Hogwarts' Spy

An hour passed. Looking up from the book he was reading, Snape realized that it was already half past ten. He snapped his book shut and yawned exuberantly, his long limbs stretched in all directions. After all, there was no one to witness his display of laziness. Therefore, the room was just as he liked it: empty.

The iciness of his gaze met the warmth of the fire that was crackling joyously in the hearth. Even if its reflection danced everywhere across his face, it failed to light it up with anything that approached merriment or simple peace of mind. Indeed, Snape was thinking about the dungeons' comfortable chillness with much anticipation, telling himself that the room was getting overheated anyway... as usual.

Getting on his feet, he walked towards the door with his book firmly clutched in his hand and his teaching robes draped over his arm. The corridor's noticeably cooler air hit him instantly; he put his robes on, creating an invisible swirl of black among the darkness. Just as he was sliding his left arm in its large sleeve, however, his shifting weight produced a soft, crinkling sound. Retrieving his wand at once, he lit it up and vanished some of his dark surroundings with an eerie white glow.

Looking down, he saw a piece of parchment crushed mercilessly under the sole of his foot. Sticking his book under his wand arm, he picked it up and approached it from the source of light. Its first line was enough to make his tongue click impatiently; he meant to crush it in his fist and throw it into the first garbage can he saw on his way to his quarters. But then, it came to his mind that, had this piece of parchment been sitting on the floor for a long time, some house-elf would have picked it up and brought it to Filch. And he did not remember seeing that piece of parchment on the floor when he walked into the staff room, a couple of hours after dinner. And it was right in front of the door, just as if it was meant to be found.

Could have it been left there... for me to find it?

"Shite!" he barked, dropping the piece of parchment as if it had been made of white-hot iron.

If it had been left there for him to just stumble over it, then that object might represent a threat. Snape first chastised himself hard for having picked a suspect artefact without checking it first. As if he wanted to end up with a blackened hand like Dumbledore! Death Eaters with a certain amount of self-respect hit in much more sophisticated ways when it came to executing the Dark Lord's orders, but less gifted ones... younger ones could choose to strike differently. Draco Malfoy was certainly capable of brewing all kinds of poisons; Weasley had learned it the hard way not so long ago. Furthermore, many poisons did not need to be ingested to be effective. They could be efficaciously activated through the dermal barrier. Was the ink poisoned? The parchment itself?

If they were, I would already be dead, he thought, shrugging his shoulders. And it would have been a tremendously stupid way to go.

He checked his pulse, managing to twist his arms so he would still hold both his wand and book and check his watch while sliding two of his cold fingers in the tight side of his collar. His heart rate was about eighty beats per minute (and his position, rather peculiar). Yet... was the use of a bezoar justified? Should he take it, just in case? His left hand fumbled in an inner pocket of his frock coat; he felt the small reassuring bulge and sighed irritably.

I certainly won't start gulping bezoars each time I feel threatened by something! I would practically live on the stuff!

In spite of everything, the Dark Lord had given him no reason to think that his life was in danger. Not yet. He was still satisfied by his services as a spy, for Snape was still feeding him information about the Order and Dumbledore frequently. The Dark Lord grew more and more irritable about not knowing the reasons for Dumbledore's regular -and sometimes prolonged- absences, but his ire was not aimed at Snape in particular. Dumbledore had always done a fair amount of things on his own, choosing to inform others only when he thought it appropriate. Therefore, Snape was not blamed for not being able to provide more details.

One did blame him, however, and restlessly. Bellatrix Lestrange. She was always quick at pointing the missing parts in Snape's reports, always trying to discredit him in front of the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. She was becoming so desperate at trying to regain her lost status that she seemed ready to perform all the meanest acts possible. Snape was not paranoid -nor confident in Bellatrix's skills- enough to believe that she had sneaked into the castle, fooling at least two Aurors on duty and a couple of Order members on the way, not to mention the plethora of charms and spells that protected the grounds and buildings. But there was the fact that she had suddenly become very close to her nephew, once he had joined the ranks. That little incident before Christmas had been one piece of evidence among many. She could have jinxed the parchment easily outside the grounds, and then given it to Draco so he would drop it casually in front of the staff room once he knew that Snape was the only one left in there.

So, if I were Bellatrix... what jinx would I choose? he asked himself.

For several minutes, he maintained a one-way magical argument with the piece of parchment. He investigated a great number of possible jinxes and hexes, from the most childish and insignificant to the darkest, meanest, most elaborate he knew. When his imagination failed him for a moment, he walked in circles around the object, arms resolutely crossed against his chest, his robes floating behind him like the dark wings of a giant vulture circling above its inanimate prey. At other times, he crouched before it, made more and more complicated waves with his wand and hit it with a spell that illuminated the harsh features of his face in a variety of colours before going back to the blank glow of his light spell.

The piece of parchment never reacted.

Snape was forced to admit it: there was a strong possibility that the object was not jinxed. At all. Running a crisped hand through his oily locks, he gave out a frustrated sigh and looked at his watch. He had wasted no less than twenty minutes on that pointless investigation. Still crouched on the floor, he picked up the piece of parchment carefully and looked at it with an ominous frown that totally blamed it for his waste of time.

"The joke's on you again, Severus," resounded a mocking voice in his head.

Could all this really be a joke? Was somebody cheeky enough to even attempt playing a trick on him? He got to his feet, leaned against the wall, and read the parchment attentively this time. He found it completely burlesque; the style was so flowery that it actually stunk. That kind of prose had girlish romance dripping from each word and clashed with his personal tastes -and personality- in a very shocking manner. So shocking indeed that it was almost provocative.

Maybe someone had invented a secret lover for him and was planning on making fun of him in some wicked way? Hiding somewhere, spying on him, waiting to see his reaction to the letter in hopes he would do something to reveal parts of the private life that person imagined him to have? Straightening up at once, he pointed his wand in all directions; the corridor seemed empty. He sent a few Mist Spells to his left and right, but he found no trace of a body trying to hide under a Disillusionment Charm or an Invisibility Cloak. Suddenly feeling very tired, he passed a weary hand over his eyes.

You're being ridiculous, Severus, said his own inner voice this time. The mutt is dead. He's the fool now. Nobody here would dare to play silly tricks on you. Just get a grip and go to bed, for Merlin's sake!

"Hey, Phinny..." whispered a voice in the corridor.

"My name is Phynelasus, not 'Phinny'," retorted another voice. "I told you a million times, you stubborn lizard!"

"You complain about a friendly pet name and you dare call me a lizard?" continued the first voice, clearly offended. "I have been carved with a falcon's head and a panther's body, for your information. There's nothing reptilian in that!"

"Panthers never came covered in scales. Not even in the third century..."

"And how would you know, mister? You were carved by a Squib!"

"So were you, idiot! We come from the same rock!"

"I can't believe you're insulting me like this!" hissed the voice contritely.

"You asked for it. What is it you want?"

"About what?"

"About that thing you woke me up for in the first place," said the voice grumpily. "I was having a nice dream about Notre Dame; it better be for a good reason!"

"You were sleeping? Blimey! His racket didn't wake you?"

"What racket? Whose racket?"

"My racket?" intervened a third voice, deep and silkily menacing. "I wasn't making any racket!"

"Gargoyles' ears are most sensitive to any noise; magical work especially, Professor Snape," explained the stone figure courteously. "That is, when old age doesn't make them turn deaf, like my old mate Phinny, for example."

"I told you not-"

"I have no time for your ramblings tonight," interrupted the professor sharply.

"Whoa... he was a bit more polite last time we stopped his students at the door," commented the gargoyle on the left.

"I don't think he deserves it, though," replied the other.

"What? Nobody deserves to be disturbed by the whiny little brats!"

"I'm talking about the bloody parchment!" exclaimed the gargoyle on the left exasperatedly.

"You know something about this?" asked Snape sharply, stopping dead in his tracks and turning back.

"Apparently, falcon-head here thinks that story is worth telling," grumbled the gargoyle on the left, deploying its wings with a detached air of arrogance while his companion fumed on its pedestal.

"What do you know about this piece of parchment?" insisted the wizard impatiently, reaching the other gargoyle's level in two long strides.

"We both know the same thing, actually," began the offended gargoyle self-importantly. "We know how it arrived here."

"So?"

"Peeves carried it here," continued the gargoyle, not intimidated in the least by the ominous professor towering over it. "He looked like he was in a hurry... and like he was in the middle of some monkey business for that matter, but that's hardly something unusual. Don't you think, mate?"

"Hardly indeed," commented the other gargoyle briskly.

"So Peeves brought it here and dropped it unintentionally," summarized Snape irritably. "Anything else?"

"Why, I would imagine this item belongs to a student," intervened the gargoyle named Phynelasus. "Maybe... a wandering student that Peeves wanted to annoy..."

"Do you know what time it was when Peeves dropped this here?" asked Snape, his interest much more triggered this time.

"I'm awfully sorry to inform you that our maker did not sculpt us with watches or clocks, Professor," sneered the other gargoyle. "But I can assure you that Peeves flew inside the staff room after you came in, sir."

"So between nine o'clock and ten thirty," murmured Snape, as his eyes lit up with a nasty glimmer. "After curfew."

"My thoughts precisely," commented Phynelasus, interrupting his feather cleaning for a moment.

"That student will be back to his or her dormitory by now, unfortunately," said Snape, looking at his watch.

"Not necessarily," continued Phynelasus conspiratorially. "From what we could read on the parchment, this might very well be a request for a romantic encounter. Depending on... how well that encounter went, you might even catch two students instead of one."

"And give one hell of a detention when you do," completed the other gargoyle viciously.

"That's worth a try," concluded the dark-haired man before he picked his book off of the floor and headed towards the main entrance.

"A lovely night to you as well, Professor Snape," sneered the same gargoyle once the notorious black robes were at the end of the corridor.

"Did any of them actually wish you good night? Ever? Or a good day, for that matter?" retorted Phynelasus in the same tone.

Snape reached the main entrance quickly and stood in front of the staircase for a short moment. He had already discarded the possibility of searching the Slytherin section of the dungeons and mused on a possible route for his unexpected nocturnal round. He looked at the parchment even more carefully. The handwriting was indubitably feminine and, furthermore, it was familiar. So familiar indeed that he felt like the name of the mysterious poetess was on the tip of his tongue, and yet he could not figure out whom it was.

Not wanting to waste more time, he rushed forward in the stairs and reached the first floor. As soon as he arrived in the main corridor, he put an end to the Lumos Charm that was on his wand. Over two decades of life in Hogwarts had taught him enough to figure his way around in the dark. He searched classroom after classroom on that floor and the next, quiet as a mouse, his senses sharp and alert like a dog on the hunt. If students were hiding somewhere and engaging in questionable activities, he would find them. And they would be sorry when he did.

Just the look on their faces when I show them the parchment will be worth the effort, he thought in such an intensely malicious way that one could have mistaken it for exhilaration.

Unfortunately, other than "catching" a few house-elves in their cleaning chores, he did not find anyone else. His hopes rose considerably when he approached the vicinity of the Ravenclaw dormitory, but again, he was bitterly disappointed. One dormitory was left in the upper floors, and he secretly wished that the culprit belonged to that house indeed, which quickened his muffled steps considerably. He even had a few very precise names in mind when he tumbled down the stairs that led him from the Ravenclaw Tower to the main corridor on the first floor. He already savoured them in his head, anticipating the way he would let them slither down his tongue like deadly venom once he would catch their proprietors. Alas! These names vanished the instant his body hit something downy and warm that smelled like lavender.

"Good heavens, Severus!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall, completely taken by surprise. "Must you always walk around at night without lighting your wand?"

Snape retrieved his wand and lit it. Both wands combined showed him the fluffy edges of a tartan nightgown, which was chastely hidden under an equally fluffy and equally tartan flannel dressing gown. Given the matching hat that came with them, he dared not risk a look at her choice of slippers. This entire outfit was fulfilling one sole purpose: protect an aging witch from the castle's freezing air... and the indecent glares of some portraits.

To think that I actually fantasized about her on certain nights during my fourth year, Snape thought, repressing a depreciative smirk. Hormones can really make a bloke desperate. She looks even scarier in this than in her teaching robes!

"Evening, Minerva," he articulated, his voice as soft and cool as satin.

"What brings you on the first floor this late in the evening? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong per se, but I found this in front of the staff room," he explained, holding out the piece of parchment with the very edge of his fingertips as if it were a particularly smelly nappy. "I suspect one or two students might be out of bed."

"What is it?" asked McGonagall, taking the parchment from him and surveying its content briefly.

"I'll spare you the whole chef-d'oeuvre. This is some nonsense babbling of a romantic brainless girl who certainly does not belong to Slytherin."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the witch, her eyes narrowing at once. "Why wouldn't it be a Slytherin; have you figured out who the author might be?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then how can you be so sure?"

"I find it rather obvious, Minerva," he explained, a snide smirk cracking his thin, discoloured lips. "The title alone can make you figure it out. 'To observe and be seen'.... For one thing, a Slytherin girl with a certain level of self-respect would observe without being seen, don't you think?"

"You will have to find better proof than this to convince me," she huffed, cocking her head to the side.

"Secondly," he continued, imperturbable, "that Slytherin girl would never report her observations in such a romantic, sappy manner and lastly, she would never have left her parchment behind, where anybody could pick it up and read it. I have already checked the main floors and towers. Something tells me you might have a better chance with your Gryffindors."

"I'll see to it, have no worries."

"You know I never do. Good night, Minerva."

"Same to you, Severus," she said sternly.

In spite of everything, she watched the gruff wizard walk away with a very discreet smile curling up the corners of her mouth.

~)*(~