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The Overlooked by ChristineX [Reviews - 8]

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As it turned out, there was a pub across the street, only three doors down from the coffee house where, several days earlier, Snape had drunk an espresso and mused on the mysterious young woman he had seen in the bookshop. A faded sign above the door showed a somewhat dodgy-looking individual wearing a black top hat, while the legend below the illustration proclaimed, “Topham’s -- Since 1924!” As it was now pushing on past nine in the evening, the place was crowded, but Snape shouldered his way through the throng of patrons and managed to secure a stool at the far end of the bar.

“Scotch,” he told the barkeep, who sported an impressive mass of dreadlocks.

“Single or blended?” asked the bartender in a strong West Indies lilt.

“What do you think?” Snape retorted, and the young man grinned, showing the flash of a gold tooth as he did so, then reached up and poured a shot of Glenmorangie. Without comment he set it in front of Snape and then sauntered off down the bar in response to a call for another round of Boddington’s.

Snape lifted the shot glass and swallowed half the liquid it contained, then set the glass down on the bar, mind racing. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left her home in such a precipitous manner, but he knew Celeste would have launched into questions immediately, and he wanted to get his thoughts sorted out before he faced her again. Of course he had suspected that she couldn’t possibly be a Muggle -- not with the sort of talent she had displayed -- but it was one thing to have a vague notion about something and quite another to be confronted with fairly concrete proof. He hadn’t recognized Celeste’s parents, but if they had been in their late thirties or early forties when she was eleven, then of course they would have been long gone from Hogwarts by the time he attended the school. But at least he had trapped the memory in his own mind and would be able to place it in Dumbledore’s Pensieve so that the Headmaster could try to identify the couple. They had to have sheltered her somehow all those years, kept her hidden from the wizarding world, but after they died --

“You!”

The word, uttered in a low but carrying voice, made him turn around immediately. Celeste stood immediately behind him, her face white with fury.

“Miss Jenkins, I -- ”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Miss Jenkins’ me! What the bloody hell is the matter with you?” A few of the patrons who stood immediately near her looked over with some interest -- no doubt eavesdropping on a stranger’s row would be the highlight of their Friday evening.

“Perhaps you should moderate your tone -- ” he began, in the sort of warning voice that always had an immediate dampening effect on his students.

“Don’t you tell me to ‘moderate’ anything! Why did you go running out like that? What did you see?”

“Celeste, this is not the place to discuss this -- ”

“Then come back and do me the courtesy of explaining what the hell is going on!” She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and crossed her arms; Snape noticed that, furious as she might have been, she had at least stopped to slip on a pair of shoes and trade the hideous bile-green cardigan for a brown suede jacket.

“This mon botherin’ you, Celeste?” drawled the bartender suddenly, looking at Snape through narrowed dark eyes.

The interruption seemed to calm her somewhat. A bit of the tension went out of her shoulders, and she replied, “No, Reggie, I’m all right. But thanks.”

“Hmm.” Reggie gave Snape a dubious glance, then lifted his shoulders and moved away down the bar -- but Snape noticed that the barkeep continued to watch the two of them out of the corner of his eye.

Obviously they couldn’t remain here. Deliberately he lifted the shot glass and drank the remaining half of his scotch, then replaced the shot on the bar and began to reach in his pocket for some cash.

“Don’t bother with that,” Celeste snapped. She pushed past Snape and leaned over the counter. “Reggie, put that on my tab, will you?”

Again the bartender looked doubtful, but he just shrugged again. “Sure thing.”

“Miss Jenkins, I assure you that I can pay my own custom -- ” Snape began, irritated that she should forestall him in such a manner.

At that she turned and glared at him as fiercely as someone with such delicate features could. “And if you call me ‘Miss Jenkins’ one more time, I swear I’m going to scream. Let’s get out of here.”

And she grasped the sleeve of his shirt and practically hauled him off the barstool. Certainly Snape couldn’t remember the last time he had been subject to such manhandling, and although he felt his hackles go up at the cavalier manner in which she addressed him and assaulted his person, in a way it was almost refreshing to be around someone who clearly did not fear him at all. Without comment -- and trying to keep a thin smile from his lips, for he was sure that Celeste Jenkins’ ire would only escalate further if she discovered her righteous fury was a source of some amusement to him -- he followed her out of the pub and back down the street to her home. A light rain had begun to fall, dampening the streets and increasing the chill in the air. It felt like March, not the dregs of June.

But inside Celeste’s house all was warmth. A radiator hummed against the far wall, and even the colors -- mossy green, dark red, soft brown -- seemed intended to inspire a feeling of comfort, of safety. It was as far from his quarters at Hogwarts as Snape could imagine, and even farther from the dingy house at Spinner’s End.

When he entered the now-familiar front room, a large, long-haired black cat looked up from the sofa and gave him a baleful look, then reluctantly jumped down when Celeste flicked a careless hand in its direction and commanded, “Off!”

Since Celeste obviously intended that he sit there, Snape resumed his position on the center cushion of the couch. She, however, did not sit, but instead remained standing, arms crossed as she glared down at him.

Her first words surprised him. “If you wanted a drink, you could have just asked me for one.”

“I hardly think that would have been appropriate,” he replied, nonplused.

“More appropriate than storming out of here as if you’d just seen a ghost and announcing that you were off to the pub?”

Fairly caught, he settled for shooting her the sort of narrow-eyed look that regularly gave first-years nightmares. But instead of turning pale or bursting into tears as those hapless students often did, she merely snapped, “Don’t you scowl at me, Severus Snape. What did you see?”

Coolly, he said, “I saw your parents.”

Apparently unimpressed, Celeste replied, “Well, I'd expect you might. They were, after all, my parents, and I would think they’d be in my thoughts a good bit!”

Save me from the power of righteous indignation, Snape thought. Still, he had to allow some grudging respect for her refusal to be cowed. “Tell me, Miss -- ” He broke off as he saw her open her mouth, probably to reprimand him once again. “ -- Celeste. Have you always lived here in Manchester?”

Whatever retort she’d been about to utter appeared to evaporate as she considered his question. “No,” she said. “We moved here just after I turned eleven.”

Eleven again. Always eleven. The age at which she’d received her Hogwarts letter. The age at which she’d somehow made a brief connection to either Voldemort or Harry Potter -- at this point Snape wasn’t exactly sure which was the case. “And before that?”

She frowned then, looking somewhat confused for the first time. “A little town in Lancashire called Carnforth. I’m afraid I don’t remember it very well.”

As of course you wouldn’t, he thought. Remaining silent, he glanced around the room, noting several family photos on the mantel, as well as on the side table next to the couch on which he sat. But none of them pictured a Celeste any younger than eleven -- no gap-toothed seven-year-olds, no baby photos. Even his own mother had managed to amass a collection larger than what he saw here.

“And you moved here because?”

“Something to do with Dad’s job. And then there was the fire.”

“Fire?” he echoed.

She nodded. “Not too long after my birthday. We lost everything.”

A convenient lie, Snape surmised, to explain the lack of anything connected to the life Celeste had once lived in the wizarding world. Her parents must have pulled up stakes and come here, hoping to bury themselves among the bustling commonplaces of life in a large metropolitan area. And the amount of Obliviation required to remove all memory of her previous existence -- he shook his head. There was only one reason her parents would have committed such an act.

They must have feared for her life.

“Severus?”

Snape looked back at her, noticing as if for the first time the pallor of her fine skin, the way her greenish eyes seemed to darken toward brown in the softly lit chamber. The note of bravado her voice held earlier had vanished; now she sounded almost frightened.

What to tell her? How much? She had to be told something -- an untrained Legilimens in these dark days was far too tempting a target. If nothing else, Celeste Jenkins needed to learn something of Occlumency, something to help protect her against discovery by Voldemort. And Snape realized, somewhat to his surprise, that he wanted to be the one to teach her.

“I spoke to you of Legilimency,” he said slowly. “But it has its obverse, which is known as Occlumency. It is the art of hiding one’s thoughts, shielding one’s memories, so that they cannot be used as a weapon.”

“How can thoughts be used as a weapon?” she asked.

Amazing how she could seem so worldly in some ways, and so innocent in others. But of course she had had a part of the world hidden from her for most of her life. “Sit down, Celeste,” he said.

She ceased her hovering and took a seat once again in the carved chair that faced the couch, then folded her slender hands over one knee.

“What you may think of as a form of psychic power is merely another tool in the arsenal of a wizard -- or witch,” Snape added.

“A wi -- oh, you must be joking!”

“I never joke.”

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“As I was saying,” he went on, ignoring the jibe, “what you may regard as psychic powers is simply another manifestation of your magical abilities. Magic takes many forms, and -- ”

“Are you saying I’m a witch?” Celeste asked. “And that you’re a wizard?”

“Yes.”

For a moment she just sat there, staring at him, and then she began to shake. At first Snape wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with her, and then he realized that she was laughing. He glared at her with affronted dignity, until she gasped and said, “I am sorry, Severus. But you can’t possibly expect me to believe -- I mean, a wizard?”

There was no help for it. For such a simple spell, he didn’t even need his wand. “Accio crystal ball!” he murmured, and the crystal ball suddenly appeared on the coffee table, sitting uneasily on top of a pile of Look magazines and News of the World.

For a few seconds Celeste merely sat there, staring at the sphere, her gaze almost as glassy as the surface of the object in question. Then she looked over at Snape, moistened the center of her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, swallowed visibly, and faltered, “It -- you brought it here. All the way from the other room.”

“Yes.”

She reached out with a trembling hand to touch the surface of the glass, as if she needed to reassure herself that it was real. “So it’s true.”

“Yes.”

Again Celeste sat there in silence, looking from the crystal ball up to Snape’s face and back again. “You’re a wizard, ” she said at last.

“Yes.”

“But I don’t see how that makes me a witch. I can’t do anything like -- like that.” Nervously she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, sure, lift small things, but only if they’re within a few feet of me. Not something all the way down the hallway, or so heavy -- ”

“You haven’t been trained,” Snape interposed smoothly. At least she seemed willing to accept the fact of his abilities. Then again, she had been dealing with otherworldly powers of her own for more than seven years, so perhaps her mind was more open than a Muggle’s would be. Not that she’s anything close to a Muggle, he added mentally. Who knows how far she could have gone, with the proper training?

“So how do I get training?” she asked, and suddenly her voice sounded eager. Leaning forward, she went on, “Is there some sort of school, or -- ”

He almost hated to dash her hopes. Whatever else happened, he knew that sending Celeste to study at Hogwarts was certainly not an option. “There is,” he said carefully. “As a matter of fact, I teach there.”

“Of course,” Celeste said immediately. “The place I saw in your mind. The castle. So I could -- ”

He interrupted, “No, you could not. Due to some -- irregularities -- in your past, you are not a suitable candidate. For one thing, you’re far too old.”

“Oh, really?”

Damn women and their foolish jumping to conclusions. “Yes, considering that all students start at Hogwarts when they’re eleven.”

“Oh.” For a few seconds she looked crestfallen. Then she managed a halfhearted smile and said, “I suppose I would look a right fool, trying to fit in with a bunch of eleven-year-olds!”

“An astute observation of the situation,” Snape drawled.

“So what do you teach there, anyway?” Celeste’s face showed no sign of her earlier disappointment; her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Potions.”

“Ah...well, that explains it, doesn’t it?”

“Explains what?”

“Why I thought you taught chemistry. All those beakers and bottles.” She shot him a mischievous look. “So do you use eye of newt and toe of frog in your potions?”

“Occasionally,” he replied, attempting to understand what the joke was. “I fear, however, that Potions is not a subject you should be pursuing at the moment -- ”

“Pity. I know my friend Fiona wouldn’t mind me brewing her a love potion or two.” Again Celeste gave him a flash of that impish glance from beneath her long eyelashes. “Or is that sort of thing against the rules?”

“Not ‘against the rules’ per se, but it is frowned upon. The unforeseen consequences -- ”

At that point she burst out laughing. Snape frowned at her, again wondering what she found so amusing.

“I’m sorry,” she said at once, obviously noting his scowl. “It’s just that I’m sitting here asking you about love potions, and you’re answering me with such a serious expression, and the whole thing is just a bit surreal.” The smile faded from her face, and she suddenly looked quite serious. “Just my way of coping, I’m afraid. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Perhaps he should have been offended, but somehow Snape found he was not. This was all rather a lot to take in, after all, and he supposed he couldn’t blame Celeste for trying to deal with it in the way she knew best. “None taken,” he said, although his tone sounded somewhat stiff even to himself. “But I think I should go. I’ll need to discuss this,” he hesitated, then decided it was better not to mention Albus Dumbledore’s name here, “with my superiors.”

Was he imagining things, or did a flicker of disappointment cross her features? Snape tried to remember the last time anyone had been disappointed by the fact that he was leaving and failed miserably. Usually his disappearance from any given scene was met with relief.

All she said, however, was, “But there’s still so much you haven’t told me.”

He couldn’t argue with that, but he also knew that he wanted to have a better idea of exactly how deep the mystery went before he told Celeste anything more. Although he had given her small pieces of information, he hoped that none of it provided enough detail for it to have done any real harm. “I know,” he replied. He hesitated, then added, “I know this must be difficult, but know that I will return to speak with you more when I can.”

For a long moment Celeste was silent, watching him carefully. “All right, then,” she said, and she smiled just a little. “I trust you.”

She could have no idea how much that simple statement shook him. For so long he’d been an object of scorn, of distrust, of fear, that he had quite given up looking for even simple respect from another human being. Oh, Dumbledore was different, but one could hardly measure the rest of the wizarding world against that particular yardstick. But of course Snape would not let her know how she had unexpectedly moved him. “You don’t even know me,” he responded, after a brief pause.

Her smile deepened. “No, I don’t,” she said. “But I think I would very much like to.”

For once he found himself at a loss. Not knowing quite what to say, he rose to his feet instead. “I will take my leave of you now.”

Those quiet green eyes of hers didn’t flicker. “Of course.” And she stood as well and followed him to the entryway, then unhooked the little chain lock and opened the door.

Outside, the evening was damp and drab and still, the light drizzle making odd nimbuses around the sodium-vapor street lights. Snape paused on the threshold, looking out at the bleak evening and wishing that he were wearing his robes instead of the inadequate Muggle attire he had donned in preparation for coming here this evening.

Celeste looked up at him and said, “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

Before he could stop her, she reached out and took his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and released it. The dimple appeared briefly at the corner of her mouth as she appeared to note his discomfiture.

“Next time,” she went on. “I will get you that drink.”

And she closed the door behind him, still smiling.

***

“Treacle tart,” said Snape, and the gargoyle moved aside, allowing the Potions Master entry to the moving stairs that led to Dumbledore’s office. It was one of the less offensive of the code phrases the Headmaster had selected to secure his private quarters, but Snape was still glad no one was around to hear him utter the ridiculous words.

Although by now the night had worn on well past eleven o’clock, the chamber he entered was still alight with dozens of candles. Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, scratching away on a piece of parchment, but he laid the quill aside and looked up at Snape expectantly as soon as the younger man paused on the faded Persian rug in the center of the room.

“So you’ve returned,” Albus said. “I trust that your trip was an informative one?”

“Quite,” replied Snape. “Celeste Jenkins is no more a Muggle than you or I.”

“Ah.” The syllable was barely more than a soft letting out of air. “Do you know who she is?”

“Unfortunately, no. I was able to capture one memory only which showed her parents -- I had thought to use the Pensieve, so that you could look at the memory and see if you recognized them.”

“Of course.” With those words Dumbledore stood and went to a black cabinet off in one corner, and retrieved the shallow stone basin, setting it down on an unused pedestal off to one side of his desk.

The sight of the thing made Snape’s lip curl slightly in dislike. Oh, the Pensieve had its uses, and he knew that placing the memory he had taken from Celeste’s mind in there for Dumbledore to view was necessary, but ever since the damned Potter boy had seen that one memory of his -- the one Snape had tried so hard to keep from him -- he’d often thought he’d like to see the stone basin smashed into a thousand pieces.

But of course that wasn’t an option. With a small clenching of his jaw, Snape drew out his wand and placed it at his hairline, closing his eyes for a moment to help better isolate the one memory he wished to remove. Then he reopened his eyes, touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the Pensieve, and watched as the shimmery gray-white strand dropped into the stone basin and swirled there, waiting.

Dumbledore immediately placed his bearded face into the bowl, and after a few seconds, Snape followed suit. He doubted he’d be able to see anything new, but it was always helpful to have two sets of eyes looking at the same memory.

Once again he saw the cheerfully cluttered room, the ranks of watching relatives, the sparkling cake and the beaming girl who sat behind it. Her parents stood just behind Celeste, the mother looking very much like her daughter, save for her dark-brown hair, the father pleasant-faced and with hair red enough for a Weasley. And again came that wave of searing pain, the image of Celeste bringing a shocked hand up against her forehead, even as the memory wavered into darkness.

Snape lifted his face out of the Pensieve, only to see Albus Dumbledore already standing upright, an odd expression on his face. His blue eyes seemed somewhat out of focus, as if he were still gazing at something very far away.

“Well?” Snape asked. “Did you recognize them?”

Slowly Dumbledore shifted, his gaze gradually sharpening. “Oh, yes. Bettina Wooster and Avery Cadogan. She was in Gryffindor, and he was a Ravenclaw...very gifted Arithmancy student, as I recall.”

The names meant nothing to Snape, but they were of course much older than he and had come and gone at Hogwarts long before he began his tenure there. “What happened to them?”

“They died in the First War.”

Snape felt a stir of irritation, and said dryly, “Obviously not, as I saw them in Celeste Jenkins’ memories up until seven years ago.”

At that Dumbledore gave a sad smile. “Perhaps I should have said, they were thought to have died. Very confusing times, of course. The full count of those killed by Voldemort and his followers wasn’t completely known until after his defeat. Bettina and Avery and their daughter disappeared right around then, with no trace of them ever found. Everyone thought that the family was yet another casualty.”

“Apparently not.”

“Apparently,” Albus agreed, then ran a speculative finger along the length of his beard. “It was a tragedy, of course, for everyone expected great things from their daughter.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

“Bettina and Avery used to joke that they had to end up together, because of what they were.” Apparently noticing Snape’s lifted eyebrow, Dumbledore went on, “He was the seventh son of a seventh son...and she was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Very potent combination.”

Having witnessed Celeste Jenkins’ remarkable gifts at Divination first hand, Snape knew he couldn’t argue with that. “And what of the pain she experienced? How could she have felt the attack on Harry Potter...assuming that’s what actually happened?”

“As to that, I’m not sure how...but I have no doubt she did feel it. Probably fear of the connection between them is what led Avery and Bettina to hide their daughter away.”

“But why?” Snape demanded. “The Dark Lord had been vanquished, as far as anyone knew. Wouldn’t they have known it was safe?”

“But Voldemort wasn’t vanquished, was he?” For a second Dumbledore looked almost grim. “Perhaps they knew that...perhaps Celeste still was able to sense his presence. Of course we’ll never know for sure, since the Cadogans are both gone now. And after all, what they did with their daughter wasn’t so very different from what I myself did with Harry.”

“She still would have had a family that knew of her existence, wouldn’t she?” argued Snape. “Look at all those fools of relatives the girl had standing around, with nothing better to do than attend a birthday party. Surely someone would have said something by now?”

Dumbledore shook his head, then gave Snape a piercing glance. “Surely you know as well as I do, Severus, that there are ways to make sure that large groups of people keep a vital secret.”

Of course. “The Fidelius charm?”

With a nod, Dumbledore lifted the Pensieve and replaced it in its cabinet. “You don’t mind if I hold on to this memory for a while longer, do you?” he asked, and then, after Snape had murmured his assent, continued, “No doubt either Bettina or Avery was the actual Secret-Keeper, and once they were both dead, there would be no way for anyone to reveal Celeste’s identity, or indeed approach her. Very probably part of the charm included a vow to keep away from her so that she could never be connected with the wizarding world.”

And now Snape had destroyed the isolation her parents had died still protecting. Inadvertently, of course, but he wondered how much damage had been done by even his limited amount of meddling. “So what now?” he asked, his voice sounding brittle even to himself. “Should I go back and finish off the Obliviation process?”

“I’m afraid that particular potion can’t be put back into the bottle,” replied Dumbledore. “While I can understand Avery and Bettina’s reasoning, I’m afraid I can’t condone what they did. Better that Celeste should have been trained here, as young Harry Potter has been, so that she would have had the resources to join the fight against Voldemort.” Although his face remained sober, a sudden twinkle caught in the Headmaster’s eyes. “But since that chance has come and gone, I can only hope that you will have better luck teaching her Occlumency than you did Harry.”

“Teaching her -- ”

“Yes, that, and as many defensive spells as you deem necessary. I can think of no one better suited to the task than Hogwarts’ new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

It took a few seconds for the meaning of Dumbledore’s words to sink in. Could it be possible that after so many years --

“Don’t look so surprised, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “With all that’s happened so far -- with all that we face -- you are of course the logical choice.”

Perhaps he should have felt pleased. But instead Snape felt a rush of anger and resentment. Yes, of course, only now was he considered the “logical choice,” now that every other viable candidate had gotten himself killed or otherwise rendered incapable of assuming the position of Defense professor. “How very kind of you,” he sneered.

Instead of taking offense, Albus merely gave Snape a rueful smile and said, “Really, Severus, I’m surprised all that bile hasn’t given you an ulcer by now. Do you want the job, or don’t you?”

“I’ll take it,” Snape said, in his most ungracious tones. “And so my new position requires that I baby-sit Celeste Jenkins?”

“You are the best Occlumens I know, as well as possessing superior defensive skills. But if you’re not up to it, I suppose I could contact Remus and see if he’d like to take on a bit of freelance work -- ”

“No!” The strength of his outburst surprised even Snape; taking a breath, he went on, “That is, I hardly think it...advisable...to send a werewolf to train a young woman who until earlier this evening didn’t even know magic existed. And Lupin isn’t much of an Occlumens.”

“True.” Dumbledore regarded Snape carefully for a moment, then said, “I know it will be difficult, of course. You have other...claims...on your time. But I also know you will handle the matter with the utmost discretion. We have a responsibility to this young woman. Perhaps she could have remained safe and undetected, perhaps not. But now we must see she is armed for the fight ahead.”

Without replying, Snape inclined his head. His thoughts already raced furiously, trying to decide the best course of action to follow, as well as the next time he thought he could safely return to Manchester. Not for a few more days, probably. There was much to do -- Celeste would need a wand --

“I can see you’re already planning,” murmured Dumbledore. “Perhaps you should go on back to your quarters. It is getting late.”

Nodding abstractedly, Snape made his exit without saying good-bye. It wasn’t until he had paused by the gargoyle in the hallway outside that he began to have the nagging suspicion Dumbledore had maneuvered him the way a Chaser might maneuver a Quaffle to score a goal. Resentment flared once again, but it was too late -- he had already agreed to become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as well as Celeste Jenkins’ private tutor.

He could only hope that he would have more success in those endeavors than any of his predecessors had....

The Overlooked by ChristineX [Reviews - 8]

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