A Set of Suspicious Circumstances

Author's Note: Thank you so much, Lindsey, for your superb betaing and tagging!

Chapter Sixteen: A Set of Suspicious Circumstances

Snapping the book shut, Severus removed himself from the comforting folds of the bay window. A stolen glance at his watch told him it had long since passed midnight, yet, strangely enough, Brinkley had made no inclination toward closing the shop. The shrivelled wraith of a man barely even looked up when the Potions master placed the book on the counter.

"Mmmm, Professor Snape. A pleasant day, is it not?"

Severus' eyebrow shot into his hairline. "It is quarter-to-one in the morning, Brinkley."

At least the shopkeep had enough common decency to look perturbed by this. "Is it indeed? Who would have thought?" His wrinkled fingers slipped his own book shut, revealing the title: 101 Ways to Hypnotise a Troll. This title did little to lower the height of Severus' eyebrow.

Upon sighting the Potions master's purchase, Brinkley had his own moment of eyebrow cocking. "A Slytherin Seduction? An – ah – interesting choice, Professor."

The dark glint in Severus' eyes was all the response required. The shopkeep emitted a pathetic squeak. After handing over his Sickles and demanding that the book be wrapped in brown paper, Severus turned once more to Brinkley. "You will tell no one of this purchase, do you understand me?"

"Of – of course sir," stammered Brinkley. "I would not dream of it."

With a curt nod, the Potions master headed for the door, snatching his cloak. Placing his obscene purchase within a well-concealed inner pocket, he ventured once more out into the icy, winter air.

oOoOoOo

Several days might have passed, so immersed was Brinkley in his latest tome; as it so happened, only a few small hours had tiptoed through the crooked side street, bringing with them a new layer of fresh snowfall.

Some days, the snow lay completely undisturbed in Scholars Lane, not one footfall contaminating its crisp shell. The name itself was enough to keep most Hogwarts students at wand's length, so keen were they to evade all things studious during their weekend visitations to Hogsmeade.

One student, however, stood mutely – statuesque – in one of the street's many shadows. Her boots, though encrusted with trodden snow, stood on the only visible cobbles; the buildings hunched towards each other above her head, their uppermost windows almost meeting in mutual drowsiness, barring all snowfall. The sight was uncanny, as though her mere presence had caused the whiteness to shrink outwards.

More unnerving was the sheer intensity with which she now stared at the bookshop's windows, as though she could see beyond the encasement of grime from decades past.

A sudden snap beneath her heel pulled her to alertness.

Stooping, she drew the now halved disk to her eye line; though the badge had now lost its enchanted shift from green to red, the familiar words still lingered mockingly: POTTER REALLY STINKS. With a wry smile, Isolde tossed it back onto the ground.

"Hey, snake, that was mine!"

Marius approached cheerily from the adjacent doorway of Caratacus Fleming's Ink Supplies, dipping to inspect the discarded badge. Its defect observed, it quickly rejoined the cobblestone, counterparts scattered. "Ah well, plenty more where that came from."

Isolde shook her head as they began to edge slowly back towards the main street. "Really, Marius, I don't know why you wrap yourself up in such hype. Neither of them deserves to win."

"You're just still bitter Digger-dy took dear Miss Chang to the ball instead of you," he quipped unthinkingly as he began to examine his new purchase. Before Isolde could muster protest, a bottle of ink was thrust into her palm. "Check this one out, Snakey-kins. Fresh on the shelf this week."

Pausing in spite of herself, Isolde squinted at the minute scrawling on the pot's label: Vivacious Vocabulary Ink: astound your teachers, colleagues and heartthrob with a word-stock at your fingertips. Simply put quill to parchment and watch the eloquence pour forth...

Even before Isolde had finished reading, her scepticism flew to her brow line. Marius snatched the ink back into its carrier. "I don't care what you think; Caratacus Fleming is a genius," he affirmed blithely. "I've got a lot to thank him for."

Isolde couldn't help herself. "Oh, definitely." She grinned, her longing for dusty, illicit books almost departed. "Like that time you bought his Superior Spell-Checking Ink. Yes, Professor Snape was very impressed with your essay on the many uses of ravens' clause, and that time you commended the benefits of the mussel relaxing potion..."

Unfazed, Marius slipped his arm through Isolde's. "Just checking to see if he actually reads them, dear snake!"

As they reached the far side of Zuranders, Marius routinely gravitated towards the all-too-familiar door. "Right, Iz, you've got ten minutes." He peered pointedly at his Quidditch-inspired watch. "When the Snitch reaches half-past, I'm gone, okay?"

As she stared at the ticking hand on his wrist, his words finally gained meaning. Blinking, she feigned a casual shrug. "Oh, I'm not fussed today. Still trawling through my last purchase," Isolde lied, the brief memory of its smouldering pages making her wince in misery. She gently tugged on his arm until they were greeted by the bedlam of the main street.

"Merlin's sweaty crotch, are you feeling okay? You're usually begging me for just five more minutes in that place..."

"Marius, just drop it."

As soon as the tone left her lips, she knew she was being excessive; how was he to know that her seemingly innocent fancy for 'romantic literature' was nothing short of neurotic, and that, in recent weeks, it had caused her the biggest humiliation of her life?

True to form, her retort fell like water from a newt's back. "Ooooh, are we in need of a caffeine fix?" he smirked, playfully batting his carrier bag against Isolde's leg. "Tell you what; we'll pull out all the stops today and give Puddifoot a visit. I know how you just luuurve the decor."

Isolde rolled her eyes but followed willingly through the bustling mass of robes. In all honesty, Isolde was simply aching for a strong cup of coffee. Until recently, Marius had always obtained her regular doses from an obliging house-elf, but his dealings were stopped short after receiving an impassioned lecture from Hermione Granger about elfish rights. Despite referring to her copious times since as a 'meddling bush-head,' Marius had been rather alarmed at the time, leaving the kitchens two Sickles poorer and in possession of an oversized S.P.E.W badge.

Smirking in recollection, Isolde barely realised they had stopped mid-stride and that she and her suddenly tongue-tied companion were now standing head-to-head with Kathy McKenzie. Had the vicinity not already been so chilly, the trio would have felt a sudden drop in temperature as they mutually grappled for a reliable opener.

"Er... Kathy, hi," Marius eventually managed. His bag, no longer swinging roguishly, now drooped heavily against his thigh. "You, er, here on your own?"

That confirmed it. Something had definitely happened at the Yule Ball. Sure, Marius' explanation that his blotchy neck had been the result of mosquitoes from the rose garden had been undoubtedly pathetic, but Isolde had never considered they had been the work of her own roommate. Lips twitching, she struggled to feign ignorance as the discomfort bloated.

"Umm, yeah... just, er, you know, browsing. Better than watching Quidditch practice." Kathy smiled wanly as they shared a strained chuckle.

An explosion of mirth tore between them as Isolde scoffed unreservedly. "You two are worse than pubescent first-years!" Both mouths gaped simultaneously in horror as she perched her hands on each of their shoulders. "Look, I need my coffee. You're welcome to join me and have a go at constructing some sentences inside, or I can meet you back out here when I've had my fix..."

Striding between them, Isolde tugged open the stubborn door to the tea shop, allowing a cascade of flavoured steam out into the frosty air. "You coming?"

Still somewhat mortified, Kathy gave in first, taking the offered door from Isolde's hold, and turned on the threshold towards Marius. "I told you she doesn't miss a trick."

"And that's before she's had her caffeine." Sighing, Marius lugged himself up the stone steps and into the hot tea room, its furnishings as saccharine as the tinkle upon the door's closure.

oOoOoOo

Madam Puddifoot's was a notorious lodging of budding courtship – no surprise, considering how closely each rounded table and chair was pressed beside its neighbour, how sultry the very air was within its cosy margins. With its aromatic steam infusing every crevice, the tea shop was not too unlike an opium den, its habitants bathing blithely in growing attraction. For years, rumours had lingered amongst the student populace that even some of the Hogwarts teachers had once trod their own nervous feet upon its floorboards. Marius had even joked that Snape himself had no doubt tried his hardest to secure affection within its walls. Isolde was certain that, even in his student days, Snape would have detested it. If he had ever been hauled beyond the threshold by his peers, he would have undoubtedly snarled at the profusion of paper doilies, the sickly clusters of pre-Raphaelite portraits voyeuristically following every graze of limb above or below the flowery tablecloths.

With passions out in the open, conversation swung happily to more routine topics.

"Uurgh, do you think someone should tell Diggory that you're meant to kiss on the mouth? I swear, she's not gonna have an ear left by the time he's finished!" Marius continued to steal glances at the pair over Isolde's shoulder as she sipped on her second cup of coffee. "Revolting... You sure you don't want to switch seats, Iz?"

Her face unchanging, Isolde absentmindedly smoothed out a crease in her froth-stained doily. "Marius, if the sight bothers you that much, you could always just not look..."

"Have you seen them at it, though? One can hardly do otherwise! Emma and Euan have already moved one table over to avoid the carnage..."

Kathy giggled into her cup before gasping and lowering it mid-sip. "Oh! Speaking of which, have you heard the latest on Mr Crouch?"

"Urgh, don't tell me he's been seen sucking on some poor witch's orifice too?"

The table fell to a hush, eyebrows raised in stunned mirth. Isolde rolled her eyes. "I meant her ear..."

"Anywayyyy," drew up Kathy, wafting her arm impatiently between them, "the talk is he hasn't been seen at all, not for weeks. Not since the World Cup."

Isolde snorted, scooping up another two sugar cubes with an ornate teaspoon. "Kath, if it was something serious, we'd have seen it in the Prophet..."

"Not likely," shot in Marius. "Dad says not to touch that publication with a broomstick – completely manipulated by the Ministry, they are. If those guys want something hidden, it's not going to be on the front page of the Prophet, I can tell you that."

Isolde nodded gravely, knowing better than to question him on this point. His own grandfather had been promptly sacked after trying to publish news of murders during the First Wizarding War. Veiled with a guise of public concern, the Prophet had dropped him without so much as a warning, causing his family to be mistrustful of it ever since.

"Well, either way," continued Kathy, her hands engaged in a dance of outrage, "he was meant to be overseeing the proceedings of the Triwizard Tournament, but Bagman's been leading a one-man show up until now."

Isolde felt her fingertips tighten around her teacup. "Until now?"

Ignorant to her friend's emergent panic, Kath allowed herself a cruel pause to take a sip from her cup. "Mmmm," she began, her mouth still full of coffee, "they've brought in that other guy to help out a bit more. He's only been supervising the actual tasks so far, but they're now wanting him to keep an eye on things between tasks, too. They still reckon some cheating went on in the last one – somehow knowing about the dragons before they were revealed – and they don't want that happening again."

Isolde lowered her teacup to the table's surface, fearful that her fingers might pinch it to shards. "Who is it – the man who's coming to help?"

Kathy's face brightened in an instant, a flush of giddiness replacing the scandal. "I can't remember his name, but he was at the ball. I swear, Iz – we thought Malfoy senior was hot? This guy is off the scale!" Isolde's eyes remained downcast, but she knew Marius was looking directly at her. "Oh, Merlin! What's his name, Marius? You mentioned him to Snape when... Oh, Merlin – is it Frank? Flint...?"

"Flank," Isolde spat out to the room, still processing Kathy's news. "Don't go near him, Kath. He's trouble. Worse than Malfoy."

"Oh, crikey!" Kathy declared excitedly. "What a shame I'm all hitched up now; I do love a good rake!" Playfully squeezing his thigh, she assured Marius she was teasing, but his face was solemn.

Turning away from Isolde, his usually mirthful eyes sobered. "She's serious, Kath. Keep your distance."

For a moment, Kathy's grin dissolved as her eyes darted between both friends. Sighing, she wiped the corners of her mouth with a rose napkin. "If you insist... Though, he can't be that bad if even the dungeon bat finds him tolerable." In response to their questioning brows, Kathy indicated silently behind them.

Isolde squinted, craning her neck to peer through the small sliver of window that wasn't misted with steam.

There, striding together through the dwindling crowd, was Ichabod Flank and Professor Snape. Though the view was restricted, they were clearly in deep conversation. As if this were not shocking enough to Isolde, Flank subsequently appeared to pat the professor on the shoulder before escorting him away from view.

"They look pretty pally to me," contended Kathy, clearly justifying to herself that the wizard she found so striking was indeed harmless.

Marius snorted, turning back to the dregs of his cup. "I'd hardly consider Professor Snape a sound measuring stick for assessing someone's decency. And anyway, Isolde can vouch..."

Instantly, the Ravenclaw buckled under Isolde's fierce gaze. Eyes like steel, she dared him to proceed. "I, um... I mean... her dad says he's a sleazeball," he recovered feebly. "You're best out of it, Kath."

Softening slightly, Isolde rose to her feet. "Well, I'm all caffeined out now, thanks." The other two shuffled for their belongings. "No, you two stay here. Really. I fancy a quiet walk back to the castle, let the coffee beans work their magic. I might even have the energy for that Charms essay due on Monday."

Kathy relaxed, but Marius remained watchful. "You sure, Iz? We can walk back with you..."

"No, really, it's fine. You can play footsie by yourself now." Marius raised a brow. "Oh come off it, you were accidentally brushing my leg for half the time. Now, at least, you'll know you've got the right pair."

Isolde forced one last smile before squeezing herself through the cluster of tables and out into the snow.

oOoOoOo

Having spent the last hour closeted in the balmy tea shop, the gnaw of chilled air would have usually come as a shock to Isolde, but her body was already numb. Scouring the near empty streets for the two figures, she fought frantically for an explanation.

Why, after all he had said to her, would Professor Snape be exchanging pleasantries with Ichabod Flank? What could he have said to cause the blond rogue to laugh heartily and pat him readily on the back? Why, more so, would Snape abide such a condescending gesture? Yes, she had pleaded with him not to incite trouble for her – but to be friends with him? The thought was revolting.

As she continued further along the high street, peering fruitlessly down every side road, Isolde's thoughts soured. Was he mocking her? He had distinctly affirmed that he was not like her father's friends, and yet... The more her memory uprooted past exchanges, the more misshapen they became in hindsight: when he had dismissed their encounter on the night of the ball, had it been for the sake of professionalism, or had he touched goods which were not for him? The man had always been a cloaked riddle, but for him to deliberately seek her out with assurances of sincerity, only to usurp them with malice, it was beyond fathomable.

As the main street emporiums began to fasten their locks, candles snuffed in all directions. All that remained was the heavily trodden snow, sporadically tinged with a bright sweet wrapper or discarded Knut.

As Isolde recalled again the infuriating encounter, she noted they had strode in the direction away from the castle. Perhaps, then, they were still in the village somewhere? With the mainstream stores now closed, only a few options remained.

Though she highly doubted her professor had taken Flank to peruse a collection of dusty books, her feet continued to edge back towards the familiar hearth of Scholars Lane. The vision of his neatly fastened blond head skimming the titles as he passed through each aisle, his wretched fingertips infecting the moth-eaten spines, infuriated her. The thought of him devouring her sanctuary riled her to the core.

Turning into the lane, she paused. Eyes tore through the lightly falling snow towards her haven.

Bricks all in place, a murky glow at the window, all seemed unscathed. Untainted.

Her lips parted in relief, Isolde had no chance to even squeal before a firm, cold hand snatched at her mouth. The sharp amalgamation of Floo powder and Firewhisky hit her tongue as she felt herself being hauled into a nearby alcove and into the shadows.