Dumbledore's letter arrived by owl on Monday morning. Snape had just finished grading students' papers and had barely had time to take a sip of the well-cooled Earl Grey he had at hand.
He made no judgements about the old headmaster's tastes, but if Snape's memory was correct, he had never seen Dumbledore write to him in the same colour as yet.
From emerald-green to lilac to sunset, Snape guessed that perhaps Dumbledore was second only to sugar in his collection of different colors of ink.
The content of the letter was not long, and the font was the signature of the opposite party. It was more rounded than the classic style, and the edges and corners of each letter were dulled. It looked like a row of round pearls pulling out delicate filaments.
Quite Dumbledore himself, to be honest.
It began with the usual greeting about Snape, and then, learning that he had been absent for the last two days, politely asked if he would like to come and see Regulus.
Snape's reply was even shorter, a single phrase, and it was a pleasure.
Then the two met at the entrance to the Great Hall of Hogwarts and went together to Beverly's place, a room in a suburb of London, in Muggle World.
It was an old house of a very old style and age. The materials were plain and cheap dark grey stones, and the wooden fence at the edge of the front lawn seemed to have been made locally in the temperate forest behind it. The only bright spot in the whole house was the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor, which, judging by the color of the curtains, belonged to a young girl.
The lawn was overgrown with weeds, undisturbed by the winter wind, which was already getting stronger. The dark brown moist soil is covered with a thick humus layer of lost leaves, rich in earthen and actinomycetes smell.
Dumbledore stepped forward and knocked on the wood-coloured door in front of him.
Soon the door opened a little, revealing a pair of careful, bloodstained dark gray eyes.
Dumbledore gave himself some distance, smiling innocently and speaking in the friendly voice of a loving elder, "Regulus, how are you?"
When they saw each other, they opened the door a little wider, revealing more than half of their bodies, nodded, and said in a hoarse voice, "Hello, Professor Dumbledore, just as usual these days. What about you and Beverly? How have you been?"
Dumbledore grinned, leaning sideways so that Regulus could see Snape a short distance behind him, and replied, "I am very well. If you ask Beverly, you will have to ask her head of House. Introduce, Head of Slytherin, Severus Snape."
Regulus and Snape's eyes met naturally, the latter giving a perfunctory smirk. To be fair, it wasn't nice at all, and it made him look like a schemer.
Regulus was clearly aware of this as well, and quickly recognized someone he had met in Diagon Alley a few months earlier. He looked as if he knew himself, and spoke with an aggressive sharpness. Regulus was thinking that maybe she had a very bad relationship with him.
His hand against the door turned unconsciously into a grip, and his brow knitted gently.
Snape did not move; he continued his survey. Though Regulus had only a slight resemblance to Sirius in appearance and a completely different temperament, the resemblance alone was enough to make people repulsive.
"Can we go in?" Dumbledore's eyes drifted between the two of them, his previous gentleness still intact. "We all feel that Professor Snape may have some idea of what to do with your condition. His potions are excellent."
"You praise me too much." "Said Snape modestly, his face tinged with satisfaction. This makes Regulus feel more and more that the other person is up to no good.
But after a few moments of deliberation, he opened the door completely. "Come in."
It was sparsely furnished, as much or less than the random model homes set up in Muggle furniture fairs. It's hard to imagine anyone living here if the water wasn't still boiling on the boiler, and there were two fresh dishes on the foldable table that hadn't been washed yet.
Regulus, it seems, is as bad off as he thought he was. Snape looked back and made a cursory judgment.
The three men sat down on the balcony of the drawing room, and Regulus entertained them with a few vaguely attractive refreshments from the cupboard. Snape was not about to touch the squashy biscuits, which were packed with invisible microbes, but Dumbledore did not seem to mind at all. After eating two of them, he asked unprompted, "So Beverly says you've recently got a freelance job? How are you feeling? Are you keeping up?"
"Not bad." Regulus nodded, his face horribly haggard, his skin horribly thin, his skin a sickly gray. "A bookstore. I usually work the night shift, and the owner pays me the same."
"That's good. How is Beverly at school, Severus?" Dumbledore turned to look at the man in black beside him, his usual smile so mild that Snape's heart shivered.
He adjusted his posture and replied dryly, "She's the best student in my class. She always does well."
"Thank you very much." Regulus looked at him briefly, then quickly moved away.
"Then I'll rely on you for the rest of the examination, Severus." Dumbledore picked up the third biscuit and looked reassuringly at the suddenly nervous Regulus with his shining blue eyes. "I hope you can help him get better soon."
"I'll do everything I can." Snape's tone was the same, as he pulled out his wand hidden between his sleeves. "Just a little cooperation from Mr. Black."
Regulus thought it fitting that it was the Dean of Slytherin. He looked into his dark, unlit eyes and felt as though he were staring into the cold vertical eyes of a black mamba snake.
He was sure, once again, that he had had a very bad relationship with the dean.
...
After dinner, the rain gradually stopped.
The strange gaiefulness of Halloween was suddenly spreading through Hogwarts, and the floating white candles in the dining room were transformed into magic orange pumpkins with sharp jagged eyes and open mouths. The bright warm glow behind the pumpkins' smiles was as bright as if they were burning.
For a bunch of kids who are already quasi-wizards, playing wizards like Muggles is boring. As a result, they prefer to play other mystical creatures, such as vampires, werewolves and sirens.
The new Hogsmeade flavour of Trickery sold out a week ago, and promises to be a bloody night of mutual harm at Hogwarts.
Aurora went back to her bedroom after dinner and put on her Hufflepuff raincoats and boots. Although it was no longer raining, the Forbidden Forest was not a friendly place for clothes or shoes. Within ten minutes, when you come out again, you can't see the color at all.
She thought about it, took a small folding umbrella for backup, and walked as close to the wall as she could to the school gate to wait for Snape. Although she had tried very hard not to be pelted with magic bubbles and unknown bubbles by overexcited wizards, she was still smearing up when she arrived.
Having conveniently cast a cleansing spell on herself, Aurora went outside the school door. It was pitch-black here, only the surface of the lake not far away was shining like a fish scale, faint light, dim ups and downs.
She had only been waiting at the edge of the platform for a moment when the Professor of Potions in black appeared. "Good evening, Professor," he said. Snape replied coldly and stiffly to the courtesy greeting, the tip of his wand flashing brightly across a wide area ahead. Aurora followed so close that they were so silent that they could only hear the click of the rain falling from the leaves into the shallow holes in the ground.
The dark green forest is wet and cool, and the fog is halo and spreading.
Hagrid trotted Fang out of the cabin, leading him to lie outside for air. A few withered yellow leaves were still hanging from his shoulders, his thick black hair was as entwined as ever, and there were charred holes in his thick, black-gray felt-wool coat, which looked as if it had been set on fire.
"Good evening Professor Snape, Aurora." The Half-giant patted the fallen leaves on his shoulder in response to the girl's kind but silent gesture. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to do some shopping in Diagon Alley. I must go."
"Goodbye." The girl waved at him and ran fast to keep up with Snape.
Once inside the forest, the temperature drops abruptly along with the light, and Aurora hunches her neck, glad she had the foresight to add a cardigan. While Snape's wand was pointing the way ahead, her lantern was keeping track of her feet so she wouldn't step on anything.
Just when Aurora was beginning to think that they might be silent all the way, the tall, black man before her suddenly spoke, and the beautiful, cold tone of his voice stirred in the dark air of the forest and made the little girl shiver.
"He said." Ever heard of a butterfly?"
Aurora blinked. "Are you looking for the bloodbark vine?"
She had seen in Newt Scamander's Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that these strange, beautiful and dangerous creatures lived most in colonies on bloodbark vine, a less commonly used potions material.
It's a strange word. It doesn't mean rare or precious, but it's not commonly used. Newt didn't say why it wasn't often used. Aurora had gone through some of the other books, and the records of the plant were always vague, so she did not know what the plant was for, except that the butterfly was a real deterrent.
Snape kept his forward motion, but looked down at Aurora from the corner of his eye. "It looks like you've been reading more than I thought."
"Thank you." But to be fair to Snape, there was definitely more irony than admiration in his tone. Not to mention the curl of disgust that curled around his lips when he heard Aurora's thanks.
Aurora, however, did not mind his attitude. Her thoughts were now more on Newt's record of the butterfly and her impending end of confinement.
Therefore, she was not influenced by him in the least. After all, she had known all along that, after the Salazar affair, it would be impossible for the overly strict potions master to think well of her.
No professor likes a student who steps on the line every day and writes messy things in class.
"There are a lot of them, but they like something with a strong scent," Aurora said. Perhaps we can start by finding some magic rosemary, which should be ripe by this time. Grind their fruit to distract the butterflies."
"That's a good idea." The cold praise flew out of Snape's mouth. "So you must know how to deal with a porpoise, too?"
"Yes." Aurora replied briefly. In fact, when she borrowed Newt's Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, she read it over and over again, sometimes wishing she could travel the world to see and study more of them like him.
After all, their talents are so similar.
Snape's porpoises are magical creatures designed to protect the magical rosemary. When someone tries to pluck or harm the plant, it raises its spines all over its body, sharp and hard, with traces of neurotoxin and a powerful hallucinogenic effect.
After passing through the layers of forest, there appeared before them a river of dark green, rippling with pale water, rushing through the dense old forest.
Snape's movement over the bare rocks of the riverbed was as light and swift as that of some nocturnal black bird. Aurora was much more clumsy, and even, because the lantern swayed with her in heavy shadows and the slippery moss clinging to the stone surface, she had the unfortunate fall of bringing the cold green wet water all over her raincoat and the end of her hair.
Snape frowned as he looked back at the golden girl, who had risen quickly from the water, as though hesitating to give her a hand. Aurora wiped the water off her face and patted her raincoat. "I'm glad I was prepared."
"Are you going to swim back out of the water?" "Said Snape, pressing his bloodless lips together and extending his hand toward Aurora. The other side stepped on the river to look at him, stunned for a moment, and then quickly thanked him, subconsciously chose the other side may not be so averse to the wrist as a point of leverage, quickly on the shore.
Snape conveniently put a drying spell on her.
"Thank you."
"I'd rather you watch where you're going."
"Because the moss on the stone was too slippery."
"Then improve your delicate balance?"
Aurora nodded. "You're right. I will," she said. That's what she's learned from months of spending time with Salazar. They can't tell each other anything, and the best way to do it is to follow their lead.
You say is, anyway agree with your words and a piece of meat, when respect the old and love the young.
Snape glanced at the girl, who he had not expected to answer. Then he suddenly realized that among the students he had met more often, the others had their own characteristics and styles of doing things. Only Field here doesn't.
The impression of her character is vague, like a handful of water, it has no shape at all, you don't know what she is really thinking, she will hardly disagree with what people say.
It struck Snape that this personality was a little like Dumbledore's. The greatest of the White wizards was so broad and deep that nothing seemed to cause him to feel strong emotions, and his emotions were so vague and amorphous.
Dumbledore's indifference, on the other hand, was born of foresight and years of calculated experience, with a thick, dark grey. Aurora is more like a nature of nature and simply not caring, an unadulterated whiteness.
Typical Hufflepuff, who cared little and wanted little. Most people live an ordinary life, the wind has no trace.
The exact opposite of Snape's creed. If you spend your life doing nothing, you might as well die in the first place.
At this thought, he moved the corners of his mouth slightly.
Aurora whispered, "Professor, we're ahead."
Not far away, the ripe magical rosemary blossoms into a noble deep dark purple, bold and conspicuous in the forest.