Vita Labyrinthae Similis In Quo Umbrae Vagamus

CHAPTER 1

....the past is never far......

-Goo Goo Dolls

In clear air, the hawk flows like a bubble in a stream, liquid and light. Late afternoon sun catches the deep red of her wings, the dark, almost brownish red of dried, crusted blood. There is joy in her, there, in the sky. She seems part of the air, as if it has crystallized and taken form for sheer pleasure.

Nastasya landed, and transformed. Almost immediately that joy was gone from her, slipping away as she stood up and stretched, as if it had been a pool of happiness she had swum in, and it was sheeting off her naked body as water sheets away from a dolphin leaping upwards. She cracked the joints of her hands and shoulders, feeling the bones creak with the memory of flight, picked up her cloak from where she had left it crumpled beside Hagrid's hut, and began to walk back to the castle.

"Hello, Professor Serenskaya," said a familiar voice by her ear. She whirled.

"Malfoy," she said. "What are you doing out here? You should be in Potions." Had he seen her transform?

"Potions was cancelled," said Draco Malfoy silkily. "I thought I'd go for a walk."

"Where are your friends?" Nastasya asked, lighting a cigarette. Malfoy was invariably accompanied by his lackeys Crabbe and Goyle; it was odd to see him flanked merely by air. He was a slippery, rather unfairly beautiful Slytherin sixth-year, his blonde hair pale as snow and long enough to swing softly against his pointed chin as he moved. She had been fighting against an unreasonable dislike of him ever since she had come to teach at Hogwarts at the start of the school year, two months ago. It didn't help that she taught Defense against the Dark Arts, and was a Slytherin alumna herself, and as such saw a great deal of Draco Malfoy. There was really no reason for her to feel so worried; if he'd seen her transform, he'd know she was an Animagus, but so what? She was registered. McGonagall herself was an Animagus. Malfoy had always seemed rather interested in her, though, and not just as a student is interested in a new professor. Curiosity, and something else. Yes, she did see a great deal of Draco Malfoy.

Or did he see a great deal of her?

"They're sick," he said succinctly. She looked at him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She blew out a silvery cloud of smoke. She was indeed sorry: if Crabbe and Goyle had not been ill, they would be with Malfoy now, and it was easier to deal with him when he wasn't alone.

"Thank you," he said. "How are you, Professor Serenskaya?"

"I'm fine," she said. The silence stretched. Malfoy regarded her, his pale grey eyes unreadable. This was ridiculous, she thought. She was a teacher, for Merlin's sake. Why did she feel skewered by that grey gaze like a bug on a pale silver pin? "Malfoy," she said suddenly, "was there something you wanted to say?"

Abruptly the pale mask broke, and she thought she could see a human behind his winter-colored eyes. He looked away. "I–" he began, and stopped. The mask was back in place. "No, I suppose not. I merely wanted to enjoy your company, Professor."

Nastasya let smoke trickle from her nostrils, like one of Hagrid's dragons. The silence grew again, became unpleasant, and suddenly eased. "I see," she said, and smiled. It was almost a genuine smile. They had paused by the bottom of the great stairs leading up to Hogwarts' entrance, and abruptly Malfoy sat down on a step, produced a battered pack of clove cigarettes, and lit one. Nastasya smiled despite herself. Malfoy noticed the smile.

"What?" he asked, exhaling. "You're going to reprimand me, aren't you."

"I suppose I should," she said, "but it would be rather rich, don't you think? Besides, I like those."

Wordlessly he offered her the pack. She took one, let him light it for her with a flick of his wand. The sweetness of the smoke brought memories back to her. Durmstrang, in the first flush of the high alpine spring, and a young man with eyes the color of new green apples....

She shook away the thought. She didn't like Malfoy, but she was learning that she could deal with him. And he was being uncharacteristically polite. Normally there was a thrusting, half-leering quality about him she didn't like. He seemed far more like the fifteen-year-old she knew him to be than the polished and unpleasant scion of the ancient Malfoy clan.

"Why was Potions cancelled?" she asked idly, drawing pictures with the tip of the cigarette and feeling rather young all of a sudden. Malfoy shrugged.

"There was a note on the door. 'Potions class is cancelled today. Four rolls of parchment on the use and abuse of the nightshade family in Fibrilia Potions due Wednesday.' I don't know. Snape works in mysterious ways."

"That he does." Nastasya didn't want to think about Severus Snape more than she could possibly help. It was hard to believe he was teaching at Hogwarts after having been a Death Eater; it was easy, very easy to believe that he had served Voldemort. Even without having seen the Dark Mark branded on his left forearm, she would have had no trouble believing that. It was just odd, believing–wanting to believe-- she had been shut of him forever, to have come back to teach at Hogwarts and find him the head of her old House. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"What's it like having him as head of Slytherin?" She cursed herself for letting the sentence slip out. She had never meant to ask about Snape. Never meant to think about him. But sometimes there were things she couldn't avoid. If Severus was an Animagus, he'd be a snake. No question about it. Not necessarily a poisonous one; but a snake nonetheless.

Malfoy looked down at the ground, dragging hard on his cigarette. The pale hair swung forward, hiding his face, so that she could only guess at the expression in those silver eyes. "It's interesting, I suppose you could say. He's fiercely loyal to the House, of course. And he's certainly got the right idea when it comes to dealing with those idiot Gryffindors." He looked up abruptly. "But you don't ask him questions about anything except Potions, and then only with some forethought. He's got a worse temper than my father."

And that's saying something, Nastasya thought fervently. She had known Lucius Malfoy briefly when he had been a student at Hogwarts, two years older than herself, and had been clever enough to avoid him like the plague. He had been the ringleader of a gang of Slytherins whose name was legion and whose acts had been "overlooked" by the Board purely because one could not, could not, expel a Malfoy. The activities of Malfoy and his cronies had horrified her beyond normal schoolgirl hatred, and she had done her best to block Malfoy out of her mind. She remembered enough to know that he was far, far nastier than Snape could ever be. She felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for Draco Malfoy, growing up in a household so devoid of love, or even humanity. His mother was little more than an ice queen, and the pride of the Malfoys must have made his young life rather complicated. To say the least.

"Is he...fair?"

"Fair?" repeated Malfoy with a little laugh. "Are you asking me as a Slytherin or as a student?"

"I see." She crushed out her cigarette. "I think he must have a lot to hide. More, perhaps, than I do."

Malfoy rose. "Professor Serenskaya?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for....talking to me." The mask was wavering again, but as she watched he snapped it back into place. "I should be getting back to class."

"You're welcome," she said, and was surprised to find she meant it. "I've played truant long enough myself."

Together they went into Hogwarts, and above the castle the bright sky was clear and pellucid as champagne, and no birds rose in it.

Nastasya licked her lips, hurrying up the great staircase toward her office. The sweetness of Malfoy's cigarette still lingered on them.

That was weird, she thought. I wonder what he wanted. Malfoy always wants something. And I'm pretty sure he saw me transform. No one except Dumbledore and Lupin knows about that.

So what? she asked herself acidly. You're registered, aren't you? You've got nothing to hide. Not about that, anyway.

Would he tell Snape? She cut the thought off, but too late to stop it sinking heavily into her mind. It was none of Snape's business that the DaDA teacher was an Animagus. Besides, she was indeed registered, and there was no reason at all why she should worry about detection.

She almost convinced herself. Almost.

She unlocked the door of her office, both physical locks and wards she'd set on it herself, and relaxed almost at once as the familiar scent of valerian and ambergris embraced her. She took off her cloak and hung it on the back of the scarred door before collapsing wearily in the chair, surrounded by her familiar tools and talismans. The Foe-Glass, a gift from her Headmaster at Durmstrang, gleamed softly on the wall beside the enchanted sword she'd picked up in Wales. Almost every flat surface of the room was cluttered with scrying equipment, early-warning devices, repeller-charms and magical weaponry.

Nastasya slowly became aware of a faint high-pitched whine. After a few moments of glancing around the room, she realized what the noise was, and pulled out her Sneakoscope from the desk's bottom drawer. It was screaming.

That was nothing new; like any school, Hogwarts had its share of students trying their damnedest to get away with things they shouldn't, and more than once Nastasya had been alerted to some minor fraud by the shrill cries of the little globe. It seemed remarkably loud this time, though, and she wondered what student prank would make it so concerned.

She put the Sneakoscope back in its drawer and covered it in a velvet scarf to muffle the noise, and reached for her crystal bowl.

Excitement was threatening to make her smile, despite her worry. Auror training had been exciting like this, up until the point where she'd almost died. She opened a leather case and drew out a selection of bottles and jars, poured and mixed until she had a glittering jewel-clear red liquid half-filling the crystal bowl, letting off glints of crimson light. Even Snape wouldn't know this recipe, she thought with a little thrill of glee. Mad-Eye Moody himself had taught it to her. She sprinkled a pinch of phoenix ash over the moving surface of the liquid, and leaned back as a puff of red smoke rose from the bow. She tapped it with her wand. "Revelatio maledictus," she said briskly.

The liquid in the bowl turned opaque black.

"Shit," said Nastasya Kallikrevna Serenskaya, very quietly.

....blood. Her hair is like blood, slow-flowing venous blood. Her face is the face of an angel unjustly dealt with. She moves like a dancer, like a snake.

Her evening class–the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sixth-years–passed without incident. She was teaching them the methods of breaking glamories cast by Dark wizards, which were entirely different from those cast by the benevolent. Glamories weren't dangerous in themselves, but the ones used by the Dark were extremely difficult to break, and were often used to conceal the activity of Dark wizards in everyday life. It was rather funny, Nastasya often thought, that she was teaching Harry Potter Defense against the Dark Arts, when he had more field experience than she did herself. The last go-round with Voldemort had been the worst, and even Dumbledore thought they probably had another few years before the Dark Lord came back for another try, but she felt a strange urgency to teach Potter all she knew. She felt that he would need it.

Her attention wasn't really on the lesson, though, and she was as relieved as her students when the bell rang, freeing them. She had to talk to Dumbledore about the Revelation Charm. She had never seen it do that before. On her way out of the classroom, however, someone called her name.

"Yes?" she asked, turning to face–who else–the Boy who Lived. Stupid title, she thought absently. He ought to be called something heroic, like The Dark's Downfall, or Voldemort's Worst Nightmare.

Potter gave her a lopsided smile. "I, um, have a question. Not about this," he waved at the DaDA classroom. "Do you know why Potions was cancelled today? I've been asking everyone."

Nastasya shrugged. "Not a clue, Harry. Draco Malfoy told me there was a note on the door giving you the homework assignment, but I have no idea why you didn't have class."

He scowled fiercely at the mention of Malfoy. "I see. I was just wondering, because I don't think Snape's ever cancelled class since I've been here. Not once. He's not dead, is he?"

She laughed, despite herself, and was surprised at how good it felt. "Not as far as I know. I'm sure the Headmaster will tell us if anything out of the ordinary is going on." I wonder if Dumbledore knows about this. Whatever it is. Malfoy's acting human, Snape's nowhere to be seen–giving up an opportunity to be nasty to Harry, which isn't like him–my Sneakoscope's going mad, and the Revelation Charm I performed showed me utter blackness. Something is up. I wish I knew what.

"You're probably right," said Potter, and sighed. "I've got to go, I've got Quidditch practice before dinner. See you, Professor."

"Take care," she said. I've never even heard of a Revelation Charm failing. Not if you do it right. And I know I did.

Back in her office, Nastasya had a good look at the Foe-Glass, just in case she'd missed something incredibly obvious. It was blank, showing only the drifting shapes of people moving through the corridor outside; nothing particularly ominous. But the object itself, oval and elegant in its pewter frame, cast her mind back to the spring thaw at Durmstrang, and the boy with the apple-green eyes, and she was as unable to stop the memories cascading out of the past as she had been to see anything at all in the oil-black Revelation.

It had been her last year at Durmstrang; she had transferred from Hogwarts at the end of her fourth year, leaving behind

(Severus)

everything that had happened there, and tried her damnedest to start again, start fresh, in the simple cold purity of the mountains. She had done well at Durmstrang, far better than at Hogwarts, and was preparing to graduate with honors. The then Headmaster, Florescu, had told her she had what it would take to become an Auror, and she had never felt before or since the incredible rush of joy that had come over her at that news. She had wanted to be an Auror ever since she understood what they were, at the age of twelve. To hear that she could achieve that had been to have her dreams come true.

She sighed, a half-smile tugging at her lips. Pity it hadn't panned out. But back then, when she had been seventeen and still somewhat innocent, the prospect of Auror training had put her on cloud nine. She had left Florescu's office with an idiotic grin on her face, and run all the way back through the castle to the great balcony overlooking the Alech glacier to tell her friends. They always gathered there in the spring; the warm breeze lifted itself from the valley and caressed the mountaintops there, and sometimes it carried the faint wild scent of the flowers on the distant alpine meadows with it. Lucire de Merisi and Ilinka Berkova had been waiting there for her, and squealed with delight when she told them her news.

"What about Radu?" Lucire asked, once the congratulatory storm had died down a bit.

"What about him?"

"Well, didn't you say he wanted to marry you?"

Nastasya hunched into her furs. "Yes. I don't see why this would stop him, though."

"Yeah, wasn't his mother an Auror?" Ilinka grinned at her, vast blue eyes guileless and happy. Nastasya nodded.

"One of the best. Come on, let's go get a drink."

But Lucire had been right. Lucire was always right; it was an annoying habit of hers. Lucire had loved Radu against her will ever since she'd known him, and had stepped aside when Nastasya had begun to show an interest, but she still retained her ability to predict what he would do. Nastasya often thought that Lucire knew Radu better than Radu himself, and in this case she had known what he would do. She had told Radu her news that night at dinner, and had been shocked at how cold his brilliant green eyes had gone.

"So that's it," he said. "You're off to Auror training once we graduate."

She looked at him, puzzled and hurt. "Well, yes, I've got to go through the training. But that doesn't mean we can't..."

He cut her off. "I love you," he said, almost bitterly.

"I love you too, Radu. What's the matter?"

He hadn't said anything, and the conversation around them had taken over. She hadn't found out until much later that his mother had left his father to be an Auror, that her career had destroyed the marriage and eventually killed her, painfully. She hadn't known; she also didn't know if it would have changed her intentions. She loved Radu. She'd loved him for three years; she intended to marry him once they graduated. But she had thought she was born to be an Auror, and no life would have seemed complete without becoming one.

Oh, Radu, she thought, now, in her Hogwarts office. What a pity we were both too damn young to deal with it. What a pity we didn't know the future.

The scar all the way down her right arm ached dully, as if in response to the memory. To the regret. She ignored it, with a perceptible effort of will, and returned her mind to the present and the interesting and disturbing events of the day.

The clock in the corner chimed loudly, jerking her out of her thoughts, and she realized it was time for dinner. Brushing phoenix-ash residue from her black robes, she rose and hurried down to the Great Hall, where almost all the other teachers had already taken their places at the staff table. Remus Lupin was there, looking extremely ill, and she remembered with a start that the full moon had been the previous evening. Time was passing faster than she realized. McGonagall and Flitwick had already begun to eat; Dumbledore was having a deep conversation with Sinistra and Sprout, and the rest of the faculty was engaged in small talk, but she saw no evidence of Snape whatsoever. She closed the door behind her, fighting a blush as every eye in the Hall turned to stare at her, and slid into her place at the table between Lupin and McGonagall.

"You look preoccupied," said Lupin, passing her the pumpkin juice. "Anything wrong?"

As always, she was amazed at his perception, and his ability to totally disregard his own condition in concern for others. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "It's been an odd day. What about you, Remus? You look worn out."

"I had a tough night," he said ruefully. "Today wasn't much better. Is it just me, or are those Weasley twins getting worse with every passing month?"

"You'd think the prospect of NEWTs would shock them into behaving," agreed McGonagall. "They've got a great deal of potential, but they seem to be convinced that their horrible joke shop is more important than their studies."

Nastasya laughed a little. "The world needs jokers," she said mildly.

"My classes don't," Lupin retorted, and now she laughed for real. Lupin had been teaching upper-level electives, Magical Lit and History of Animagi, since Dumbledore had rehired him the year before. He'd taken the DaDA lessons again, but reluctantly, and had been more than happy to give them up when her name had come up for consideration as the Defense against the Dark Arts professor. Nastasya was terribly glad he'd let Dumbledore convince him to return to the Hogwarts faculty after the previous year's apocalyptic punch-up with Voldemort that had finally cleared Black's name and sent Lupin's down in history as definitely on the side of good. She'd always liked Remus; they'd been friends back in her own days at Hogwarts, even though he had the advantage of a year on her; and despite their different House affiliations, he had always been wry and funny and kind to her.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Surely it makes life more interesting."

"There's an old Chinese curse," said Lupin hollowly. "I expect you're familiar with it."

McGonagall sighed. "Relax," she said."I'll have a little talk with the Weasleys. Now eat, Remus. You look awful."

"Thank you so much," he said wryly, but did as she commanded. Nastasya found herself looking up and down the table, as if Snape would suddenly Apparate in the middle of dinner and explain his absence. She knew it was stupid to worry....no, worry was the wrong word.... wonder so much about his vanishing for the space of a day, but it was just so unlike Snape to cancel a class with no warning that she was sure something was not as it should be.

"Nastasya?" McGonagall was looking at her questioningly. She sighed.

"Nothing. I'm just sort of vaguely wondering where Severus is. He cancelled Potions today, and I've just remembered he wasn't at breakfast or lunch."

McGonagall looked thoughtful. "He's probably just busy. I know I 've got a stack of midterm exams in my office that badly need grading."

Nastasya raised an eyebrow. McGonagall was generally very much on top of her work. It had been a strange month, though. "I expect so." She didn't mention the Revelation Charm. Perhaps she should talk to Flitwick before approaching the Headmaster, in case she had done something wrong.

You didn't. You know you didn't.

She sighed, helped herself to more roast chicken. Maybe if she didn't think about it, it would go away. She turned her attention out to the Hall, her gaze flicking over the tables, coming to rest on Draco Malfoy's silver-blonde head. Crabbe and Goyle were still absent, but Malfoy's fan club was being as sycophantic as ever. She noticed Pansy Parkinson staring up with adoring eyes into Malfoy's face, and was surprised to see that the look of slightly bored superiority was conspicuously absent from his aristocratic features. Pansy tipped her head on one side and put the back of her hand against Malfoy's forehead as if testing for fever, and he batted her hand away, annoyed. He did look rather pale, she reflected. So did several of the other Slytherins. In fact, much of the student population looked slightly off-color.

Probably the flu, she thought. Malfoy might have got it from Crabbe or Goyle, and it might explain why he was acting oddly. Perhaps Snape was ill, too.

He's never ill, said the annoyingly persistent voice in the back of her head. He's too unpleasant to be ill. Pathogens are frightened of him. It was true; in all the years she'd known Severus Snape, he'd never once been sick. She remembered hating him for it in the throes of a particularly virulent cold in her second year at Hogwarts. Bastard.

She refilled her goblet, waiting for the remains of dinner to vanish and be replaced by a plethora of desserts. Hogwarts's house-elves did a mean chocolate mousse.

She thought she might swing by the hospital wing after dinner. Just to say hello to Poppy, of course. She hadn't seen the nurse in a while.

You always were a dreadful liar, Nadezhda, said a silky voice in her head, and she cursed silently. She'd almost managed to forget that name, and what it had once meant.

"Nastasya?" Remus Lupin's voice broke into her thoughts. She welcomed the interruption.

"Mmmm?" She turned to face him. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Are you really all right? You looked a million miles away."

Not miles. Years. "I'm fine. Just tired. My Sneakoscope kept me up last night; the bloody thing wouldn't shut up." Now why did I say that?

McGonagall frowned. "Why was it acting up?"

"I don't know," she said, honestly. "Probably just some students plotting something. I don't even know why I brought it here. There's too much background intrigue."

McGonagall appeared satisfied with this, and just then the desserts appeared, effectively closing the subject.

Snape still hadn't appeared by the end of dinner, and while Nastasya rather wanted to approach the Headmaster and get her worries off her chest, she thought it might be wise to have a quick look in the hospital wing and then try the Revelation again, just to make sure. She rose to go, and noticed Lupin rubbing at his temples. "Remus?"

"Hmm?" He looked up.

"I'm going to go and say hello to Poppy. Why don't you come with me and see if she can give you anything for that headache?"

Lupin grinned suddenly, and it struck her again how young he really was, despite the silvering hair. "You always were too damn perceptive, Nastasya. All right."

They walked up to the hospital wing in companionable silence. Nastasya was less than surprised to see that at least half of the beds were occupied by students. She had been right; there was something going around. Madame Pomfrey was sitting at her desk, scribbling reports. She looked up as they reached her office doorway.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "Nastasya and Remus. I haven't seen either of you two in a while."

"That's because we're both so healthy," said Nastasya, grinning. Lupin sighed wryly.

"Nevertheless, have you got anything for a migraine?" he asked. Madame Pomfrey hissed in sympathy, turned to her shelves of potions and nostrums.

"So what's this new plague that's attacking the school?" inquired Nastasya casually, lounging against the doorframe. Madame Pomfrey found what she was looking for, measured three drops of it into a glass of water (which went suddenly purple and started to steam) and gave it to Lupin.

"Drink that....all of it...and go to bed." She turned to Nastasya. "It's flu, or something like it. Half the school's already got it, and the rest of them are probably incubating. It should only last a few days, though."

"You haven't had Snape in here, have you?" Nastasya asked.

"Severus? No, why?"

"He's missing. I figured he was either ill or had eloped with Moaning Myrtle." Lupin choked on the potion, and Madame Pomfrey had to smack him roundly on the back; when she turned back to Nastasya, she too was suppressing a grin.

"I wouldn't know, dear. If I see him, shall I tell him you're concerned?"

"Of course. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight for worrying." She kept her face straight, barely. In the back of her head the horrible little voice laughed at her. How right you are.

"I suggest a large bar of chocolate and a cup of very hot tea," said Madame Pomfrey seriously. "Best thing for worry-induced insomnia. Now go away, the two of you, and let me do my job."

They left, snickering. Lupin yawned as they got back to the faculty quarters. "I think I will go to bed," he said. "Moaning Myrtle....ugh, what an image that is."

"Sorry," she said unrepentantly. "Couldn't help myself. Good night, Remus." You will never know how much that cost me, my friend. Not if I can help it.

"Good night, Nastasya."

She shrugged out of her robes, thinking longingly of the night wind lifting her feathers as she flung herself across the sky, yearning for the utter freedom of hawkflight, and set up the ingredients for the Revelation Charm once more. This time she was making no mistakes. You didn't make a mistake last time, either, said the voice. Yes, well, this time we're measuring with exaggerated care.

She proceeded to mix the ingredients together, stirring in textbook fashion, using the correct hands to add each new substance. Finally, the pinch of phoenix ash (thank heavens Dumbledore's got a phoenix, this stuff is fiendishly expensive) drifted down to the surface of the brew in a perfect circle, and sent up its miniature cloud of red smoke. "Revelatio maledictus," she said, tapping the rim of the bowl firmly with her wand.

Dead black again. She had definitely done it right.

She peered closer into the lightless depths of the bowl. Not completely lightless, though, she suddenly realized. "Nox," she said, flicking her wand at the lights, and in the sudden darkness she could clearly see the dim red glow emanating from the liquid. It was moving sluggishly, round in a circle, as if stirred by some unseen hand.

Suddenly it was just too much. "Lux," she muttered, and the lights sprang back into life, and she scattered a handful of white crystals into the bowl, and the liquid turned clear and yellowish, inert. She was definitely talking to Dumbledore. Definitely.

The clock in the corner struck eleven. Perhaps, she amended, not tonight.