Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Changing the View, Part 2

The portrait of Mrs. Black shrieked again, drowning out the last of his words, “Ungrateful bastard! Scurrilous rogue! I disowned you years ago! Spurious lout! I am glad your father died before you could show your true colors! Mudblood lover! Base wretch! How dare those half-breed mutants besmirch this noble house! I wish you had never been born!”

With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore lifted a set of rustling velvet curtains from the window of an ante-chamber, floated them to the still shrieking portrait, then used a Sticking Charm to secure them to the wall. They covered Sirius’s mother’s image completely, drowning out her howls. She immediately quieted.

Surprised, Sirius asked why he hadn’t just removed the portrait, instead of hiding it.

Dumbledore replied, “As much as it might have given me pleasure, it is a portrait of your mother and thus not my place to remove.”

A shadow separated itself from a darkened corner. It reached one long fingered, grimy hand toward the portrait, attempting to part the curtains. Remus heard the sound of scuffling feet before the other men and whipped around, his wand pointed at the thing still shrouded in the shadows.

“Lumos!” he cried and the tip of his wand glowed, banishing the shadows into the mouse holes.

Illuminated in the harsh glow was a house elf, obviously ancient and disgustingly dirty. It – he – wore only a filthy loincloth. Mouth agape and showing rotting teeth, the elf looked intently from one wizard to the next, finally settling on Sirius. It muttered, “So the whelp is back, and brought some of his filthy friends with him. Why didn’t he just die in Azkaban like the Mistress wanted?” In a louder tone, though his mutterings hadn’t been at all discreet, the elf said, “Master Sirius Black, welcome home after so long. Kreacher, is overjoyed to serve a living member of the House of Black once again.”

Sirius, still reeling from the portrait’s greeting, stared at Kreacher with revulsion.

He pointed to Kreacher and said, “Dumbledore, Moony, this is Kreacher. Please forgive anything he says or does; he’s rather insane.” With that, Sirius walked back into the formal salon off the hallway to turn framed pictures of severe looking wizards and witches down onto the table so they couldn’t stare and shake their heads at him. Remus and Dumbledore followed.

Moony was looking around the room in surprise. The light from his wand lifted the shadows while Dumbledore lit the candles in tarnished silver candelabras in the shape of serpents. He was not surprised at the quality of the furnishings but he was shocked at the obvious dilapidated condition of the house. The men waited as Sirius turned down the grousing photographs, daguerreotypes, and miniature portraits of ancient Black family members. They all watched the newcomers interestedly until Sirius turned them facedown.

They all noticed the thick layer of grime that covered every surface and couldn’t help but sneeze at the dust motes that floated through the air when it was disturbed. Not even Remus’s sensitive nose could pick up the scent of lemon polish or wash water.

Sirius growled at the house elf. “Why is this place so filthy?” he demanded.

“Filthier is his heart in the betrayal of my Mistress. Filthier is his soul in tarnishing his family’s honor. Filthier is the blood running through those two. Especially the young one. Kreacher can smell his half-breed blood from here, the disgusting thing,” the elf muttered so they could all hear him. Sirius stepped toward the elf but Dumbledore caught his arm. The elf smiled ingratiatingly and informed him that his mistress had instructed him not to touch a single thing and he, being a loyal elf, had obeyed Mistress Black since she died.

Remus looked at Sirius and said, “Your mother died while you were in Azkaban.”

“Eleven years ago,” Sirius said quietly.

Dumbledore murmured something to Sirius who wrinkled his nose but nodded and said clearly, “Kreacher, as your owner and Master, I order you to never speak to anyone of what happens in this house. You may never speak of the visitors who enter and leave this house or any conversation that you overhear. You will never harm any of the guests of my house. Do you understand me?”

“Kreacher can hear the young reprobate prattling on. Why didn’t it just shut up already and leave Kreacher to Mistress the way Kreacher wanted?” The house elf raised his voice and said, “Oh yes, Master Sirius Black, Kreacher will always gleefully obey the Master of the House of Black.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and dismissed the elf.

Dumbledore was examining the bric-a-brac without touching any of it. “You do know that the Ministry would confiscate most of the contents of this room. I think you’d have six months in Azkaban just for owning that.” Dumbledore pointed to a jeweled goblet that would simulate the Imperious Curse when drunk from.

Sirius gave him a wry look and deadpanned, “They’d send me to Azkaban for that teeny thing? Let’s bin it, then I’ll be safe.”

Dumbledore just shook his head, but a merry twinkle did appear in his eyes. He looked into the mirror above the fireplace – the mirror that showed no reflection. “A Requiem Mirror?” he asked, not taking his eyes away from the glass.

“Yes.”

Dumbledore waved his wand over the surface of the mirror and murmured “Requius.” The surface shimmered like water but only Dumbledore could see what it revealed. He stood impassively watching what the mirror showed him, though after a quiet minute, suddenly pointed his wand at the mirror and stared. His eyes softened behind his glasses and he smiled sadly, still silent. He murmured to himself, still absorbed in the mirror, “My beloved Ivy… Alric, you were so clever…”

They indulged Dumbledore’s gazing for several more minutes before calling for his attention gently.

Instead of immediately acknowledging them, Dumbledore waved his wand over the surface of the mirror and dropped his gaze to the candle on the mantle. He studied it for a moment. “This looks like a Hades Candle,” he said quietly, the sparkle gone from his eyes. The ugly, squat candleholder gleamed dull gold; the black candle was stubby.

Sirius murmured his assent and said, “If you…”

Dumbledore cut him off, “No, I hear that the candle is painful when it captures the shades. I would never put them through that, just for a few words.”

The only sound was their breathing and the rustling of the curtains that were probably infested with some creature – or nest of creatures.

Dumbledore said quietly, “Did you two know that Grindelwald killed my wife, and son?”

Both of the younger men did.

“They were eating ice cream in Diagon Alley. He attacked them right on the street. I stopped him a year later.” Dumbledore’s eyes looked bleak. “It was nice to see them in the mirror. It’s been a while.”

“If you…”

“No. No, thank you, Sirius,” Dumbledore’s twinkle eyed smile returned. “I’m afraid I have a great deal of work to do and that mirror would be a definite distraction.” He took a great breath. “Enough of this maudlin moment. Tell me, why do you have a Hades Candle and a Requiem Mirror together?”

“To complete the set.” Sirius pointed to the rug.

Remus knelt down to examine it, his hands behind his back. A scorched Ghiordes Arch carpet lay on the floor in front of the fireplace though it was a small one - only large enough to use as a hearth rug. The archway depicted on the rug had long since turned black from dirt and enchanted burn marks and what should have been the red, blue and green field was a mush of faded brown.

With understated awe, Remus said, “Your family kept interesting decorations.”

Sirius looked at the candle and said, “Since he wasn’t a ghost, Mother would look into that mirror, wait until my father’s memory showed up then summon his shade to the carpet’s Arch every night before dinner. She trapped it in the candle so we could all eat together like one big happy family. She never could manage anything more than a shadow of him, but that was enough.”

Dumbledore’s smile faded into a plastic replica of itself, “I think that we ought to keep this room closed until some of the more… interesting items can be placed somewhere safe. We’ll get some help in to clean up. The Weasleys have enough free hands and strong backs to help you get the house in order, then Harry can meet you here before school begins.”

Sirius could only agree.

A month before classes were to begin, dust motes and the smells of beeswax and lemon permeated the castle as the staff and a troupe of house elves readied themselves for the influx of students. Portraits were dusted until the inhabitants sneezed, suits of armor were polished and oiled; rugs were beaten and furniture was inspected and repaired. All of the tapestries and linens were aired in the sunshine; all of the windows were removed and washed by levitating house elves and every supply cupboard was restocked.

Even the dungeons were scrubbed, though Professor Snape decreed that only water and magic would be used so that nothing would interfere with his sense of smell. Potions making required a keen sense of smell to know the freshest ingredients and to know just what was happening in a cauldron. Any additional scent would be a potentially deadly distraction. Snape didn’t even wear any of the perfumes or colognes favored by many in the wizarding world, nor did he use a scented soap. Like most people involved in potions making, neither did Kiaya, unless it was a special occasion.

He was treating her like a student again – a particularly inept one. Scrubbing clean caldrons and neatly re-labeling already labeled jars, indeed! Cataloguing and alphabetizing the potions books that lined two of the walls so he has the freedom to gallivant off on some holiday for a week or spent the morning in London while she sweated! Frequently she didn’t see him at all, since he spent mornings in London or doing his research and she went home in the afternoons to take care of Mr. Basilton’s shop. She dusted every specimen bottle in Snape’s office while he ignored her gentle requests to discuss class schedules. When she asked about his syllabi, he ordered her to check the freshness of the … things in the bottles lines up on the floor to ceiling shelves in student storeroom. Most of the creatures and plants floating in the bottles were dead, but a few of them still had living – or at least sentient contents. The most disturbing was an eyeball in a jar that swiveled to watch Kiaya’s every move. Many of the things she couldn’t name and was sure he kept them just for effect.

Oh no, this was not going to happen any more, Severus Snape was going to talk to her about lesson plans, grading policy and potions disposal before the day ended. Kiaya had done quite enough busy work and was quite finished being treated as a student on a week of detention. She didn’t mind hard labor, nor did she mind doing chores that needed to be done, but it was clear to her that Snape was avoiding giving her any information that she would need to teach his classes. When she heard a door slam in a particularly Snapelike way, Kiaya marched from the storeroom, between the students’ desks to his-their office.

“Professor Snape!”

“Still here, Miss Roundtree? What is it that you want this time?” He looked annoyed, as usual, at being interrupted mid-stride.

“It’s about the classes, Sir…”

“That again? Girl, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it?” He whirled and stalked into his office, Kiaya tight on his heels.

“Professor, I understand that you’re quite busy, but since there are only a few weeks until school starts, I really should start thinking about what I’m going to teach, and how, and I can’t do that without some idea of who I am to be teaching or when. I really must get a schedule organized for my clients’ well being and my own sanity.”

“Do not plan on teaching much at all, Miss Roundtree. I shall be able to handle all of my classes as I always have, without you nosing in on any of them. I may occasionally need a substitute teacher; that is all. In such cases, I expect you to use the class notes that I have prepared for the day.” He turned away.

“Dumbledore hired me to help you. I want to help you in any way that I can. I don’t want to be an imposition but if you don’t want me, just tell Dumbledore so he doesn’t have to waste his money on paying me to come here every day.”

“The Headmaster does as he wishes. He wants you here. I do not, however, want some ill trained, ham- fisted child getting underfoot. As he is the Headmaster, he gets what he wants and I do not. Thus, you’ll have to get used to skulking about cleaning things. Pray leave me alone while you do it, though. Good day, Miss Roundtree.” Again, Snape attempted escape. He had been awake most of the night, researching infertility potions on Lucius Malfoy’s orders and now only wanted to sleep.

Without taking a moment to breath or think, Kiaya spoke to Snape’s retreating back – he did not turn around, though did halt at his name. \"Professor Snape, I know you don\'t want to hear this. In fact, I\'m sure you want to continue growling about, snarling at me like some ickle firstie without a clue of which end of a cauldron goes up, but the fact remains, that I am not. I am twenty-six years old. I apprenticed for eight years under the greatest Potions Master of our time, and he told me that I was the best apprentice he\'d ever had - and you were one of those apprentices before me. As a child, I began my studies under the man that it is rumored to be the second best Potions Master of our time. That would be you! Now, if you doubt my talents, then you doubt the judgement and abilities of Mr. Edward Basilton and you doubt yourself. I suggest that you take a few moments sometime and think about what exactly you are saying when you call me an ill-trained, untalented, ham-fisted child!\" she finished her last words at a yell and spun away from him, stalking back into the store-room.

“Headmaster, why does she need to be here? I can handle the classes along with the rest of it. I’m not going to be called as often, especially during the day. He does understand that I can’t dash out in the middle of the day for a cozy. I don’t need her. I don’t want her.” Severus paced Dumbledore’s office several hours later. He’d just finished his second report of the day – the first had been at Grimmauld Place. At Miss Roundtree’s suggestion, he was attempting to get rid of the girl.

“She needs to be here.”

“Why?”

“Because of who and what she is.”

“What’s that? Headmaster, she’s just a silly girl who’s going to get underfoot.”

“She’s a brand new Potions Master, Severus. She’s pretty and she’s Edward Basilton’s heir. Those facts put her into the public eye and under a great deal of scrutiny. She is bound to catch someone’s notice.”

“So what?”

“Severus, do stop. You know as well as I do who is going to try to get his hands on her.”

“Why not just warn her? Just say ‘The Dark Lord is going to try to get you to do him a few favors through one of his toadies. They won’t sound like a big deal, but if you do them, you’re going to end up his tattooed bitch and killing Muggles for the rest of your miserable life.’ Then send her on her merry way.”

Dumbledore watched Severus pace his office. He said nothing until the younger man came to a standstill.

“Edward asked me to watch out for her. The easiest way for me to do that is if she’s here.”

“But…” It sounded like a whine – as much as Severus Snape would ever whine.

“Miss Roundtree will not be here all day. You will only cross paths - and if you train her well enough, you will barely have to speak with her, eventually. She’ll be a help to you, Severus. We both know you don’t love teaching. Give her a few of your classes. Have a lie in once a week, play with Arielle more, learn to knit – just do something to relax in your free time. You can even do some of that much vaunted research.”

“There’s no way I am going to get out of this, is there?”

Dumbledore smiled benevolently and popped a dessert mint in his mouth. “You don’t have to love her, Severus. You don’t even have to like her…”

“That’s good. I don’t like anyone.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

“That is under debate right now, Headmaster.”

Trying not to laugh at Severus’s irritation, Dumbledore said, “She gives wonderful hugs.”

“Oh, joy.”

Three days later, Kiaya assisted Snape in making the medicinal draughts for Madame Pomfrey. He seldom spoke to her, though they stood side by side for eight hours each day. It was a revelation to watch his total concentration and grace while handling the most delicate of crystal phials or the most toxic of poisons. At first, he trusted her to only observe as he worked– which she had never done before. As a teacher, it had always been he who observed - his own work was private. On the second day, he graciously allowed her to light fires and boil water, though she soon graduated to slicing and measuring ingredients while he stood behind her, watching every move and muttering about crushing instead of slicing. When she mentioned that a packet of saffron smelled musty, he raised his eyebrow but said nothing. He sniffed the envelope himself and without a word, tossed it away and fetched a new one. Kiaya gaped at the waste but silently nodded when the new envelope proved to be fresh. Snape’s only answer was a sardonic bow and instructions for her to assemble the MerryWeather Potion – he would watch.

As she ground phoenix toenails, Kiaya tried to begin a conversation, “Do many students need the MerryWeather Potion?”

“Four or five every year.”

“I wonder how the potion would react to the entire crocus flower, instead of just the saffron strands,” she tried again. “It might enhance the effect or make it longer lasting.”

“Crocus is not native to Scotland; however, if you procure bulbs for Professor Sprout, I’m sure she will be happy to grow a few in the potions greenhouse for you to… tinker with.” Was this girl always so chatty, he pondered. How had Basilton tolerated her? It would be interesting to see if the MerryWeather Potion could be improved, though - the bleak winter weather depressed some of the students to the point that they could not concentrate on their studies. The potion tricked their bodies into thinking they were getting more sun. He had never bothered to work on it – the little blighters should be studying, not mooning about for a suntan.

Ignoring the obvious insult to her experimental abilities, she said, “I might do that. I didn’t realize there was a separate greenhouse for potions plants. Would you take me there, please? I should know where everything is, just in case.” Perhaps this was a good way to get Snape to start showing her everything she would need to know in his absences. First, the potions garden, next, the world! The silliness made her giggle out loud.

“I’ll take you after,” he began, but paused while the girl giggled, “after dinner if you plan on staying this evening. If not, tomorrow- what are you cackling about?”

“Sorry, Sir. I just had a silly thought.” Kiaya took a moment to contemplate her to-do list at home. There was only the Hair Raising Potion for Mr. Smith and the depilatory for his wife- if they could just move the hair from her legs to his head they wouldn’t need her at all. The potions wouldn’t take long; she could stay for dinner and a quick tour of the garden. Kiaya said, “After dinner would be fine, thank you.”

Looking down his nose at her, he smiled horribly. “What was your silly thought, child?”

“Are my thoughts not my own, Professor?” she countered, trying to keep reign on her natural instinct to blurt out everything that came to mind – and thus get into trouble for it. He only stared at her, waiting. Hoping to coax a smile from the dour professor, she said, “Well, Sir, I though that if you were willing to show me the garden, then you might also be willing to show me the lesson plans for the coming year. Then I’ll be prepared to teach any of the classes that you cannot attend. Of course, if I could get you to show me that, then I might actually get you to show me your basis for marking essays and practicals so I could do that, too. After that – well, who knows? You might actually show me the contents of the locked storage cupboards and then your inner sanctum,” she said, referring to the locked room that he did his private research in. She didn’t notice his eyes narrow as the words tumbled out. “After I had all of that information, I might actually get a real desk in your office, though I’m sure I’ll have to spend time marking essays on the floor, for you to notice the need. But, once I got a real desk – well, from there I could plot my takeover of all of Hogwarts!”

“Are you always consumed by such idiocy and must it always leak out through your lips?” he inquired with a sneer. His arms were crossed over his chest. As usual, his face was sour, emphasizing how large his nose was.

A muscle tightened visibly in Kiaya’s jaw as she shook her head, clenched her teeth and tucked a stray strand of hair back into her scarf. Turning back to the potion she sliced marigolds, a sprig of St. John’s Wort and a ground a few grains of unicorn horn without needing to look at the book of instructions Snape had set in front of her. Carefully, she added each ingredient, stirred and covered the cauldron so it could stew for the required twenty-four hours, ignoring the hurt that Snape’s words caused – concentrating on the task. Without a word, she cleaned up her supplies and work area, returning everything to the school cupboards. By the time she was finished, Professor Snape was engrossed in making a bone hardener for clumsy students. Kiaya looked at the list of potions on the desk and moved to the next item.

While Kiaya was used to his acerbic comments, they were getting wearisome. She knew Professor Dumbledore had something to do with Snape’s change of direction but he had yet to say a single thing that could be construed as nice, pleasant or even civil. When she was in school, his attentions had been divided equally between all of the students and she didn’t feel quite as hurt when he was nasty. He was mean to everyone. Now, though she was alone and every one of his snide comments or subtle insults was a palpable strike. She discovered that she was also well over the hero worship of her childhood.

She simply tried to stay out of his line of fire – except for the glaring times that she couldn’t. Resolving to remain as pleasant as possible yet not try to engage him in any conversation that might backfire or lead to another chink in her ego (that would be about anything at all) Kiaya concentrated on work. Kiaya told herself that the year would pass quickly and she wasn’t staying in the castle all of the time, anyway. Keeping Mr. Basilton’s practice going for part of the day was going to be a panacea after all.

Silently, they brewed, each ignoring the other mostly, though Snape occasionally looked up to make sure that she wasn’t going to blow a hole through the ceiling. The only sounds were the firm clicking or slide of knives on wooden boards, the grinding of marble mortar and pestles. The metallic scraping of spoons on the sides of cauldrons were muted by the bubbling liquids. Each half listened to the sounds coming from their cauldrons, knowing that a wrong sound could be warning to a disaster. Occasionally, the rasping of quill on parchment signaled that one of them was doing the math used to expand the recipes or taking down an odd note or label. The frequent soft glide and tap of Kiaya’s slippers as she fetched and replaced the bottles and tubs of raw materials didn’t upset the almost silence. Snape walked silently - though a part of her knew he was moving, his footsteps could not be heard.

A single gentle chime sounded from a clock in the corner. Snape didn’t look up from what he was preparing, but said, “You have twenty minutes until dinner.”

Perhaps another woman would have stopped to clean up, perhaps even change clothes or wash but Kiaya was too entranced in making the year’s supply of PepperUp Potion, a cold remedy. Distracted, she said, “Thank you,” and forgot in the next second that there had been an interruption.

Minutes later, she realized that the Egyptian Fire Peppers were making her eyes water – and she was getting cramps. The bell chimed again, this time distracting her, she made a note on where to continue later, put her supplies away and murmured that she would see the professor upstairs.

She hurried to the rooms assigned to her; “Manx Tails” was the password. Professor McGonagall had decreed that even though Kiaya wasn’t going to be teaching full time, she should have a place to find a little bit of privacy should she need it. A sitting room with a daybed and washroom had been given to her in the dungeons. It was still an impersonal room. The only things she’d brought were two changes of clothes, a small supply of “girl things” and one of the huge tubs of PMP that no Potion’s Master or student could live without.

Kiaya automatically washed work from her face and hands for dinner, flushing the Egyptian Fire Pepper from her eyes. In the washroom she made quick use of the “girl things” and took a sip of the pain potion that she found most effective against the horrible cramps she usually got during her period. Kiaya was gratified to see that as soon as the ladies’ dustbin closed, the contents were immolated; she hated for anyone, even a house elf, to have to deal with such things in her stead.

After quickly washing and automatically reapplying Potion Master’s Protectent to her hands, Kiaya tossed off her dirty black work robe, threw on a clean one, shoved a floppy hat over her purple hair scarf and dashed upstairs to dinner.

Her place at the table was next to Professor Snape’s. Kiaya had learned not to bother even trying to engage him in conversation – he either ignored her or said something nasty. On her other side was Professor Elkirk, the benign old Ancient Runes teacher. He was a wonderful conversationalist and remembered her from her school days.

Propped on her plate charger was an ivory vellum envelope with her name and location written in a lovely hand across the front. Kiaya peeked at the rest of the table; everyone else had one as well. Snape’s was tossed carelessly, still closed, out of the way. Others had torn the vellum open with eager hands. Curiously, she asked what the envelope was for.

“The invitation to the Wizard’s Ball. Hogwart’s professors always go,” Professor Elkirk said in his creaky voice.

“Oh! But I’m not even a full time professor.” Forgetting her cramps, she carefully slid her finger under the flap, wanting to savor the new Cinderella feeling that was blossoming in her belly. “I don’t even know anyone who’s been to this.”

“We’ve all been. It isn’t such a big thing. Just an excuse to dress up and rub shoulders with important people,” said Elkirk.

Kiaya giggled, “But I’m not at all important.” She read the invitation with wide eyes.

The Ministry of Magic
Requests your presence at the
Wizard’s Ball
A benefit for St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies
The Minister’s Manor, Lower Slaughter, Gloucestershire
First of August, Nineteen hundred and eighty-six
Eight O’clock

A separate card, to be returned to a Mr. Percival Ignatius Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister, requested her response. A shiver of excitement ran through her. She’d owl her acceptance to the Ministry as soon as she got home.

Elkirk’s voice jolted Kiaya from her trance, “Of course you are, Miss Roundtree. Yours came separately from the school lot. It came with the group of owls that brought invitations to Dumbledore and Professor Snape. I would say that makes you important.”

“How odd. I wonder why.”

Severus snapped from her other side, “Because you’re Basilton’s heir. That’s the only reason. You’re rich and important now, according to the Ministry, but I wouldn’t let it go to your head. They just want a good look at you – and to dig into your pockets a little.”

Kiaya bit her lip, “Get a good look at me? Why?”

Professor Elkirk was silent – the entire table seemed to have quieted a bit, as though eavesdropping on the conversation.

“They want to see the female that managed to get Basilton to write a will and name her as the beneficiary – and they want to know all of the sordid details of how you did it,” Snape said brutally.

“Sordid de… but… no… I… didn’t…”

Just then, food appeared on their plates and other teachers were mercifully distracted. Kiaya muttered, “Professor Snape, I didn’t have anything to do with that. He just did it without talking to me. I didn’t need or want him to do it.”

He gave no indication that he was listening.

Sighing, Kiaya said to herself, “Now I don’t want to go to this stupid party.”