A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 32

"For my part I have walked through Lethe. The past has melted like a cloud before the moon."

- The Fullness of Life, by Edith Wharton

It had become something of a daily routine to partake of his meals with Letha in her room. Fippy had set up a small table with two chairs, so that they could eat in a relatively civilized manner. In the morning, he would bring her the Daily Prophet to read, and by teatime, she usually had a barrage of questions. It was understandable, between her lost memory and the nature of her disposition (she had after all, chosen the law as her profession), but it could be a bit overwhelming at times. On one occasion, when he was preoccupied, he had responded rather sarcastically, and since then, she had cut down her interrogatory to a few queries she deemed most pertinent.

It could not have been terribly exciting to sit in one room all day, but he did not think it wise to let her wander the house. He was not only concerned about his mother; there were also occasional visits from some of Madame Snape's acquaintances. He was not sure that encounters with Mother and her pretentious, nosy friends would have a highly therapeutic effect on Miss Faraday, or that she would be prepared to deal with the inevitable questions her presence would raise.

Snape transferred the box he was carrying to one hand and knocked on the door.

"Sorry she called from the other side of the door, "my schedule is very busy today. You'll have to make an appointment."

"Very well, I will take my breakfast downstairs."

"Don't you dare!" she shouted.

He smirked and unlocked the door. "I thought you were beginning to find my visits tiresome."

"Did you really? I have nothing old to remember, and nothing new to contemplate, except the newspaper with stories about people and events I know nothing about. I see no one but you. So it MAY happen that I think about you occasionally." She smiled at him oddly, and repeated, "Occasionally."

She was wearing one of his cousin's old dresses. Letha did not have Narcissa's reed-thin build, and the dress fit a bit snugly. He thought it looked quite fetching on her. He put the box down on the bed, and she came over to look into it. "What do you have here?" She took advantage of the occasion to brush a few stray hairs out of his eyes. The tips of her fingers brushed against his cheek; it was very tempting...

He deliberately moved away from her, and adopted a pedantic tone of voice. "I thought it might be useful to try to refresh your recollection. We can see what you do remember."

"Very well," she responded, with a trace of disappointment. "Let's see just how ignorant I am."

He had paid a surreptitious visit to her flat and gathered several items he thought might jog her memory. He handed her a picture of a man and a woman, holding hands and smiling at each other. She examined it curiously. "Are these my parents?" she asked.

"Then you recognize them?"

"No. But the man has hair like mine, and the woman's face resembles mine a bit. It seemed a reasonable conclusion that they are my parents."

"That is true." Of course, her father had been dead for a number of years and her mother had become a patient at St. Mungo's shortly after that. Letha might be joining her there, if Dr. Patil failed to respond to his letter. He proceeded to show her a variety of pictures and objects; some seemed to spark a glimmer of familiarity, but she could not identify any of them with any certainty. Snape showed her a small painting of two giggling young girls, one fair and the other dark. "What do you know about this picture?"

Letha held the painting and scrutinized it carefully. "This is me, and this is my best friend."

"Are you assuming that is so, based on the picture, or do you actually remember her?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't know. Who is she?"

"That girl was named Anjana Rao. You and she were inseparable at school; I think you called her Anji. Now she is married and uses the name Anjana Patil."

It was apparent that the name meant nothing to Letha, who once again inspected the picture. "Was this painted by someone close to me?"

Snape took another look at the picture. "Yes, it was. I recognize the mark at the bottom. Your grandmother painted it."

"Did you know my family?"

"Not your parents, but I met your grandmother, when you spent a summer with her." I came to her house to - "He paused. "I came to see you."

"I wish I could remember that."

"I hope you will. Your grandmother is worth remembering."

They looked at a few other items together, and then he took out two last objects. He held out to her two wands, one in each hand. "Do you know what these are?" he asked.

"Yes, I know what they are. Wish I could remember how to use one."

"Show me which one is yours."

She took them both from him. She studied each of them individually, and compared them. Finally she held one up in her right hand. "This one is mine."

"Ah! You recognize it?"

"Not precisely." She held out the other one to him. "But I am quite certain this one is yours, so the other must be mine."

Her response caught him by surprise. It was possible that her own wand was hard for her to identify because someone else had recently been using it, and furthermore, using it to execute spells that Letha would never perform herself. But he could not fathom why she could recognize HIS wand as such. "You are correct, but I really can't say whether or not this bodes well for your recovery."

She shrugged. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

That was true, but Severus Snape disliked uncertainty. He was disturbed by her inability to recognize objects and pictures that should have had important personal significance. Yet she was so nonchalant about her incapacity; he found it rather irritating.

They finished breakfast and discussed some of the Ministry's actions, which Letha had read about but found impossible to comprehend. It was the sort of spirited exchange he recalled sharing with her that summer, years earlier, in the hollow in the forest, and he found it refreshing. At a pause in the conversation, he broached the subject he had been avoiding. "If you are growing weary of my visits, I have good news for you," he said lightly.

She glanced up at him warily. "What do you mean?"

"I have some errands to perform. I will be leaving shortly, and will not be back until late tomorrow, at the earliest."

She could not hide the disappointment in her face. "Well, I will have some badly-needed time to myself then, won't I?"

"I suppose so. Fippy, of course, will bring you your meals, and anything else you might need."

She grimaced at him. "Anything? How bloody likely is that, do you think?" she asked bitterly.

He had no answer to offer, and he turned his frustration against her. "Everything is being taken care of for you. I do not think you have any reason to complain."

"I don't want things 'taken care of.' I want to be able to go where I please, when I please. I want to take care of things myself. I want my life back!"

His voice softened. "I know."

A short while later, he left her alone in the room, locking the door behind him. He left some last instructions for the house-elf, and then headed to his room to prepare for his undertakings.