Anam Cara

Seven.

Muggle clothes, an admittedly nice flat in a hideous 70's high-rise and the news that I would shortly "inherit" a fascinating little bookshop from an eccentric aunt, made for my entry into the life of Clare Sheridan. The entire day was spent negotiating the city traffic, stocking the new flat and being introduced to a bewildering display of new and highly experimental ministry equipment that was supposed to be my contact to the magical world. I looked at it skeptically and wondered where I might find a good tried-and-true gazing ball. That question was answered most pleasantly when the witch took me to visit the bookshop. It wasn't really a bookshop as much as a bazaar of esoteric and magical items. A glance toward my benefactor confirmed that my suspicions were true about the place that it was likely I'd get as many witches and wizards as customers as curious and even gifted muggles. I had to admit to a real feeling of excitement at that prospect.

Eventually I was alone. Satisfied with my orientation, my mentors had left me. They'd never even let me know their names. That evening in my new flat, I sat staring out the window at the large bird roosting on the ledge. I'd turned out all the electric lights and had only a few candles burning. They cast a feeble glow. A glass of wine on a side table sat untouched as the sky grew black. I let myself tumble into numbness, a feeling I thought I could get used to quite easily.

But it wouldn't do. I couldn't let myself fall away just yet. I was alone for the first time since the ordeal at the Malfoy estate. It was what I'd wanted more than anything, yet dreaded with all my heart.

I closed my eyes and waited. It was difficult, noisy. Filtering the noise of the city--the steady hum of electricity and too many people--took some time. I scolded myself for becoming lazy in the sheltered surroundings of Hogwarts. I reached back into myself instead of outward, following a thin thread of memory . . . and there! It was like sticking a finger in an electric socket. A surge of bright, joyful energy rushed to the source.

A wave of astonishment, and profound relief rushed back to meet it.

You're so far away.

You did it. You made it. The raven?

Did you like the raven? Tears of joy were running freely down my face.

I didn't know if . . . it's been so long. You're in London?

I'm fine. I laughed. An hour earlier I'd though I'd never laugh again. You missed, remember?

***

"God, you look a mess!" Kenny, who was ostensibly the door man but acted more like a concierge or mother hen for the residents of the building, looked up from the glossy magazine he'd probably "borrowed" from someone's mail.

I threw my sodden umbrella into the stand by the door and pushed a mat of soaking wet hair out of my face. "Thank you, Kenny. That made my day."

He grinned. "I thought witches could dance through raindrops and miss every one."

"Not in the mood for dancing today," I grunted and started toward the elevator. I stopped at his counter though exhausted at the thought of going up to my flat. "Have I told you how much I despise London?"

"Yes, dear. In fact you have."

"I'm about to tell you again."

"Oh goody! Listen Clare, a friend of mine is coming over later, we were going to have a night in." He winked and I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, there's always room for one more. Would you like to join us? You'll love David. He's theatrical!"

"David. What happened to Horrible Hugh?" I was fighting a smile. "No, thank you anyway. I think I have a date with a tub and a bottle."

"If you keep that up and you'll be a hag in no time. Or is that crone?"

I started toward the elevators. "Who cares?" I mumbled and jabbed the 'up' button.

It had been an absolutely horrible day. The weather was foul as an unusual storm blew in off the North Sea bringing a shrieking gale and freezing rain. The shop was deserted and I had sent my lone assistant home early in the day. I'd had no contact with the ministry in days and the last contact I'd had was that a raid had gone terribly wrong and two aurors were missing. Now I was expected to find them. Instead of doing that though, I'd used the fact I was alone most of the day to catch up on reading old Daily Prophets. That had been my biggest mistake. Rumors and speculation were being printed as news, as usual, and would surely serve to do nothing more than make everything more difficult. When I came across a full page article about Lucius Malfoy donating some obscenely huge amount of money to some charity or another and its accompanying smirking photograph, I nearly set myself on fire with fury.

I hadn't been home an hour when I heard a loud knock on the door. I ignored it. The knock came again, followed by a shuffling sound and a cheerful call of "Room Service!"

"Go away," I shouted but went to the door anyway. Kenny stood there beaming, his arms full of grocery bags. He pushed his way in and dropped them on a side table.

"This," he said barely able to conceal his excitement, "is David."

I held out a hand to greet David. He was quite possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen. He wasn't very tall but he had thick, curly black hair and the deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen. "Er . . . Hello, David. Um . . . do you want to come in?"

Kenny laughed with delight and with a stage whisper said, "You see? It's true what they say about all the good ones."

I must have blushed brick-red because they both laughed out loud.

"Thank you," said David as he stepped in carrying an odd box. "Kenny's told me all about you. You're a project of his." I stared at him wondering if the lilting Welsh accent was really necessary or if it was gilding the lily.

"You see, David? Look at this place! I told you. She's a witch," Kenny shouted as he headed off into my kitchen with one of his bags.

"Kenny is convinced I'm a witch."

"Kenny is convinced all women are witches." David winked. "Ah, thank you, love." He took two glasses of wine from Kenny and handed one to me.

"Cheers," said Kenny. "Let's sit, shall we?"

"Oh, sorry. Please." I waved them toward seats.

"Clare, what's that ruddy great crow still doing here?" asked Kenny peering out the window.

I looked out and cringed. The poor thing was hunched in a corner trying to keep out of the wind and rain.

"That's not a crow you great pillock," said David. "It's a raven. Why's there a raven outside your window, Clare?"

I emptied my glass. "Because I won't let it in?"

They both collapsed in laughter on the sofa. "I told you," gasped Kenny. "I told you she's a witch. Who else would have a bloody great raven outside her window all the time?"

"It's not there all the time," I said laughing. "It follows me to work too."

They collapsed even further onto the sofa. I refilled my glass and topped up theirs as they recovered, wiping their eyes.

"Right then," said Kenny, collecting himself. "I'll get started on some appetizers, shall I? David, you have your assignment. Now Clare, no arguments. David is a master at his art."

"And what, may I ask, is his art?" I said nervously.

"Hairdressing, of course, you silly witch! hat else?" David answered in a swishy manner which caused me to inhale rather than swallow my next sip.

After a coughing fit I managed to choke out, "Kenny said you were an actor."

"Well that doesn't pay the rent yet, so sit. Kenny says you're hiding behind a mop of overgrown hair and I daresay he's right." He took handfuls of my still damp, bedraggled hair and examined it. At least it was clean. "Oh dear, oh dear," he murmured.

"What? It can't be that bad! No one ever complained."

"By 'no one' you mean 'men'? Savages. All a mop like this is good for is dragging you off after he's hit you with a club." He opened his odd box which turned out to contain all sorts of cutting devices. It looked rather like a box full of instruments of torture.

"There's nothing wrong with a good clubbing."

"Well, when you put it that way...." He pulled out a nasty looking brush and started running it through my hair.

I was having my hair brushed by an exceptionally handsome man with an entrancing accent while another man was cooking dinner for me. Things were looking up. Until,

SNIP!

I watched in horror as a long lock of hair slithered toward the floor, followed almost immediately by another, and again by another. "David!"

I got no answer but another glass of wine was quickly passed my way. "Can't put it back, dear," he said chirpily.

Want to bet?

"Oh right, I forgot. You're a witch," he said without missing a beat.

I jumped slightly. He couldn't have heard me, could he have?

That raven outside my window . . .

Is your familiar?

I reached up and grabbed his hand before he could make another move. I looked at him and he looked back and winked. "Dad taught me. He was awful really, he used to 'talk' behind Mum's back all the time."

"Did he teach you anything else?" I asked quietly.

"He was psychic. Used to do a lot of dowsing. That sort of thing. Why?"

"No reason. No reason in particular." I let go his hand and he continued his work.

"Of course not."

Kenny bounded out of the kitchen with a tray of canapes. They smelled so good I forgot I was being scalped. He sat down to watch. "Amazing! Who'd have thought she had eyes under all that?"

"This bottle is empty Kenny," I snapped.

Kenny was right. David was an artist. I felt ten pounds lighter. Whether it was the physical weight of the hair gone, or the mental weight of loneliness lifted I hadn't had so much fun in ages.

Hours passed, Kenny and David had gone off together into the kitchen and made a wonderful dinner which was washed down with the rest of the wine. It was well past midnight when we finished. David was entertaining us with stories from the latest play he had been in and telling us about the audition he'd just been to for a new part. This one was a musical.

"You sing too?" I asked.

"He's Welsh. If you can't sing, they kick you out," said Kenny.

"Yes Clare, I sing too," he said, giving Kenny a snide look.

"Sorry love," Kenny leaned forward, "Give us a song, won't you? Wrap the evening up nicely, don't you think?"

"Yes please," I joined in.

David looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "Let me think on this a bit," he said. "Something old and mysterious for our friend the raven outside in the cold, eh?"

He started singing in a heavenly voice, sweet old words of an old lost love. I closed my eyes and let them sweep over me, lulling me, until the tone of his voice changed, slightly or maybe not at all, but I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was looking directly at me as he sang the final verse:

two lives, two minds, divided one soul

in anam cara the one was made whole

one love, one heart, a bond so sweet

in anam cara the one was complete

The silence was deafening. Kenny had fallen asleep, and I couldn't find the words, couldn't find the breath, to ask the question I needed to ask.

"You didn't like it?" David asked.

"What was that?" I whispered.

"Oh some old song. The usual Gaelic tear-jerker."

"No, no it wasn't!" I reached over and grabbed his hand. "David, I need to know what that means. Anam Cara. What is that?"

"It's Gaelic, hard to translate. Literally a soul friend, but really more. Soul mate . . . no," he scratched his head, "Ah! Two persons as one being. Absolute understanding. It's also some sort of spirit guide but you can't sing about that, can you? You know, that's a beautiful ring."

****

David had roused Kenny and they had stumbled out of my flat about an hour earlier. It was about two a.m. and the drowsy feeling gone. Now I was wide awake. I cleared away the mess from dinner and lit some fresh candles. I couldn't get David's words out of my head. Now that he'd told me the meaning of the words hidden in the design of the ring, I was more confused than ever. His first explanation made the most sense. This 'soul friend' must be a reference to the binding. But it was what David had said next that echoed through my mind.

Some sort of spirit guide.

I slipped the ring off my finger and held it tightly in my fist. It was warm, and grew warmer as I held it.

I knew Snape was intrigued, maybe even suspicious of my familiarity with his mother, but could he have broken though her own barriers and figured out the nature of that acquaintance? He was very powerful, and our bond was close--so close it was difficult at times to clearly define where our thoughts became our own--but I didn't think he'd made it past the boundary that Renata herself had set up between us.

Yet here it was. Her ring. His ring. My ring. Bearing a double-edged inscription.

So now you know.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, imagining his presence was with me along with his thoughts.

I opened my hand, picked up the ring and held it up to the light of one of the candles.

That woman told me . . . She showed me . . .

Yes, spoiled the fun, didn't she?

No, I'd never have found it. How would I know what was engraved on your mother's ring?

How did you know it was my mother's ring? You found that on your own, you'd have found the inscription.

No, I had help--I didn't know it was hers, until--

Can you hear a raised eyebrow? Feel it in the air? They'd have taken it then and there if I hadn't pulled your mother out of my hat.

I could feel the barrier going up, it was instinctive and I had to fight against blocking him out completely. Severus, his thoughts wrapped around me now, I hardly had to put my own into words. I knew he was very near, closer than he had been yet. Do you know how close we are? Can you feel it? Where are you?

Here with you. Always with you, m'anam cara.

It hadn't been a dream, and it hadn't been the drugs that night in the hospital. I had heard him use those words. Anam cara? That was real, not a dream?

No more a dream than this is. Are you dreaming now?

I think I might be.

Now that is disappointing. When I dream of you, it's nothing like this.

I laughed out loud. No, you're right. If this was a dream there'd be much less talking--and certainly no mention of anybody's mother!

I am very much relieved to know that.

I could find you. You're close enough now. I could leave here right now and find you. There'd be no need for dreaming. As comforting as it was feeling his presence and hearing his thoughts, the intimacy of the conversation and the feeling of proximity was fostering sense of emptiness that was becoming difficult to hide.

Don't! Don't even think of it! But his feelings betrayed him. He wanted me to come just as much as I wanted to go to him.

This is too hard. Harder than I thought it would be.

I sensed him becoming agitated. There was some distraction around him. He was slipping away from me as he dealt with it. His exasperation was palpable. I slipped the ring back on my finger and blew out the candles. I wouldn't be leaving the flat to find him. We both knew that could never happen.

Be careful, please be careful.

I started toward the bedroom, feeling my way through the pitch-dark flat. I stopped, suddenly feeling a solid presence behind me where I knew there was none. A shiver ran down my spine.

Will you dream of me tonight, Melpomene?

How could I not?

Eight.

The bell on the shop door rang and a young woman staggered through the door carrying a carton full of old dusty books. "Pardon me, she said, dropping the heavy box on the counter, startling my shop assistant, Lacci. "I don't know if you do this sort of thing, but I've seen your shop and--" she faltered and looked embarrassed. As I moved closer I realized she was younger than I'd thought originally. She was only seventeen, maybe eighteen years old.

"What can we help you with?" I asked her.

"I have these books, I thought maybe . . . I was hoping you might buy them. Maybe you could sell them?"

I peeked into the carton. A sweet, musty smell emanated from it.

"I don't know much about them. They were my Gran's. We've been cleaning out her house." Her eyes clouded for a moment. She cleared her throat."I know they're very old. I don't expect they're worth much."

The books were very old. Some of them were badly damaged. Some were just clumps of paper that had been soaked through at one time and had dried in a solid lump. But several of them, many of them, were astonishingly well preserved for their age. Those were very valuable. It was a wonderful private collection of spell books and arcana some of which were familiar to me, some that were so old I'd have to research them, and there was one that sent a shiver right through me.

"I'll take the lot. Does fifty sound fair for a start?"

She looked like I'd just told her she'd won a lottery. "Fifty! Yes. Um--I didn't--"

"For a start," I repeated. "I will have to sort through them, clean them up a bit and do some research but I have a certain clientele who is always interested in things like this. I'll sell them for you on commission."

She looked at the box of crumbling books. "Dad said they were rubbish. He told me to put them in the bin. But I just couldn't."

"They'll find good homes I can assure you of that," I told her. "Give Lacci your name and address so that we can contact you," I called back to her on the way. "I think you'll be pleased."

The minute she was gone I told Lacci I'd be in the back if she needed me and asked her to please not need me.

I set the box on the floor by my desk and stacked the top books quickly looking for the one that had caught my eye earlier. I hadn't been sure when I'd first glimpsed it, but once I brushed the dust off the ancient stained leather cover I knew I'd been right. Hardly legible through the stains and gouges I could just make out the title: Stratagem Exquisitus. I'd only seen one other, and it wasn't half as old as this one. I opened it with my heart in my throat. Inside the front cover the name 'Hester' was spelled out in a spidery ink scrawl. I read the title page.

Ignatiuf Pender

A fTUDY of the variouf

METHODf and PROPERTIEf af pertainf to the variof

VENENUM

draught, poyfonf, venemf, philterf, noftrumf, brewf, potionf

REMEMDIUM

remedief, elixirf, restoritiff, anti-poyfonf, tonicf

Cautionf upon thofe who would ufe thefe theorief for ill ufagef.

Marke thee well that naught but ill awaytf he who seekf to do

harm for hif own favour.

Imprinted 1660

London

This book had passed through the hands of generations of witches and wizards. I turned the old velum pages carefully taking in the old typeface, the old words, and the old woodcuts. What made me catch my breath was that all around the margins were handwritten notations in several different hands, in several different inks. Some were so faded they looked like they'd almost sunk completely into the page, and some looked like they'd been scribbled in last week. How many of them were Hester's?

"if the decoction may stand and settle two or three days, until the yellow colour be changed black, it will not work so strongly as before"

"I am not of opinion this is done this way, and my reason is,"

I couldn't read the reason. It was obscured by one of many dark stains that spread across the page. The previous failed decoction?

This book was not going to be set out on a shelf in the shop to be sold. This one was coming home with me. I had special plans for Hester's potion book.

I spent more than a week sorting through and cleaning up the rest of the books. A few of them were as old, or nearly as old as Hester's book. Some were quite old but had recent printings in current use and a few, unfortunately, were unsalvageable.

It looked to be a family collection of mostly household magic. In fact there were several volumes of simple household, healing and gardening spell books all written by one Bernadine Bennett. Bernadine appeared to be the 18^th century's version of Gilderoy Lockhart.

I was nearly through the job and had stayed late one evening to finish cataloging them for sale. Lacci had gone hours earlier and locked the shop door on the way out, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone. I checked the window but the only living being there was the raven which continued to follow me everywhere. It stared at me through the glass with a black, beady eye.

"Don't even think of rapping," I murmured more to myself than to the bird, just to break the silence. I thought about leaving but was so close to finishing I sat back down with the final few books.

A sudden sound startled me and the raven took off from the sill. As I turned toward the window, I caught sight of a shadow moving in the shop. There was someone in there. And it was someone who hadn't come in through the door. I stood slowly, my mouth dry. I'd never missed my wand more.

"Lacci?" I called out in as normal a voice as possible as I stepped through the curtain that separated my office from the shop. There was no answer, but I hadn't expected one. There were few lights on but I saw the outline of a figure standing still as if waiting. I reached for the nearest light switch and flipped on all the overhead lights. "We're closed," I said as the room brightened.

"I haven't come to purchase anything," the figure spoke. It was a man, medium height, medium age, medium coloring. A man wearing wizards robes and holding a wand pointed directly at me.

"Who are you? There's no money here," I managed, thinking it wise to stay in naive muggle mode. "Are you lost? Do you want to use the telephone?" I made a great show of looking confused at his sudden appearance and unusual attire.

"The . . . tele . . . phone," he repeated slowly and grinned. It was not a very friendly grin. "Yes that would be one way of spreading news. Wouldn't it?" The sinister grin didn't fade. "If you wanted to pass on certain information is that what you would use?"

"Sorry?" I said, my voice giving away my uncertainty. It was clear my visitor was not from the Ministry of Magic.

"I have some information for you." He stepped forward and it took every ounce of control not to step back. "Some . . . news you will want to . . . pass on." The grin faded.

"News? Pass on? What are you talking about? Are you sure you're in the right place?" I was beginning to sweat and was sure he knew it.

"I am now," he said in a dangerous whisper and took another step closer. "A friend of yours has just met with a rather serious accident."

A wave of heat washed over me and I felt ill. He couldn't mean--no, I'd have known that before he could have made it here to inform me.

"You'll want to pass this on. I'm sure." He handed me a small scroll and smiled a genuine, happy smile. My hand shook as he pressed the scroll into it, his eyes boring into mine. "You might want to go along. Take a good look at what happens."

"What happens?"

"Yes, my dear. This is your free pass. You get to see what you've accomplished by being so generous in sharing so much . . . news. It'll make you think twice before you spread any more."

Fear had passed through panic and was turning into pure anger. "I have no idea what you are on about! How dare you come--how did you get in here anyway--in here in the middle of the night with this ridiculous cloak and dagger story? What damned information? Who am I supposed to give this to?" I waved the scroll at him. "And just where do you think I'm getting all this so-called news?"

He stood completely still, with his imbecilic grin plastered across his face.

I held my breath waiting for an answer, if only to my last question.

"Feisty for a muggle," he said in a dismissive tone. "Where you get your news is unimportant. Where it ultimately ends up is just as unimportant." He came closer, right up to me only inches away. "You see, we have found that the most effective way to put a stop to this sort of thing is to simply cut," he lifted his wand and held it to my face, "the line of transmission."

I could have kneed him in the groin. Instead I locked eyes with him and spellbound him with a mantic stare. I saw the surprise on his face. I felt a fair amount of fear building in him when he realized he couldn't break eye contact. I held him there, looking right through him.

I know what you are. I know who sent you.

His pupils dilated with shock as the words cut through his mind.

He became a nobody under my gaze, a man with no name on an errand with no meaning.

I released him and as soon as he realized he was free he made to move away. Then I kneed him. Hard.

"Now get out!" I hissed at him as he crumpled. "Get out and don't come back!"

He was on his hands and knees on my floor and he looked up at me with absolute loathing.

"Out!" I screamed. "I know I don't have to show you the door!"

In the next second he was simply gone.

I stood for a minute just reminding myself to breathe. I was shaking, shivering as if it was cold. I made my way back to my desk, fell into the chair and wrapped myself in the woolen shawl I kept at hand. Tea, I needed tea. I focused on the electric kettle across the room and switched it on from where I sat. Then I turned my attention to the scroll.

I couldn't bring myself to open it. 'A friend of mine,' the man had said. He could have meant anything, anyone.

Don't open it.

I jumped as if he'd been standing behind me. I wished more than anything that he was standing behind me.

Oh, God, Severus! Who was that? What was that?

It was too close, that's what it was.

What do you mean, too close?

You've been found out.

How?

I felt him pull away, back off and leave a roiling space in my mind. I could feel him there, knew he was thinking. I went to get my tea.

All I can say now is get that scroll to the Ministry. Wash your hands of it.

What do you mean?

I mean you're finished. Your job here is done. They have your name, they know where you live. I don't know where you live! That was just the first of your scheduled visitors I'm sure of that.

I wiped him.

That was impressive.

I felt a warm, comfortable sensation around me.

It was also bloody stupid. They'll be watching you more closely now.

He went quiet again but stayed close.

The knee was much better.

I laughed into my cup, splashing tea over the rim. "That was good, wasn't it?"

But what about you? I asked. If they've figured me out then they must know.

No, there was an interception.

That was when I put it together. They'd captured an auror. One who'd moved on my information. The information on the sealed scroll on my desk probably contained the grisly details of a demise I'd sent someone to meet. 'Oh God,' I whispered to myself.

Do you understand?

I felt the words more than heard them.

Do you? There will be no more of this. I have some arrangements to make.

I sat in a daze, wondering whose name was on that parchment. Whose family was wondering why he was so late coming home.

I started suddenly. Arrangements? What arrangements?