Looking Back to Look Ahead

Chapter Five

Looking Back to Look Ahead

Severus Snape looked around the staff room, wondering who, besides Dumbledore, was still to arrive. He normally detested these meetings, especially when classes were suspended for the holidays, but he was interested in this one. The sole purpose for the meeting was to determine whether or not Tanya was prepared for O.W.L. testing, or when she might be. He'd escorted Tanya here to Hogwarts, to get her settled in and to concentrate on the lessons she'd need to master before Dumbledore could decide where to place her.

He'd been there in Dumbledore's office with Tanya and Albus when she'd tried on the Sorting Hat. To his chagrin, she'd been placed in Gryffindor. Pity, he'd thought at the time. Minerva McGonagall had put her in the room normally reserved for the Head Girl, were she to be a Gryffindor, until such time as the exams decided which year she'd be in.

Snape felt a kind of paternal pride in Tanya; she'd caught up to her peers in Potions at an astonishing rate. With only eight weeks of private lessons, he'd be ready to put her up against any new sixth year coming in for the fall term.

But was it wise to push her so hard? Her health was declining, if the dark circles under her eyes were anything to go by. Her clothes were beginning to hang on her frame.

She should enter the school as a fifth year, possibly a sixth-year, considering her age. But the normal rules didn't apply to her, he knew. Her powers as a witch, never mind a gypsy, demanded that she not be held back by something so prosaic as her age. What difference did it make that she was only fifteen? She had the skills of wizards more than four times her age, and she was more than a match for Muggle-types who would have done her harm. He had seen that for himself more than a year ago.

As he waited for the rest of the staff to trickle in, he let his mind go back to that horrible time, the end of June, just more than a year ago . . .

On Dumbledore's orders, he'd gone to a quiet village near County Claire, in Ireland. There had been reported suspicious activity there, some goings-on that concerned the local citizenry. No one had filed official complaints to their law enforcement agencies, but the gossip eventually caught the ear of those in position to inform the Ministry. Snape had been dispatched to check it out, on the chance it might be a meeting of dark minds.

If Potter was to be believed, then Voldemort was now a flesh and blood wizard once again. He hadn't been able to kill Potter, and the golden boy hadn't been able to give much information as to how strong Voldemort was now.

The fact that Snape hadn't been summoned by the Dark Lord had been ominous. Although the mark on his left arm had become irritated and had even begun to burn somewhat, it had not even begun to come close to the pain that meant he was being invited to seek the Dark Lord's company. And so, he had stayed at Hogwarts, anticipating with dread the calling.

But, to the surprise of everyone in the Order, the mark had begun to fade again. Potter had mentioned Voldemort's counting off his followers after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. There had been a reference to one at Hogwarts that was probably forever out of his graces; of course that must have meant Snape. He wasn't foolish enough, or optimistic enough to think otherwise. When next summoned, he'd no doubt be tortured before exterminated.

So it had been with more trepidation than normal that he'd journeyed to Ireland to spy, once again, for the Order.

It had turned out to be nothing that needed to be feared; some petty thieves had set up house out there in the near-wilderness. Snape had tracked them down to a shabby-looking shed, not much more than a lean-to, really, and the relief he'd felt at not yet having to face his death made him approach them with quite more vigor than was absolutely necessary. Their crimes hadn't been so bad as to assure them a place in Azkaban; a simple warning to be careful of magic in the presence of Muggles would have sufficed.

But Snape's personality was the wrong one to offer that warning. They'd taken offense, and had become quite defensive as well. By the time Snape had come to, they were long gone, his wand broken to pieces around him. Night had fallen, and Snape had seemed to lose all sense of direction. He had been ill prepared to rough it out in the countryside.

He'd wandered around for a while, injured, nauseous, and not just a little worried. A light rain had begun to fall, making the hillside rather more slippery than his boots could deal with. After slipping painfully down a particularly steep hill and landing unceremoniously in a stream that seemed far too cold for the time of year, he was so angry with this turn of events that he ended up lost in a woods, probably having turned himself around while venting his rage.

As he had cleared the woods finally, he couldn't find any sign of local life. It seemed only animals appreciated the relative beauty of his new surroundings. He walked until he could walk no longer, and fell to the base of a tree to sleep, or pass out, or whatever term meant that his body had finally given up on him.

The early morning sunshine had not improved his situation, and before he was fully rested, he had pushed himself onward. He'd long since lost track of the stream that had frozen him, and he knew he was dangerously dehydrated. It seemed to do nothing but rain here, and he wondered bitterly why there were no more frequent sources of water than what he'd fallen into the day before.

His entire body had been one huge mass of pain; he'd felt as if he'd been run over by a huge Muggle vehicle . . . twice. He had forced himself to stumble onward, hoping it hadn't been his imagination that showed what looked like a farmhouse up ahead.

His intention was to search the grounds of the small farm before its inhabitants awoke, hoping to find a well where he could drink to his heart's content. With any luck, he'd also be able to find a place to finish his sleep; the fact that he'd fallen asleep (passed out) wearing soaking wet clothes didn't help him. He'd alternated between sweltering in his own feverish body heat to freezing each time a breeze wafted by him, and he knew that he was much worse off than he'd thought possible. He had been prepared to face Voldemort, and so had not been ready for something so much more trivial. He'd been taken completely by surprise, and it didn't improve his mood.

As he neared the farm, he caught sight of movement at the side of the house. The figure was too far away for him to see who it might be, so all things considered, he chose discretion, and veered his path to take refuge behind an outcropping of rocks and trees to the right of the path.

He'd just settled down to rest, trying to see the figure he'd spotted earlier, when he had been startled by the sound of someone stepping on a twig. As his head whipped around to face this new development, his overtaxed body revolted and he felt himself swaying, the ground rushing up to meet him. His last thought before the blackness was that he'd thought he'd seen a child peering up at him, a question on her face.

His next memory was bathed in comfort; he had felt something soft under him, and the warmth on top of him. He could smell a wood fire burning and something else as well . . . could it be coffee? And definitely the half-remembered smell of bread baking in an oven. Instead of forcing his heavy eyelids open, he drifted back into the healing sleep that he didn't really want to fight against.

She'd brought him back. She'd fed him, comforted him, ignored (or so he thought at the time) his delirious mumblings, she'd bathed him. That alone would have been enough to send him fleeing at the first chance he saw. But there had been something else as well. She'd talked to him. And he had found it pleasant, and even stimulating to talk to her. She had proven to be surprisingly well read, and interested in anything and everything he had said. Too soon, he found it impossible to think of her as the child she was. There was simply too much intelligence (and something else he couldn't quite place) in her eyes. She just seemed to know things.

When he was once more his old self, she began to pepper him with questions. It was then he became aware that she'd not dismissed any of his delirious babblings. And she began to tell him a little about herself. About why she had prevented him from approaching the farmer, who would have contacted the authorities; about why she was so young, yet so alone; but mostly about how she wanted to be part of this wizarding world he told her about.

She had no world of her own anymore; most of her nomadic people had been wiped out years ago. The remaining gypsies had more or less turned their backs on her because she was too willing to embrace the gaje ways . . . the ultimate betrayal, in their eyes. The gaje (Muggles, he redefined mentally) were no more willing to open any doors to her either; the prejudice against gypsies was too great in these parts. She had decided that she wasn't cut out to be so alone. She needed to be needed, needed to be a part of something she was too young to define.

And so he began to learn about her powers. He began to see that she could do so much for the Order, so much to fight the Dark Wizards that were such a plague in his world. And he decided then that Dumbledore must learn about Tanya.

Without so much as a backward glance, she'd closed up the small cottage and traveled with Snape back to Hogwarts. It had been an uneventful journey; save for the encounter with an amorous drunk in London. Despite Tanya's young age, the man in question didn't have any qualms about trying to take what he assumed was his due; after all, isn't that what gypsy women were for? Before Snape could even move to protect her, she'd dispatched the man with a well-placed knee and a couple of wicked kicks and slugs to make sure the message hit home. Just barely out of breath, she simply took hold of Snape's arm and steered him away from the alley. Her eyes had been sparkling, and Snape had suspected that she had enjoyed the encounter.

The rest of the trip had passed quietly. He didn't even mind traveling a la Muggle, with her there to help him with things like the confusion of tickets, and reading maps and such.

As expected, Dumbledore was open-minded about welcoming Tanya to their world. The Ministry must know, of course. If she was to become a witch, if such a thing was possible, then she'd have to learn to do it the witch/wizard way. She didn't seem to mind; however, Snape already knew enough about her by then to know she'd always keep a little gypsy magic in reserve. It wouldn't be in her nature to give up her talents, finely honed after years of looking out for herself.

Fudge hadn't batted an eye when Dumbledore informed the Minister of his intention of educating Tanya. He agreed that having a gypsy on the Light Side would only be to their advantage, especially if she could eventually convince others to join her. Of course, Fudge wouldn't think twice about anything Dumbledore said these days, Snape thought wryly, after almost condemning their entire world to darkness in his inability to believe in Voldemort's return. Because the entire Wizarding world now knew about it, Fudge was trying to keep a low profile, knowing his days in office were numbered.

However, it wasn't just Fudge they'd needed to convince. The International Wizengamot Panel took forever to decide that they had nothing to lose, and everything to gain to allow her enrollment at Hogwarts. Tanya, meanwhile, had returned to her cottage on the Irish hillside to await their decision. It must have been an inordinately long year for her, Snape realized. They'd maintained an owl correspondence, but her letters had been purposely light and optimistic; Snape's letters to her had been comforting and with requests for patience.

His thoughts were abruptly brought back to the present as Dumbledore, Madam Hooch, and Professor Binns made their entrance. The meeting had come to order.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "let's see where everyone stands on Tanya's accomplishments so far. Minerva, how has she been coming along with Transfiguration?"

"It's amazingly as if I was simply reviewing these lessons with any one of you," she said, incredulity showing in her voice. "She's just a tad clumsy with the wand, but she was able to transfigure everything I gave her, and back again. And that includes living things, be they reptiles, mammals, invertebrates, or not. I'd say she's more than ready for her exams in that area."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, turning to Madam Hooch. "Her flying?"

Madam Hooch pursed her lips thoughtfully. "She could use more practice, actually. I can see that she loves to fly; she handles it beautifully. She's doesn't like to land, but I'm sure that will work itself out with practice. But surely she doesn't need to be tested in anything so rudimentary?"

"No, there are no exams for flying; it's just that it's something she, like everyone else, needs to know. Madam Sprout, how is her knowledge of herbology coming along?"

"She's a natural," Sprout said, beaming. "I tell her something once, and she'll remember it forever. A lot of the plants I've introduced her to she's already familiar with; sometimes the gypsies called it something else, but it's the same. She's ready for her exam there, no worries."

"And Hagrid," the headmaster asked, "what of Care of Magical Creatures?"

Hagrid's face lit up. "I never seen anythin' like it," he began. "Those creatures took to 'er like she was one of 'em! The thestrals didn't even 'ave to be called, they came willin' to 'er. The unicorns weren' shy at all, and even the centaurs wanted to be in 'er company. She knows more'n I do, I think, about creatures." He obviously thought someone with such a way with animals was heaven sent. Tanya had yet another fan for life.

Madam Sprout sent a mournful look to Hagrid. "She could see the thestrals, then? Poor dear. I wonder who she's seen die."

"Her family, friends, almost everyone in her nomadic community, I'm afraid," Dumbledore answered, quietly. "She doesn't speak of it, but I understand from Severus, here, that she's seen far too many people die in her younger years.

"Enough about what we cannot change," Dumbledore said. "Professors Lupin, Flitwick, how about Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Snape noticed that everyone seemed to lean forward, awaiting the reply.

Flitwick deferred to Lupin; the two had teamed up to handle Tanya's education in these areas, Dumbledore having brought Lupin into Hogwarts for the summer to continue the lessons he'd started with her at Grimmauld Place.

Lupin frowned, obviously choosing his words with great care. "She can cast charms both with and without the wand," he began. "She shows no hesitation; she's very confident that what she tries will work. And it does. Her grasp of Latin is excellent; if she doesn't know a curse or charm, she's tried faking it, with impressive results. She can protect herself with the best of them, and, like our Harry Potter, she can produce a full patronus."

This was news. Lupin had been sitting on that little piece of information, Snape thought, but why?

"What was her patronus, Remus?" Dumbledore asked.

"An eagle."

"Interesting. An eagle." Dumbledore sat quiet for a moment, giving McGonagall a chance to voice her question.

"And what did the boggart become for her?"

"I couldn't really make it out, to tell the truth," Lupin replied sheepishly. "It looked like a ruined city, but also in an atmosphere of blackness I couldn't even begin to fathom. It might relate, rather it probably relates to the loss of almost her entire clan years ago. Whatever the devastation was that orphaned her. Besides," he added with a chuckle, "she wasted no time getting rid of it. She turned it into a shimmering lake of bubbles. Pink bubbles. Always interesting to see what people find ridiculous."

"Well, that's the tough class," Dumbledore put in. "How is her History of Magic coming along?" he asked of Professor Binns.

"I keep giving her books, she keeps devouring them. Enough to inflate any teacher's ego. I'd be willing to bet that she's ready to sit that exam right now."

"And Divination?" he asked of Professor Trelawney.

"She has a sight I've never seen before," Sybill said with a sniff. "And she's very well-versed in reading the planets' and stars' positions. She can sit the exam, but I don't much like it that she tried to tell me I've been doing it wrong all these years. The impertinence! She told me that I shouldn't try to look into the crystal, but simply to gaze onto it! What codswallop!"

Snape stifled a grin. He should have known Tanya wouldn't refrain from putting Trelawney in her place. He knew Tanya well enough to know that she wouldn't pretend to buy into Sybill's attempts to be ethereal.

"That just leaves Potions," Dumbledore said, looking at Snape. "How is that going?"

"Many of the potions that I know to be on the exam are second nature to her," he said, almost proudly. "Her family used them on many people, mostly gypsies. They don't believe in Muggle forms of medicine, apparently, and cure their own. Most commendable, in my opinion. She's also well versed in the antidotes for poisons, and I have no doubt that she'll achieve her O.W.L. in Potions, and all her other exams, whenever you decide she'll sit them."

"Even better than I anticipated," Dumbledore said approvingly. "I'll contact the Ministry immediately. I'll let you all know when we can expect the official testers here."

So signaled the end of the meeting. Snape hung back, contemplating his tea, long gone cold. Once again, his thoughts turned back in time, to last June. He'd been sent to fetch Tanya from her cottage to begin life as a witch.

He hadn't seen her in the year since they'd met. She'd grown taller, although thinner, her high cheekbones dominant in her face. But her brown eyes still sparkled, her white teeth flashed in pleasure when she'd opened the door to Severus. She had unhesitatingly thrown herself into his arms in welcome and relief, and he'd been too surprised to withdraw. It continually surprised him that he felt actual affection for anyone, let alone this child he was coming to know so well.

No, she's hardly a child. She hadn't been one for quite some time. He'd surprised himself even more by returning the hug; he, who'd never encouraged physical contact of any kind.

He remembered the look on her face as they'd first approached the gates of Hogwarts from the Hogsmeade road. The rapture as she'd first set her eyes on the castle, looming up, looking almost close enough to touch. The flash of fear in her eyes as she must have thought of entering this strange new world that had such people in it. The way she unconsciously moved nearer to him in that uncustomary bid for comfort. The way he'd put an arm across her shoulders to reassure her that she wasn't getting into this alone and friendless.

Coming back to his surroundings, Snape hoped she wouldn't regret this decision to start a new life here. He knew he'd feel responsible for her and her future.

He stood up, stretching out the kinks that sitting still for too long brought to his body, and headed down to his rooms in the dungeon.