Orion's Pointer

It wasn't long before the inevitable upheaval that heralded the start of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. Snape had been dreading it, and the reality wasn't any better. He'd thought the Tournament was an unwise idea and had said as much. Numerous times.

It was scant compensation that the visiting students did not attend Hogwarts classes; the very sight of them alone was irritating, and their uppity attitudes just enhanced the unpleasantness. Large numbers of Hogwarts students seemed to have no qualms in fawning over the visitors with a total lack of dignity.

Although able to minimise any contact with visiting students, Snape was unable to avoid interaction with the adult representatives of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Dumbledore had left no doubt in anyone's mind that he fully expected his staff to make a concerted effort in making visiting teachers feel as welcome as possible. Snape's tactic was to limit his conversations with Maxime and Karkaroff to terse, one-word responses and to make himself as scarce as possible.

However, even some of his best efforts seemed doomed to failure. Karkaroff was able to sniff him out wherever he hid, and Karkaroff was the last person Snape wanted to talk to, or have talking at him. The man was as odious as his breath, and Snape really didn't need any reminders of his own past stuck before his eyes at every available opportunity. He found himself being ever watchful for Karkaroff's approach so that he could avoid the man's notice. Fortunately, the Durmstrang Headmaster seemed intent on parading Krum about the castle like a trophy, so it was fairly easy for Snape to wriggle away from him before the man had even spotted him.

Once his teaching duties were fulfilled, Snape would barricade himself in his own quarters, which suited him just fine. He had enough to keep him busy that didn't require him to be in the presence of others: marking essays, researching, reading just for the temporary enjoyment of it.

Despite the solitude, the evenings were not pleasurable. The Dark Mark on his forearm had started to burn not long before the start of term, and nothing he did seemed to alleviate the pain for longer than a few hours. The analgesic potion he took for it left him rather glassy-eyed and dull in his reactions, and the after effects put him in even more of a sour mood than usual.

~*~

The vexing situation with the spoiled supplies had still not been resolved. Snape had travelled to London the first weekend after the problem had been forthrightly brought to his attention to try and remedy the situation, and was immediately thwarted. The apothecary was firmly shut. A carefully lettered sign in the window had said: "Closed due to unavoidable circumstances. We apologise for any inconvenience caused to our customers." That was all. No mention of when the shop would reopen for business.

Snape had returned to Hogwarts in high dudgeon after being forced to secure appropriate supplies elsewhere. He hated dealing with new and unfamiliar suppliers; it took ages to break them into adequately meeting his requirements. Until the apothecary in Knockturn Alley reopened, he would have to make do with what other suppliers had to offer. Snape vowed that the very day the apothecary reopened, he'd be down there demanding both compensation and explanation. He sent a letter demanding to be notified of when that day was to be.

~*~

As suddenly as it had appeared, Parr's physical distortion slid away. The start of the week following her change saw her the way Snape had first found her in his class: short, grey-eyed, perhaps a little tired-looking, cuffs refolded, resolutely neutral expression fixed firmly in place. She neither volunteered an explanation nor acted as if anything unusual had occurred.

It was a peculiar mystery, one that Snape turned over in his mind whilst Parr was in sight, and then subconsciously when other things demanded his attention. He couldn't definitively attach such temporary physical distortion to a particular condition, be it medical, genetic or phenotypical. He didn't know whether her recent ill-health and her injuries were the cause or a symptom of such a physical expansion and contraction. They might have nothing to do with it at all; a pure coincidence, albeit an unfortunate one. There were too many ambiguities involved to allow him to make a clear judgement.

In the interim, Parr did her best to either blend into the background amongst the other students or remove herself from their company entirely wherever possible. It seemed the students weren't sure what Parr's status was at the school, so their interactions with her were often muddled or inconsistent. The younger students were bolder in trying to find where the line was, occasionally pushing themselves forward in their ignorance with an ebullience that Parr tolerated with faint but gracious amusement. The older students were more wary, treating her with a cautious respect and often waiting for her to set the tone of the interaction. She only had to metaphorically bare her teeth once when a Slytherin girl in seventh-year had elbowed her sharply and deliberately in the ribs in the Great Hall. Snape hadn't actually witnessed it himself. He'd overheard Flitwick talking about it the following evening during dinner and had to suppress a flash of irritation at finding out about it in such a manner. Normally his house students were faster than whippets in reporting any alleged infraction against them, but there hadn't been even a hint from them about the incident. Apparently Parr had quite calmly dragged Lancaster back out of the Hall and given her a few pointers about courtesy in a voice that, whilst never getting above a conversational pitch, must have conveyed something altogether alarming to the stocky Slytherin. It had taken several days for Lancaster not to flinch whenever she saw Parr. Word got around with its usual incomprehensible speed. All the students took a step back, uncertainty making them err on the side of caution once again.

~*~

The Triwizard Tournament continued in a worrying vein with Potter's name being spat out of the Goblet of Fire. Naturally, the ridiculous brat claimed ignorance on the level that Snape would normally have believed, but the arrogance of the boy was enough of an indicator of delusions of grandeur that he couldn't discount that perhaps Potter had found a way to baffle the Goblet, outlandish though the possibility may have seemed. However, there was the stone cold fact that Potter was a moron. There was no way he could've found a way around the rules. The only other explanations were that Potter's name had been put in the Goblet by someone else, or someone else had charmed the Goblet to allow Potter to put his own name in. Either way, someone else was involved, someone unlikely to be a student.

Karkaroff and Maxime were up in arms about the whole thing, screaming accusations of favouritism and cheating without any gloss of politeness to their words. Snape couldn't blame them, but the bickering had become tiresome very quickly. Moody sticking in his oar in support of Potter didn't help; it had just set Karkaroff going again like a stupid little dog barking at shadows. The whole argument devolved into a slanging match that even Dumbledore had trouble controlling. Bagman just stood there like a certified idiot making banal statements like the useless politician he was, while Crouch summed it all up concisely if a little tersely: the Tournament must continue, with Potter as a fourth champion. There was no other option, regardless of how unpalatable the situation was. That just set the dogs off yapping again, making Snape want to throttle them all for being so fatuous. It didn't matter how long they stood there and shouted at each other, the outcome was the same. The only thing they could hope for was for the person who had aided Potter to make some kind of slip that would allow them to identify who it was. Typically, Moody had declared himself the one to sniff out the person responsible, and just as expectedly Dumbledore had agreed to it. There was a peculiar sensation in Snape's gut that suggested a part of him knew Moody was going to try and pin the blame on him. The crumple-faced bastard glared at him during the entire exchange with that ludicrous charmed eye of his. Snape feigned not to notice but screwed a look of contempt on his face nonetheless.

Karkaroff and Maxime bitched and moaned for days afterwards with a tenacity that tipped into the realm of the ridiculous.

~*~

The weekend after the announcement of the Tournament champion selections, Snape received notification via a bad-tempered and dusty Strix owl that the apothecary in Knockturn Alley was once again open for business. Snape didn't even finish his breakfast, stuffing the letter in his pocket and sweeping out of the Great Hall immediately to box up his evidence and prepare for what he intended to be a satisfying trip to London.

Flinging on an overcoat to counteract the chill of the autumnal weather, Snape picked up the wooden crate and stalked off in the direction of the school gates with an implacable determination. The Headmaster's voice stopped him just before he stepped out of the castle. He ground his teeth before turning, stiff-backed, to face Dumbledore.

"Ah, Severus, I've been looking for you. I'd meant to speak to you at breakfast but you disappeared so quickly." Dumbledore sounded a little out of breath after his trot down the stairs to intercept the Potions master.

"Headmaster?" Snape tried steadfastly to ignore Parr trailing behind Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid I have a favour to ask," Dumbledore began. "I realise that it is rather late notice, but I'm hoping you'll be able to help me."

Snape suppressed a sigh. "Headmaster, ordinarily I would have no hesitation in assisting you, but I do have a rather important errand to run in London at this moment."

"Well, that is a stroke of luck," Dumbledore replied, patting at the end of his beard to try and settle it back into place after his rush towards Snape. "I was to take Chara to London this morning, but my time is being... ah, how shall I say this... resolutely requested by Igor and Madame Maxime right now. They're quite unwilling to allow my escape from their vigorous discussion regarding the Tournament."

Snape stared at Dumbledore, silent.

"Could you see that Chara gets to London for me?" the Headmaster found himself forced to ask directly. "She's due to meet Remus there."

Snape's eyebrows shifted upwards slightly. "Lupin?" He flicked a quick glance at Parr. She looked just as irritated at the situation as he felt. "Headmaster, is Miss Parr unable to make the journey unchaperoned?" he inquired frostily, making Parr's expression stonier.

"I'm sure Chara would be more than capable of finding her way there," Dumbledore replied mildly. "However, that is not the only favour I have to ask of you."

Snape exerted a not inconsiderable amount of self-control not to roll his eyes in exasperation at this whole exchange. Why was the Headmaster dumping this on him? Today of all days. Snape jealously guarded his weekends as a respite from having to deal with students.

Dumbledore dug into his robe pocket and brought out a hand-sized black pouch. Parr exhaled sharply through her nose and turned her head away from the Headmaster, her profile sharp with disapproval. Snape looked at the pouch being held out to him.

"I need you to give this to Remus," Dumbledore revealed quietly. Snape couldn't understand why the Headmaster was keeping his voice low. There was no-one else nearby to hear the conversation apart from Parr, and she was too close to miss anything that was being said. All the other students and teachers were either at breakfast, or no doubt still lolling about in their beds in true Saturday style. He looked back up at Dumbledore.

"Severus, I cannot stress how important it is that this remains safely in your possession until it can be given to Remus," Dumbledore continued with an unmistakeably serious expression. "It would be grave should it be lost or, heaven forbid, opened. I'm trusting you to ensure that neither occurs." The Headmaster stared back at Snape with full authoritative force. Snape realised that he wasn't being given any choice in the matter. He took the pouch from Dumbledore and tucked it away in his coat, the contents making a faint metallic clinking with the movement.

"If you wish it, Headmaster," he relented with the barest trace of annoyance and a sigh. "I trust Miss Parr has Apparated before?"

"Ah, yes, that's another thing," Dumbledore replied, twiddling his fingers and screwing up his face slightly. "I'm afraid you'll need to go by train."

Snape closed his eyes and stopped himself from barking a swear word. Instead, he tried his best to talk through his teeth.

"That will slow me down considerably, Headmaster. I realise that Miss Parr cannot Apparate herself, but I am more than capable of towing her along."

"If you're willing to risk it, Severus, by all means," Dumbledore answered with an amused lilt to his voice. "However, Chara suffers very badly from nausea when it comes to Apparating. Rather explosively, as I understand it." He paused as he pulled distractedly at his ear. "I do distantly recall that you have an equally explosive aversion to vomiting, hence the need for alternative transportation."

Snape dragged his gaze from Dumbledore to Parr. Her face was still turned away from both of them, the knuckles of her right hand white on the strap of the cloth satchel that passed across her chest and rested at her left hip. The faint flush on her cheeks could have been from embarrassment or anger. Probably both.

"If my memory serves me correctly, there are other, swifter alternatives available," Snape responded frostily, irritated by Dumbledore bringing up his aversion to vomiting in front of someone else.

"Travelling by Floo is even more detrimental," Dumbledore countered--Parr gave a gusty snort at that--"and flying is utterly out of the question," he finished with a wry, if somewhat stern tone to his voice that Snape wasn't entirely sure of whom it was aimed at. Parr's face took on a distinctly annoyed look that appeared remarkably like that worn by a child who'd had a lolly snatched off them.

"It seems a waste that the train must be pressed into service just for this, Headmaster," Snape pointed out, still staring at Parr.

"Fortunately there are others making a journey to London," Dumbledore revealed, bringing Snape's attention back to him. "There are two Beauxbatons students who are to visit a cousin and an aunt respectively, as well as the Jacobsons who are returning home for their grandfather's funeral tomorrow. I don't anticipate you having to keep an eye on them. I have explained in no uncertain terms that their behaviour is to be exemplary, regardless of the circumstances."

That would no doubt be a wasted effort, Snape thought. All students acted like two-year-olds in the absence of an authority figure. He had the solid suspicion that he'd have to explain the situation to them again in order to stop any thought of mischief from blooming into actuality. He was in no mood for breaking up squabbles or mopping up foolish accidents.

Snape tapped the crate tucked under his arm with his index finger and smiled faintly and fixedly at Dumbledore. "In that case, Headmaster, I don't see how I could reasonably refuse your request."