A Merciless Affection

Chapter 42: The Unseen Genius

Sarah drowsed off again, waiting for Severus to return. It was only when she woke, several hours later, to find the late afternoon light angling in through the windows, that she began to wonder whether he was going to return at all.

He hadn't come back while she was sleeping, Madam Pomfrey informed her when she asked. With that more likely possibility eliminated, it occurred to Sarah to wonder if something terrible had happened, down by the gates. Serves him right, she thought stubbornly. But no, no one would risk the Dark Lord's wrath on that point. Not yet. Severus had simply decided that he didn't want to see her.

Well, fine then. I don't want to see him either.

It was almost unbearable, simply lying here, with nothing to do. She had a contest of wills with Madam Pomfrey over whether she was even to be allowed to use the bathroom on her own. Sarah won by pointing out that Miriam had ordered 'rest,' not 'being confined to bed.' It was appalling that dinner-on-a-tray was now a relatively exciting event.

Pomfrey went off to dinner in the Great Hall, leaving her one of her assistants or apprentices in charge of the ward. Probably an apprentice, Sarah guessed, from the way the young man stayed put in Pomfrey's office, only occasionally peering out to check on the patients. Most Hogwarts apprentices were more or less socially invisible--intentionally so. Given that they were known to the older students, respect for them was not expected to be high. They weren't permitted to teach, usually ate in their chambers or labs, and contact with the rest of the student body was minimal until (and if) they reached the level of assistantship.

My apprenticeship! Well, it had never been a certain thing. Her agreement with Bellatrix, if it could not be broken somehow, would obviate the possibility anyway.

No--Sarah came to a sudden conclusion--she would rather die than allow Bellatrix Lestrange to control her. Would the Dark Lord hold her to that agreement, if she explained the circumstances and begged for...

For what? Mercy? That creature did not know the meaning of the word. At best, it would amuse him to indulge her. And if she did not have an alternative to propose, what reason had he to cast aside the plans that his dearest follower had forced on her?

And now that she had no reason to bow and scrape and pretend before that monster, Sarah was beginning to wonder if death would be the best mercy she could hope for. Women did die, now and again, in childbirth, even if it was uncommon. But what of her son then? Was there any hope that Miriam could take him and hide him? For Severus' sake, at least, if not for hers?

Would he grow up, then, as Severus had, in Knockturn Alley? Not the same sort of nobody. But still, her name might well be a stumbling block for him there, not a benefit, if the desire to lash out at some helpless member of their masters' class was as strong in the other children who grew up there. She remembered the ragged boys playing gobstones, and her heart--poor numbed thing that it was becoming--was pierced with apprehension.

At the sound of firm, purposeful footsteps coming toward her bed, Sarah raised her eyes, hope springing up heedlessly. But the moment the edge of a hat came in sight, she knew it was not Severus.

It was Professor McGonagall.

"Well, I'm glad to see you've returned. And as safely as we could have expected," McGonagall said. To her credit, the woman looked genuinely relieved. But her words set off questions in Sarah's mind.

"What did you expect?" Sarah frowned slightly as McGonagall pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat in it.

"You were in some danger, according to Severus. And to be kidnapped under Professor Umbridge's very nose...to be taken forcibly from the school grounds with her consent!" McGonagall's voice tightened with ill-concealed fury. "Albus would never have permitted such a thing! And now the strain has put both your health and your future in jeopardy."

"I'll be fine," Sarah said, not sure why she felt the impulse to placate her professor, but doing so anyway. She had gotten in the habit of placating everybody, it seemed. "I'm to rest until exams, but I'm sure I'll do fine."

As if you wouldn't have been just as happy if I'd lost the baby in my misadventure! The thought, directed at McGonagall, seemed to come out of nowhere, but Sarah felt that it was true. The woman's profound mortification at the situation Sarah had got herself in had worn down a spot in Sarah's self-esteem. Deserved, perhaps. But Sarah was not in the mood to take blame.

"I was referring to the agreement you were forced to make. Yes, Severus told me," McGonagall said, in the face of Sarah's surprise. "Everything possible is being done to protect you."

"I'm sure none of you would want anything bad to happen to me," Sarah said ironically. The subtle sarcasm might have slipped past someone else, but McGonagall had been accustomed to dealing with students for far too long.

"Madam Pomfrey told me you'd quarreled with Severus."

"I thought everything about me was supposed to be kept secret." More irony, shoveled on liberally.

"From those who would do you harm, not those who are trying to help you," McGonagall said, exasperated. "Young lady, I realize you've had a very difficult weekend, but you do not have the luxury of this sort of attitude. None of us do."

Unable to frame a ready retort with her mouth full of the generous helping of guilt and responsibility that her Head of House had just served her, Sarah studied the drape of the blanket over her knees and fumed.

"Your dorm mates are quite concerned about you," McGonagall went on. "Pomfrey has been keeping them out, but I'm not sure my report will satisfy them. You had better be prepared to face visitors with a demeanor appropriate to your supposed condition."

"What are you telling them?"

"That you've suffered a breakdown of your nerves from studying too hard, which is common enough at this time of year. Joscelyn Stanley of Hufflepuff was being brought in as I arrived."

"They know I had a fight with...well, my 'boyfriend.'"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I had meant to wait to discuss your indiscretions--"

"Indiscretions!" Sarah protested. "I told Angelina what I had to in order to keep my secrets!"

"The fact that you had to tell her anything means that you were nearly caught," McGonagall said sternly.

"The fact that I was able to convince her of something plausible means that I'm good at this game. And before you have a fit at me for calling it a game, that is what it is, Professor, regardless of how high the stakes are. And yes, I know how high the stakes are. Probably better than anyone. You haven't stood before...before him--"

"Enough," McGonagall interrupted. "I do see your point. But can we finish out the school year without any more disasters? To be honest," she confessed with a sigh, "I'm seriously considering resigning my post. I can't bear to work for that woman. It's altogether too much of a strain at my age. Now, don't you say a word of that to anyone, not even Severus. I don't want him distracted by the thought of becoming Deputy Headmaster in my place."

"Does he want that, too?" Sarah asked. The repugnance she had felt for his ambitions had been fading somewhat, but now it revived at full force.

McGonagall furrowed her brow, clearly puzzled. "He has been Professor Dumbledore's unofficial secondary deputy for the past four years, ever since Professor Flitwick decided that he wasn't up to it any longer. Admittedly, Severus is still rather young for such a position, and now he has a great many more responsibilities than when he first took on the post." McGonagall frowned, and Sarah understood that the woman considered her a large part of that burden. "I daresay he has drive enough to become headmaster--providing circumstances will permit that--someday. He would certainly be better than...well, the current regime...."

Sarah stared at her Head of House. And not simply because she had trouble imagining that Professor McGonagall was willing to consider Severus Snape as headmaster of Hogwarts. "You don't want...to be headmistress yourself?"

"Gracious! No." McGonagall shook her head. "It may not have occurred to you, but I enjoy teaching. And unlike our present headmistress, I would not be so foolish as to attempt to teach and run the school at the same time. I don't suppose you know whether she's using a Time Turner?" McGonagall's voice had dropped to a whisper.

A Time Turner. Sarah had heard of them--and the dangers they presented--in the cautionary tales told to wizard children. It made sense that Umbridge would use one--how else could she possibly run the school and teach and sit in on the classes of the teachers she was trying to sack?

"I've never seen her do it," Sarah admitted. "But it never occurred to me to look for signs of it. If I wasn't stuck here for the rest of the term, I might be able to find out." Pomfrey had already vetoed Sarah's pledge to rest quietly if she were allowed to do so in her own room.

McGonagall sighed. "I doubt that it would help, even if we could catch her. Her connections in the Ministry would be sure to find a way around any illegality in what she's doing. Anyway, you're not to fret. It is no longer your problem."

* * *

Professor Umbridge did not agree. She appeared at lunchtime on Monday, furious to find her sole Gryffindor member of the Inquisitorial Squad on the sick list. Fortunately, Pomfrey had decided that it was safer for Sarah to wear her illusion belt at all times. Two more students had been brought in later Sunday evening, one of them babbling on about Switching Spells, the other simply staring into space. Watching them was easier than facing her own problems, and Sarah had kept charming the screens aside (just far enough to see, she'd explained) until Pomfrey had given up.

Umbridge, however, did not have much luck against Pomfrey. The new headmistress, pressed for time as always, could not have afforded the effort necessary to wear down the medi-witch, even had she been inclined to attempt anything except brute force to get her way.

Sarah, happy to be helpful to Madam Pomfrey in this instance, made a great show of apologizing to Professor Umbridge for her weakness, complete with such a fit of 'nerves' that she thoroughly convinced the woman that the medi-witch wasn't merely trying to obstruct the unpopular headmistress by confining the girl to the hospital wing. Umbridge, unable to put any civility into her get-well wishes, went off in a huff. Madam Pomfrey, however, saw a perfectly calm young woman winking slyly at her as Umbridge left. Probably in consequence, she agreed to consider Sarah's request for permission to read novels.

* * *

After supper, Angelina and Katie came to visit. Katie wore an expression of abject apology.

"I don't know why I forgot," Katie said. "The last thing I'd want to do is get somebody in trouble with Professor Snape." She frowned.

"Was he angry anyway?" Angelina asked. "I suppose McGonagall told him you cancelled your appointment?"

Well, that was as good a reason as any to use....

"Yeah, he was. When I got back on Saturday, I went down to check my lab. I was already really upset because of...what happened." Sarah grimaced, quite genuinely. But she made a careful point of saying the phrase in such a hesitant way as to discourage further inquiry. "When Snape came along and went spare at me about not taking my Potions N.E.W.T. seriously...well...I guess I just couldn't cope anymore. I didn't even think of eating, which I guess is why I passed out at chapel...." McGonagall had told her what facts of her illness were already common knowledge. "Now Pomfrey says I'm not to touch a textbook all this week. I'm all right, really," Sarah reassured them with intentionally false brightness. "Just...so much at once...."

"You'll be all right." Angelina patted her hand--a gesture that Sarah was beginning to find annoying, as everyone seemed to think it was the universal signal of reassurance.

* * *

Sarah was a little surprised to find that she really did need rest. She slept a good deal more than she would have supposed she possibly could. Madam Pomfrey went away offended when Sarah asked if her food was being drugged. But sleep was easier than thinking about...well, about anything. There was precious little she could think about without becoming upset, and the sudden peace she had found in being confined to the hospital wing was a thing, she discovered, that she did not want disturbed.

So she read the novels Angelina smuggled down to her, watched other students come and go, while Pomfrey dispensed nerve-steadying potions and took away textbooks, and occasionally went over the steps of the Wolfsbane Potion in her head. The ability to make that, it slowly occurred to her, was a thing that would guarantee her some income, whatever happened. At least he had given her that, she thought grudgingly.

The other thing he had given her...she had never imagined wanting to escape from that. But the invisible, indelible child was a constant reminder of all the things Sarah did not want to think of, a source of stress that Pomfrey could not assiduously withhold. And he was 'the child' now. Sarah toyed occasionally with other names. Her mother's father had been Alfred, a name which conjured an unflattering image of an infant with white sideburns and beard. No, definitely not. And Malcolm, as much as she had loved her father, seemed a name of ill omen. She couldn't seem to remember her other grandfather's name: he had died when she was a baby, or perhaps even before she was born, and neither her father nor Fiona had spoken much of him. She had thought of her baby as Severian for so long....

And still Severus did not come to see her.

It was Thursday before she could bring herself to mention his continued absence to Madam Pomfrey. Even obliquely.

"He asks after you every day," Pomfrey informed her.

"Me? Or...?" Sarah touched her stomach; it was late and no one else seemed to be awake, but she didn't dare risk speaking more plainly.

"He doesn't say a word about that," Pomfrey said primly. And left Sarah--with rather absurd orders to get back to sleep--to ponder out the significance of that on her own.

* * *

Sarah's first exam, in Herbology, was not until Wednesday of the following week. But Pomfrey had to let her out for a few hours on Monday to make sure all her Potions supplies were in order. She went down to the dungeons with no little trepidation, even though she readily accepted Angelina's generous offer to come along--presumably to make sure that Sarah didn't pass out again while at the mercy of the Slytherins, although Angelina hinted once, as they descended, at the anxiety that Sarah might run into her 'boyfriend.' But Snape was nowhere in evidence, unless the carefully restocked supply of ingredients was his doing. It could hardly be anyone else's, she realized grimly--no one else could have got into her workroom.

Her components for the Wolfsbane were exactly as she had left them. As tempting as it was to make a batch, just to be sure she still could, Sarah knew that Pomfrey would probably drag her back upstairs by the ear if she wasn't back before curfew. Nor was it fair to keep Angelina from her books that long. So she reluctantly reset her wards and followed her dorm mate back into the custody of her jailer.

Sarah couldn't help doubting that she would do as well on her exams as she would if she'd been allowed to cram, like everyone else. But at least, she reflected, they would now be a fair test of what she really knew. She came out of the written Herbology exam with confidence that she'd done well enough for an 'E,' if not an 'O.'

The practical was a bit more difficult. Not having been down to the greenhouses for almost two weeks put her at a disadvantage in being familiar with the plants in their current state of growth, but she'd certainly passed, although she felt sure that her overall grade would not be an 'O.'

Now she had days and days to wait until the Potions exam on Monday. The hospital wing was mainly deserted--the fifth and seventh year students had reached a point where worrying themselves sick was no longer an option. She got a few flying visits by her dorm mates, even those who hadn't yet come to see her, since everyone wanted to bemoan their exam performance to as many people as possible.

On Friday, there was an amusing bit of fuss when Professor Umbridge limped into the infirmary, supported a by couple of I.S. members, and shouting at the top of her lungs. Apparently a second niffler had appeared in her office. Pomfrey fixed up the gash in her leg as quickly as possible. Sarah hid herself under her sheets, trying not to giggle out loud, until the enraged headmistress went away.

But for the rest of the weekend, there was silence--a silence which did Sarah no good at all. She had run out of novels, and the last one had touched far too closely on her own situation for comfort. Life, unfortunately, was not a novel, where everything came out all right in the end. Certainly Severus was not the heart-of-gold hero riding boldly to the heroine's rescue. If he had come for her, Sarah thought crossly, it might be easier to forgive him for the rest.

She simply must do well on the Potions exam. If she managed to make the Wolfsbane correctly for the examiner, she knew an 'O' was guaranteed--possibly even a special commendation (which wouldn't hurt her chances of eventually finding another apprenticeship somewhere)--regardless of the rest of the exam. Not that she wouldn't have done well anyway. Not when she had been brewing potions at far above N.E.W.T. level for a very particular teacher for the past six months.

Monday morning finally arrived. Sarah wrote her Potions N.E.W.T. in a kind of haze, feeling bizarrely as if she were sitting just another end-of-term exam. Angelina took her for a walk outside afterward (presumably on Pomfrey's orders), and urged her to have lunch in the Great Hall. But the hospital wing had become a kind of refuge--she was assured of not meeting Severus there--and all she really wanted was a nap before she had to face her practical.

The N.E.W.T. Potions practical was more complicated than the Herbology practical had been. The seventh year students had the first part of the afternoon free while the fifth years did their O.W.L. practical. Then, from mid-afternoon until dinnertime, the N.E.W.T. candidates brewed in Examinations Authority cauldrons, with Examinations Authority ingredients, in the Great Hall. The exam consisted of a couple of potions that were short on preparation time but long on trickiness, and then a standard N.E.W.T. level healing potion. Sarah felt that she could have made them in her sleep. She was not entirely sure, when she finished, that she had not.

The students were dismissed with explicit instructions not to enter their workrooms until it was time for the remainder of the examination, which was to take place after dinner. They were also encouraged to eat well--a direction that, from the mumbling that followed the announcement, some of them expected to have difficulty following.

Sarah retreated to hospital wing for another dinner-on-a-tray, and came back at six o'clock. The students were directed to the small room off the Great Hall, where they waited anxiously for the examiners to call them. Just as in the Herbology practical, four students were called at a time. Curiously, though, they were not called in alphabetical order. And everyone was surprised when Professor Tofty, who had taken Billy Ferny out less than twenty minutes before, returned for Olive Barnley.

A number of theories circulated among the nervous seventh years. Valancy Sterling said that the examiners must get each person started, but then go around keeping tabs on several at a time after that. Dirk Nightshade thought that they only had to watch a bit of your technique, and you'd never have to actually finish the potion at all. Wishful thinking, several opined in response to Dirk's assertion. But no one knew, and it made everyone jittery.

Sarah was one of last to be called, although just over an hour had passed since the first group went out. Professor Mendelev escorted her down to her dungeon workroom. He carefully shut the door and pulled a small hourglass on a chain out of his robes.

"Do you know what this is, Miss Darkglass?" he asked.

Sarah studied the little device in his palm for a moment. "Is it a Time Turner?"

"Excellent--very astute," he said. "Now, I'm sure you're aware of the hazards involved in the manipulation of time. So you must answer my next question with absolute truthfulness. Have you been in your workroom at any point today?"

"No, sir," Sarah said.

"Very good. Time Turners are, as you might suppose, a highly restricted artifact. You will be expected to keep the use of this one secret. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Professor Mendelev held up the Time Turner. "The Wizarding Examinations Authority had some difficulty deciding how long to allow for the Wolfsbane Potion. Not a typical student project, you see. Do you believe that five hours will be sufficient?"

Sarah gaped. Five hours? It might have taken her that long the very first time, from this stage in the preparation, but she'd completed a successful potion a half-dozen times since then. "I believe I only need three, sir."

Professor Mendelev looked dubious. "If you're certain. You were, of course, left to last because of the doubt, so if you go over, it will not interfere with the schedule. Although I must admit it would interfere with my sleep, which I'm already missing now. Still, the missed sleep will be worth it if you can actually produce an accurate Wolfsbane Potion." The thought seemed to cheer him.

"I'm certain, sir."

The examiner lifted the slender chain and dropped it over Sarah's head, then carefully turned the glass over three times. The torch that lit the room flickered oddly, but there was no other obvious change. Professor Mendelev removed the chain from Sarah's neck and tucked it back into the front of his robes. "You may begin."

Sarah closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to find that hypnotic space. It was difficult, especially when she was so accustomed to having Severus' steady presence at her elbow while she made this particular potion. It was impossible to say why Professor Mendelev did not fulfill the same function, but even with her eyes closed, Sarah felt the difference.

Damn him! I can make this potion, whether he's here or not. He was never going to be.

Will he ever be again?

Well, not if I don't get this right. That's certain, if nothing else is.

Ready or not, she needed to begin.

Sarah took down her ingredients with unsteady hands, then forced them to be steady as she began the next step in the process. One by one, she added the necessary elements to the cauldron, finding herself eventually in the familiar groove, although her concentration wobbled when she realized it.

Just don't think about it. Don't think about anything.

That was easier to decide than to do. The baby provided occasional reminders of his presence. But she had learned to work with that distraction since Easter, and if she focused on that familiar reality, rather than all the difficulties that now surrounded his existence....

Just don't interrupt anything vital, she pleaded silently.

For a wonder, he didn't. The set of her mouth remained fixed exactly right, the stirring spoon went round exactly so, stopping and changing directions precisely where it should, hour after hour.

Essence of silver.

One...two...three...four...five....

Whoosh!

"Well!" Professor Mendelev exclaimed, as Sarah--ready for the final reaction--stepped back from the finished potion, which was giving off the perfect quantity of smoke.

Trying to contain her surge of elation, Sarah filled a sample flask and passed it to Professor Mendelev, who had begun examining his notes briskly. She watched him hold the flask up to the light. Then he uncorked it, sniffed it, compared his notes again.

"Amazing!" he said. "I honestly didn't believe it could be done. Of course, Professor Snape is excellent at preparing his students. But I didn't expect such results as this from any student." He shook his head, befuddled wonder still suffusing his face. "You are a very talented young potion-maker, Miss Darkglass. I expect to hear good things of you in the future."

This speech of praise, conversely, deflated Sarah. What future had she? Would Professor Mendelev be so effusive if he knew that she might be called upon to brew this very potion for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Oh yes, she thought ironically, Snape had been excellent at preparing her for that as well.

But Professor Mendelev was waiting for a response, and Sarah forcibly reminded herself that she had just bought a ticket from him to whatever good possibilities she might have.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and the relief in her voice was genuine.

"That will do, then. You may clean up your work and go." He made a few hasty marks on his clipboard, then miniaturized it and tucked it away. "But if I may," he held up the sample flask with a grin that seemed altogether incongruous on his long, serious face, "I would like to take this back to the office."