#then you might be aware that we added four other races to the attribute pile

[senotsuri]

Every time I think of a season in it’s general entirety, I think How would I have done this if I was a writer on the team, while also having the final say in any and all writing decisions? The answer is usually just *picks up Drago and throws him a far enough distance away where he can’t win the season by just existing for any amount of time*

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 23: Summer of Discontent

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 23/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Two+

Chapter Twenty-Four+ >>

Miranda rapped on the door of Severus’s tattered house at Spinner’s End on Thursday a week after Sânziene, her bag slung over her shoulder and a bouquet of flowers from the mountaintop charmed to freshness in her hands. The aging neighbor at the end of the block came out of her house to collect the morning paper, and Miranda mused that Severus must be in the basement brewing to have left her on his doorstep so long. When the neighbor gave her a lingering stare as she dawdled on her lawn, Miranda raised her hand to knock again, but the door opened, saving her the trouble. Before the neighbor could stare any longer, Severus’s hand had snaked out and pulled her firmly inside, while his other hand closed the door against prying eyes.

The morning light filtered in through the shuttered sitting room, lingering on the piles of neatly stacked books and the threadbare furniture. Severus was in his shirtsleeves, and his hair was tied back the way he did when he meant to do some serious work. His eyes were warm as he ran them over her, and she smiled back at him as she handed him the posy.

“I suppose I should be the one to bring you flowers,” he remarked as he held the collection up to the sunlight in order to better study the array.

“You could. But I prefer books and whiskey if you’re taking notes,” she replied.

He nodded absently and muttered, half to himself, “I’ve never seen some of these species before. This one appears to be a Cruciata laevipes, but I’ve never seen it quite this color or shape…”

Miranda hung her bag on the lonely coatrack by the door, giving company to Severus’s winter cloak and a dusty bowler hat that she had never seen—nor could imagine—him wearing.

“Still no invitation for me from the Dark Lord?” she asked cheekily.

“No. I’m afraid you are completely ignored. The cut direct.” He gave her half of a smile and caught her hand, turning it over to press his lips against the inside of her wrist. “Come. I require help decanting the Changeover Potion and you are just in time.”

*****

Two hours later they were both sweating as the heat of the day began seeping down into the basement. This, combined with the blazing fire under the cauldron, and the tedium of her task, had Miranda nearing the end of her patience. Severus was syphoning off the liquid parts of the potion into jars, dropper-full by dropper-full, and she had to keep the mass turning clockwise at a constant speed while he worked. It had taken a full twenty minutes before he had been satisfied that she was doing her job correctly, and only the lingering kiss he’d dropped onto the back of her neck when she had finally “gotten it right” had stopped her from hexing him in retaliation. Her arm had long since passed the stage of sensation, but she knew better than to bother suggesting using a charm to keep the spoon moving. For a wizard, Severus was inordinately fond of what her Mama would term ‘elbow grease.’

“Only a few more moments. Excellent work, Miranda,” Severus murmured as he painstakingly transferred the potion.

The sight of the dregs at the bottom of the cauldron, paired with such a hearty compliment, cheered Miranda and she teased, “That’s awfully pleasant of you. Maybe you aren’t such a beast of a teacher after all.”

“Then please allow me to assure you that I am only pleasant with you, and I have ulterior motives for being so,” he replied, his eyes still on his work.

“Really? What might those be?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk and, when he spoke, it was in his most silken rumble. “I should think you are perfectly aware of what my motives are.”

Her face went hot and her stomach flipped deliciously. “I see. How much longer is this going to take? I wouldn’t want you to be too tired to put those motives into practice. Especially on such a hot day as this is shaping up to be.”

His smirk transformed into one of his rare, full smiles. “Patience is a virtue, Miranda. And being as I’ve thought of little else since Monday evening when you informed me that you were planning to grace me with your presence, I doubt I will be too tired.”

“What a relief.”

“Feeling neglected, are we?”

“Well it’s not as though my last two visits were very conducive to fucking, now were they?” Good Lord, her face must be beet red by now, and her voice was even betraying a quiver of excitement. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

“I shall endeavor to make it up to you.” He glanced away from his work long enough to take in the state of her cheeks and added, “Have I mentioned how amusing it is to watch you turn that particular shade of pink?”

“You have, more than once. One would think I’d grow out of blushing at some point.”

“I should hope not. It’s one of your more charming attributes.”

He finished his work and charmed the cauldron to float on its side while they scraped out every last bit of the solids in the bottom onto squares of cheesecloth. These they wrapped into bundles to hang over bowls to drain further, in an effort not to waste a drop of the precious potion. Severus flicked his wand once to return the cauldron to its place on the workbench, twice to smother the fire, and a final time to flip one of the hourglasses that sat on a shelf of other timers of various sizes. The sand in the chosen glass began running, and Miranda and Severus took turns scrubbing their hands at the gleaming stainless steel sink. While Severus was busy at his task, Miranda rolled her head and shoulders to relieve the strain of the morning’s work. She forgot what she was doing though, when he fixed her with a heated gaze, and stalked across the room to her with the air of a cat approaching an amusing morsel of food.

“There is half an hour before the Changeover Potion will require filtering,” he began, running a long finger over her cheek and down the side of her neck. “I trust that will be sufficient time to take the edge off our appetites.”

“We can certainly try,” she murmured, her breath catching as his finger dipped under the neckline of her tunic.

He laughed darkly and her head tilted back to receive a kiss that was aborted before it reached its destination. His lips and his laughter twisted into a frustrated snarl, and he snapped away from her, jerking his sleeves back into place and fastening them around his wrists. The Dark Mark writhed on his forearm, taunting her before he hid it from view, and she forced a smile to cover the disappointment that was, at that moment, choking her.

“The Dark Lord has the worst timing,” she said, pleased that her voice was mostly even.

“He does,” Severus agreed in a similar tone as jammed his arms into his frock coat with a violence that should have torn it apart at the seams.

“Is there anything else I should do besides filter the Potion?”

She could see his measured breathing as he did up his buttons, and his voice was completely calm when he answered, “It would be helpful for you to scrub out the cauldrons. You’ll have to do it the Muggle way.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Buttons fastened, he crossed the room in three steps, caught her in his arms, and kissed her with the sort of single-minded concentration that she had only witnessed him give to his most interesting subjects of study. She stared up at him in a daze when he finally released her.

“Good,” he said roughly.

He released her so quickly that she found herself clinging to the edge of the workbench for support. Her lips felt bruised and she was breathing as though she’d run a race. The sight of her thus inspired a shadow of good humor to flit across Severus’s face, and he was halfway up the stairs before he had fully disciplined his features into the cold mask of indifferent displeasure that was his protection.

The fact that she had felt his heart hammering in his chest when he had crushed her against him had her smiling for quite some time, in spite of the interruption and the lonely chores left behind.

*****

Curse the Dark Lord and curse Peter Pettigrew! The simpering fool was trotting along at Severus’s heels like a yappy dog; asking question after question about where Severus lived; and what would he be assisting with; and would it be terribly dangerous; and did Severus know that he was allergic to strawberries; and on and on until Severus was certain he would go stark raving mad with the constant onslaught. He would rather have endured a bout of Cruciatus any day of the week than be saddled with the task of nursemaiding this idiot for an entire summer. To make matters worse, Severus was perfectly aware that Pettigrew would be reporting anything he saw or heard to the Dark Lord. Pettigrew was no doubt expected to spy on Severus as much—if not more—than Severus was expected to spy on him.

Pettigrew continued his yammering without respite as they mounted the steps to the house at Spinner’s End. Severus blocked out the sound of the other man’s voice that he might apply his attention to the problem of removing Miranda from the scene without Pettigrew realizing who she was. The Dark Lord still seemed either unaware of, or uninterested in her, and Severus was determined to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible. A plan quickly formed in his mind; inelegant, but it would have to do.

They entered the house and, before the door was completely closed, Severus addressed his unwanted guest in his sternest professor voice. “Wait here, Wormtail.”

The cold authority made Pettigrew jump, but he loitered in the sitting room while Severus smoothly collected Miranda’s bag from the coatrack and stalked into the kitchen, where he could hear her rustling the dishes. He found her plating a lovely collection of cold meat, cheese, and fruit, and the smile she greeted him with made him renew all his curses towards the Dark Lord and the Rat. Before she could speak, he laid a finger over his lips and silently pushed the kitchen door shut behind him, locking it with a flick of his fingers. Merlin bless her, she confined her questions to the cocking of her head and the concerned expression on her face, and she waited patiently for him to pull a bottle out of the pantry and dump it into a pot on the range. As the murky contents came to a simmer, Miranda drifted to his side. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, although whether this was to reassure her or to reassure himself he did not know.

When the potion was ready, he let go of her hand to pour it into a mug. A few moments of rummaging in the cabinet next to the icebox produced a vial of curly brown hair, which he dropped into the mug to complete the potion. He put the mixture into her waiting hands, and she drank it down without protest or hesitation. His heart skipped a beat, both in remorse for the pain that this transformation was surely causing her; and in elation at this further proof of her trust in him. Soon, brown eyes were blinking up at him from a heart-shaped face, and he flicked his wand to transfigure her tunic and trousers into a smart set of green dress robes to fit this shorter frame.

“{What was that phrase you used the night we met?}” he asked in Romanian. “{Ah, yes. Just play along.}”

She obediently fell in behind him and he shoved the kitchen door open without ceremony. This unnecessary use of force rewarded him with a painful squeak from Pettigrew, who had been huddling just on the other side of the door, eavesdropping. Clearly the Rat hadn’t moved fast enough, and he cradled his nose where the door had smacked him, whimpering pathetically. Severus did not bother to check his progress through the sitting room, and he and Miranda were halfway to the front door before Pettigrew started trailing after them.

“{That is Wormtail,}” Severus explained quickly, in a bored tone that belied the importance of his words. “{The Dark Lord wishes for me to keep close watch on him this summer.}”

“{And for him to keep watch on you, I expect,}” Miranda replied, imitating his rhythm and his timbre.

“{Indeed. I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave.}”

“{I assumed as much. I guess this means no opera in August.}”

“{No. I should think not.} They reached the door and Severus held it open for her. “{I shall need the rest of the day to secure the house from Wormtail’s prying, but I intend to be at liberty to visit you at your cabin tonight, if that is agreeable to you.}”

Although her face was the wrong shape, the wicked expression on it was unmistakably Miranda. “{I tremble with anticipation. Is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner?}”

He allowed himself to relax enough to brush his lips against her cheek. “{Surprise me.}”

She gave him one final smile, and tripped lightly out the door without a backward glance.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Pettigrew whined from the sitting room. “Who was that? I wouldn’t have minded being introduced.”

Severus gave Pettigrew an icy expression and replied cooly, “I met her at a Potions Conference a few years ago. She drops in from time to time and I would like her to continue to do so. I doubt this would happen if she were to think I kept company with the likes of you.” He drew his wand and hexed Pettigrew in one motion, sending the other man yelping across the room. “Go upstairs and get to work cleaning. The attic hasn’t be touched in years. You will start there.”

*****

“I believe you are enjoying this,” Albus remarked in a voice strained with pain. He was propped up in an armchair in his personal library in his quarters, stubbornly refusing to lie down while Severus attempted further treatment for his cursed hand. The older wizard had already been dosed with potions, but the application of the poultice was the worst part of the operation.

“I am. Thoroughly,” Severus replied dully. He performed his task as quickly and gently as he could, but there was no sparing his mentor from the pain. By the time the final bandage was wrapped around Albus’s damaged hand, the man was visibly gritting his teeth.

Severus left Albus to recover from the ordeal and went about the business of packing up his supplies in silence. When all was in order, he scrubbed his hands, trying not to look at his sallow face reflected in the mirror over the sink in the loo. Although he had done his best to mitigate the havoc he and his fellow Death Eaters had been wreaking throughout the country this week, there was only so much he could do. The destruction of the bridge weighed on him particularly for some reason. Whenever he closed his eyes he was standing on the shore, watching—and worse—hearing the event over and over again.

“Severus?” Albus called weakly.

“I’m coming,” Severus replied, dragging himself back to the present as he dried his hands.

“I would like to lie down now, if it is not too much trouble,” Albus said when Severus rejoined him.

“That would be for the best.”

It took some time, but Albus managed to walk under his own power from library to bedchamber, only leaning on Severus’s arm from time to time for support. Severus did have to help the older man into bed, as well as remove his mentor’s shoes and tuck the blankets around him.

“There are a few things I must tell you,” Albus said, winded from the treatment and the walk to his bed.

“You should rest. You’re exhausted,” Severus protested. He had no desire to hear what would surely be more bad news.

“I am afraid it cannot wait. The fewer times you interrupt me, the sooner I will gain my rest.”

Severus sighed and drew up a chair next to the bed. Whatever it was Albus wanted to tell him, Severus was certain he wanted to hear it while sitting down.

It took some time for Albus to gather his strength to continue. “I want you to tell Tom that Emmeline Vance has been instructed to retrieve the notes from the most recent meeting of the Wizengamot for me. I was unfortunately unable to attend, and Scrimgeour is being less than cooperative about allowing me access to them. She is to fetch them tomorrow night, late in the evening, and she will be quite alone.”

Severus stared out the window across the room, not wanting to meet Albus’s tired eyes. “If I give that information to the Dark Lord, he will attempt to have her murdered.”

“Yes, that is the point of the exercise. She will be murdered on your intelligence. We must do everything we can to convince Tom that you are his man.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Emmeline is aware and most accepting of her fate.”

“Is she?”

“She is ill, with a Muggle disease of all things. After consulting with both Healers and Muggle doctors, it has become apparent that there is no hope for a cure. She would rather die this way than waste into nothingness. I must say I know exactly how she feels, and I share her sentiments.”

Severus turned his eyes to Albus and was struck by how very old the man appeared. Although he felt as though he had swallowed lead, Severus knew that there was no use debating. The decisions had all been made. All that was left for him to do was bring them to fruition.

“Do you wish to add anyone else to the list of people whose deaths you require me to orchestrate?”

“Not at the moment. How is Miranda?”

Had it really only been a week since he’d seen her? It seemed as though an age had passed rather than a few days. “She was well when I saw her last.”

“She is a very resourceful and adaptable person, isn’t she?

“Yes.” Severus raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for Albus to ask him about his private life.

“A curious person as well, I expect.”

“I suppose.”

“As amusing as her company must be, I must ask you to remember it is vital that Tom trust you. To this end, no one outside of this room may know the truth of our plans. If Miranda—or anyone else for that matter—were to be privy to this information and fall into the hands of our enemies…”

“It would be disastrous. I understand Albus. Rest assured that Miranda and I do not talk about my work for the Order.” Severus frowned and returned his attention to the night sky out the window. This conversation was reminding him unpleasantly of similar ones he had had with Lucius Malfoy.

“And I trust you will keep it that way.”

Albus’s eyes drifted closed, and Severus decided not to say anything at all in response to this command. If Severus had learned one thing over the years, it was that Albus was very good at ensuring that the promises made to him were kept. There was a niggling voice at the back of Severus’s mind warning him not to make a promise that he might later regret.

Albus seemed to take the silence as answer enough. He went on without opening his eyes, “I am going to give you the DADA position this year.”

Severus started as though someone had hit him with an auguamenti of ice cold water. “Now? Aren’t you concerned about the jinx?” he asked dryly.

“I am counting on the jinx. After your year is up and I am dead, I intend for Tom to make you Headmaster.”

“Absolutely not. I would rather murder the whole of the Order myself than run this foul school.”

“Then it is good that you will have some time to become accustomed to the idea. I trust you recall your promise to me to protect the students as best you can.”

He did remember, and he knew that arguing with Albus was an exercise in futility.

“You should rest now, Albus,” Severus said, standing and making his way to the door. He had had quite enough of this interview, and he had Albus’s unpleasant errand to the Dark Lord to discharge before the night was spent. “Let the treatment do what it can for you.”

“Good night, Severus. And good luck.”

“I do not believe I can agree with either sentiment.”

Severus shut the door behind him, putting an end to the conversation. It was a much longer time before he managed to shut his mind to the revulsion he felt towards the tasks he had been set.

*****

Molly Weasley had outdone herself. Every surface, on the ground floor at least, of Number Twelve Grimmauld place gleamed. True, the cracks and subtle signs of decay remained present as sullen, silent witnesses to the long years of neglect—but today—today they were, at least, clean. Severus paused awkwardly in the doorway long enough to notice that Mrs. Black’s portrait was unveiled. Uncharacteristically, the lady inhabiting the frame did not scream. She eyed Severus imperiously from beneath her draperies of black lace and crepe; noted him and did him the politeness of ignoring his existence. Severus frowned and continued into the hallway, feeling like a grindylow out of water.

The drawing room, when he reached it, was laid out to receive guests as cheerily as was appropriate to so somber an occasion. A table near the door was set with a few pictures of Sirius Black, from his school days and shortly after. They were flanked by vases holding bouquets of red gladiolus, ostentatious flowers, suited to the man they honored. Severus studied the pictures only long enough to cause the subject of them to sneer at him and look away. It was just as well. Severus hadn’t really come to pay respects to Sirius Black anyway.

“Why, Severus!” exclaimed Molly as she bustled into the room, overseeing the transportation of a polished but ancient samovar as it floated to the refreshment table. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you then,” Severus replied. “Especially when Black would no doubt have detested my presence at such a moment.”

“Now, that’s enough of that. You’re one of us, and I’m glad you’re here. Let me get you a cup of tea while we wait for the others. How do you take it?”

Realizing it would be far more trouble to argue Molly out of her hostessing than it was worth, he answered, “Cream. No sugar,” and accepted cup, saucer, and spoon without further comment. Duty done, Molly scurried away to see to the final preparations, and Severus drifted towards the back of the room, to nurse his tea and brood out the window.

By the time the clock above the mantel had struck a quarter past the hour, the room and the hallway were filled with most of the Order, along with those of their family that were sympathetic to the loss of Sirius Black. Although the mood over the gathering had begun in a hushed moan, it was steadily mounting to a dull roar as reunions of all types took place, and the inevitable tedious round of “do you remember when” began. Severus bristled at the din, especially when he discovered Remus Lupin at his elbow, apparently determined not to leave Severus to himself.

“Severus, it’s good of you to be here,” Remus said, nervously buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff of his left sleeve with the air of one who was not quite aware of what he was doing.

“Lupin.”

“This isn’t exactly the way Sirius would have wanted it, of course. Too solemn. He’d have wanted a full-out party. But we’ll try to get to that before the evening’s through.”

“And I shall endeavor to be gone well before that begins.”

An awkward silence fell between them, but Remus broke it before long by saying sheepishly, “Harry’s asked me to give a speech. You’d think that after a year of teaching I wouldn’t be nervous about giving a speech about one of my best friends.”

“Indeed.” Why wouldn’t Lupin leave him in peace? It wasn’t as though Severus belonged here, and everyone knew it. More than one eye had lingered on him, ranging from the curious to the accusatory, where he stood lurking in the back of the room like some wallflower party-crasher.

Molly appeared through the crowd, putting an end to the painful conversation. “Remus, I think it’s time. Best to get the speeches over first, and then everyone can relax and, well, enjoy isn’t the right word, but they can talk and remember.”

“Right then,” Remus said, clearing his throat. He shot a not unfriendly look at Severus and said wryly, “Wish me luck.”

Severus declined to comment and, although he turned to face the room rather than the window, he drew himself as far towards the back as he could. Why in Merlin’s name had he given in to his idiotic impulse to come here today? The summer must be wearing on him more than he wanted to admit. He flexed his right arm involuntarily. Sometimes he swore that the bonds of the Vow burned him as much as they had the moment he’d taken it. He’d been a fool then too, but he had found he could not bear the sight of the proud Narcissa Malfoy, humiliating herself at his feet, sobbing herself sick for love of her son. Until that moment, Severus had believed that he would find some cure for Albus, some way out of the unacceptable position he was in, called upon to murder one of the only people in his life who had ever been willing to give him a second chance. But now that hope was dead. It was kill, or be killed. And Severus had every grim intention of doing the former rather than the latter. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid to die. Some days he longed for it. But he had made a promise to Albus on Lily’s sacred name. He would carry out that promise as long as he had breath, no matter how bitter the consequences.

“Thank you all for being here today,” Remus said, his quiet voice instantly bringing the room to order. “I’m going to keep this short. Sirius would have wanted more laughter and less tears today. Sirius Black was a man who loved his friends…”

“The old place cleaned up nicely, wouldn’t you agree, Professor Snape?”

Severus raised an eyebrow and turned to the source of the question, which was the heretofore empty portrait hanging on the wall next to the window.

“It would have been better, of course, if my useless great-great-grandson had bothered to maintain his patrimony, but I suppose we unhappy dead must be grateful for what tatters of respect we are granted,” Phineas Nigellus continued. Severus made no answer, and Phineas had no need for encouragement to continue, “You’ll have noticed that dear Walburga has held her tongue today. All that infernal screaming gave me a right headache and would be most unseemly now. Must stand together on an occasion such as this, although I don’t know that I care for this Lupin giving the opening address. At least that Weasley fellow realized the importance of rehanging my portrait in the drawing room for such an occasion.”

“I take it you will be speaking as well?” Severus asked.

“Of course I will! Sirius was my great-great-grandson, wasn’t he?” Phineas’s voice trembled momentarily as he added, “The last of the Blacks. It is the end of a dynasty. It must not go by unmarked by history. And I am delighted to see a that rational man such as yourself will be present to witness it.” Phineas eyed Severus suspiciously and added, “Although I don’t know quite how rational you are, what with joining the Order. It would be far better to keep your head down. I wonder at the Slytherins they produce these days. Things are not at all the way they used to be.”

A burst of applause mingled with a few hearty shouts of “Hear, hear!” signaled the end of Lupin’s words. Phineas straightened his robes and said, “Ah! The crowd is warmed up for the main event I see. Be so good as to toddle off so as not to block their view of me would you?”

Severus was more than happy to escape from the former Headmaster, although he found himself to be swimming upstream of a crowd that did not seem at all disposed to listen to the wisdom of Phineas Nigellus at the moment. With some difficulty, Severus managed to deposit his empty tea things on a side table. Then there was nothing for it but to push through the crush to the door. Thankfully, no one attempted to engage him in conversation. He did feel Potter’s glare on the back of his neck but, when he turned his level gaze on the boy’s tear-streaked face, Potter looked away without comment.

It was much quieter in the hallway, and Severus halted for a moment under one of the flickering gas-lamps to catch his breath. If he were honest with himself, he did know why he had come here tonight. The deaths of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance haunted him, specters in the periphery of his mind pointing fingers of accusation at him for all that he had done and all he had failed to do. Although he had not known Amelia Bones beyond her reputation for being a reasonable and right-minded person, Emmeline had been another story. The formidable Hufflepuff had been one of the few people during his school-days outside of Slytherin House who had treated him with any decency. He had liked her—at least, as well as he liked anybody. Attending the funeral for either of these witches had been out of the question. To have done so would have been to waste the credit with the Dark Lord that their blood had so dearly bought. He had come tonight, to the memorial of a man that he hated, out of remembrance of them, in a useless attempt to assuage his own guilty conscience.

In the middle of his self-flagellation, Tonks wandered down the hallway, dressed decently for once in formal robes, her mousy brown hair shrouding her downcast face. Severus expected her to pass him by, but when she realized who he was, she stopped, an arms-length away, and her chin came up, her jaw set in anger.

“Were you there?” she asked abruptly.

“Excuse me?” he returned. He was in no mood for games, especially with this half-grown  Auror.

“When Emmeline was murdered. Were you there?”

“I was.” Severus’s voice was perfectly even, as was his gaze as he met her tear-filled glare.

“Did you do it? Were you the one that killed her?”

“No.”

This answer only seemed to enrage her more. “Why didn’t you stop it?”

“How long do you think the Dark Lord would believe that I am his man if I rescued every member of the Order who managed to put herself in danger? Why was Emmeline alone that night? If she had been accompanied, as she should have been, perhaps she would still be alive today.”

“So it’s her fault?!” Tonks’s voice had risen to a shrill pitch, and she took a step closer to Severus. Before she could draw her wand, Remus appeared from the room. By the concerned expression on his face, he had guessed the gist of the present altercation.

“Tonks, there you are,” Remus said in a soothing voice. “Why don’t you come back in…”

But Tonks was not to be placated. She ignored Remus as though he were under an invisibility cloak and persisted, “You just stood there, didn’t you?”

Severus summoned his coldest stare and his iciest tone. “You’ve no idea what happened. Don’t speak of things you do not understand.”

“Tonks, Severus, please. It’s Sirius’s memorial,” Remus said, his hand on Tonks’s arm. “There’s nothing to be gained by this.”

“Yes there is!” she shouted, her hair turning from brown to red in her anguish. “Emmeline baby-sat me when I was a kid! She taught me to ride a broom! She’s dead and Snape could’ve saved her, but he’s too worried about saving his own skin that he didn’t even try!”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Severus’s voice had lost some of its icy indifference.

“Severus, Tonks, please!” Remus pleaded, but neither heard him.

“Yes!” Tonks hissed. “Coward!”

Severus drew himself up to his full height and let his anger at the Dark Lord, Albus, Wormtail, and the whole damned mess that was drowning him blaze out of his eyes and into hers. He closed the short distance between them and, while she pursed her lips until they were a thin, white line, she did not look away, even for an instant.

After a full minute of this, he said softly, “Do not speak of things that you do not understand, Nymphadora.”

He held her gaze for a beat longer than was comfortable for either of them, and then swept silently away. Before he had gained the comfort of the street, he heard her growl after him,

“Don’t call me Nyphadora.”

*****

By the time Severus’s mind had cleared sufficiently for him to take note of his surroundings, his feet had led him to the alley he typically used for Apparition to and from meetings at Grimmauld Place. He was about to storm home to nurse his foul temper, but the knowledge that Wormtail’s company awaited him there gave him pause. To put off the inevitable time when he would have to endure the Rat’s unwanted presence, he pulled out his cigarette case, leaning against a grimy brick wall to light it and think. Since the previous summer, it was impossible to enter this alley without it bringing Miranda to mind, and he found himself musing over what she would say if he could speak to her now. She would no doubt advise him to relax and forget about the previous hour’s entertainment; but she would also sympathize with his impossible position in a way that he coveted—but surely did not deserve.

As the cigarette burned lower, he started turning ideas over in his mind. In less than a week he intended to return to Hogwarts along with those teachers who preferred the benefit of an early start at preparation for the coming year’s troubles. His class preparation was long since complete, but he intended to escape from the confines of Spinner’s End at the earliest possible moment. The Changeover Potion would be complete within the next day or so, and he supposed the time was drawing near when he would be obliged to request that Albus arrange the potion’s safe delivery to Miranda. He had yet to confess that he was more involved with the Romanian project than he was strictly supposed to be. In light of Albus’s comments earlier this summer, Severus was anticipating some sort of unpleasant backlash.

When the cigarette was spent, the threads of ideas had woven themselves into a new plan. Before he could think better of it, Severus set out to put it into motion.

*****

“I don’t know why I play with you,” Charity Burbage complained good-naturedly, “you always win.”

“Not always,” Severus countered.

“Yes, there was that time in ’85. And again in ’91. But I seem to remember you were ill on both of those occasions, so I don’t know that it really counts.” She plucked her knitting out of the air beside her, where it had been hovering during their game, a charm keeping the work that formed the olive-colored yarn into neat, cabled rows growing. The chess pieces scrambled back into place to start a new game, but Charity’s resuming her knitting was the usual cue that chess was over for the evening.

“Victory counts however it is achieved.” Severus settled back into the comfortable, doily covered armchair to sip his tea and put the earlier events of the evening out of his mind. He let his eyes drift around the living room of Charity’s flat, studying the ever changing collection of Muggle appliances and knick knacks that crowded every available surface; from the upright piano to the china cabinet to the mantel over the faux fireplace.

“Now, tell me the truth, Severus. Did you really come here tonight for a game of chess?”

If he weren’t so accustomed to the surprisingly penetrating gaze coming from Charity’s pleasant, laugh-lined face, he would have bristled at such a direct accusation. However, he had spent enough time with her throughout the course of his teaching career at Hogwarts, that he well knew how observant and intelligent she was.

“Perhaps I did. Why do you ask?”

“I wouldn’t ask, except that I haven’t seen you at all this summer.”

“I have had an inordinate amount of work occupying my time.”

“You look like death warmed over. When was the last time you ate?”

“This afternoon.”

She clearly did not believe him, but her concentration was too occupied by the demands of casting on to pursue the falsehood.

“There is a small matter about which I wish to consult you.”

“Yes?” Her curiosity was piqued enough that she risked her counting by glancing up for a moment. “If I can help you, I certainly will.”

He set his teacup down amidst the piles of books and paraphernalia on the coffee table, and began plucking at a stray thread on his cuff. “I’ve decided to take a short Holiday before term starts.”

“Have you? That’s wonderful!”

It took a distinct effort not to flinch at the surprise in her voice, but he controlled himself and soldiered on. “I would like it to be as discreet as possible.”

“As suits you. I know you like your privacy.”

“Indeed. To achieve this, I intend to avail myself of certain Muggle establishments.” The end of the sentence came out in a garbled sort of mutter, and he cringed inwardly, waiting for her to laugh at his plans.

She surprised him, though, by nodding in agreement. “That’s an excellent idea.”

He felt his face relax, and the thread on his cuff no longer seemed so troublesome. “I suppose that sounds unusual.”

“You’re not the first wizard to look for anonymity in the Muggle world. Although I will admit I’m surprised at your being willing to take a Holiday at all.” She paused in her counting long enough to give him a motherly smile. “But that makes me all the happier to hear you decide to take one. I assume you want some help making the arrangements?”

“I do.” This was turning out to be easier than he had feared it would be. “While there may be the ghost of a telephone at Spinner’s End, it certainly hasn’t been in working condition at any point during the last decade.”

“I expected as much.”

“And I trust I can rely on your silence in the unlikely event that anyone should ask you where I am.”

“Of course! Mum’s the word.” Her casting finished, she looked at him with eager curiosity and asked, “Where will you be going?”

He cleared his throat. “Bucharest.”

“Bucharest?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Isn’t that in Romania?”

“It is.”

She opened and closed her mouth once or twice, obviously fighting the urge to pepper him with questions he would refuse to answer. “Alright. Bucharest. Do you have anywhere specific in mind?”

“I do. Lodging for two in a decent hotel and tickets to whatever is playing at the Romanian National Opera.”

Her eyebrows were firmly fixed in her hairline, but she made an heroic effort to resist prying further. “I think I can help you, but my Romanian’s pretty rusty.”

“I can handle the Romanian.”

“Good to know. I want you to notice how many questions I’m not asking you.”

“I have. You are the soul of discretion and I shall sing your praises from the mountain tops as soon as I find the proper time to do so.”

She laughed heartily and even he found that he could smile in spite of his embarrassment.

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow for lunch,” she suggested. “I’ll feed you a real meal and we can see about setting up your trip.”

“Thank you. I shall.”

He might come to regret this decision in time but, for the moment, all seemed right with the world.

*****

End Notes:

Many thanks to Mr. Zingarella for beta-ing this chapter; and to Bunbury (Jane) for encouragement and inspiration! 

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

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