A Merciless Affection

Chapter 20: Seething Shadows, Breathing Lies

Sarah had hoped, in spite of her successful efforts at toadying, that Professor Umbridge would forget all about her. But that did not seem to be happening. While it was true that the woman always blinked vacantly at her for instant when they passed in the hallways, the blank look was always replaced a moment later by a knowing smirk. It had been alarming, the first time it happened. Had the woman found them out? But when Sarah faked an awed and admiring look in return, Umbridge went on her way, pleased as punch.

As February wore itself out, there was not much for the High Inquisitor to be pleased about. Harry Potter--whom Umbridge appeared to dislike as much as Snape did--had been relaunched into celebrity by the publication of an interview in The Quibbler, a magazine that no sensible person had ever taken seriously before, but which had now become more popular and respected at Hogwarts than the Daily Prophet had ever been. Despite a school-wide ban on the magazine, which Umbridge attempted to enforce with absurd rigor, everyone seemed to have read what Potter had to say about his experiences in the clutches of the Dark Lord last summer. When Sarah was caught in one of the Inquisitor's random hallway dragnets, she earned House points (and, unfortunately, a few glares from other students) by making a scoffing comment about the magazine: it was a piece of drivel, fit only to entertain the dunderheads who could be taken in by it. The truth was, however, that Sarah had already read Snape's copy.

"Undoubtedly exaggerated," he mocked, when she caught him with it. "But as unpleasant as the task may be, it's best to know exactly what is being sold as the truth. Particularly since everyone is now so eager to believe that our rising young star," he sneered at the description, "has been wronged by public opinion." As he scanned the article, he occasionally read out lines from it, making fun of the boy's turns of phrase. He never denied, however, that the incident had happened.

Sarah, after reading it herself, did not know what to think. Even if the boy had played up his role, either as victim or as hero, the experience had nevertheless been obviously horrifying. And more obviously--which was really the whole point, she thought--it was plain that the Dark Lord intended to resume the reign of terror that the Boy-Who-Inconveniently-Lived had so rudely interrupted fourteen years ago.

The real upshot of The Quibbler article, however, as far as it concerned Snape and herself, was that the Head of Slytherin House was having to spend a great deal of extra time on internal damage control in the wake of Potter's most damning revelations: accusations which placed certain of his students' fathers among the Death Eaters who had gathered to greet the Dark Lord's return. Snape, interestingly, had not been on that list. Whether that was because he had not been there, or because Potter had been leaned on by Professor Dumbledore to withhold that information, she did not know, and she was not willing to endure the grief that would come from asking. But more than once, Sarah waited silently in an empty bed while Snape dealt with unpredicted late-night hysteria, either in his office or in the Slytherin common room. For that--on top of the twice-weekly Occlumency lessons--she could almost feel resentful of the boy herself.

It wasn't only Potter, however, who was making her life difficult. Since the Azkaban escape, Snape had been called more than once through his Dark Mark to meet with Potter's nemesis, for reasons that Snape never divulged and Sarah had better sense than to question him about. On one occasion, early on, she had forgotten to check her bookmark before she came to his room and had spent a dire half hour pacing the suite, wondering anxiously where he was, before it occurred to her that he might have left her a note...back in her dormitory. She hadn't told him about that, and she had been careful to check first ever since. On the whole, however, Snape had been right--they saw nearly as little of each other as they had before the holidays.

* * *

The one and only benefit to that situation was the amount of time it gave her to spend over the Wolfsbane Potion. The concepts were finally beginning to clarify in her mind. She hoped. She wasn't sure whether the fact that, due to the constraints of time, several of her conceptual discussions with her teacher had been carried on under...well, distracting circumstances...made her more likely or less likely to remember what he had said. Nevertheless, he now had her attempting the potion itself.

"I expect you to fail at least a dozen times before you get anywhere close," he told her, to her discouragement. "That does not mean, however, that you should not try to get it right every single time that you make the attempt."

The first couple of efforts met with such obvious failure so early on in the process that Sarah was chagrined. She went back to her references to try to figure out where she had gone wrong. The whole potion, as Snape had indicated, relied on a sense of timing and a delicacy and instinct of touch that defied condensation into dry words on a page.

"It's a quest for perfection, Sarah," he murmured in her ear, his arms around her, his hands on hers as she chopped aconite root into tiny pieces of exactly the right size on a Saturday afternoon. The touch of his hands, unfortunately, was dulled by the necessity of wearing the snakeskin gloves for the process. The list of potions ingredients given in her book as "unsafe for handling during pregnancy" was actually not as long as she had feared it would be (and certainly not as long as the "unsafe for ingestion" list), but the aconite was definitely on it. She had found it necessary to skive off a couple of Potions lessons so far, just because the issue of safety in exposing herself to certain ingredients could not be addressed under the eyes of the rest of the class. Irritatingly, the fact that her non-attendance had been a result of his own orders (given, of course, in private) had not stopped Snape from taking off House points for her "unexcused absences" when she next appeared in class. Yes, it was a necessary part of their pretenses. But he didn't have to enjoy it so much, did he?

But the potion...it wasn't just a matter of putting the right things together in the right order. It wasn't even just the care in preparing the ingredients. Or the careful combinations, requiring a secondary brewing that was almost equally demanding before adding them to the main potion. It was the fact that all of it had to done with just the right timing, just the right touch. It was--in another of the metaphors that he used to try to get the point across to her--like making love. It took concentration, effort, practice, and sometimes even a little luck to achieve the degree of skill necessary to produce the desired mutual combustion of ingredients.

In those skills, she thought blushingly, they were both improving, although she would never have said as much to him, unsure how he would take the implication about his previous performance. But the skills she required for the potion.... There were moments when she thought she almost had managed it, but invariably everything came crashing down. And when Snape began responding to her failures with merely a curt, "Begin again," instead of a sharp dissection of where she had gone wrong, she was almost certain that he was beginning to give up on her.

For no sensible reason, she had taken to spending the Occlumency evenings in her little student lab. At least then she was in the same part of the castle as he was. As if somehow his potion-making skills could be transmitted to her through the stone walls while he was otherwise distracted. Bah. On a couple of occasions, when she was late going down to her work, she had met Potter as he came up the stairs after his lesson, looking pale and resentful. But it wasn't until a couple of weeks after the article in The Quibbler came out that she caught even a glimpse of Snape on one of those nights.

She regretted afterward that she had.

She'd been in the middle of stirring the clubfoot moss into the moonstone mixture--three times clockwise, three times widdershins, alternating until the silver spoon had gone round 27 times--when she heard a scream. She muttered imprecations under her breath at the possibility of being interrupted, and thereby having her potion spoiled, intending simply to ignore whatever it was. She could find out later.

When the shriek was repeated a second time, however, and accompanied by the sound of pattering feet in the hallway outside, Sarah put down her spoon. If there was a real hazard in progress, it wasn't worth her life to persist with the potion, as difficult as that was to admit when she felt as if she were actually getting this part exactly right for a change. At least she had finished the stirring. The next step could wait a little while.

There was a crowd of mostly Slytherin students gathering at the top of the stairs that led up to the entrance hall. Sarah slipped through along the right-hand side of the staircase to find the hall ringed with curious students of all Houses, and a number of professors as well. McGonagall was standing in front of the Great Hall doors, looking on the scene before her with very thin lips.

The Divination mistress, Trelawney, appeared to have been sacked--at least her trunks were piled unceremoniously around her and she was in an awful state, which included being very obviously drunk. Was a disposition to drink, Sarah wondered, the reason for her dismissal? She had never taken Divination, so she was not familiar with the woman, except through the rumor mill, which could not seem to come to a consensus in her case. Some of the Gryffindor girls thought her brilliant, while other students thought she was a right fake.

It was clear what Professor Umbridge thought. She was standing at the foot of the main staircase with her sweet sneer stretching her wide mouth. Mockingly, she said, "Really, Trelawney, you must simply face the facts."

"No!" Trelawney screamed. "NO!"

Just at that moment Sarah caught sight of Snape among the Slytherin students near the left-hand side of the dungeon stairs, and without quite meaning to, she found herself sidling through the crowd to get at least a little closer to him. With everyone enthralled by the horrible tirades that the hapless Divination professor and the Hogwarts High Inquisitor were launching at each other, no one was going to notice where Sarah Darkglass, of all people, was standing. Indeed, it would merely seem as if she were trying to get out of the knot of Slytherins to take refuge with the Gryffindors who were gathered further along to the left.

Just as McGonagall stepped into the fray, trying to comfort and reassure her weeping colleague, Snape glanced at Sarah. Well, not exactly at her. His eyes were sweeping over the Slytherin students, as if trying to evaluate their reaction to this event. He only happened to see her.

He didn't know her. At least, no more than he had in the years before last Halloween. She had not realized before that the carefully controlled looks he sent her way, when ordinary classroom necessity required him to do so, had been full of private intensity behind that indifferent veil he drew down for safety's sake. But the look he favored her with now was...empty. Empty of anything but a disdainful curiosity at finding a Gryffindor student amongst his Slytherins.

It was as if he had struck her. As if he had torn the ring from her neck. As if he had pointed at the door and told her to leave.

Which was...absurd, she chided herself. She knew, didn't she, that he had been somehow expunging her from his thoughts on Occlumency nights in order to avoid accidentally revealing their relationship to Potter? Maybe that had not seemed possible. It had not seemed real. But it clearly was.

He blinked, and there was the glimmer of something...a purely intellectual recognition of who she really was to him. But the damage was already done. Sarah turned and slipped back through the crowd, heading for her lab in the dungeon. There were no echoing footsteps behind her. Inside her workspace, she slammed the door and locked it.

Pull yourself together, girl! He told you, didn't he? It was an idiotic thing to do, looking for him in front of everyone like that, even if he hadn't already warned you about what it would be like on Occlumency nights.

He had never once seemed to feel differently toward her the day after an Occlumency lesson. Well, no, that wasn't true. He seemed to value her more, although the difference was subtle enough that she had put it down to the mere fact of her absence from his bed the night previous. And she had gotten used to be being valued, to having a meaning in his life that she had in no one else's. The idea that that meaning might someday disappear as thoroughly as it did during Potter's lessons....

Sarah sank down on the tall stool she had co-opted from one of the storerooms, and ran a hand across her belly. It wasn't noticeably bulging, even to the flat of her hand, although there was now a hard knot inside her abdomen that made it uncomfortable to lie on her stomach. An exchange of discomforts, since the time between necessary doses of ginger root had lengthened to the point where she sometimes forgot altogether to take it. At times she forgot altogether that there was a life growing inside her--although never for very long: something always reminded her.

Severian.

Sarah had tried not to think too much about the future. Finishing the year without revealing themselves and getting through her N.E.W.T.s with high enough marks were quite enough difficulties to be going on with. Giving birth was still a distant anxiety, like something too far off to worry about it ever happening. And of the things that came after that, only her apprenticeship seemed real.

Sensibly she knew that she couldn't possibly keep a baby with her at Hogwarts. Her original plan (once, before Snape had turned it all upside down) had been to leave Severian in Aunt Portia's care much of the time while she completed her apprenticeship. But even if someone else acceptable could be found to foster him with, Sarah was finding the idea of giving her child out of her own keeping less and less acceptable to her.

Yet, even supposing she were willing to give up her studies for the sake of motherhood, any vision of domestic bliss was a cheat. Snape was a teacher. More that that, he was a Head of House. He was not going to be living anywhere away from Hogwarts, not even a cottage in Hogsmeade. If the all-knowing Headmaster Dumbledore had any brilliant solutions to that problem planned, the information had not trickled down to her.

What struck her now, after what had just happened upstairs, was that all of these thoughts about the future relied on the assumption that the bond between her and Severus had been sealed definitively by the as-yet-invisible existence of their child. But she knew, from her own experience, that such bonds did not always last. That a child might not be shared together in joy, even if its parents were devoted to one another to begin with. It had been Sarah, in fact, who had driven her parents apart. Maybe nothing she had done herself, true. But control over her future had still been the chief source of their arguments. And her parents (or at least her mother) had been very deeply in love. She and Severus did not share anything like that--just lust and a vague mutual comfort in the other's presence. At least she liked to believe that it was mutual.

He cared about Severian more than he did about her--he had said as much that night up on the Astronomy Tower. For now she was necessary. But how long after Severian's birth would that last? How long would it be before she became superfluous--a barrier between Severus and whatever choices he wanted to make for his son? He had not even agreed to (in fact, did not even know about) her choice of the baby's name. What if he...?

No. This was getting absolutely maudlin. She was borrowing trouble, to use one of Aunt Portia's favorite expressions. There was absolutely nothing she could do right now to solve any of the things she feared.

She would finish the moonstone solution; hopefully nothing would go wrong with that. And then she would go to her room and go to sleep. Tomorrow she would have classes, do homework. Tomorrow night she would be back in his rooms, and everything would be as it had been.

She would not think about how long that was going to last.

* * *

During breakfast, Sarah got an owl post. At first she thought it must be from Aunt Portia--probably some snippy reply to her requests for at least a little more money in her school account. It turned out, however, to be from Professor Umbridge. A glance at the staff table revealed that the toady woman was watching the student tables with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Sarah opened the letter.

My dear Miss Darkglass,

I request your presence in my office today, immediately after lunch. My notes indicate that you might be interested in being involved in helping me with a little project. I hope I can have confidence in you.

(signed) Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

What on earth was that about? Notes? Had the woman actually taken notes about that insipid appointment, in her fat little diary? Sarah had never tried to suck up to a teacher before. In the case of Umbridge, it had seemed expedient. If she had known that it would result in having this kind of notice taken of her, she would never have done it. And now, clearly, she would have to go this requested meeting or risk incurring the woman's formidable wrath. Hadn't it occurred to Umbridge, if she had taken worthwhile notes, that Sarah would be far too busy to take on anything else?

Sarah trudged upstairs to Umbridge's office after wolfing down her lunch (she found that she had developed an unaccountable craving for fried fish--something she had never cared much for in the past--which had appeared unexpectedly on the menu today). She hoped that whatever it was about, it would not last so long as to make her late for Potions. She was surprised, upon knocking and entering, to find that she was not the only student present. There were at least a dozen, all from the upper years, mostly Slytherins. One of them was Draco Malfoy. He was not the only one (she realized as she looked around the room) whose father had been named as a Death Eater by Potter.

"What's she doing here?" Malfoy asked, when he saw Sarah come in.

"Now, now, Draco," Umbridge said. "We mustn't let House prejudices get in the way of achieving our purposes. I imagine that Miss Darkglass's background is as good as your own."

The boy sneered, but shut up. Sarah felt again the urge to smack him, but restrained herself.

"As I am aware," Umbridge began addressing the group, "you all have classes to get to, so I will be brief and to the point. After last night's little demonstration, it has become clear to me that the headmaster is, sadly, failing in his judgment."

Sarah had heard, from her dorm mates, that Dumbledore had finally appeared on the scene, decreeing on the one hand that Trelawney would continue to live at Hogwarts, in spite of having been sacked, and on the other hand had brought in a new Divination teacher before Umbridge could even make a move toward appointing one herself: the new teacher was a centaur. At this point in Umbridge's speech, there were several disgusted murmurs from the some members the group about being taught by animals.

"The Ministry are relying upon me to protect the integrity of Hogwarts, but it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to accomplish that task alone. Therefore, I have selected you--all students whom I believe are intelligent and trustworthy and uncorrupted by the faults that have occurred in your education up to now--to form the core of a student organization that will assist me in ensuring that control is maintained. The prefect system, I fear, may be compromised by an unthinking loyalty to the present headmaster. I need you to help me circumvent any problems that may cause in the future."

Mutiny, Sarah thought. The woman was plotting mutiny against Dumbledore.

"What are we then?" one of the younger Slytherin girls spoke up. "Special prefects who report to you?"

"If you choose to accept this assignment--and I hope you all will," Umbridge raked the room with a piercing gaze, "you will be elite members of my Inquisitorial Squad."

Sarah watched sly smiles spread across the faces of the other students.

"Naturally," Umbridge went on, "your existence must remain secret for the time being. You will report to me on anything you discover about rule-breaking, not just by other students, but also by any of your teachers, particularly with respect to the Ministry's recent educational decrees. I hope that I can assure you that in time your work will be well-rewarded."

It was only due to copious amounts of practice in hiding the truth from her Potions classmates that Sarah was able to school her face to reflect a careful neutrality of feelings. She was asking them to be snarking spies, for goodness sake!

"Now, I will allow you to return to your classes. If you have any individual questions, please feel free to speak with me at any time."

Most of the students filed out, deep in conversation, mutual in their enthusiasm. Sarah stayed behind. She listened as a sixth year Slytherin attempted to clarify exactly what he would be getting out of this. Umbridge spouted some drivel about patience and rewards that seemed to only partly satisfy him, but he went off, nonetheless, looking pleased to have been singled out for consideration.

"Yes, Miss Darkglass?" Umbridge said, when only the two of them remained. She raised her eyebrows, as if she could not imagine what questions the young woman might have.

"I'm very flattered that you thought of me," Sarah began.

"Yes?" interrupted Umbridge, in a tone of voice that gave a firmly negative answer to Sarah's hopes of making some excuse to refuse the honor the High Inquisitor was trying to bestow upon her.

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Sarah finished lamely.

"Why, my dear? Because you're in Gryffindor House?"

"Well, yes," Sarah agreed. "I couldn't help noticing that I'm the only one, and..."

"That's why you're all the more valuable to me...what's your given name?"

"Sarah."

"Yes, you see, Sarah, your point of view and your background are so rare among members of that House. I hate to criticize your House mates to you, but some of them appear to have been born troublemakers. And Professor Dumbledore shows no inclination to nip these problems in the bud, before he turns them out to become a problem to Wizarding society. With your help, we may be able to pinpoint the sources of the trouble, so they can be appropriately dealt with, rather than unnecessarily condemning innocent members of your House. I do hope you are willing to help me?" the little-girl voice squeaked upward. The threat behind it, however, sounded nothing like a little girl's.

"Yes," Sarah answered. "Yes, of course, Professor Umbridge." She forced a smile onto her face. "I'm honored."

"I am glad that you consider my confidence in you an honor." There were knives behind the woman's answering smile. "I hope that you will be one of my most effective agents."

Sarah nodded stupidly, her mind racing in a panic about how she would manage to satisfy this woman's expectations. At last she managed, "Of course, I'm sure you remember, Professor, that I'm very busy preparing for my N.E.W.T.s. The apprenticeship, you know."

The woman's blink was enough to tell her that she had, indeed, forgotten that aspect of their conversation, whatever she had written in her notes. "I'm sure you'll do your best to bring me whatever you can," Umbridge said tightly.

"Yes, I shall," Sarah said, trying to sound reassuring. "I do need to get to Potions now, ma'am, but thank you."

"You're quite welcome, my dear."

Sarah could hear the falseness of the woman's smile in her voice as she turned to go. Umbridge suspected her already. If not of disloyalty, then at least of a lack of enthusiasm. And if Umbridge managed to break the supposed jinx on the Dark Arts position and remained at Hogwarts indefinitely.... If, heaven forbid, her mutiny succeeded and she became headmistress.... Sarah could not afford to give the woman a reason to dislike her.

How, she wondered, as she hurried down the stairs with her heart pounding, had Snape been drawn into the Dark Lord's service?