Sixteen

No sooner had he set foot in Spinner’s End than Snape found himself wishing violently that he could be quit of the place forever. Oh, it had seemed dismal and confining almost from the moment he took up residence there, but at the time he had looked on the cheerless little house as a necessary evil. Now, however, after a windswept day with Celeste on the Welsh coast, he realized how truly mean and dark this second home of his really was.

At least Pettigrew was nowhere in evidence. The hour was late -- almost midnight -- and Snape supposed that the rat had simply disappeared back into his hole. Not bothering to look for his wretched roommate, Snape stalked up the stairs to his own room, shut the door behind him, and whispered the spell to keep the door barred against any intrusions, magical or otherwise. He knew he should sleep, but he also knew that wasn’t what he really wanted.

He wanted her.

So much so, in fact, that his whole body seemed to ache with desires he had spent the greater part of two decades suppressing. As he’d kissed her that last time, he’d sensed the same need radiating out from her, so strong that it had felt almost like a wave of heat surrounding him. Somehow, though, he’d managed to wrench himself away. It was too soon.

Wasn’t it?

With a vicious gesture Snape pulled off one shoe and flung it into the far corner of the room. The second shoe soon followed. His garments he tossed carelessly across the foot of the bed instead of hanging them with his normal care.

How had he allowed himself to come to this pass? What had happened to his much-vaunted self-control, his cool detachment, his utter indifference toward the feminine sex?

Celeste Jenkins happened to it, he thought. Celeste, who had done something no one else ever had. She had seen him. Not his reputation, not his dour and unappealing outward aspect, not the “black bat of the Hogwarts dungeons” or the “greasy git” or one of any number of other epithets he’d heard students use over the years to refer to their unpopular Potions master. None of that had affected her, because for Celeste it simply didn’t exist.

She loved him. Had, in fact, uttered that statement with a complete lack of drama or emphasis, as if it were a fact so completely understood that it didn’t bear analyzing. The sky was blue. The sun rose in the east. Celeste Jenkins loved him.

And he knew he loved her, at least as much as a crabbed, harsh soul such as his could. Even now he could only think of the next time he might see her, the next chance he might have to steal a few hours with her. Obsessed, worse than some hormone-crazed sixth-year trying to get in a few furtive kisses on the steps of the Astronomy Tower.

Logically, he knew he couldn’t go tearing off to Wales every time his body started craving her, like some Muggle drug addict seeking a fix. He had responsibilities, duties to be carried out. This was the time of year he usually began to think about replenishing his stores in preparation for a new round of classes, but Snape realized, with an odd little pang, that he would no longer be teaching Potions. When he returned to Hogwarts this September, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom would be his new domain.

That thought led him to wonder who precisely Dumbledore had lined up to take over the Potions classes. The list of possible candidates was regrettably small; so few people these days really gave the subject the respect it deserved. Perhaps he should put together a list; it might help the Headmaster, especially if Dumbledore hadn’t yet made a final decision as to a replacement.

Then Snape shook his head at himself, mocking the feeble attempt to direct his thoughts in such a way so that they wouldn’t linger on Celeste. At this point, you probably wouldn’t care if they appointed Dolores Umbridge to teach Potions if it meant you could spend more time away from school, he thought sourly, settling himself into bed and trying not to think about how very much he would have preferred to have Celeste there beside him.

His body stirred at the thought, and Snape forced himself to ponder other matters. Perhaps Potions supplies were no longer necessary, but he still needed to travel to Diagon Alley and drop in at Flourish and Blotts to make sure the necessary titles for the Defense classes were in order. The students of course hated Defensive Magical Theory because of how Umbridge had abused the textbook the previous year, but it had some elements that were of value, although the textbook’s timid approach no doubt rankled some of the bolder members of the class. But Snape also felt that Dark Magicians and How to Recognize Them, along with Counter-curses and Hexes, would do nicely.

If, of course, any of those thick-headed twits he was forced to teach could muster the necessary brain cells to employ the spells in the correct manner without blasting themselves or their study partners into next week.

Celeste would be fine. After he had watched her disappear through the back door of her sturdily elegant guest house, Snape had spent some time walking the streets of Aberystwyth, looking for anything that felt wrong, any jarring elements that might have signaled the presence of dementors or dark magic.

He found none. Because of its large student population, the little seaside resort had a fairly active night life, and the streets had been almost as crowded as they were during the daylight hours. But although he’d muttered a few oaths under his breath about bumbling, drunken Muggles, Snape encountered nothing more hazardous than a motorcycle with a sidecar that was obviously being piloted by someone with more than a few pints under his belt.

Appearances could be deceiving, he knew. However, he saw nothing to suggest that Aber was anything more than a quiet, out-of-the-way spot, a place in which Celeste could comfortably hide for some time, if need be. She had chosen well. Whether that was due to one of her odd flashes of insight or plain dumb luck, Snape didn’t know. But at least he was able to Disapparate back to Hogwarts feeling as secure as he could, given the situation.

Surely she would be all right for a day or so. Just long enough for him to go back to Hogwarts, collect his notes, and then take care of business in Flourish and Blotts. After that he could return to Wales, where they could decide what to do next. Celeste’s current location seemed to be working well enough for her now, but he had no idea of her financial situation. How long could she really afford to keep staying at that guest house, which he guessed was anything but inexpensive?

Of course all his careful plans might come to naught if he were unexpectedly summoned to the Dark Lord’s side. Snape hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but he had dealt with such interruptions numerous times in the past; he could do so again if necessary.

Satisfied that he had ordered his mind enough to sleep, he turned over in his narrow bed and pulled the thin blanket more closely around him. The night was chill, and he had not bothered to light the furnace when he returned to Spinner’s End.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking, as he drifted into the darkness, that it would have been much better if he had Celeste next to him to keep him warm.

***

“Professor Snape!”

Snape paused on the doorstep of Flourish and Blotts, a scowl already creasing his forehead. He had hoped he could get in and out of Diagon Alley without meeting up with anyone he knew, let alone Remus Lupin, whom he had never been able to forgive for seeing him in his moment of greatest weakness. Still, Snape managed to reply, in civil tones that surprised even him, “Remus.”

The erstwhile Dark Arts professor was looking shabbier than ever, Snape noted; the patches on Lupin’s threadbare tweed jacket appeared to be in need of patches themselves. His robes had the rusty-black hue of fabric that had been washed so many times the dye itself was leaching out. Shadows showed under his eyes, and his thin face seemed etched with too many lines for someone his age, but Remus still managed to smile slightly and say, “That last draught you whipped up for me seemed to work better than ever. Fiddling with the ingredients again?”

“I do strive for constant improvement,” Snape replied, wondering how Lupin managed to maintain his good spirits despite his circumstances. Indeed, although the werewolf had only been able to function on the margins of wizard society due to his unfortunate affliction, Snape had very rarely seen Lupin displaying anything but mild good humor. He sometimes wondered how Remus managed it.

“Well, it seems to be working,” Lupin said, and then he lifted a sandy eyebrow as he appeared to give Snape an appraising glance. “You look -- different. Been getting a bit of sun?”

Barely restraining a guilty start, Snape answered with a ready lie, “I was gathering some fresh potions supplies in the woods yesterday. The sun was rather bright, I suppose.”

“That must be it.” But Lupin’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure he believed the story.

Snape began to wonder whether Celeste’s kisses had left some visible imprint on his mouth. Or could the knowledge that she loved him and the memory of her embrace be enough to have changed something in his aspect? He certainly hoped not. Then again, he had spent far too much time outdoors yesterday. Probably the combination of wind and sun had brought some color to his normally pallid skin.

“At any rate,” Lupin went on, “I’m a little surprised that you’re bothering to restock, Severus, considering you’re moving on to the Dark Arts and Slughorn’s coming back to take over the Potions classes.”

“What?” Oh, excellent, Snape thought, go ahead and show Lupin that he knows more about your own classes than you do....

At least Lupin had the grace to appear somewhat uncomfortable. “Well -- that is, Albus mentioned that he planned to ask Horace if he would return and take up his old post. I hadn’t heard that he’d agreed yet, but the Headmaster has a way of convincing people to do what he asks of them, doesn’t he?”

Yes, he did, a fact Snape knew all too well. Up to and including taking over the Dark Arts position and training orphaned witches.... He remained silent, though, glaring at Remus, who frowned a little and added,

“I’m sure he meant to tell you as soon as it was certain. But Albus mentioned that you haven’t been around Hogwarts much lately -- ”

“Other duties have called me away,” Snape interjected, his tone forbidding further questions.

“Ah, yes.” Lupin fiddled with the lapel of his shabby jacket, then said, “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?”

Remus looked surprised. “For the Dark Arts position, of course. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”

Had he been that obvious? Snape supposed he had. Oh, Potions fascinated him, but he’d always felt that his past experiences with Voldemort made him an ideal candidate for the Dark Arts professorship, never mind the rumors that the position had been cursed for the past several decades. Paradoxically, now he had actually achieved what he’d considered for so many years to be his heart’s desire, Snape found that being the next Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts didn’t seem as important as it once had. Far less important, astonishing as the notion seemed, than the woman who waited for him on the Welsh coast.

“I was honored to accept the position,” he said, his tone sounding stiff even to himself.

At that comment Lupin attempted to conceal a smile, without much success. “How very correct,” he said. “Well, I shan’t keep you. No doubt you have other business to attend to -- as do I. The Headmaster has kept you informed, I assume?”

Snape inclined his head a fraction of an inch. He knew that Dumbledore had given Remus Lupin the challenging task of trying to infiltrate the notoriously insular werewolf community, which no doubt accounted for Lupin’s presence here. He could have been mistaken, but Snape had gotten the impression that Remus had just emerged from Knockturn Alley before he hailed Snape. For a second he reflected that Lupin had perhaps an even more thankless duty to fulfill than he did.

Perhaps some of Snape’s thoughts showed in his face. For whatever reason, Lupin looked unaccountably grim, then said, “Be careful, Severus.” And with that he moved off in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, no doubt heading back into the maze of London’s streets.

For a moment Snape stood there on the steps, watching until Lupin’s shabby form disappeared into the crowds. The news that Dumbledore planned to ask Horace Slughorn to take up his old position as Potions master was unexpected, but not completely surprising. At least the man was qualified, although Snape had always found Slughorn’s obsession with status and predilection toward social climbing to be distasteful in the extreme. Still, he was fairly harmless, and a better choice than anyone else on the short list Snape had composed the evening before.

Something else taken care of, he thought. And with that, he realized, he was free. The book order at Flourish and Blotts had been attended to, and so far there had been no unwelcome twinges from the scar on his left forearm. The rest of the day was his to do with as he pleased.

And he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it....

***

Along the Welsh coast the day was not quite as pristinely bright as the one before; clouds had begun to move in from the ocean, and they had a heavy, gray look that promised rain before nightfall. Still, the air felt brisk and clean, very different from the heavy, petrol-scented fog that seemed to blanket London.

Snape had been forced to Apparate back to Hogwarts to retrieve his Muggle attire, and once there discovered that Dumbledore had again gone off somewhere mysterious. His absence wasn’t entirely surprising -- after all, the faculty’s time was their own during the summer holidays -- but Snape would have liked to speak with the Headmaster, if only to let him know that he wouldn’t face any opposition regarding the appointing of Slughorn as the new Potions master. At least Snape’s brief stopover there gave him a chance to peek into his Friend Glass and ascertain Celeste’s whereabouts. She appeared to be sitting at a table in a café near the promenade; a cup of some steaming liquid sat in front of her, and she had a pair of ridiculous wire-framed glasses perched on her nose as she frowned into a book. It appeared she planned to remain there for some time.

Apparating into a populated Muggle area during broad daylight presented some difficulty, but during his perambulations of the evening before Snape had noted several quiet alleys where he thought he could appear without too much risk of discovery. So he popped back into Aber in the dubious company of an overflowing dumpster and a hostile-looking cat, but luckily there were no other observers of his violation of the laws of physics. Stepping over a pile of discarded newspapers, he made his way out onto the street, moving in the direction of the waterfront.

By now the day was sliding into late afternoon, and several of the shops he passed were already locking up and hanging “Closed” signs in their storefronts. Since it appeared in the Friend Glass that the weather had turned chilly, he had brought along a jacket, but Snape chose to keep it draped over one arm. The regular workday had come to an end, and the streets were fairly crowded with people either heading home or perhaps looking for an early evening meal. Snape picked his away through the crowds, trying to ascertain which of the small restaurants and cafés along the waterfront Celeste had chosen as her destination.

Finally he spotted her, in a place whose awning proclaimed it to be Morgan’s Café. But just as his gaze settled on her familiar fall of red-brown hair, Snape made the unpleasant realization that she was not alone.

A fair-haired young man Snape had never seen before hovered behind the chair opposite Celeste’s; his hands had grasped the back of the seat, but he hadn’t yet sat down. Celeste was regarding the stranger with arms crossed and a wary expression on her face. The glasses she had been wearing earlier rested on the tabletop next to her book.

“Just one cup,” the young man was saying, as Snape moved quietly within earshot. “You didn’t come all the way to Aber to spend your whole time here alone, did you?”

At that moment her gaze moved past the stranger and settled on Snape, and a sudden smile lit up her face. It was like seeing the last flash of sunset burst forth from the clouds. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I didn’t. And now I see that my date is here.”

The young man turned slightly and then gave Snape an unbelieving stare. “Who? Him?”

Snape felt the time was ripe to intercede. “Yes, ‘him,’” he drawled. “And I believe the young lady wishes you to retire.”

The stranger -- hardly more than a boy, really, obviously a student from the college -- muttered something under his breath about Snape being the one who looked as if he should retire. Snape lifted an eyebrow, matching the young man’s glare with one of his own.

Apparently deciding that he was no match for the Potions Master, the stranger glanced away, then shrugged. “No accounting for taste, I suppose,” he said, then sidled off quickly before either Snape or Celeste could reply.

She looked up at Snape, and the dimple in her cheek deepened for a second. “My knight in shining armor,” she remarked.

“Obviously there are additional hazards to leaving you alone that I hadn’t considered,” he said dryly, pulling out the chair and seating himself.

“You have no idea. Perhaps sitting alone at a seaside café and attempting to read Bridget Jones’s Diary is some sort of signal that a woman wants to be approached by perfect strangers.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Snape noticed a waiter hovering uncertainly in the background and waved him over. “Double espresso,” he said, thinking he could use a recharge. All this chasing about had begun to take its toll.

“Serious, aren’t you?” Celeste asked, after the waiter had disappeared back into the café proper. “I can’t drink that stuff after noon.”

“I’m always serious,” Snape replied, and then wondered why she grinned at him.

“I have no doubt,” she said. Then, if possible, her face brightened even more. Snape could see why random strangers would approach her. She suddenly seemed the most desirable woman in the world to him, despite her baggy clothing and untidy hair. “Severus, you’ll never guess what happened!”

Wary, he said, “What?”

“I met one of my aunts earlier today! Can you imagine? She lives right here in Aber!”

This proclamation came from so completely out of left field that for a few seconds Snape could only stare at her. An aunt? Was this some sort of joke? But Celeste’s expectant face told him he needed to make some sort of response, so he managed to rasp out, “How did she find you?”

Celeste’s reply was immediate, and reassuring...somewhat. “Oh, she didn’t. I mean, we bumped into one another up at the Arts Centre. I do resemble my mother very much -- at least, that’s what Aunt Bronwen says -- and she recognized me immediately.”

“Aunt Bronwen,” Snape repeated.

“Yes,” Celeste said. “Bronwen Cadogan. She was married to my Uncle Rhys -- I never even knew I had an Uncle Rhys. And Cadogan is my real last name. I’m half Welsh. Who knew?”

Not Snape, although he supposed he could have discovered that information easily enough if he’d bothered to do a bit more research on Celeste’s parents. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been overburdened with spare time in the days since he’d met Celeste. He realized with a shock that he’d known her for barely two weeks. Amazing how she’d managed to insinuate herself into his heart in such a short amount of time.

“And did you meet this Uncle Rhys of yours as well?” he asked.

The shining look disappeared from her face. “He’s dead,” she said quietly. “Killed in the War -- with -- ”

“Don’t say it here,” Snape cut in, and Celeste clamped her lips shut, then nodded.

“Anyhow,” she said, after an uncomfortable silence, “my Aunt Bronwen is the only one who actually lives in Aber. My father’s family is from Swansea, but she settled here about fifteen years ago, after...well, after.” A bit of the impish light returned to Celeste’s eyes. “And you’ll never guess what she does!”

“Most probably not.”

At that moment the waiter reappeared with Snape’s espresso, and Celeste paused until he had deposited the cup on the tabletop and then moved off back into the interior of the building. Snape and Celeste were the only ones sitting at the sidewalk tables, although normally during the summertime that location was in high demand. The wind off the water had picked up, and he thought he saw Celeste shiver slightly inside her battered suede jacket.

She waited while he took a cautious sip of the hot liquid, then said, “She’s a psychic. Like me.”

Snape set down his cup. “What?”

“Well, not really like me. She said there’s an organization called the Ministry of Magic that has witches and wizards acting as false psychics and making bad predictions so that the Muggles will think there isn’t any such a thing as true Divination or magical powers. Can you believe that?”

Of course he could, as Snape had known of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Obfuscation ever since he was a boy. Most often the witches and wizards who worked for the Department were the types without much magical ability, often only a few levels above being outright Squibs. They were still doing important work, but it was one of the few instances where possessing weak powers was actually a benefit.

He knew better, however, than to point out the shortcomings of this newly discovered aunt. “I know of the Ministry’s work in that area, yes,” he replied at length.

Celeste shot him a wry look, obviously underwhelmed by his cautious answer. “I just think it’s amusing -- here she is, trying to make Muggles think that psychic powers are rubbish, and for the past seven years I’ve been doing the exact opposite!”

“Oh, very amusing,” he answered, his tone making it obvious that he thought the situation was anything but humorous. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more alarmed he became. Just who was this Bronwen Cadogan? Snape had never heard of her, but that meant little; she and Celeste’s parents were of a different generation than his, and if she’d been tucked away in Wales all this time, of course he would never have encountered her. How could Celeste be sure that this woman was even who she said she was?

For a few seconds Celeste sat watching him, her fingers ruffling the edge of the dust jacket on her book. “You don’t seem very pleased.”

Snape said, “I’m not.” Ignoring her frown, he leaned forward and went on, in low but urgent tones that he hoped would make her realize the gravity of the situation, “How do you even know this woman is truly your Aunt Bronwen? Did you stop to think she might be one of his servants?”

Celeste’s cheeks, already flushed from the brisk ocean breeze, seemed to redden further. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. But I do think you can be somewhat naïve. Trusting.”

“Like I was with you?”

Touché, my dear, Snape thought, but he refused to let her see that she had nettled him. “That was different.”

“Because it was you? If it makes you feel any better, my Aunt Bronwen has the same low opinion of you that you apparently have of her.”

“You told her about me?” The words came out more sharply than he had intended, and Snape saw Celeste wince.

“Not everything,” she said, giving him a knowing look as she said everything. “Of course not. But I did mention how you were the one who found me, and that you’d been training me -- oh, Severus, I know you think I’m an innocent fool, but I’m not completely stupid. After I had tea at her flat, I gave her a good-bye hug, and I knew she had been telling me the truth. I felt it from her immediately. She’s no more than she says she is.”

Snape refused to let Celeste see the relief he felt at this revelation. Keeping his voice as stern as if calling a student to task over some botched Potions assignment, he said, “Be that as it may -- you’ve still come into contact with someone who had been forced to keep your identity secret for years. If only I knew the exact parameters of the Fidelius Charm your mother cast -- ” He broke off, realizing that Celeste was staring at him with a simmering anger in her eyes.

“How did you know that? Aunt Bronwen just told me about that horrible spell, and how it kept any of my family from coming to help me when I needed them the most -- ”

“Because it is my business to know such things!” Lowering his voice, he went on, “Because I myself have also taken part in a Fidelius Charm, although its purpose is far different from the one your mother cast to keep you safe. Its strength is that it continues, doing its work, even if the Secret Keeper, the one who alone can divulge that which is being hidden, dies or is otherwise incapacitated.” His lips thinned as he thought of the Longbottoms, condemned to years of blank-eyed madness. “Usually the Secret Keeper is someone other than the one who casts the spell, but not always. Obviously your mother felt it was best for her to take on such a dual role. The problem now is that we have no idea exactly what the Charm your mother cast entailed, other than the fact that obviously your relatives could not approach you in Manchester, or speak to others of your existence.”

The anger faded from Celeste’s eyes as quickly as it had come. “Bronwen had no trouble speaking to me here,” she said with a slight frown, as if she were trying to decide whether that were a violation of the Charm’s strictures or not.

“Precisely. So does that mean she’s now free to speak to others about you, since you approached her of your own free will, or does the Charm still hold? Did your mother set up the spell to allow certain circumstances to circumvent it?”

“Like a back door,” Celeste murmured.

Snape frowned. “A what?”

“It’s a term computer programmers use. I heard it in a film once.” She lifted her own cup and drank, although Snape suspected that the liquid inside was now stone cold. “I think it’s a way to go around whatever security protocols have been put in place in a computer system. So maybe they couldn’t come to me, but that wouldn’t stop me from coming to them.”

“Possibly.” He sipped at his own espresso as he considered the problem. The Fidelius Charm was a fiendishly complicated spell; it had to be, to try to encompass so many variables and keep so many individuals keyed to the preservation of a vital secret. It had done a good job of protecting Celeste up until this point, but had she unconsciously undermined the spell by coming here to Wales?

Speculation was fine, up to a point, but Snape knew that the most important thing now was to do some sort of damage control. “Your aunt must be told to say nothing of seeing you here.”

“Don’t you think she already knows that?”

“Probably,” he replied, “but sometimes people do very foolish things when they’re not thinking clearly. In her excitement in rediscovering a niece she thought she had lost forever, your aunt might inadvertently say something to another family member. Again, perhaps that’s not the end of the world, but as word spreads, it would become more and more likely that this information would fall into the wrong hands.”

Celeste was silent for a moment. Then she sighed and said, “You’re right. I had these mad fantasies of going off and meeting all my long-lost relatives, but that’s not very wise, is it?”

He saw no reason to soften the disappointment he knew she must be feeling. Better for her to face the reality of the situation now. “No.”

Misery showed in the tight set of her lips, but Celeste merely nodded. “You won’t have to Obliviate her, will you?” she asked, the words barely above a whisper.

Surprising that she would have thought of it before he did. Snape felt privately that that was probably the most elegant solution, but from the few comments Celeste had made on the subject, he got the impression that this Aunt Bronwen probably wouldn’t let him get close enough to cast the spell.

“No,” he said, wishing he knew whether or not he was telling the truth. “I would prefer to avoid that.”

The relief in Celeste’s face was obvious. “Then I’ll go back and see her -- her flat isn’t that far from here. I had to leave when I did because she said she had a client coming in at four, but I suppose she must be done with that by now.” She bit her lip, then said, “Do you mind waiting for me? Somehow I don’t think it’s a very good idea to bring you along.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Snape said immediately. Not when you’re so worth waiting for....

She smiled and stood, gathering up her oversized bag. Then, before he realized what she was doing, Celeste came around the table, bent down, and kissed him full on the mouth, apparently not caring that they were both in full view of the various tourists and passers-by on Marine Terrace.

“More of that later,” she said with a wink.

He watched her walk away into the crowd until she turned down Terrace Street. His lips still tingled from the brush of her mouth against his. Celeste Jenkins had kissed him, right there in broad daylight, and he found he was glad she did.

Snape signaled the waiter. “Another espresso,” he said, and did something that surely would have shocked his students, had they been around to witness it.

He smiled.