Chapter 4 – Veritas temporis filia

A/N: A response to the Potter Place Post-Deathly-Hallows Prompt Challenge using prompts 3, 10 and 18. Some might consider the characters a little OOC. Some organisations and Ministry of Magic departments are made-up.

For the Benefit of the Unforgiven

Chapter 4 – Veritas temporis filia

Monday found me, as with any other work day, in my office at the Ministry of Magic. I had gone to work in a black mood for Harry and I had to bail Ron out for drunken Quidditch hooliganism the previous night. Whatever happened to going to pub for a pint after one's team lost? But no! Ron had to get horse-pissed drunk, incite some kind of fight at the pub near the stadium and be dragged away by the local Aurors. He claimed he was too drunk to remember what he did. A bloody likely story! He was evidently not too drunk to remember that Harry and I would be the best persons to bail him out of his predicament and sent us an owl from the Midlands' Auror Station in which district the Chudley Cannons versus Puddlemere United match had taken place. Come to think of it, this unfortunate incident would not have befallen Ron had he gone with us to Luna's book signing event. But that would be expecting far too much commonsense from Ronald Weasley. Just when I thought the beginning of my week could not possible get any worse, my eyes lighted on that ghastly proposed bill my underlings had sent me last week.

If not the fact that the horribly written bill proposed by one of the more incompetent members of my staff at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was still sitting on my desk mocking me with its existence, my office presented a comfortable prospect of three walls of books, one window, a fireplace and a more bookshelves above the mantelpiece. Unfortunately, the first thing that greeted my chaste eyes when I entered the office was the offensive orange file in which that ridiculous bill lived. As much I would like to incinerate it, I could not. That would only remove the offending eyesore from my desk. It would not remove that imbecile from my department. I was determined to circle all the flaws in the proposal in red ink and leave commentaries on all the various other subsections before ordering that it be sent back down to my subordinates. However that would take up time and a great deal of energy; and frankly, it was time and energy I would rather expend checking up on that which I had learned from the lead caskets.

After burying the file containing the odious would-be bill under a welter of papers and reports on diplomatic relations with centaurs and merpeople, I initiated my search for the records of Hogwarts' employed house-elves for the years 1997 to 1999. These records were, needless to say, somewhere on one of the shelves in my capacious office because the Department frequently had to follow up on the welfare of the house-elves in the employ of the school. I made it a point to know the names of the head elf in charge of each duty at Hogwarts' and delegated the members of the Office of House Elf Relations (OHER) to follow up on the unfortunate creatures by ensuring that they worked and lived in decent conditions. As I could not recall any house-elf by the name of Tacitus, which was understandable given that he was in the school's service briefly while I was on the run from Voldemort, I had to consult the books. That necessitated my climb up the ladders to the topmost shelves and plucking down the Hogwarts' House Elves Employment Records. While house-elves could generally come and go as they wished, having a record of them makes it easier for our department to act when the employers are accused of abusing their elves. I was stuck in this unenviable position when I found the book and was seated on the middle rung of the step-ladder when the floo chime sounded.

"Hmm?" I made a non-committal sound without looking up from the index of the book in my lap.

"Ahem," coughed the internal Ministry floo receptionist in the fireplace opposite me. "Madam Director, there has been a call for you."

"Hmm," I continued absently, fanning the volume to the right section. "Patch him, her, it, whatever, through."

"It's a floo call from without the Ministry." She hesitated in uncertainty. "He knew the code to ensure a secure call that would be overheard by no one else."

My head snapped up and my lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line to disguise my irritation. "Do you think disgruntled centaurs or house elves or ghouls or any sentient being seeking the services of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would want eavesdroppers on their complaints when these eavesdroppers could very well be their tormentors and employers? This department promises security and protection to these creatures, of course they would have the code for a secure floo call. We're listed in the Ministry Directory as a secure floo line for crying out loud! Patch him through!"

"But it's a personal floo call for you!" insisted the floo operator in a high-pitched voice of anxiety. "Only those who have your name card can get you at this secure connection."

"Which is the entire point of me giving out my name card!" I spread my hands eloquently in a show of exasperation. "Just patch the fellow through!"

"If you say so, Madam Director." She stared defiantly back at me and shrugged. "Connecting to the secure floo line of the DRMC office 19S, clearance code G.R.730 E.R.J." Following a sharp clicking sound that locked my door, a gong resounded, signalling that security was enabled in the connection. "Floo line to DRMC 19S protected from other listeners and/or observers. Have a nice day."

A rich laugh reached my ears as soon as the floo operator's voice died away. "Why do they always go 'have a nice day' when they have just made a part of it miserable?" came the amused voice of Lucius Malfoy. I looked up and saw his face floating in the greenish flames with a tiny smirk on his lips. "If I had known calling you by the floo connection listed on your name card would be this troublesome, I would have sent you another Portkey dinner invitation. This certainly wasn't in place when I was with the Ministry. We could just call the relevant Director's office and instantly reach the person. Times have changed."

I lifted my head from the book and regarded him with a mild expression of reproach. "The bureaucracy of the place has been revamped to render the place more secure. Apparently, the ministry no longer enjoins the practice of entertaining external calls or visitors. The Central Fireplace Administrative Switchboard was established to monitor floo calls lest the floo caller attempt to blow us all up, or attempt to infiltrate the Ministry and upset the day-to-day running of wizarding Britain. The Central Outsiders' Liaison Office was created to prevent any young Hogwarts students and rogue Death Eaters from running amok in the Ministry and destroying certain sections of it. To minimise the chances of such an infiltration, visitors to the Ministry, including the employees' children, would have to check-in their wands, sign in their purpose of visit and the person whom they are visiting and so on in order to receive a smiling, winking sticker on their robes as 'authorised visitors'. Very, very bureaucratised. I can't say I agree with it. I taught my mother to use the floo. And poor mummy was treated like some kind of criminal when she tried to floo over for our lunch date two months ago. I had to inform the higher-ups that my mother was my guest and had been bestowed level 3.5 clearance to my office and level 1.7 clearance for the Ministry from the Auror Department. You're lucky Shuvalov has a 2.0 level clearance from Draco's dealings with Arthur Weasley's department, otherwise he would not have been able to send me your invitation to begin with."

"I apologise for the inconvenience it must have caused you," Lucius Malfoy chuckled, evidently enjoying himself at my expense.

"Bah!" I flicked a wrist dismissively at the memory. "I should be the one apologising to you, Mr Malfoy."

"You know how it is in politics, Miss Granger." He smiled, and for once, I saw the mirth reach his eyes. "Whenever there is a problem, committee A will form committee B to look into the matter, and committee B will form committee C to draft proposals; both committees B and C would then hand in their findings to committee A, which will then form committee D to float the policy balloon. Committee D will by then be honour-bound to form committee E to assess the success and failure of the floated policy."

To which sally, I raised a brow and cut straight to the point. "I do not believe this is a social call. I gave you my name card on the understanding that you would only contact me in cases of extreme emergency. So, what is the emergency?"

"No emergency, nothing at all really." He smiled again, this time making me uncomfortable with his gaze. "I just wanted to see how you were getting along in a quest to retrieve my good name?"

"I don't like people keeping tabs on me," I growled, returning my attention to the book, running my finger along the names until I came to one 'Tacitus, house-elf of Alexandria, trained for service at Hogwarts, December 1996-May 1998' whose employer was one Damian of Scetis, Abbot of Abba Amun. It would only be a small step from knowing that to finding the address of this Abbott and requesting for an interview with Tacitus.

"Deepest apologies, Miss Granger," he purred mellifluously with an ironic ring. "I merely wish to enquire if you have made any progress."

"Tell me, Mr Malfoy," I riposted in the same tone he used with me. "Assuming Professor Snape is still alive and somewhere out there, how do I know you have no intention of finishing him off or revealing his location? For all I know, you may expose Professor Snape to the media and so reclaim your good name."

"You don't know for certain if you can trust me; just as I do not know if I can trust you." He raised his jaw slightly in an aggressive manner. "I've already told you that I will not press the matter as to his whereabouts. I just need to know he is alive, so that I can tell Narcissa. I cannot have her labour under this mistaken belief that I did away with a family friend who had striven to protect both her and our son. I don't give a fig what the wizarding world thinks about the Malfoys. The Daily Prophet is practically infamous for the things it chooses to publish and circulate. Society knows better than to take things it says too seriously. Eventually the finger pointing and whispering will stop. Narcissa can bear with such behaviour until society finds something else to talk about. But she deserves to know the truth. I do not want her to think I have become a monster. You may not believe me, but I care what Narcissa thinks of me. So long as she knows Severus is alive somewhere and I did not do him in, I will be content."

I raised a brow and stared at him coldly. "How do I know you are speaking the truth?"

"Damn it, Miss Granger," he hissed, his eyes glistening in anger. "The war has left me a broken man. It has robbed my son of his innocence. It has deprived me of my status as one of the leaders of our world. It has deprived my wife of her sisters. My son, my Draco, has been reduced to working as a historian in the British Wizarding Museum of Art instead of having a brilliant political career. He even has to liaise with the Weasley patriarch to investigate magical paintings that have been rendered motionless. My Draco will never have a glittering career before him now. My family's fortune is now reduced, and I am reduced to writing articles on wizarding flora and fauna for the Quibbler as it is the only establishment that will hire a person of my history. What do you think I have left, Miss Granger? My tattered dignity? My family is all I have left. I will not endure the fissures in it especially if it is between Narcissa and me. Narcissa and Draco are the only things that I can call mine. I will not have them leave me because they think Daddy is a maniac who killed a friend who had protected them."

I pursed my lips tightly together in a thin, uncomfortable smile. "You are either very honest or a supremely gifted actor."

He seemed to treat the remark as rhetorical and did not answer me. He only shot me a well-placed glare. For a moment, I contemplated challenging him to take Veritaserum. Then I realised I could employ another tactic without resorting to magic. He too seemed to understand the futility of arguing with me in this vein when we both were attempting to size each other up and exploit the other for what it was worth. He knew he would have to accept my authority as he had engaged my services as a private investigator of sorts, and he knew full well that I would not hesitate to use the weight of the Ministry of Magic against him if I so chose it. His features resumed their normal appearance, and he nodded at me in a display of reluctant apology.

As I was brought up to be gracious towards those who were courteous towards me, I returned the gesture. It was then that it struck me. If Professor Snape was indeed still alive, as I was increasingly convinced, there was a way for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy to be satisfied with Professor Snape's present status without giving away the former potions master's current refuge.

"Let me be honest now," I said consideringly, hopping down the step-ladder that had hitherto been my perch. "Even I do not know for certain whether Professor Snape is amongst the living. I have managed to open the caskets and have discovered that there were plans for him to remove himself somewhere should his life become threatened."

"Will you let me see those papers?" Mr Malfoy asked.

I shook my head. "I am sorry, I cannot allow that. I am keeping them as an insurance policy against you. I hope you understand my reluctance to commit Professor Snape's status and whereabouts to your hands, if indeed those papers are truthful."

He curled his lips into a smirk and inclined his head forward. "I would have done the same in your position, though for less honourable reasons."

"I am so glad we understand one another," I said in a colourless monotone. "However, I might arrange something after I get in touch with one of my contacts. I just need confirmation of a few facts. I will let you know, of course, either by owl or by floo."

He eyed me suspiciously and reluctantly nodded. "I am grateful for your help."

"No, I must thank you for entrusting this to me."

"By the bye," he ventured casually. "Have you seen Shuvalov anywhere? I heard from Draco he took the day off, but I can't seem to find him."

"I haven't seen him," I answered testily. What has his manservant taking the day off got to do with me?

"If you see him could I trouble you to ask him to buy some kippers and halloumi for me? He always knows where to buy the best halloumi."

"Can't you do so yourself?"

"Me? Purchase my own kippers? What a novel idea!" laughed Lucius Malfoy.

"It would allow the other members of our society to see how well-adjusted you have become," I added with a bite to my voice.

He curled his lips. "Now that you mention it, it does sound like a marvellous idea. Keep me abreast of any new developments."

"That I can do. Good day, Mr Malfoy," I blustered with a bit of a sigh before disconnecting the floo call.

Once the greenish flames died away, I put aside all nonsensical thought and permitted myself the luxury of returning to my chair and swivelling it around to face the window so that I could stare out at the park across the Ministry. Everything pointed to Egypt, from the reference to Coptic wizarding monks, to this house-elf named Tacitus of Alexandria, to the Wizarding Abbot of the Coptic order of Abba Amun, to the Coptic elder whom Dumbledore wrote would take Severus as a 'disciple' within the order for appearance's sake.

Nitiria was forty miles from Alexandria and believed by Muggles to be buried underneath centuries of sand. Damian of Scetis, the Abbot of Abba Amun, hailed from Scetis which is modern day Wadi Natrun, rather near Cairo. Abba Amun was one of the founding fathers of Egyptian magical practices and the first proponent of the pantheistic religio-magical rites in potions brewing. Moreover, if this Damian of Scetis was the Abbot of Abba Amun, he was not only the descendant of this Abba Amun, he was also the head of the ancient wizarding order of Kellia at Nitria. I realised of course that a hermitage in Kellia Nitria was ideal for Professor Snape. From my research, the Kellia monastery was a large rectangular enclosure, complete with practically designed living quarters to keep out the northern and northeastern desert winds and storms. According to the wizarding historian, Palladius, the living quarters of the hermitage were located in the northwest of the enclosure, and came with a large courtyard in the southeast, and a well and latrines. Each newcomer to the order was appointed as a disciple to an elder and practically lived with him as a student. The elder's living space would have had walls with niches, a meditation room, a workspace for potions brewing or charms practice or whatever it was the elder specialised in magically, as well as a small room for sleeping. The elder's disciple would sleep in a separate room next to his. In their communal living space, both elder and disciple had a niche for books, and a recess used for storage, books and tools. These rooms were covered by a vault, with small high windows to allow a little light and fresh air. To further encourage both better ventilation and communication between elder and disciple, small, cylindrical openings were carved between rooms and lined with ceramics. The whole interior structure of the hermitage was protected by a warded vestibule inside the walls of the monastery.

"Oh yes, it would suit him very well," I muttered to myself a little ruefully. "He would be left alone and in relative peace." Most of the pieces in the jigsaw were coming together. I just had to gather the remaining few pieces and I would be privy to the complete picture. All that remained for me to do was to get in touch with the Abbot Damian of Scetia. To that end, I endeavoured to place a secure long-distance floo connection to Egypt.

Firmly striding to the grate, I opened the canister of floo powder, threw a handful of powder into the grate and commanded to the network to connect her to the Egyptian Ministry of Wizarding Affairs in Cairo. A few minutes was all it took to patch me through the Director of wizarding practices in Cairo

"Do you have any idea what time is it in here, Mademoiselle Granger?" asked the Egyptian witch.

"Yes, I know, Miss Saadawi." I felt the warmth creep into my cheeks as I coloured. "I need a favour."

"In return for your help in apprehending and expediting the brazen fellow who broke into the Cairo branch of Gringotts?" my Egyptian friend smiled tiredly. "I knew you would call in the favour sooner or later. I never knew it would be so soon."

"Ah, but that was four months ago, Nurhaslinda," I laughed, cupping my chin in my hands.

"Even so." She nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"Connect me to the Coptic wizarding monastery of Nitria," I said, not bothering to mince my words. "I have some urgent business with the Abbot Damian of Scetis."

"At this hour?" She raised a brow in disbelief. "The Abbott is still awake, but to disturb him now..."

I inclined my head forward. "It is very urgent."

"If you insist."

"I do. You would be doing me a great favour." I forced myself to smile. "I will send you a pretty headscarf for your birthday as thanks, how about that?"

"Resorting to bribery now, Hermione?" she laughed, the greenish flames bobbing up and down with her head. "Stay connected to the network, I'm trying to get hold of the Abbot."

Nurhaslinda El Saadawi's head then disappeared from the flickering flames and after several minutes, there was a sudden blaze and the round face of a clean-shaven man with a permanent expression of woe sitting on his fleshy features came into view.

"Ne?" he asked, looking curiously at me. "Ti d'ou me'llô?"

Blast! My brain swore at me for not realising that the Coptic wizarding order still used Attic Greek. There was no other way about it, I thought, containing my frustration by pasting on an artificial smile. "Sungignô'ske moi..." I began, screwing up my brow as I mentally translated that which I wanted to say from English into Greek.

"Ô sunte'leia!" he exclaimed, running a hand distractedly over his bald pate. "You are English, ne?"

"Thank goodness, you know English!" I cried out in relief. "I am terribly sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour."

"No, no," he protested with a smile. "You took the trouble to look me up." He gestured for me to continue.

"Well, Father Superior Damian, I am Hermione Granger, Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with the Ministry of Magic in Britain. I was formerly a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry up to two years ago," I paused to lick my lips nervously. "I understand you have a house-elf named Tacitus in your service who was briefly at Hogwarts. May I borrow him?"

He was instantly on his guard and his eyes looked at me guardedly. "Who are you really?"

"I already told you the truth Father Damian, or would you prefer I call you Brother Cosmas?" I went on.

"Who are you?" he repeated in a monotone, his eyes carefully veiled. He must have been quite a formidable wizard for I felt his magical energy surge. It was with great effort that I remained sitting upright.

"I am Hermione Granger, a former student of Severus Tobias Snape and Albus Dumbledore," I said simply without squirming under his gaze.

"I see. It would appear we have much to discuss," he replied. "Please come over the floo to the hermitage and have coffee with me."

Quickly checking my pocket for my wand and quickly grabbing the canvas shopping bag holding the casket and their papers, I stepped through the grate and into the circular chamber of Father Superior's office. As soon as I cast a cleaning charm over myself to remove the soot from my person, I gave my surroundings a good look.

The Father Superior or Abbot as he was vernacularly called was a bald, stocky man, sitting on a high-backed chair. He stared at me in such an intense manner that I was discomfited and had to look away. I allowed myself to be distracted by the rest of his chamber. There was a lapis lazuli ankh hanging on the wall behind him, resembling a larger version of the one I had been compelled to purchase from Mr Burgin's establishment.

"The lapis lazuli is revered in our order," he said plainly as he followed my eyes. "It is a reminder to everyone within to speak the truth and to be faithful to themselves and their friends. Truth is the key to life after all, Mistress Granger."

I nodded politely and turned my attention to the manuscripts and books lining the walls. I own myself impressed. He must be an extraordinary scholar, as I would have expected of a friend of Dumbledore. There were books on philosophy, magic, potions and nearly every cultural subject in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and other languages. I noted with admiration that everything was neatly placed along the shelves.

"Mistress Granger," he coughed, on realising that my eyes were drawn to the books on his shelves. I blushed and suppressed my drooling bibliophile self. "You mentioned Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. I think an explanation is in order."

He gestured for me to sit and I did so across him at the little desk where vellum and quills were laid out.

"Within," I said uncertain as to how I should begin as I removed the two lead caskets from the bag, "are documents pertaining to Severus Snape's flight from Hogwarts. Kindly apprise me of their authenticity." He frowned, reached forward and drew out the papers from both caskets. While he read them, I continued, "I am conducting a discreet inquiry into the disappearance of Professor Snape's body from the grounds of Hogwarts on behalf of Lucius Malfoy. There is a minor scandal where he is accused of disposing of Professor Snape's body. I wish to borrow Tacitus so that Mr and Mrs Malfoy will know that the Professor's body is safe, thereby enabling them to hold up their heads knowing they had assisted a good and kind man."

"We will discuss that by and by. How did you know I was previously Brother Cosmas?" he questioned, still examining the papers in his hand.

A soft pop sound in the corner caught my attention and I saw a house-elf with a long hooked nose and thin lips amble forward with a clay jug of freshly brewed coffee, two cups, and some biscuits. As he poured out the coffee, his large eyes looked questioningly at me.

A soft 'ahem' from the Abbot reminded me of his presence, and I mentally berated myself for being distracted. I laced my fingers tightly and said, "The historical Cosmas and Damian were twins and skilled healers in their day. The Muggles made them saints, but we who know them as Coptic wizards, know that they founded a kind of healing used in Asia Minor and this part of the world. "Professor Dumbledore spoke of a Brother Cosmas is his letters to Professor Snape. Your order, I know, advocates the selection of something similar to a papal name linked to one's original name upon one's ascendance to the Abbotship. Your birth name is Cosmas, and you are a healer within the Coptic wizarding order of Nitria. It is fitting that you chose the name Damian for yourself when you became Father Superior. Even though you had already come into your abbotship when Professor Dumbledore made the arrangements for Professor Snape, he still called you Cosmas because he could not change his habitual way of addressing you. Professor Dumbledore sent Professor Snape to you because he thought you would be able to heal him if he was worse for wear."

I paused to accept the coffee cup offered by the house-elf whom I assumed was the famous Tacitus. "It is the same reason why Professor Dumbledore requested for Benedict of Nursia as Professor Snape's elder. To the Muggles, Benedict of Nursia is the patron saint against poisons. The wizarding community however has long looked at the Italian house of Nursia as one of the chief alchemical and potions brewing families in the world. Two members of the Nursia clan of every generation are obliged to join the Coptic order; and the ones who join the order are usually gifted with concocting antidotes to poisons."

"Very well reasoned," he chuckled, his rotund body vibrating as he set aside the papers. "You appear to have plucked out the heart of the mystery. Why then are you here?"

"I need to know, nay, I want to know if Professor Snape is still alive. You have my word I will not speak of his existence here to anyone. I will make an Unbreakable Vow if you so desire it," I offered, noting the eyes of the house-elf did not leave my face for even a second.

The venerable Father Superior removed his reading glasses and pinched his large, fleshy nose gently. "I would never have expected Brother Macarius's caskets and documents to see the light of day. Nor did I expect anyone from his past life to come here within his lifetime."

"Brother Macarius?" I spat the coffee back into the cup, uncertain whether this was a reference to the person of our conversation.

Infuriatingly, he smiled and I thought I saw a twinkle in the corner of his green eyes not unlike Dumbledore's. "Brother Macarius Benedicte Stylites is the name he took on joining the hermitage. I flatter myself that Albus would have approved of the name. The original Macarius for whom he is named was a son of Egypt who fled to the Nitrian desert, and was a hermit. For a period of time, he was banished from the mainland to an island on the Nile, just as our unfortunate friend is in voluntarily exile from his homeland. Brother Macarius picked Benedicte for himself as un hommage to his elder, Brother Benedict, and the surname Stylites after Saint Simeon Stylites famous for his private austerities and spending his time meditating on top of a pillar. Brother Macarius is worthy of praise and he unites both the practices of asceticism and isolation of our order as recommended by our wizarding Saint Simeon of plant charms. Like his elder, he does not advocate meditating upon one's own spiritual well-being over all else. Rather, he emphasises peaceful living in proximity with others within our small order and educating the wizarding children of the area."

My interest was piqued and leaned forward. I contained my excitement by biting my lower lip. "Do you mean to tell me Professor Snape is Brother Macarius?"

"Have I said that?" He smiled again, mirroring my actions by steepling his fingers.

"May I see him?" I asked suddenly without knowing why I did so.

"For the Malfoys?"

"No, Tacitus' account of Professor Snape's survival in the post-spectacled cobra bite will suffice for them," I explained, my eyes meeting the nearby house-elf's. "I want to see him for myself, just to see if he is all right and doing well."

He eloquently pinched his nose again. "You would have to first speak to his elder, Brother Benedict on Saturday or Sunday."

"Does it take that long for him to determine if he would be amenable to the scheme?"

"Brother Benedict and his disciple value their quiet time, which they spend in alchemical research, educating the young, and meditating. Each elder is generally an advocate of this way of life. Only on Saturday and Sunday do we all meet for communal meals and discussion," Father Damian elucidated. "Beyond that, I sup with the elders once a week."

"Very well," I announced, coming to yet another spur of the moment decision. "I will return on Saturday evening. Would that suit you and Brother Benedict?"

"I will tell him tomorrow." Dumbledore's old friend smiled again with the selfsame annoying twinkle in his eyes. Undoubtedly they were from the same 'meddlesome secretive wizards with cheeky twinkle in eyes' club. "Now, I will take you at your word that the Malfoys will know nothing of this." I nodded my assent. "Good. Tacitus, I am sure will be willing to help." He turned to address the house-elf. "You have been privy to a lot since you last saw my friend, Albus, do you remember? Would you like to help this young lady now that you have heard everything she has to say?"

For a moment, I wondered how this mute house-elf would be able to explain the minimal facts needed to convince Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy that Professor Snape was still alive. However I need not have worried, for I heard the house-elf's squeaky voice in my mind, mildly echoing, "Yes, I will please help young missy."

Darting my eyes at the Abbot, I met with an amused smile. "Do talk to him, he understands well enough."

"Should you like to travel with me to Britain for a day and meet two friends of mine and Professor Snape's?"

"Yes, missy," was the eager reply.

"I want you to tell me about Professor Snape and how you found him and brought him here."

Tacitus' voice bounced in my skull as he narrated briefly. "Mr Severus, very white he was in wooden hut. Blood everywhere. Funny sounds everywhere. He hold on tightly to button. I see people coming. I take him and come here. I did right?"

"And very well too," I commended. "When you meet my two friends, who are Mr Severus's friends also, can you tell them you found him and then brought him to a safe place? If you can tell them what you like so long as they know you rescued him. I promise I will not tell them your name, and if they ask too many questions, we will go. Will you do this for me?"

"Yes, missy." This time he nodded, and I for the first time in a long time, I felt relieved without knowing why.

NOTES:

'Veritas temporis filia' is Latin for 'truth is the daughter of time'. I take it to mean that given time, the truth will be known/revealed.

Ne is Greek for 'yes'.

'Ti d' ou me'llô?' is ancient Greek for 'How may I be of assistance?'

'Sungignô'ske moi' is ancient Greek for 'Excuse me...'

'Ô sunte'leia!' is ancient Greek for 'Oh, ye Gods!'

The term 'Mistress' is used in the old-fashioned sense of the word. In this context, it refers 'an old form of address for a woman'. Before Anne Boleyn was granted the title of Marchioness in her own right and married to Henry VIII, she was known as 'Mistress Boleyn'. The title did not distinguish between married and unmarried women.

Lapis lazuli is known as the stone of truth in some cultures. The Ankh has many meanings. The most common meaning is 'life', or given its shape 'key to/of life', depending how you want to translate its Latin name, crux ansata.

Readers curious as to why Borgin sold Hermione an ankh that was from the Coptic wizarding order in this story please bear this fact in mind:

In ch 3, it was stated somewhere that members of the Coptic wizarding order of Nitria/Kellia survived by "...making handicrafts to trade for food..." among other things. It is implied that the lapis lazuli ankh was made by the order, traded/sold for food or money. It is entirely likely that the item was sold to Borgin and Burke. Think what you will on that.

Halloumi is a type of goat's cheese from Cyprus. What has our missing manservant got to do with Halloumi? I leave you to think on that.