Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

It was a bright and quiet night in early June. The sun had set behind the Ramtops and the birds of Lancre had settled down to rest. All that could be heard was a gentle wind in the treetops and the occasional angst-ridden shrieks of a particularly insecure bird who had not been successful as far as the springtime courting rituals were concerned, and was now having nightmares about whatever was the bird equivalent of dying a lonely death and being eaten by Alsatians in a squalid bed-sit near the railway tracks.

And then something came ringing through the silence.

"A wizard's staff has a knob on the end...."

The singer of the song was called Nanny Ogg, and she was drunk. This was not unusual in itself; neither was the singing. What was unusual, and in fact rather alarming, was the reason for the nocturnal drinking binge: Nanny was bored. This had never happened before, and consequently she hadn't realised at first what was wrong. She had tried everything, including hugging her numerous and sticky grandchildren, shouting at her equally numerous and very frightened daughters-in-law, and eating some very smelly and possibly antique garlic sausage that she had brought home from a recent journey abroad. But nothing had helped. She was now nursing her fourth pint of rum and feeling a little bit better. The alcohol had helped her realise two things. One: she was bored, and had been for the past few weeks and two: when it comes to drunken singing, there is nothing like the classics.

"...knobontheend, knobontheend...sigh."

So this is boredom, Nanny thought, the unpleasantness of it managing to sober her up, wasting several months' brewing time of perfectly good rum. Well. Something had to be done about it. She walked across her kitchen floor, reached into a drawer and pulled out an envelope containing a letter, which after a few weeks in Nanny Ogg's kitchen drawer had acquired a slightly sticky and vaguely rummy patina. It had arrived a couple of weeks ago from one of her more exotic acquaintances, a small elf[1] called Boffy who had been adopted by a Lancre family at an early age but never felt quite at home. Eventually he had gone to find excitement and adventure outside Lancre, and ended up working in the kitchens of some wizarding school or other. Apparently, a large percentage of elves working in the kitchens had become sick and tired of the persistent and increasingly perilous harassment by a particularly unpleasant poltergeist. In desperation, Boffy had recalled a witch from his home village who took an interest in cooking and who wasn't easily scared. So, he'd sat down and written a letter, begging Nanny to come and help out, if only over the summer. When the letter arrived, Nanny hadn't even considered leaving Lancre, but now the proposal sounded tantalising. She looked at the address. Hogwarts. Had a nice ring to it.[2] What the hell, she thought, and went to pack her bags.

* * *

It was a beautiful day towards the end of June, and the grounds around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were shimmering in the summer heat. The Giant Squid raised its head above the surface of the lake, but quickly decided it didn't need a tan and sunk back towards the blissfully cool depths. The grounds were calm; in fact, they were deserted. The students had gone home two weeks previously, and the staff were peacefully working at whatever took their fancy. Perched upon the uppermost step leading up to the great entrance sat the gnarled figure of Argus Filch. He loved the summer holidays. No filthy, stinking students dragging their mud-encrusted robes all across his beautiful floors. No degenerate little devils there to harass his beloved Mrs Norris. No dungbombs. Filch heaved a contented little sigh, and lifted his gaze from his work to look at the wonderfully empty grounds. Then he got back to doing what he loved most: polishing his collection of medieval torture instruments. He rarely had any time for it during terms; there was always a fresh trail of mud to mop up, or a batch of fireworks to subdue somewhere in the castle. Damn those students! But they wouldn't be back for a long time. And who knew what horrible accidents that could happen to them during the summer! In spite of this blissful state of affairs, however, Filch hadn't been feeling as contented as he should lately. He'd always been happiest on his own with nobody but his beloved cat for company, but as he grew older, he sometimes got the feeling that this was not enough. Normally he got rid of this kind of thoughts by shouting at the students, but now that there weren't any, there was nothing to divert his attention from the little nagging voice of loneliness eating away at his soul.

Beyond the heavy entrance doors, another small figure was enjoying himself. It was hard to believe, but Professor Flitwick had been a duelling champion in youth, and duelling was still his passion. A self-conscious and dignified man, he didn't like to show off his skills in front of others. Besides, his youth was long gone and he probably just looked foolish these days, waltzing around the floors of the Great Hall, trying to remember old duelling tricks and reliving moments of glory. But during the holidays, when the castle was calm and quiet, he spent long hours whirling round the Hall, feeling quite young again. Of course, there was always hell to pay afterwards; sometimes he had to stay in bed for days, nursing his sore limbs. Ah, to be young again! He sighed, pocketed his wand and hobbled towards his office.

In an office a few doors down from Flitwick's, a handsome tabby cat was stretched out on a sofa. More and more these days, Minerva McGonagall felt at her most comfortable as her feline self. She would voice these thoughts, but her human body wasn't exactly young anymore, and she enjoyed feeling as strong and lithe as she did when she was in her Transformed state. Not that she needed all this strength and energy. Hogwarts in the summer was, quite frankly, rather a boring place. Minerva preferred the hustle and bustle of the school during term time, when there was always something to do, to deal with. She liked to deal with things, and she liked people - even though her strictness sometimes led people to believe the opposite. She stretched out and gave a huge yawn. Perhaps she could go and pester Mrs Norris. Or perhaps she'd just take another nap.

And in the secluded calm of his office, the Headmaster sighed and closed his weary eyes. Days like this, all he wanted to do was to go outside and take in the beauty of the castle grounds. His really liked his office, but it got rather warm in the summer. Also the quiet castle always made him feel...well, lonely. Oh, there was always someone around to talk to - he could go downstairs right now and sit down in a comfy staff room chair, and somebody would almost certainly be there, and they could discuss teaching or Transfiguration or the weather or politics or any interesting but generic subject like that. But that wouldn't be enough, not really. How many years had it been since he had felt the warmth of another body next to his? He didn't even want to think about it. He had never imagined being Headmaster would also mean being this lonely.

And so the little group of bored and lonely individuals inside the castle whiled away the long, lovely June days. Some members of staff had gone to see their families, and others were away on various missions. There were only twenty people or so left on the premises, which, considering the size of the place, gave the castle a deserted, almost unreal feel. Those of the teaching staff still present, however, still saw each other at dinner, which was always enjoyable at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Peeves had caused some trouble in the kitchens a few weeks ago, and most of the house-elves preferred not to go there at all. Meals were rather more sparse than usual these days, and it was only to be hoped that the situation would improve before the students returned.

* * *

Nanny was feeling very pleased. It had been the right thing to do, going away for a while. Living in a castle made her feel very important, no matter that her lodgings were located in the servants' quarters. And she earned a good salary and got all the food and drink she wanted. She had never tried Butterbeer before, but it was a very nice acquaintance to make. Tasted a bit like...well, beer, actually. (And banana dackrys. Nanny never turned down a good banana dackry.) She had always felt right at home in any kitchen and got along with the house-elves just fine. As for the poltergeist, Greebo had taken care of that. On Nanny's first day at Hogwarts, Peeves had come bobbing through the door, hell-bent on wreaking havoc. And then Greebo had Stared at him. There was only one person in the world with a better Stare than Greebo, and she was far away from Hogwarts. It is hard to say exactly what Peeves imagined that Greebo would do to him, but from that moment on, he stayed well away from the kitchens.

And yet, and yet...something was missing. Nanny could feel it in her bones. She wouldn't have been able to voice it, exactly, but the castle radiated something that could only be described as sadness. Night after night, Nanny went to sleep in her small but comfortable room, pondering what was wrong. She could feel it in the air, she could almost hear it. She could even taste it in the otherwise excellent food.

The food...

Nanny Ogg wasn't an evil person. She wasn't even a mischievous person, not really. But she had led a long and eventful life, and she had acquired a sense of humour along the way. Also, she knew that once in a while, everybody needs to let their hair down. Some people, however, need a little bit of help.

It was the dead of night. Everything was still and silent. A few owls were hooting softly, leaving the Owlery and going out to hunt. And in the servants' quarters, somebody was rummaging through an old and very battered suitcase, while humming softly to herself:

"A wizard's staff has a knob on the end..."

There it was. She had brought it as an afterthought, not really expecting to be able to use it. It was a book of recipes that had been handed down to her by generations of Ogg women. Stuck to the inside covers were tiny bags of spices. By the look of them, the contents of one bag would hardly be enough for one moderately sized meal. But these weren't regular spices. Nanny wrapped the book in a plain paper bag and crept out of the door, heading for the kitchens. When the first members of the staff arrived in the morning, they would be pleasantly surprised to find a large bowl of porridge, ready to heat and serve. Nanny liked to help out where she could.

* * *

"Albus, would you pass me the porridge, please?"

"Certainly, Minerva. I'll just help myself to a spoonful; there we go."

* * *

Professor McGonagall was feeling very odd. She had put it down to the heat, at first, and decided to Transform and spend the day dozing on her sofa. But she didn't feel like sleeping, not today, and her feline form didn't feel right, either. Something was bothering her, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. What was it? She could remember feeling like this before, in the distant past. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation; far from it, in fact. If she could only put her finger on it...

There was a knock on the door and the Headmaster entered. There was nothing very unusual about this; Professor McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress after all and they had always worked closely together. But she had never seen this expression on his face before, and his intelligent eyes had never quite taken on that particular sheen in the past.

"Minerva, you look stunning."

"Headmaster, what a pleasant surprise."

She tried to keep her voice casual, but it didn't obey. The Headmaster was looking at her very curiously, and the air was thick with tension. Then something clicked inside her head. As Dumbledore shut the door, everything became different.

* * *

Once again a dish had been prepared and was sitting in the kitchen when the house-elves arrived[3]. Sleepily, they put it on a tray and carried it towards the Great Hall.

"Fresh toast, my favourite. Mr Filch, would you like some?"

* * *

Professor Flitwick had never really reflected on the personal life of the Hogwarts caretaker. He supposed he must have an office somewhere, but he had hitherto never been inside it. If he ever had considered Filch's office, he certainly wouldn't have imagined it like this. It was so cosy. He felt happy here. And safe. Safe, in the strong, sinewy arms of Argus Filch.

* * *

A week went by, then two weeks, then a month. Life at Hogwarts had changed. The sleepy, studious summer atmosphere had gone, and in its place had come something that best could be described as spring. A very special sort of spring. The breakfast table in the Great Hall was now empty until early afternoon, when the teachers started showing up in groups of twos and threes. Madam Hooch slouched in her chair, wearing Professor Sprout's old robes. Professor McGonagall, her long hair hanging loose, was giggling at something the Headmaster had just said. Further down the table, Filch and Flitwick were holding hands over their cereal. In their respective offices, heaps of paper sat on their desk and collected dust. Work that had been put away during the semester to be taken care of over the holidays, stayed put away. The castle, that had been so neat and tidy a week after the students had left, now looked very much lived in and a little bit the worse for wear. Nobody would have believed Hogwarts to be the summer abode of a small group of teachers in their primes. If the parents of any of the students had come on an unexpected visit, they would have seriously reconsidered their choice of educational institution.

Nanny Ogg was happy. Her little experiment had worked really well, and the atmosphere in the castle had definitely changed for the better. These hardworking witches and wizards needed this little holiday, and as long as nobody got hurt, where was the harm in it? Her only problem was

that her stock of special spices was running low. By asking a few shrewd questions, however, she had found out that somewhere in the dungeons was the office of some Potions wizard or other, who was currently away on business. If she was lucky, she might be able to borrow a few innocent ingredients. Couldn't hurt to have a look around.

* * *

One afternoon in late July a young woman with bright pink hair came walking across the grounds from the direction of Hogsmeade. On completing her Auror training, Nymphadora Tonks had gone on to work full-time for the Ministry, and was now enjoying the first few days of her summer vacation. She hadn't been back at Hogwarts since she'd left school, but when she'd last met Dumbledore, he had indicated that there was something he wanted to discuss with her that should be kept secret from the Ministry. By nature a curious person, she'd tried getting in touch with Dumbledore several times over the past month, without success Finally, as curiosity got the better of her, she'd decided to visit the school in person and get the Headmaster to speak up. There were other reasons, too, as to why a few days at Hogwarts didn't seem such a bad idea. While it was true that she hadn't been back there for several years, she sometimes ran into people who worked there, and over the past year some of these encounters had become surprisingly pleasurable. She was almost certain that this feeling was mutual, and had been trying to think of a way of making sure. She smiled to herself as she got closer and closer to the castle.

The assembled staff, who were having a picnic on the lawn, watched the visitor approach.

"Hello, Nymphadora!" Dumbledore shouted happily. "What a pleasant surprise! Please come and join us! I do believe we have got some of that delicious carrot and oyster pie left. And when we have finished, Argus has promised to play his guitar for us. Perhaps we'll stay out here all night! We'll build a campfire, won't that be nice?"

The Headmaster beamed at his subordinates, who beamed back, and at Tonks, who felt a bit confused. She had always known Albus Dumbledore to be rather unconventional, but she had never seen him in quite such high spirits before. If she had ever considered the various holiday pastimes of the Hogwarts teachers, she would probably never in a million years have imagined this intimate picnic. And if, only an hour ago, somebody had uttered the words "guitar" "campfire" and "Argus Filch" in the same sentence, she would have burst out laughing. But here she was now, standing in front of this smiling group of witches and wizards who used to be her teachers, wanting her to join them. Tonks shrugged. It had been a long journey, and the food did look delicious.

A couple of hours later, unseen by the noisily singing bunch of people on the lawn, there was a sudden movement in the fireplace of the Great Hall. Where, just moments before, there had been only the feeble flames of a small summer fire, came a sparkle of green glitter and then the outline of a thin, black-clad figure stepped onto the floor, sneezed twice and brushed away some soot from its robes. Severus Snape had left Hogwarts on the first day of the summer holidays, and since then he had been travelling all across Europe, searching for the kind of potions ingredients not readily available in regular shops, even in places like Knockturn Alley. He'd been quite successful and was looking forward to spending the last few weeks of the holidays doing research. Teaching Potions to stupid brats who laughed at him behind his back and kept wishing for his resignation wasn't what he had wanted to do with his life. But the way things had worked out, though, there weren't really that many career paths open to him, and he was in the debt of Albus Dumbledore in more ways than one. It wasn't that he disliked Potions as a subject; as long as he was left alone to carry on with his own research, he was actually quite happy.

As he walked through the Great Hall, heading for the dungeons, he noted with some surprise that the castle seemed to be rather less tidy than it usually was. In fact, the place was a mess. Perhaps Filch was ill, he thought as he walked down the stairs. It was good to be home. He longed for the calm neatness of his office. On his travels, he had been forced to socialise with some people that he normally would go to quite great lengths to avoid. He shuddered.

Reaching his dungeon door, he was just about to pronounce the word to magically unlock it when he noticed that the door had in fact been opened already. Severus frowned. The spell on the door had been quite a good one, and there was no visible damage. He carefully pushed open the door, wand at the ready. He could think of quite a few people who would like to see him hurt, or even dead. But most of these were Death Eaters, and unless something had gone fundamentally wrong since he had left the castle, they wouldn't go anywhere near Hogwarts.

Inside the room everything looked the way it always did. He took a quick look around his office and proceeded to the small apartment beyond it that contained his bed, his book case and a small kitchenette. Everything seemed untouched. He stepped back into the office and let his gaze take everything in: the huge desk, the workbench, the shelves upon shelves with glass jars and potion bottles, the ingredients cabinet...

The ingredients cabinet!

In two huge steps, he crossed the floor. Some had been in here and rummaged around, (here he broke out in a cold sweat) and not in the shelves where he stored ingredients for lessons, either. No, they'd been in the other part of the cabinet. On a shelf at the top, there was a small box with a lock (which, upon closer inspection, also seemed to have been picked by some means other than magic). In it, Severus stored some of the more unusual herbs, essences and fluids available to the discerning potions brewer who knew where to look. He rarely used them. In fact, the mere presence of some of them made him blush. He hadn't used them for many years; in fact, he had been meaning to get rid of them, but somehow he had never got round to it. And now somebody had found him out; somebody knew what kind of ingredients the Potions master kept in the small box at the top of his cabinet.

White with shock and embarrassment, he strode out of his office and took the stairs two at a time. Somebody must have seen something. He would find whoever was responsible and he would make them pay. Upon reaching the Entrance Hall, he heard the soft strumming of a guitar and familiar voices raised in song. It seemed to come from the lawn. Confusion added to anger as he pushed open the great doors.

Severus Snape had seen quite a few things in his day. As a young man he had been intrigued by the Dark Arts, and he had gone down paths that no one, especially a confused and misguided boy like him, should have taken. Later on, when he had joined the Death Eaters, there had been incidents that to this day made him wake up in a cold sweat, horrified screams rising from his throat. But nothing in his life so far had prepared him for the sight of his colleagues, sitting on the lawn by an enormous campfire, singing to the soft strumming of Filch's guitar.

"...with a giraffe if you stand on a stool...."

"Severus! My dear boy, won't you join us?" It was Dumbledore. The other teachers turned towards him and, with friendly shouts, beckoned him to come sit on the lawn. There was somebody else present as well. Severus' heart gave a leap as he recognized the slender pink-haired shape reclining on the grass, gazing up at the stars. Kicking himself mentally for reacting like this, he averted his eyes and began reciting in his head a litany that had become familiar to him over the past year.

"She was your student, she probably hates your guts, she's more than ten years your junior, she smiles like that at everybody, she's got pink hair damn it, she was your student!" But as his heart slowed down to its normal pace, a tiny, treacherous voice shouted back, "Well, that was years ago. And no one ever smiles at you like that - except her!"

Now Tonks stood up, smiled and gave him a friendly wave.

"Hi, Severus. Come and sit down, there's plenty of room. Lovely night, isn't it? But you must be hungry - I'm told you've been away. Have some food, there's lots of it."

But Severus stayed where he was. There was something quite disturbing over the whole tableaux. The staff at Hogwarts had always had a friendly, easy-going relationship with one another, but it had never been, well, touchy-feely. Minerva McGonagall's had was resting on the Headmaster's knee, and Flitwick was gazing at Filch and his guitar in a way that the quality of the music produced didn't quite warrant. Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout were feeding each other fresh strawberries and giggling a lot in the process. And Tonks - well, while she had always maintained a friendly attitude towards him whenever they'd happened to run into each other, there'd never been this feeling of intensity before. Was it a trick? Were they trying to play a joke on him? Muttering something about unpacking his luggage, Severus fled up the stairs to the entrance, heading once more for the dungeons.

Halfway down the stairs he heard the sound of running feet behind him and turned around, whipping out his wand. Tonks was coming towards him, hands raised disarmingly.

"It's only me, Severus. Please don't fire." She smiled. Severus didn't.

"Yes, Miss Tonks? I'm not all that fond of bonfires and silly food, so if it's not terribly important, perhaps we could have this chat some other time. I've got some potions ingredients that really should be unpacked. " He forced himself to look directly at her as he said this, keeping his stare icy and his tone of voice very even.

"Can I help? The bonfire is nice, but it's all a bit strange. As far as I remember, nobody ever played a guitar at me while I was a student here." She made a face.

"Thank heavens for that," Severus muttered. "I always thought Filch's nastiest instruments of torture were strapped to the wall in his office." Tonks burst out laughing.

"I always knew you had a sense of humour!" she said. Severus' suspicions immediately flared up again.

"Miss Tonks, what is going on here?"

"You mean up there on the lawn? I think everyone has decided that they need a little break. We're all adults here, and in a few weeks the term will start and everyone has to go back to being responsible and, well, act like teachers again." This made Severus think of something that had been bothering him since he stepped out onto the lawn.

"Speaking of teachers, what are you doing here? Are you - you aren't coming to work here, are you?" Tonks laughed.

"You don't have to look so pleased about it," she said. "And no, I think I'll keep my cushy government job for a while, if it's all the same to you. Actually, I'm not sure why I'm here. I know there's something Dumbledore wants to discuss, but I haven't managed to get him on his own yet. All the same, it's nice to be back." She smiled again.

Severus felt as if his insides had started to melt. What was she up to, talking to him like this and being all nice? Severus could handle sarcasm and haughtiness and indifference. They were the story of his life, basically. But he couldn't handle nice.

"Yes, well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he muttered, lowering his eyes. "But some of us have got jobs to do." He turned his back on her and continued down the stairs.

"Severus, wait. Dumbledore is not the only reason I'm here." She looked at him as if this was supposed to make sense.

"Miss Tonks, I'm not sure I get your drift. I..." Here he was interrupted by her soft lips, brushing against his.

It wasn't that the kiss was in any way spectacular. It wasn't even a kiss as much as a fleeting instant of lips against lips. One second it was there, the next it wasn't - but what took place in the miniscule fragment of chopped-up time in between made the world change. Tonks took a small step backwards, looking steadily into his eyes as searching for some sort of sign - a confirmation, maybe, that she'd actually done what she thought she'd just done, which was kissing Hogwarts' most hated teacher full on the lips. But no such sign came. Inside Severus' head, however, something seemed to have exploded. A strange feeling was slowly building up inside and for a moment he wondered if he was about to have a stroke. Then he realised that it was a feeling of joy, and that for the first time in many years, he wanted to smile without the intention of menacing anyone.

And then the cold voice of reason, never very far away, returned with a vengeance. "Yes, very likely," it sneered. "This kind of thing happens all the time, doesn't it, especially to you. Young and apparently quite sane women with impossible hair and pretty smiles seek you out in order to kiss you. Think, Severus! You've just seen the Headmaster of Hogwarts and half a dozen of your most respected colleagues making complete fools out of themselves. Somebody has been in your office and, consequently, somebody knows your dirty little secrets. And now one of your former students tries to seduce you." The full absurdity of this struck him like an exploding cauldron. There were only two likely explanations. The first one he'd touched upon already: it was a joke. Somebody had finally decided that he needed to come off his high horse, that he needed to be humbled. As likely as this explanation was, however, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe in it. It would mean believing that the young and sincere-looking woman standing in front of him wanted to see him hurt, too. No, the more he thought of it, the more likely did it seem to him that there was something else at work here: magic. And no, the cold little voice went on, not the magic of romance. Cold, plain, hard magic. Like a hex.

Realisation dawned on him, and he pulled away violently, his body on fire but his mind cold and numb. Tonks looked confused and a little bit scared.

"What's wrong? I thought...I mean, this past year I've sort of had the impression that we...."

When Severus spoke, it was in a very calm voice.

"Miss Tonks, you need to leave. Go and lie down, try to sleep. Better yet, leave Hogwarts. You shouldn't have come here, you really shouldn't. But I want you to remember that what just happened wasn't your fault and you shouldn't feel bad about it. Now leave." The last words were spoken with great effort, but very gently. He averted his eyes, unable to stand the confusion in those of the other.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I-- What do you mean, not my fault?"

Severus wanted to take her in his arms and make the confusion go away, but the voice of reason told him that when whatever spell was so obviously at work here was lifted, he would look like a complete fool for having mistaken the hex for love or even lust. What's more, to Tonks, and to everybody else, he would be little better than a rapist, taking advantage of someone who was under the influence of a heavy spell. A wave of grief rushed through him and as he fought to keep the tears back he said, in a very cold voice, "Are you deaf, Miss Tonks? Or are you afraid that those feet of yours might trip you up if you move away from the stairs? Go away and stay away."

Looking hurt and astonished but without saying another word, Tonks turned and walked towards the staircase. She'd been so sure; by observing him around others on those few occasions she'd had an opportunity to do so, she'd become fairly certain that he didn't look at anyone else the way he looked at her. Her face started to burn when she realised that what she'd interpreted as some sort of tenderness was probably resentment. Granted, she'd never been any good at Potions and she was still as clumsy as ever, but somehow she'd imagined all that to be in the past. As a Hogwarts student she'd mostly shared the general opinion of Severus Snape, which could be summarised in the words "greasy-haired git." She wasn't sure when she'd started changing her mind; it had been a slow, gradual process and even now she wasn't certain how it had come about. It was something to do with the fact that, despite his general snarkiness, he'd always treated her as a person rather than as a Metamorphmagus. Tonks had discovered at quite an early age that being able to change one's appearance at will meant being on the receiving end of lots of more or less subtle suggestions and confidences. Some people considered her body to be nothing but an amazing opportunity to fulfil their own fantasies. Friendly and outgoing by nature, Tonks had had to learn how to be wary of new acquaintances, and had had a few nasty shocks when it came to old ones, too. Even at the office, some people seemed to think that Metamorphmagi were too stupid to realise they were being made fun of. She'd overheard a conversation once in which it was jokingly suggested that she, Tonks, had made it as an Auror not because of her grades and hard work, but owing to other talents entirely, nudge nudge wink wink.

Her professional encounters with Severus Snape, by contrast, has always been brief, business like and to the point. After a while she'd started volunteering for potions-related missions, knowing that there was a good chance she'd have to seek assistance from outside the Ministry. Gradually they had built up a mutual confidence and a routine that worked well for both of them. The professionalism and respect with which she was treated had, little by little, obliterated Tonks' mental image of Snape the sarcastic teacher who used to take points off her house because of the colour of her hair.

Obviously, he still thought of her as just another dunderhead student. Cheeks burning more ferociously than ever, she resolved to try and stay out of his way from now on. It would be the best thing for all involved.

Severus sank back against the cold stone wall and watched her go. He didn't want to cry any more, he just wanted to sleep. If he went to sleep, perhaps he's wake up in the morning in some dingy little inn in Austria or Hungary or somewhere, and then he'd go back to Hogwarts and Dumbledore wouldn't be insane and Tonks wouldn't be there at all and everything would be OK. He closed his eyes.

Then, from out of the shadows behind the half-open door of his office, a very cool voice spoke to him.

"Excuse me, Mister Wizard."

Severus had had a very long day. He had journeyed several hundred miles and gone on the emotional rollercoaster of his entire adult life, on top of which he by now had a splitting headache. It is not a good idea to surprise a wizard, any wizard, in this kind of mood, and it takes a very special nature to sneak up on one at the entrance of his own office.

In a split second, Severus had his wand out and a dozen good, lethal curses at the tip of his tongue, ready to strike the intruder down, more for the sake of letting of steam than anything else. But before he had the chance to utter even a syllable, the speaker stepped out of the shadows.

She was a tall woman, and height only partially entered into it. The way she carried herself suggested that she was used not only to giving orders, but also to having them obeyed. Her hair was snowy white and she was all clad in black. She was old, but her body was straight as a rod, and her iron gaze suggested that age, in this case, was a definite bonus.

Before Severus could utter even a syllable, the woman spoke again.

"I know what you're thinking, Mister Wizard, and I wouldn't do that if I were you. If I were you, I'd stick that thing (she nodded at the wand) back where it came from very carefully, and then I would forget about those impressive and no doubt very dangerous spells too. Then I would listen to what the harmless ole woman come to seek my aid has got to say. And then, I would Help Her Out."

The last three words cracked like a whip through the stale dungeon air. Severus could feel his head spin. His wand, however, stayed immobile as curiosity took over the urge to smite the intruding crone down.

"Who the hell are you?" The words were spoken with a sort of weak incomprehension that would have shocked most of his colleagues and all of his students.

"I'm Esme Weatherwax. That's Mistress Weatherwax to you. And your name is Snape. You muck about with potions an' such." Granny's look was one of grudging approval. "Could be worse, I suppose. Compared to the kind of stuff you wizards are usually up to, is what I mean," she added darkly.

"How do you know my name?" Against his own will, Severus was impressed. The woman was obviously a powerful legilimens.

Granny hesitated for a moment. Then she tapped her head with a long, bony finger, a solemn expression crossing her face. She'd dealt with wizards before, and it was her experience that they a) were easily impressed and b) never thought of the simplest solution to a problem. If it helped her cause to let this wizard think she could read his mind, she certainly wasn't about to tell him that she'd had a look round his office since the door had been wide open, and found out his name by going through a pile of documents lying on the desk.

Nodding weakly, Severus picked what seemed to be the most pressing question from the dark whirlpool going round and round in his mind.

"Very well, Mistress Weatherwax. Would you be so kind as to tell me what you are doing here?" He rubbed his temples. If he could just get the crone to state her business, he could tell her to go talk to Albus or to get lost, or he could give her money or some potion or whatever she was after, and then he could sleep. It seemed like a good plan; next best thing to cursing her and for some strange reason he didn't feel like doing that.

"I'll tell you exactly what I'm doing here," said Granny. "But first, you're gonna answer a few questions. That young lady," she nodded towards the staircase to where Tonks had disappeared, "I take it you two ain't normally that friendly?"

A deep flush creeping towards his face, Severus looked hard at Granny. Her face was perfectly straight. The crone had been watching them, she'd seen it all. And now she was actually making conversation about it, expecting him to explain what he himself was nowhere near grasping.

"We most certainly aren't," he replied as sharply as he could manage. "Not that it is any of your business."

Granny merely looked thoughtful. "That's what I thought. Meddlin' in the affairs of wizards...Gytha Ogg, what have you been up to?" And then, ignoring the blank look on Severus' face, "Had a nice long holiday?"

The randomness of this seemed to fit right in with the general situation. Clinging desperately to what little was left of his dignity, he decided to play along.

"I wouldn't call it a holiday, but I've been away from Hogwarts for about a month, yes." This seemed to satisfy the woman, and she nodded to herself as if she saw it all.

"That's what I thought," Granny said. "I thought, that man doesn't look like he's been treated to a month's worth of Gytha's cooking. He actually looks sane, considerin' he's a wizard an' all. And then when you turned down the pressin' invitations from the girl, I knew you must have been away. It's the food, you see. It's been tampered with. Now, will you help me put a stop to it or" (the merest hint of mischief flew across her face) "p'rhaps you like things fine the way they are?"

A strange mix of emotions welled up in Severus as the woman was talking. So he'd been right; there was a spell on the castle. Tonks had come to seek him out because she was under some sort of hex. Right, that made sense - he'd handled the situation correctly. As the rational part of his brain thought all these things, the tiny spark of hope and joy that had been burning inside him since the kiss finally dwindled and died.

Snapping out of the uncharacteristic daze of the past few minutes and ignoring the woman's last comment, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, with what was almost his normal tone of voice, "My name is Severus Snape and I am the Potions master of this school. You may call me Professor Snape. You are telling me that somebody is poisoning the food in the castle, making people act in ways they normally wouldn't. I'm prepared to believe that. What I would like to know before I agree to do anything, is how you know about it. Also, what were you doing in the dungeons?" A thought struck him, and he said, very calmly, "Somebody has broken into my office and stolen certain...items. Give me a good reason why I should not Petrify you and hand you over to the Ministry of Magic."

Granny didn't blink or move a muscle, and when she replied it was in a very amiable tone of voice.

"Because, Professor Snape, despite appearances you actually quite enjoy life. The reason why you should not do any of those things to me, is that you would like to keep it."

For a while everything was silent. Severus' eyes began to water; yet another new experience, he thought. He's always prided himself on his stare, but then again he only ever got to practise on students these days. It wasn't that Granny's stare was particularly menacing; it was very calm and betrayed nothing. It was like granite, and like granite it would last for a very long time. He blinked.

"Glad we've got that sorted out," Granny said. Nothing had changed outwardly and there was no way Granny was going to let it on, but she felt a very grudging yet completely sincere respect for the wizard. Not many men would have been this keen to lift a spell the consequences of which were so clearly advantageous to themselves. "Now, Professor," she continued. "I've had a long journey, an' wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Why don't you put the kettle on and I'll tell you everything."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, two tall figures dressed all in black left the dungeons and strode across the Entrance Hall. When it came to striding, these two could have played for England; in fact, in several small countries, what you see when you look up the world "stride" in a dictionary is a small picture of Granny Weatherwax and Severus Snape on their way to the Hogwarts kitchens. There was also a certain amount of billowing going on; in fact, the whole display was extremely impressive. House-elves fled in all directions to get out of their way as they got nearer to the kitchens. Peeves, who was waiting in a dark corner holding a huge dungbomb, took one look on their faces and decided against it. He was later found hovering near the top of the Astronomy Tower, muttering something about unacceptable working conditions.

"Alohomora!" The huge kitchen doors flew open. "Somethin' the matter with your hands, Professor? I'm sure it can't be healthy, using your wand that often."

"Mistress Weatherwax, I assure you--"

Snape's voice trailed off as his gaze fell upon the interior of the kitchen. He'd never really spent much time down there before; the house-elves tended to get nervous around him and besides, he kept all the food he needed in his apartment. He'd imagined the kitchen to be a warm, busy place, full of house-elves working away with the food preparation. What he'd not expected was a huge party. The enormous room was certainly warm and busy - it was also extremely noisy and there were house-elves everywhere, laughing, dancing, kissing, knitting, playing wild games and drinking something vaguely liquid and banana-coloured. As Snape and Granny entered, however, the music stopped and hundreds upon hundreds of eyes turned to gaze at the intruders. As they recognized the tall dark shape of the Potions master, mass hysteria took over and within seconds the kitchens were empty. Well, almost empty.

"She's right, you know. You could put your wand to better use. There are lots of options, and none of 'em include doors." The speaker of these words was sitting in a huge armchair in front of the largest fireplace. She was a small and quite round woman with a face like a happy raisin. In her right hand was a beaker full of the yellow liquid the house-elves had been drinking, and in her left was an enormous sausage.

"Wotcher, Esme! Who's your friend?"

"Nice to see you're enjoyin' yourself, Gytha." came the dry answer. "This is Professor Snape. He's Official Potions Wizard here. 'S got a nice office down in the dungeons...but I'm guessin' you've seen it already. I happened to run into him while I was trying to locate the kitchen. I dunno who built this place, but I'm thinkin' along the lines of B.S Johnson." Granny never got lost. At most she got geographically challenged, which had been the reason for her visit to the dungeons.

Nanny had the sense to look embarrassed, but only for a second.

"Er...I ran out of spices, and I din't wanna disappoint anyone. They were havin' so much fun. I'm sorry, Mister Wizard. Would you like a bananana dackry?"

"Gytha Ogg! Have you no shame? This place is going to the dogs thanks to your spices. Putting hexes on people, gettin' the kitchen staff drunk...I've had a good long look around, and if we don't do something about this there'll be no more Hogwash School for Witchcraft and Whatsit." Granny looked grim. "Not that that would be a bad thing, necessarily...I dunno about teachin' people how to be wizards. In my 'pinion, there are too many of them already. Present company excepted," she added in an uncharacteristic outbreak of politeness.

"Yes, thank you, Mistress Weatherwax. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Ogg. I'm prepared to forget the business with the...erm...spices, but Mistress Weatherwax is right; we need to put a stop to what's going on. Do you realise you've got the Headmaster of Hogwarts singing lewd songs and acting...strange?" He shuddered.

"Headmaster? The chap with the white beard and the glasses? Nice feller. Can carry a tune, too. What's wrong with lewd songs?" Nanny looked Snape up and down, and added, "My world, ain't you a strappin' young gentleman. If you ever visit Lancre, I'll introduce you to our Sheila. She's a nice gal. She'll tell you all about wands. Ouch! Get of my foot, Esme, I was only sayin'-"

"You've said quite enough, thank you, Gytha. Now, Professor Snape reckons he knows a potion that would make the effects of your cooking go away. Bring out your largest cauldron, Gytha, so we can put a stop to this foolishness and go home."

It was well past midnight when the contents of the cauldron had cooled down. The three people who were gathered round it had been working in silence for the past hours. Occasionally, the silence had been punctuated by song, until Granny and Severus had made it clear that few curses were easier to perform than the silencing one, and they would be more than happy to give Nanny a demonstration. After that, the only sound was the low murmur of voices from the lawn, and the distant music from the house-elves' party, which apparently had only moved to a Snape-free location.

"Very well, ladies," Snape said finally. "The potion is ready. Mistress Weatherwax, how do you propose we take it from here? What if they won't drink it? Although I do know a curse that could come in handy."

"Don't you worry about that, my lad," Nanny responded. "They'll drink anything, trust me."

"It takes one to know one," said Granny dryly. "Gytha is right though, they looked a thirsty bunch. However, we can't all go out on the lawn dragging a great big cauldron; it'll look suspicious. Gytha'll have to do it; people seem to trust her, although I'm sure I don't know why. Meanwhile, Professor Snape and I will tidy up the castle a bit. I can't abide sloppiness, and it'll be a great way to put that wand-happy hand of yours into use. When you're done handing out the potion you should pack your bags, Gytha. Your work here is done."

"Yes, Esme."

"Just as you say, Mistress Weatherwax."

"Good. Now, let's finish the job."

* * *

"Would any of you genl'm'n or ladies care for a nice hot drink? I'm just a poor ole woman happen to stroll past with a flask full of pleasant-tasting liquid, an' seein' you all gathered here made me feel very generous. Yes, sir, just hand me your goblet and I'll fill it up for you...and some for the lady as well, and what a fetching tartan robe that is, madam! Jus' pass the flask around to everyone...that's it..."

* * *

It was the first greyish-pink light of dawn. Nanny Ogg, Granny Weatherwax and Severus Snape were standing on the huge stairs leading up to the great oak doors of Hogwarts. The rest of the staff had finally stumbled off to bed, feeling unpleasantly sober. In a few hours, they would wake up and have their old lives back, for better or worse.

"I think a memory charm would probably be in order when they wake up, Professor Snape. Otherwise, things might get...awkward. Now, I dunno whether this wizardin' business of yours pays well or not, but if I were you I'd have a little chat with the Headmaster about any complaints I might have regarding my salary an' such, and I'd get it in writing, too. Before performing the memory charm, if you get my meanin'. "

"That's an interesting suggestion, Mistress Weatherwax. Well...I suppose this is goodbye. It's been a pleasure working with you. And Mrs Ogg...it's a shame you won't consider becoming a professional potions maker." He considered this for a second, and hastily added: "Somewhere far away from Hogwarts, I mean."

"Nah, I think I've had enough of this professional life for a while," Nanny said thoughtfully. "It's been fun an' all, and I could get used to the taste of that Butterbeer, but it ain't home. It's time I got back to civvylisation again. I don't wanna think about what those clumsy gels might have done to the cottage while I've been away."

"You're a level-headed man, Professor Snape," Granny said magnanimously. "For a wizard. Come, Gytha, we have a long journey ahead."

* * *

Two black-clad and pointy-hatted shapes, one small and round and one tall and thin, were walking away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the early morning light.

"Are you sure you handed it out to everyone?"

"Yes, everyone except the pleasant-looking gel with the interestin' hair. She only arrived yesterday, you see, and I'd already run out of spices by then. I tried to tell you, Esme - if we'd only let them be, they would have been their normal selves again in a few days time. Can't see what's so bad about lettin' people enjoy themselves."

Granny looked thoughtful.

"You're sure about this, Gytha? That young woman hadn't had any of your special food at all? In that case...oh my, I wonder if I should tell him."

"What're you on about, Esme? Tell what to who?"

But Granny had come to a decision. She looked her usual determined self as she mounted her broom and prepared for the complicated starting routine.

"Nobody. Best not to meddle in the affairs of wizards, and besides, they'll sort it all out in the end. Come on, Gytha. Let's go home."

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