Intruders
It’s more than a wonderful day after that, starting with breakfast where my entire House ends up with all the best favorite foods and my House seems to be the only ones who notice, but enjoy it none-the-less. (That seems to include Professor Sprout, as Head of our House.) As the universe sometimes works, it spreads. The Hufflepuffs who’d all had a surprisingly perfect breakfast begin to spread the love and either accidentally (or on purpose) share the cheer with others, who pick it up like a particularly happy contagion.
Sprout herself hands out compliments and House points to just about everyone for even tiny good deeds, including a handful of Slytherins who helped a student (that one of the Slytherin bullies had just sneakily tripped) pick up the books she'd dropped. The shy Ravenclaw girl had whispered her confused thanks, but, pleased she’d escaped without further harassment, had then generously helped a Gryffindor first year in their shared study period by giving away a few tips to help remember the order of the ingredients for his potions test that afternoon.
Excited by the easy to remember help, the boy then passed on those same tips to his fellow Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years just before their shared potions class started. Then, with an uncanny amount of not-grouchiness, Snape had awarded anyone who had aced the test an additional five points per House student for proving, at last, that we weren’t all doomed to being complete dunderheads. (That his sneer-smirk had been half aimed my way when he announced it didn’t escape my notice, since I haven’t aced a test yet.) But that both houses had the same number of aced tests in the class, everyone left feeling particularly chipper.
“I’m blending!” I hiss-griped softly to Snape on my way out, but his genuinely amused smirk that I’d caught from the corner of my eye pretty much made my whole afternoon, as did Dumbledore’s assurance that the meeting is firmly set for Monday after classes and I needn’t worry about interruptions until then. By dinnertime, the overall day of positivity had spread to the whole school and the castle interrupted my way back to Hufflepuff to show even Filch in his office was merrily waltzing with his cat to some tune on the radio, which pretty much made my night.
***
Getting woken by the castle three minutes after midnight, however, pretty much screwed my night, too. I was up, dressed and ready for battle half a minute later, hiding in plain sight from the staff who’d also been awoken and I waste no time shadow-blinking in beside Lupin a minute later, standing on the few stones the castle had shifted outward to see out the window he’s currently peering through.
“So... intruders on the grounds?” I murmur and Lupin quietly growls an affirmative, his wolf keyed up with the need to protect the pups and chase off interlopers, but settling slightly when I brush my arm with his. “We hold the territory,” I add softly. “Let your wolf eyes do the work. He can see in the dark better than you can.”
“Miss Devons?” Dumbledore murmurs from behind us, surprised. “The castle woke you too?”
“Of course,” I murmur back. “School or not, it's still my home, Professor, and mine to protect. I’m glad it knows they’re here, but I’m worried that it can’t seem to find them.”
“That is concerning,” he agrees softly from the shadows on my right, then goes quiet in a way that irks me until he speaks again. “Would your other sight—“
“Yes, it probably would find them faster,” I huff, cutting him off. “But there's no need since my dragon sight can too.”
“Come again?” Dumbledore demands, a bit nervously.
“Heat vision,” I murmur back, letting my dragon peek out and the world goes first red, then orange, then yellow until the outdoors, still winter-cold, begin flaring winter shades of silvers, whites, grays and blues. “Nothing but Hagrid and Fang on this side,” I murmur, dropping to the floor and striding for the main doors with Lupin on my heels and Dumbledore on his.
From only the side window, there’s not much to be seen, but from the top of the courtyard arches—
“Listen for me,” I murmur to Lupin, who stiffens but nods. “Be right back,” I whisper to them both, then shadow-blink out, wrapped in darkness and shadow with a much wider range of view and spot one straight off. “Northeast path, near the lake. They're stumbling around, though, maybe hurt,” I whisper-shout, turning a slow circle then scan another once-over, finding nothing but two warm bodies now creeping silently from the castle (one being Dumbledore’s obvious energy and the other McGonagall’s softer, keen-eyed, near-feline energy), wands out and aimed at whoever the intruder is, then I shadow-skip back inside to Lupin, feeling his wolf’s disquiet.
“Please don’t do that again,” Lupin near-whines, but is already relaxing again now that I’m back within sniffing distance. A tug to his sleeve and he follows after me as I silently dash for the Great Hall and it’s view of the castle rear and the rest of the lake, which shows nothi— no. There, already slinking back into the water, hard to spot with so little natural body heat but it marks them as clearly not-human.
“One just went into the lake,” I report, but I’ve already lost sight of it and growl my frustration. “And now it’s gone. Somewhere,” I huff, but am already loaning my heat vision to the castle and let it search as I did for anyone or anything with unusual heat signatures, and hoo boy does it find something. “Shit,” I hiss, horrified. “The dungeons,” I breathe out, heart suddenly in my throat with two House dorms and the kitchens and the elves quarters and right now, Snape--.
“Castle, give me a door please,” I choke out and there’s one that pops straight out of the floor and already opening, spilling Lupin and I— and Flitwick who’d been just on our heels, into the hall where (holy shit, wow) one of the largest snakes I’ve ever seen has Snape and two sheet-white, wide-eyed young Slytherin boys backed nearly into a corner with no exit except past the snake. Snape looks both calm and furious but I can see the sick horror under it and can’t blame him because this— is no ordinary snake. Going by its aura alone, I'm not even sure it's ever been a natural snake--
“More students out of bed," Snape mutters, but the relief in his eyes is obvious, presumably at having some backup. "Exercise caution, Miss Devons,” he adds, like I’m somehow up against a particularly nasty bogart rather than a snake that looks large enough to maybe eat a miniature pony, but I’m a bit disinclined to listen to him when it’s the snake who’s talking— yes, talking to Snape like he can hear it clearly. (What’s far more worrying is that the longer I stare at it, there’s clearly more than ‘snake’ to this snake and it makes me a bit queasy to even look at.)
“Sssseverus, youuuu disssapppoint ussssss," the she-snake hisses, angry and impatient.
“Castle, give the kids a safe door, please,” I whisper and it’s only seconds until they’re both scrambling in (what looks to be the Slytherin common room), the door snapping shut behind them and then vanishing entirely.
“So...” I call down the hall, which catches the snake’s attention enough to have it writhing its head my direction, though not quite looking away from Snape, “she... seems to know you?”
Snape’s face loses another shade of color, but he’s not panicking, which is good. And impressive.
“Sssssseverus, what issssss shhhhheeeee?”
“Sheeeee is right here,” I hiss back in parseltongue, annoyed. “So why the fuck are you in my house?”
The snake freezes then, her long length pulling inward in unconscious defense, head snapping fully to me, eyes glinting with suspicion and curiosity and behind me, Lupin begins growling softly in warning.
“You ssssspeak parseltongue?” The snake demands.
“Either that, or I’m talking to an exceptionally gifted figment of my imagination,” I grouse quietly, though in English this time. “So again, why the fuck are you in my house?” I demand and she stills again before re-coiling, this time her entire bulk sliding a bit further back from me (and right towards Snape) but also aligning herself to strike at me, which honestly wouldn't concern me at all but for Lupin at my right shoulder and Flitwick further back on my left.
“You daaaare to ssssspeeeeak—“
That’s as far as my patience goes right now, because a second night’s perfect sleep has been ruined by this oversized (albeit gorgeous) uppity bitch who’s just been borderline bullying my snarky potions buddy.
I shadow-blink to just over her head, feet landing neatly in two bare spots her coils aren’t covering the stone flooring, unsheathe my claws and dig into her throat just under the joint of her head and pretty much paralyze her while everyone else present promptly freaks the hell out. I only intervene when none of their wands lower after a full eight seconds of disjointed exclamations.
“HEY!” I shout, just loud enough to have everyone pausing, silent. “She’s paralyzed; calm down please?”
“How did you—“ Flitwick squeaks, his eyes wide behind his spectacles and it’s only now I notice he’s wearing actual pajamas, slippers and a night robe, as is Lupin. And Snape. (Does no one but me have an instant battle-ready charm?)
“Miss Devons?!” Dumbledore intones, striding down the long corridor with enough purpose and severity to have both Flitwick and Lupin pressing themselves flat against the wall, then he stops short, seeing my seemingly precarious position, pinning a giant snake motionless and Snape stuck on the other side. “Is it dead?” He demands, looking worried.
“No. Paralyzed, as long as I keep my claws where they are. Do you have some place to keep her while we talk? Or I can freeze her into hibernation, but—“
“Keep her alive?” Snape demands, still looking ill.
I try to answer that with my own eyes, but he seems to be missing it, his sight set firmly on Dumbledore and mentally asking a dozen questions of his own, so I watch Dumbledore too, with only one or two questions on my mind, beginning with how either thinks this conversation won’t be largely public in a week regardless. Still…
“She came here for a reason,” I point out, finally interrupting their silent conversation. "Keeping her for questioning seems smart to me, and while I’d rather just send her to a mostly deserted island to wreak havoc on the local rodent population there for the remainder of her days after said questioning, I can’t help but notice there’s a freaking chunk of a soul in her that absolutely does not belong.”
Dumbledore’s eyes finally snap to mine, a bit wide and then his lips pinch flat. “I see.”
“So... do we have some place to keep her?”
***
The snake is currently hibernating while Snape mixes herbs to set up a time tamper spell until such time as Dumbledore decides how to proceed with the snake. The man I’d spotted outside was dead (death by giant snake-bite, poor guy) by the time McGonagall and Dumbledore got to him— and now Moody and Kingsley are both on their way (or here already) to investigate the body and no one but me saw anything in the lake.
“But it looked like a person?” Dumbledore asks, pacing the potions classroom in a way Lupin looks envious of, his eyes still half-sheening with his wolf still on guard and I try to settle him by proximity, leaning against his arm where we're holding up a wall off to the side of the room.
Snape, still in his sleeping robes (as nearly all of the staff currently are) looks no better now than he had an hour ago and I’d be leaning against him to offer silent support if Lupin didn’t need the calming comfort more right now. At least Snape’s keeping his hands busy with the time tamper potion, though, the routine of brewing settling him, bit by bit.
“It was a person, just one with very low body temperature. Once they were in the lake, also cold, I lost track of them,” I confirm, then pause before I voice my suspicions. “I can’t help thinking it might’ve been our missing St. Mungo’s not-healer, Madu.”
Dumbledore frowns (as does Snape behind him), now pausing his pacing while he thinks, and they both nod their probable agreement. Dumbledore does a few laps more before stopping to pin me with an almost-apologetic look. “You can understand her?” He asks bluntly and I can only assume he means the snake. I nod once.
“Whether or not she’ll talk to me is another story,” I add, also apologetic. “She’s gonna wake up grumpy. Twice so if I’m the one she wakes up to.”
He nods, frowning more, then spears me with another look. “Did she say anything before you paralyzed her?”
When Snape freezes again, looking wary and worried, (plus a dash of curiosity,) I really wish Dumbledore hadn’t asked. But I wince-nod to Dumbledore anyway and then hold Snape’s gaze while I say it, feeling a bit sick when I do.
She said “Severus, you disappoint us.” I hope my eyes hold all of the massive apology I’m aiming for, because his eyes flinch, then close with pained realization (or maybe conformation) and they stay closed when he grips the tabletop for a long minute, then heaves in a shaky breath and continues with his work, his eyes now looking a little blank and numb.
Dumbledore now looks equally apologetic, but nods his understanding and then Moody’s knocking and entering, his scarred face looking equal parts furious and freaked out and his crazy eye seeming all but stuck staring at the wall, likely at the still-frozen snake McGonagall and Flitwick are snake-sitting in the empty classroom/storeroom next door.
“This is the last time I go to bed thinking ‘Finally! A full night’s sleep!’” Moody grumps and I knock my head lightly back against the wall with a soft huff.
“Then, according to the modern bastardization of Murphy’s Law, this is all your fault,” I accuse, but can’t keep my lips from twitching up and Lupin snorts a silent laugh at my side, now visibly relaxing, finally.
“Yeah, yeah,” Moody mutters, then pins Dumbledore with his human eye and jerks a nod to the wall. “Am I leaving with just a body or am I taking that too?”
“She's still alive, Alastair. Forcibly hibernating, but alive,” Dumbledore murmurs and Moody stiffens, now looking twice as freaked out.
“Alive,” Moody growls, stomping his newest fake leg onto the floor, clunking a harsh, metallic sound for emphasis. “Does she have to be?” He demands. “The damned thing’s eaten people, Albus!”
Faaaantastic. I saved a serpentine, people-eating, bullying horcrux.
“We can question her,” Dumbledore argues reasonably.
Moody glowers at me, next, like it’s now all my fault, then glowers more at Dumbledore. “Yer expecting her to question it?” He demands and I’d be insulted if I didn’t mostly agree because the less contact I have with it-- with her, the happier I’ll be. But who else knows parseltongue?
Dumbledore sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his slightly misshapen nose, muttering under his breath before lifting his head to reply. “I’m well aware she can’t remain alive, but she does have pertinent knowledge of things we don’t. Things we need knowledge of.”
“Like how the hell she got in,” I murmur, wincing. “And why the castle couldn’t tell what she was or how it couldn’t seem to find her until I gave it heat vision to search with.”
I pat the wall at my side gently, because however it happened, it’s not the castle’s fault. The castle mentally pats me back in the same manner with the same sentiment.
“She’s got a personal code, Albus,” Moody growls, but gently, like he needs it heard in it’s best light. “You can’t ask her to question it in the way we’d likely have to,” he says so softly I know I’m not meant to hear it and wish I hadn’t because he’s talking torture and not only no but fuck no. I cannot be present for that. Not again.
“Definitely not,” I choke out, now rapid-swallowing the slick flooding my mouth, rapid-shaking my head and fairly sure I lose at least five shades of color. “There’s got to be another way.”
“Maybe,” Snape offers quietly where he’s back to gripping his work table top, “she will talk to me.”
Everyone pauses for a long few seconds, then Dumbledore raises a wry eyebrow. “Do you have hidden language talents we’re unaware of, Severus?”
But Snape’s staring at me now and doesn’t let up until I realize—
“The translator potion?”
His look is vaguely hopeful, then he sets his jaw. “Can parseltongue be worked into it?”
I suck in a slow breath and blink up at the ceiling while I really think on it because logically….
“Yes? But I’d need a day... maybe two to work out the resonance, visually... it’s not a standard formula for those types of low-pitch acoustics.”
Snape nods and looks far more hopeful, because while we've been working it so far, I’ve been explaining as best I can how resonance effects potion magic and how it ties in to ingredients, tools, steeping times and temperatures. Moody and Lupin look a bit lost, but Dumbledore also nods like it makes sense, then frowns back and forth at both Snape and I.
“You’ve been working on this for some time already?” He finally asks.
Snape looks at me and I shake my head and flap a hand at him because it’s his project. I’m just assisting.
“She got bored again after solving the Landry theory,” Snape says flatly and I glower at his fake scowl, nevermind his faint smirk beneath it.
“Nope,” I enunciate clearly, even popping the ‘p’. “Don’t blame me for you attempting the near-impossible. All I’ve done is offer suggestions and point out where it hasn’t been working. You’re the one who made it work.”
Snape rolls his eyes, but looks pleased he’s getting his due credit.
“You solved the Landry theory?” Lupin wheezes, giving me an odd sort of look, like he’s seeing me anew all over again.
I waggle my hand a bit. “I helped,” I clarify because it’s true; we all helped. Then I add, “A little.”
Hearing Dumbledore snort-scoff might be the best thing I’ve heard all night, but the nearly accusing look he gives me with it is unexpected.
“Moving on,” Moody grumbles, (and bless the man for saying it) “we can’t keep it here in the school for one or two days until we can talk to it.”
Dumbledore nods, frowning thoughtfully.
“What about the Shrieking Shack?” Lupin suggests. “Block off the entrance and the Aurors can guard it there?”
To me, that still seems crazy risky with the snake woman still at large and evidently helping the python itself... but the shack is close enough that I can run a bit of damage control if need be and now that the castle’s gotten a little (literal) taste of her serpentine blood on the stone floor, it’ll have no trouble tracking her on the grounds.
“That’d work, I suppose,” Moody grumbles, frowning and pacing a few feet. “I’d rather not risk her going anywhere while her head’s still attached, but—“
I must make a face or a sound or something because Moody winces apologetically.
“—it’ll do, temporarily,” Moody huffs, then eyes me, nodding sharply. “The sooner you work a way for us to talk to her, the better.”
I huff a sigh back, nod, then turn to Dumbledore. “I’m terribly sick,” I lie, flatly. “And won’t make it to classes tomorrow.” He blinks mildly at me, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “And I could be contagious,” I add. “So I probably shouldn’t have visitors.”
“Oh yes,” Lupin adds, nodding fake-serious and lays the back of his hand on my forehead. “Obviously feverish," he concludes.
I snort but smile brightly. “Exactly.”
“Of course,” Dumbledore agrees genially, “the sooner the better, but— after,” he intones seriously, “a few more hours sleep.”
“My brain is waaaay too keyed up to sleep right now,” I tell him honestly. “And for me, staring at the ceiling for a few hours isn’t even remotely restful. I’m better off working through it at this point.”
He’s already frowning his disapproval when Snape pipes up.
“I have Dreamless Drought, if that would work on your physiology.”
Ironically, that has me perking right up. “That would work perfectly,” I sigh gratefully and it will, in my experience, better than any other sleeping potion has, even if for not as long as it would for most, it’ll do. I nudge Lupin and give him a good once over, pleased that the wolf has settled, mostly content. “You good to go?” At his nod and rolling eyes, he gives me a final half-hug, then a nudge away.
Snape also gives me a once-over when I reach his desk, but seeing that I’m not near-dead already, lets me take the bottle.
“While it’s the only potion known to work for longer than three minutes, I’ll have to drink about half the bottle,” I explain, apologetically and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll make you some more,” I promise, already opening the lantern to pull up the ring.
“You—“ Lupin starts, sounding annoyed. “You’re sleeping down there?”
“I’ll have you know, that bed is the most comfortable I’ve ever slept on... mostly because I designed it to be, and I can’t be in the dorms if I’m *cough cough* sick. My lab is in the next room over—“
“You’ve got a laboratory down there?” Moody mutters, sacrificing his personal sense of safety to let his crazy eye zip down and around, frowning his frustration when he sees nothing while Dumbledore is equally frowny and mouthing the word ‘bed?’.
“—where I’ll have to work anyway since there’ll be classes in progress up here,” I continue. “And the castle can deliver me meals.”
“That you might not remember to eat,” Snape says flatly, arms crossing and looking uncomfortable and cranky all in one.
I stare flatly back, then realize it’s honest concern he’s hiding and sigh, rolling my eyes, then head-nod to the lantern.
“Fine. Grab the lantern ring and I’ll authorize you.” At his raised eyebrow, I huff. “If you suspect I’m close to starving to death or need an update on my progress or are just bored enough to hunt for the fourteen other hidden caches in the lab, you can come down,” I add graciously.
His lips twitch into a half-smirk, but he does grab the ring. I smirk when the castle zaps him but he still scowls his begrudging appreciation while he rubs his fingers and turns— to find Lupin waiting right there.
“And if his first years blow him up before he can check on you?” Lupin demands and this time, I can almost hear Snape growl, eyes narrowed to slits and practically searing a hole in Lupin’s head with the power of his crankiness.
Wisely, Lupin ignores him.
I tuck my tongue into my cheek and suck in a patient breath, then lean to the side to peer around he and Snape to see both Moody and Dumbledore looking curious and mildly hopeful.
To my delight, the castle zaps even Dumbledore.
“Please use this authorization for emergency measures only?” I add, mostly talking to Moody and Dumbledore and mostly because they haven’t had the nickel tour yet, though I doubt Lupin will use it at all beyond necessary visual pack checkups. I do make sure not to address any of those words to Snape because he’s pretty much allowed anytime. (Unspoken snarky friend status has earned him that.)
Everyone seems agreeable and begin trailing from the room but for Snape, who’s already begun cleaning up the tamper spell he’d just bottled and sent off with Dumbledore. When it’s finally just Snape and I left, I pull the ring but stick my head back in the classroom before I go, leaning into the door jam. “Rough night,” I huff after a quiet minute and he doesn’t look back when he nods a bit tersely. Since asking if he’s alright would be an act worthy of earning a Darwin Award, I go with the next best thing. “You going to be alright?” I ask it bluntly but with a careful measure of concern because ‘worried sympathy’ would only piss him off.
He freezes for a second, then half-lies with another jerk of a nod and a murmured ‘yes’.
I’ve never seen another person so desperately in need of a hug who would hate me for giving it, so I don’t.
“See you tomorrow then,” I murmur and add a ‘goodnight’ as I shut his office door behind myself, shadow-blink to the bottom of the stairs and manage a full five hours before the drought wears off. Then, for the first time in centuries, I shower in my own shower and it... is... divine.
Then, as promised, I have the castle bring me breakfast that I snack my way through while testing through half a dozen resonances and miraculously, finding one that almost works, which is step one. Step two takes four maddening hours more and I’m only halfway there and just frustrated enough to take a break, stretch, pace the length of the hall a dozen times until I rethink step one and ten minutes later, realize I’ve been an idiot.
Sometime later, I’m reworking the original potion from where I’d seen it last completed and begin binding the visual spread while the chopping, paring, squishing, mixing, and steeping are happening around me and hear a gentle knock on the door jam that sound-feels too much like Snape to be anyone but.
“Come on in,” I murmur. “Just... maybe don’t touch anything that’s moving on its own yet.”
He’s silent for half a minute before he sighs and approaches the desk I’m still sitting cross-legged on.
"Is that--a codex puzzle?" He asks, squinting at the opaque, multi-layered magical cylinders drawn out in thin air from what looks like multi-colored glittering glyphs and runes, each character no larger than a peanut. Even shrunk down and squeezed side by side, the ten cylinders collectively hold hundreds of unique characters, each representing a different ingredient that either brightens or dims or switches colors depending on how the ingredient is best used and prepared.
"Uhh... well," I murmur, pursing my lips, "more or less, yeah," I agree, nodding, then launch into a quick explanation of how mine works with mini demonstrations of what an unhelpful ingredient added looks like (either dimming to near-invisible or darkens to black) as well as helpful ingredients (bright colors that fuse to other characters and swap from whatever layer they're on to the center-most cylinder and begin vibrating a little).
"That's amazing," he offers quietly, then purses his own lips. "So... the way we've been creating the base potion so far--"
"Is the best way," I interrupt. "A bit slower, yes, but uses a lot less energy. And in my case, that's sort of a big deal. I rarely do it this way without a good reason, what with my one track mind distracting me from essentials like food and sleep."
Now is maybe not the best time to have pointed that out since he peers around me to where a plate still sits, not fully eaten yet, I'm sure.
“Since your breakfast is still here, shall I assume you missed lunch?” He drawls out, flatly.
I cringe, but keep my fingers on the visual spread that I’m still harmonizing. “Prrrrobably?” I answer honestly. “But now I need snapping pepper root since I’m..... niiiinety-eight point two percent sure it’s the last element.
“For parseltongue?” Snape huffs, sounding amazed. "I didn't think it would be this quick," he adds, eyebrows arched high.
And... well, yeah, parseltongue too. And dragon-speak, and liizanith, and—
I blink three times quick to pause the room, then smile at him with a few extra (chagrined) teeth than needed. “More like... all the Magi-Lepidosauria superorder?” I correct, a bit sheepishly. “It’d take me another day to pare it down to just parseltongue.”
He stares at me for a full five seconds, then turns for the cabinet to get the snapping pepper root while I grin at his back (seeing him stunned is sort of a treat), then restart the magic works and continue.
“I’m not certain I’ve ever met anyone who’s list of bad habits includes overachieving,” he mutters to the cabinet and I snort, still grinning.
“You say that as if making near-impossible potions isn’t your favorite hobby,” I retort, ticking my eyes over to see him now debating where to leave the pepper root. “By the sieve on the left is good; the prep magic will catch it in a second or two.”
“It certainly seems to be your favorite,” he remarks dryly, delivering the root, then returns to lean against the desk I’m still sitting yoga-posed on, my hands still raised before me like an orchestra conductor.
“Sort of,” I allow, fingers on my right hand twisting and tugging the second to middle harmonic cylinder a fraction out and sigh with satisfaction when the trio of glyphs brighten, fuse and the whole line shimmers bright gold. Then I mentally lock it and save my progress, then finally let my hands down, flexing and rubbing fingers and wrists, then cracking my knuckles. “I like puzzles,” I clarify with a light shrug. "And every potion is its own puzzle. Helps that I’m part dragon, I think,” I add, frowning at the cold remains of my breakfast, now that I’m clear-minded enough to realize I’m hungry. “I like to hoard knowledge. I don’t mind sharing it too, but I like having it for myself. And if having knowledge and solving puzzles can help the world be a little bit happier and safer tomorrow than it was yesterday, all the better,” I add, shrugging again and finally plucking up the last bit of a honey croissant.
“So, what’s your excuse for striving for the almost-impossible?” I ask, then pop the buttery bite in my mouth and study the minor potion factory I’ve got going on, pausing the pepper root while I mentally recheck which bits of it will best work, then restarting it, but diverting a portion to dry-sap the oils, hopefully catching the essence a bit better.
“I like a challenge,” Snape finally says after thinking on it. “And there’s no better challenge than your own mind,” he adds, a little quieter and I smile, nodding.
“Too true,” I agree, wiping my fingers clean.
“You need dinner,” he decides.
“Also true,” I agree, nodding.
“You also need fresh air.”
“Blasphemy,” I counter playfully. “I am a cave-thriving creature of the night.”
“And how much time does this,” he waves a hand at the work in progress, “have left?”
I purse my lips, calculating. “Four hours? Maybe five, if dry-sapping the pepper root oil out gives me better results than leeching.”
“I’ve seen you freeze your magic works for far more than an hour,” he huffs. “You need food and air,” he says, like he’s lecturing an actual first year and I give him a mostly-dead stare until he grudgingly adds, “Please.”
I huff a little sigh, but capitulate because ‘please’ from him is a bit of a rarity, pausing all the works but for the pepper root, which will take the longest anyway, then slide off the desk and wince when all the blood comes flooding back into circulation. (Because the universe is cruel, not even dragons are immune to pins and needles.)
“And just how will I explain this healthy air I’ll be breathing and healthy food I’ll be eating when I’m meant to be contagiously sick?” I ask, already following him toward the door.
“I’m certain we’ll figure that impossible puzzle out,” he says dryly, and up the stairs we go.
***
“You’re insane,” Snape decides.
“Only occasionally,” I refute, still climbing the tower stairs. Reluctantly, he follows.
“It’s freezing out,” he argues, grumbling. “Literally the coldest it’s been this winter.”
“I can fix that, though,” I argue back, peering back over my shoulder. “And there’s fresh air up here,” I add. “Something you seemed very insistent on ten minutes ago.”
He rolls his eyes but follows, muttering about the foolishness of toying with the elements while pulling gloves from his pocket, then a scarf from another pocket and I try not to snicker too much as we step out onto the astronomy tower and yes, get an immediate icy blast like the air is reminding us it’s still winter in the most vicious way possible.
Snape huddles into his scarf and half-glares his disapproval until I roll my eyes, wave him a few feet back and crank up my body heat to half-dragon level of toasty warm and let the aura of my wings spread wide and block the winter wind out, smiling a bit— until I see how wide his eyes are.
“What?” I demand, shifting awkwardly and see his eyes trace out to my left, then upward and out, then follow the curve down— “You can see them?!” I blurt, baffled, almost instinctively drawing them back in a little.
“No!” He barks, then seems to cringe at himself. “More like— an outline,” he concedes, eyes still swooping left and right, but he's also stripping his scarf back off and I kindly don’t mock him when it and his gloves soon vanish back into his pockets. “I hadn’t expected it,” he adds dryly.
And I hadn’t either because that... shouldn’t happen? I purse my lips and shift my vision just a hair and— um…. Oops? I’m not sure if I ought to tell him my wolf adopted him as genuine pack or not, which has weirdly (yikes, major oops?) inspired my dragon psyche to do the same. It’s maybe smart to give it a few days further thought, right?
Yeah, that’s what I’m sticking with. Especially when possible side effects include he and Lupin possibly being willing to save the others’ lives, if not honestly wanting to. Worst case scenario: they’d maybe gang up and attempt to kill me instead… like pack brothers should.
Shit.
“Me neither,” I mutter, shrugging. “It's mostly just the aura of them. Sorry, though. Didn’t mean to spook you?"
“Surprised,” he corrects in a mumble, but his eyes follow the movement when I stretch them full out again. “It’s fine,” he adds, tucking his hands into his robe pockets and strolls to the edge of the tower to peer down at the grounds now fading into true dusk. “It’s not very often you genuinely show any overt dragon traits,” he admits, side-eying me and I chuff.
“Be glad,” I advise, grinning softly out into the falling night. “Common trait among dragons the world over? Breathing fire when they’re cranky.”
He makes a choking little noise that’s either horror or amusement (or maybe just a bit of something that slipped out while reminding himself to never, if it can be helped, deliberately make me cranky). He turns back once he’s schooled his face (almost) to its usual mask of bored annoyance.
“Let’s get you fed then,” he decides. “Before you get cranky.”
It’s actually a nice hour spent, all in all, munching through a too-large dinner while I regale him with my parseltongue potion efforts, plus the new ingredients added, a few of which surprised him due to their rather dull base resonance. (Brewed in the proper cauldron, even a dull ingredient can be very, very potent.) On the way back to Snape's classroom, Peeves makes the mistake of not recognizing me soon enough before diving at our heads, and while I'm sure Snape is more than happy to handle the problem, my dragon is feeling playful enough to positively spook Peeves right back and I snatch him by the waistcoat, yank him close and grin nearly ear to ear with far too many sharp teeth and blazing dragon eyes (really, Pennywise the evil clown would be envious) before I release him and let him flee in terrified silence.
“You... enjoyed that,” Snape accuses softly, genuine mirth under the words. “And here people accuse me of being a bully.”
“Me? A bully? Phffshhh,” I huff, eyes rolling. “It’s a school. I’m doing my part to help others learn.”
“Learn how to be a bully, you mean?” He argues, highly entertained.
“Hmmm, no,” I huff. “He’s already a bully and has plenty of examples better than me to learn from. I was teaching him a... slightly altered version of the school motto,” I add lightly, then knock twice on the closest door. “Potions classroom, please,” I request quietly. The door happily creeks open and lets us pass.
“Ah,” Snape murmurs a few seconds later, then wisely recites it. “Don’t tickle the sleeping dragon.”
“Exactly,” I say brightly, showing off a few extra-sharp teeth and he smirks so wide, it's almost a smile. (Sooo close, and I'm determined to make it happen someday soon.)
***
It does take another four hours (leeching, to my surprise, gave better results) to complete the potion addition, then another hour after that to test it (and a good ten minutes for me to freak out when my dragon voice, past a certain volume, made Snape’s ears bleed and his head ring) and in the end, we got a full seventeen vials, three of which I kept for myself and the rest to be kept or dispensed as needed.
“You’re sure your head's alright?” I ask again, still wincing as he’s packing the vials into his robe pockets and he rolls his eyes (again) and gives me a(nother) droll, exasperated look until I back off, hands raised in resigned surrender.
It’s not until I’ve backed nearly to the door that I see the faintest 'out of place' flicker down the hall from the corner of my eye and freeze, expanding my senses and hear the faintest hush of sound, like fabric sliding over stone.
“What is it?” Snape asks softly, steps quiet as he slowly approaches, peering down the long hall from over my head.
“Someone’s here,” I breathe out. “Someone who shouldn’t be.”
“How?” He asks, equally as quiet. “You’re sure it wasn’t one of the paintings?”
“I muted them more than a week ago.” I can feel him startle a bit at that before refocusing, hear that whisper of sound again and mentally hush my own footsteps, then Snape’s, who’s already near-silent steps suddenly sounds like a small herd of cats behind me, but I pause by every doorway, locked or open, to listen again. I’m unsurprised when it leads back to the foyer, but I am surprised the sound isn’t leading back through one of the darkened doorways.
Nor from the stairs.
It’s from a medium sized painting that I’m certain hasn’t been here before today and certainly not resting on the floor, propped against the far, mostly unseen, end of the foyer, just outside the small storage room / coat closet I’d all but forgotten was even there. That by itself is something of a problem because I’m positive no one but Snape and I have come down here tonight and therefore definitely not authorized by me. No, the problem lay with the painting itself, looking far too realistic to be anything but real and that’s so, so bad.
So bad... because it's also a portal to the actual damned location.
“What— where is that?” Snape asks quietly. And nervously. But his eyes are all but glued on the scene in the frame, the darkened room and wet-looking, dank stone walls but for one large, mostly-shaded portion that looks like smooth stone, bar the carving of waves of hair, the empty gaze of a carved stone eye over a half-seen cheek.
I swallow hard, suck in a breath and force it back out, hard.
“Somewhere that has very few entrances,” I rasp out, my arms nervously wrapping tight around my chest, an idiotic attempt at self comfort I immediately reverse because I’m not fragile, damnit, and refuse to look like I am. I can handle this— better now than ever because I know what’s been kept there, impossible as it seems that one is somehow still alive. I look back over at him, my expression grim. “Ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?”