Ashes to Ashes

Ashes to Ashes

Chapter One

At The Priory

'Perhaps I should take up smoking,' Doctor Elizabeth Tudor thought idly, as she paced back and forth in front of the tightly closed door of Snape Priory.

"It would certainly help to pass the time," she muttered aloud, as she pivoted on her heel and retraced her steps. It was either that or go back to the village inn, and admit defeat, which was something she could not afford to suffer. So, she paced, stopping only every once in a while to glare up at the set of diamond-paned windows that she was sure he was watching her from.

She had been expecting an ancient structure, and wasn't disappointed in seeing that the house was indeed that and more. Her hasty research the night before had told her that the town of Snape harkened back to Norman times. The house itself had been built before the Third Crusade, and had belonged to the Catholic Church until the Dissolution under the reign of King Henry the Eighth. At that time, the priory had been given to Steven Snape, whom the king had made an Earl and peer of the realm. This had been a reward for his loyalty and support of the king during the bitter separation from the Catholic Church.

Since that time, it had belonged to that family, passed down from elder son to elder son. To her surprise, the current Earl Snape was the very man she had journeyed so far to see. She closed the lid to her laptop computer, and wondered if Henry the Eighth had known that the man he'd awarded the Earldom to so long ago had been a wizard. 'Probably not,' she eventually concluded, for her distant relative would surely have burned the man for witchcraft.

Later, while bathing, she wondered if she was supposed to curtsey to Severus Snape, but with a laugh, she abandoned the idea while chiding herself for being so colonial in her thinking.

Still, as she drove through the gates of the property and up the tree-shaded drive, she couldn't help but be a bit breathless with anticipation. The seriousness of the visit did not stop her from admiring the mixture of stone and Tudor architecture of the house. Emerald green grass covered the front lawn like a velvet cloak, stretching from the edge of the drive to a distant group of chestnut trees. She slid out of the car and smiled as the sun shone down on the scene, warming the air around her. 'The climate is so different from the heat and humidity of New Orleans at this time of year,' she thought.

She wished that her visit here could have been of a pleasant sort.

'Perhaps, one day I'll be able to return and take in the scene at my leisure, but not this time,' she'd thought, turning her mind to more important things. Things like the seven dead bodies awaiting her back home, and the man she was about to introduce herself to.

In spite of her fear of flying, she had taken the long trip from New Orleans to Scotland in the hopes of seeing Albus Dumbledore. It had been a long, tense journey, made bearable only with the aid of three Martini's on the New Orleans to New York leg, and another four on the New York to Scotland leg.

She had managed to achieve a huge hangover, and a raging case of jet lag, only to find out that the wizard she sought was dead, and that Minerva McGonagall had replaced him as the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The older witch had been welcoming, having her into the castle for tea and inviting her to spend the night. Minerva had been horrified at the tale Elizabeth told her over that lovely, reviving tea. The advice to go and see Severus Snape, the former Potions master and ex-Death Eater, had seemed sound at the time.

That had been two days before. Now, after a day of traveling, a night spent on a lumpy mattress at the village inn, and being rudely turned away by a sniveling house-elf, Elizabeth Tudor, Deputy Medical Examiner of Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, was getting angry.

She drew a deep breath, and breaking out of her set walking pattern, stomped up to the solid oak door that barred her from finishing her mission. Grabbing the ring that dangled from the boar's head knocker, she banged the metal furiously against the wood as she muttered, "Open the damn door you salaud, or I'll hex your potions 'til they curdle!"

Her only response was the distant tweep of a bird and the dull buzzing from a nearby hive of honeybees.

She drew a shaky breath, realizing that if she were tossing ineffectual curses in French, she was too angry to think rationally. Hissing in frustration, she clenched her fists into tight balls and made her way back out onto the lightly graveled drive, where she resumed her pacing.

SS~SS~SS~SS~SS~SS~SS

Darkness had descended, and lights now blazed behind the windows of the house. Leaning against the car, she watched and waited. The occasional passing of a shadow in the lit windows broke the monotony of the vigil, and confirmed the presence of the man she sought.

She had stopped her pacing hours before, and while cursing the name of Snape, she'd sped away with the tires of her car kicking up gravel behind it. She knew that he had seen her departure, and that he had more than likely gloated over it. 'Let him have his temporary victory,' she'd thought. 'I'll be back!'

After a refreshing shower, and a lovely supper of roast beef and vegetables, which had been cooked by the innkeeper's wife, she had a nice chat with the innkeeper himself. He had no information on the man whose name matched the village, other than that he was a reclusive man who hardly ever ventured into the town

'Surprise, surprise!' she had thought to herself at the time, as she took another sip of her wine.

"Ye say that ye spent the whole day in front of his 'ouse?" the man had asked in an incredulous tone.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, aren't ye the tenacious one?" had been his laughing reply. She had smiled a tight smile at him and excused herself. She had a mission to complete.

That evening, her knocking on the door had gone unanswered, although the curtains in the third floor window had again twitched. She was stymied at his obstinacy, by his refusal to even see her, She had even given the letter that Minerva McGonagall had sent to the house-elf that had answered earlier.

Her head was slightly buzzing from the wine she'd had with her dinner, and the exhaustion she was feeling after four days of travel, information, and pacing, was beginning to catch up with her.

"Merde!" she exclaimed sotto voce, bringing herself back to the present. Checking her watch, and noting the time as going on seven o'clock, she pushed herself off of the fender of her car and strode to the front door with purpose. She grabbed the now-familiar knocker and proceeded to apply it loudly to the door.

After nearly five minutes of non-stop pounding, the door flew open to reveal a dimly lit, empty space. Her eyes widened as she was thrown off balance, and she stumbled to keep from falling.

"Miss is to stop pounding on the door," a voice wheezed.

Elizabeth frowned down at the source of the voice, which belonged to the house-elf that had turned her away earlier. She placed her hand on the door and shoved it open. Barging her way past the creature she exclaimed, "Miss is a Doctor and is here to see Lord Snape!"

"Furthermore," she continued, ignoring the startled expression on the house-elf's face,

"I have come a good distance to see him and have been sent by the Headmistress of Hogwarts, which I informed you of when I came this morning! Now, kindly go and fetch your master, and tell him that I shan't be leaving until he has heard what I have to say!"

Hidden in the shadows that darkened the first landing of a stone staircase, Severus Snape listened to the accented voice of the intruder as his eyes traveled up and down her form. He sneered as he noticed that she wore trousers that Muggles referred to as 'blue jeans' and a lavender silk blouse, which was tucked neatly into them. The blue material of the trousers hugged her figure, which he noted was just shy of full. The blouse skimmed over her torso, brushing over her breasts, which were proportionate to the rest of her. Her legs weren't overly long, but she stood a little taller than the average witch of her age. Had he been describing her to someone, he would have said that she was five foot five. Her face, however, was a different matter all together.

He could see that long dark lashes framed her eyes, although he was too far away to note their color. Her nose was a bit long and narrow in appearance, and her lips were slightly pouty, just shy of a bow shape. It was her hair, however, that captured and held his attention. It was a perfect shade of auburn, which she wore pulled back and bound at the base of her neck, exposing a dramatic widow's peak over her oval face.

"That won't be necessary, Tiny."

Both glanced up, startled by the sudden proclamation, spoken gruffly from the direction of the staircase. The house-elf shivered and then, with a snap of its fingers, disappeared from the room in a puff of smoke

Elizabeth let her gaze linger on the dim stairwell, hoping that the voice belonged to the man she had come so far to find. She watched as a dark figure separated it self from the shadows and moved slowly down the remaining steps.

'Oh, God,' she thought, as her heart pounded harder in her chest. Severus Snape, former instructor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry now stood before her.

"You are persistent in your mission, Doctor Tudor," he said slowly in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

She looked at him through the eyes of one who is trained to observe. He wasn't attractive by any stretch of the imagination. His nose was too sharp to be considered aquiline or aristocratic. His eyes were beetle-black and piercing, although they sparkled with intelligence. His lips were just shy of sensual, the upper lip being a bit on the thin side, although the lower lip did lend its self to a bit more fullness. His cheekbones would have driven some women to envy with their height and scimitar sharpness.

He was, she thought as she took in his stance, a man who knew what he was all about. He had the quiet confidence of one who knew that he was good at what he did, but without the swagger of conceit that so many men of her acquaintance held. He was the type of man, she thought, that brooked no foolishness.

He also looked rather angry at the moment, if the thin line of his lips and furrowed brow were an accurate indication of his feelings at her behavior.

"Yes, I am," was her reply, the evenness of her tone belying the fear that slithered down her spine. "Especially when my mission is one of the utmost importance."

Silence fell.

She stood there, willing herself not to tremble, as he stared at her through narrowed eyes. She knew that if she moved, if she showed any sign of fear, he would turn his back on her, and she would never be able to state her case.

Finally, he spoke. "State your reasons for being here, Doctor."

She drew a deep breath and sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenward.

"I am Doctor Elizabeth Tudor," she said. "I am the Deputy Medical Examiner of Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, which is in the United States of-"

"I am well aware of who you are and where you come from, Doctor," he interrupted with a growl. "I asked you to state your business, not give me your history."

She blinked at him and swallowed. "I am investigating a series of murders that have occurred in my jurisdiction over the last seven weeks," she said in a businesslike tone. "I have seven victims, all unrelated to each other in any way, save one."

He hadn't moved or changed his posture as she spoke. She looked at him, standing there, with his arms still folded. His eyes were expressionless, and his face was as blank as slate. Puzzled at his lack of curiosity, she continued, "Every one of them was involved with the occult in some way, and every crime scene had a signature to it. A figure was burned into the wall of the room the body was found in."

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands behind her back, adopting the attitude that was habitual to her when she was reviewing a case with a colleague. Silence had fallen again, but only for a moment, before she continued. "Although the method of application puzzled the crime scene investigators, I knew immediately that the drawing was applied by using a Burning Charm. It was the marking that I didn't recognize. It took me, I am sorry to say, until the seventh murder to figure out what it was."

.

She had paused for a moment, to check his face for any sign of reaction, only to see the same blank look he had been giving her. Satisfied that he hadn't chucked her out yet, she took a breath and, plunged on. "The figure was a skull with a snake issuing from its mou-"

"Enough!" he shouted, cutting her off before she could finish her description.

She jumped at the sound and forced herself to meet his eyes. She gasped at the anger she saw blazing in them. Although he hadn't moved, save the unfolding of his arms, she felt as though he were bearing down on her. She stood frozen in place, afraid to move in the current of anger that seemed to roll from his eyes, from his body, to beat against her like waves off a stormy sea.

"Get out," he hissed. "Get out now!"

She wanted to turn and run, but her feet wouldn't obey. She shivered, knowing that, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't leave. Not now. Not without finishing her tale.

"Lord Snape," she said softly. "Please-"

"No!" he shouted, this time striding to her. His hands, which he had held balled into fists at his sides, now grabbed her by the shoulders. "I cannot help you!"

"Cannot, or will not?" she retorted, her voice rising hysterically, as his fingers dug into her flesh.

He wrenched her around to face the door and began pushing her toward it. Struggling against him, she pushed her back into his chest while trying to find purchase with her shoes against the floor.

"Stop!" she shouted frantically. "Please! It was the Dark Mark! It was the Dark Mark! You must help me! Someone is trying to resurrect Volde-"

"No!" he cried, shoving her away from him roughly. Her body flew at the door, her head striking hard against the wood. Stars exploded behind her eyes, followed by a whirling darkness that pulled her into its core.

Making no effort to catch her, he watched as she crumpled to the floor in a heap of purple silk and blue denim. He stood over her, unmoving as red-hot anger surged though his blood. His head began to throb, as his blood rushed into his brain, thumping and pounding in his ears.

After a time, his body began to tremble. He opened his eyes. The candlelight of the chandelier was, for a moment, too bright as he gazed down at the still unconscious woman who had stormed into his home not ten minutes before.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, horrified at the results of his outburst. "Damn it all to hell!"

Running a trembling hand through his hair, he took a breath, and pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Tiny!" he bellowed. As the house-elf popped into the room, he cast a Mobilicorpus< and guided her limp form into the air. "Prepare a room for our guest."

< A/N:<

My thanks to southern_witch_69 and Odd Doll for their critique, suggestions and comma wrangling! Make sure you check out their fics too!