was three until the time when I came to Hogwarts. When I arrived here I was fully trained in the Dark Arts. Hogwarts was more... diverse."

His tone was almost sad now.

He was the one Nabokov had always talked about. The prodigy, his ultimate achievement; the one he had taken off seven years of teaching for. He was the one he always wanted her to be.

"He mentioned you often," she said. "It was Nabokov that discovered me once I had started at Durmstrang. He hated me. Looked at me as a nuisance. I was the lone girl distracting his class and attracting attention. He nearly had a heart attack when he demonstrated the Inner Focus test on me." She kept her face and tone in her voice calm. No need to panic, but she wondered why she was going on this way.

"I was with my parents at a -- dinner party. They always associated with those in the Dark Arts community. Nabokov spotted it instantly. He was a brilliant man. He taught me everything I know and was more of a father to me than anyone had been," there was definitely sadness in his voice. "Brilliant indeed."

They drank more tea. He was surprisingly relaxed.

"So then you're decent with Potions?" he asked in a sarcastic voice.

"Polishnikov gave me a two year apprenticeship," Kara replied, drawing the expected reaction from Snape with this simple answer. It was a well-known fact that Polishnikov hated students. He was cruel and condescending and the less time he spent around them the better.

Snape had spilled tea on himself, apparently in shock, and was cleaning up with a handkerchief.

"I had heard he had finally given in. I didn't know you were female." He replied with a certain amount of venom in his voice. Whether his discontent was derived from jealousy or the spilled tea, she didn't know.

There was more silence. They were obviously searching for things to say, even though there were so many questions to ask, so many things to relate to each other. They were coming to a mutual understanding without using words. She wished she could read his mind.

"Not many women have this gift." He said.

"Only Oracles in fact," Kara replied curtly, unsure what kind of reaction this would draw. Most wizards who had the Inner Focus gift were not Oracles. Being an Oracle meant you were destined for a life of Dark Arts, Divination and study. It was prestigious yet feared. Oracles could be men, but women could only get the gift of Inner Focus if they were Oracles.

"I never developed the other skills," she quickly added, to put his mind at ease. "If that wasn't already obvious." After all, she would have been able to read his mind and see where he was going with his questioning. There would have been no need for games.

There was silence. Snape was not making a noise, not even to breathe. He was clearly in shock.

"It is late Professor Snape. I must read and then rest."

They stood. He opened the door. No wand, no hand. His Inner Focus was at work.

"You know your way back?"

"Yes."

"Goodnight."

She merely nodded and walked off. A Death Eater, trained by Vladimir Nabokov and a Potions Master all rolled into one person. He was clearly not what she expected. She lay awake all night pondering this. Voldemort, Harry Potter, and a very powerful Death Eater working with Albus Dumbledore.

"This is clearly the strangest situation I have ever been in," she said out loud.

The mirror in her room snored at her. A hint. She should sleep.