The Moon Has Spoken

“Fiddler! Fiddler, come here, please!”

Anna’s urgent cry floated in the wind. Severus looked at Fiddler with undisguised concern. It was then when he realised he was actually worried about her safety, and he found the thought both startling and infuriating.

“I must go”, Fiddler said resolutely. “In this cases, the doctor becomes the Queen of the Night”.

There was a note of undeniable mocking pride in her voice, and Severus understood the underlying meaning. She incited the horse and galloped deftly towards where she supposed Anna was. After two seconds of thought, Severus followed her.
They reached a clearing, where an obviously injured man lay, a bunch of people surrounding him, and Anna Willoughby crouched at his side. Her riding skirt was smeared in blood, and she was crying hysterically.

“Fiddler, save him, save him, please… Save him, don’t let him die, please, please, please…”

“Anna, you need to calm down. Hysterics won’t solve a thing. Now, shut up and let me see to him”, Fiddler spoke soothingly, but with undeniable authority. Doctor Greene at her utmost.

“People, make way”, she ordered curtly. “Make way, please. I need to check on the patient”.

The gathering or aristocratic nosies moved away submissively, except for a blonde man in his mid thirties who remained stubbornly kneeled next to Lord Paul.

“Sir, I must ask you to move away, please”.

Fiddler was already on her knees as well, checking for a pulse. As she didn’t find one, she checked on his pupils. Severus heard her tut.

“I will not say it another time, Sir”, her voice was impatient now. “MOVE.OVER”.

He looked at her snidely.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, Sir, and I don’t give a damn. Move over now”.

Severus observerd amazed as the stubborn individual rose majestically, eyed her disdainfully, but stepped backwards all the same.

Fiddler, in the meantime, had unbuttoned Lord Paul’s jacket and shirt, and was lookat tat three shot wounds in his chest. She turned him over and examined the entering marks, shaking her head slightly. He had yet another shot in the naf hif his neck, but there was no exit wound. She pressed her fingers to the man’s neck and sighed. She looked at her watch.

“There’s nothing that can be done. Lord Paul is dead”.


Anna’s screams nearly caused Severus to become deaf. Fiddler got to her feet and Anna threw herself at her, sobbing helplessly, as Fiddler did her best to soothe her.

“We need to call the Police”, Fiddler said. “And we must not move the body”.

“But we cannot leave him here!”, Anna wailed.

“We must not alter the crime scene”, Fiddler explained. “Someone needs to guard him until the Police arrives…”

The nosies looked at one another, trying to bestow the responsibility upon someone else but themselves. Fiddler sighed exasperated.

“Fine. I’ll do it, then. You, Important Fellow, please lead Miss Willoughby and the rest of you back into the Manor, and make sure to call the Police”.

The blonde man looked at her outraged, but said nothing as he helped Anna back onto her horse, and he motioned the crowd on horseback to follow him, which they reluctantly did.

“I shall stay with you”, Severus offered smoothly.

She smiled at him and went back on her knees, crawling around the dead man in search of Merlin knew what.

“Here’s one…”, she mumbled, and producing a small stenography pad from a pocket, she ripped off a sheet and placed it next to a little shining something.

“A shotgun shell”, she said, as if that explained everything. Taking in Severus’ puzzled expression, she added: “Um… that would be a discharged bullet. Policial evidence”.

“Ah”.

She ripped off two more sheets from her pad and placed then next to the other shotgun shells as she found them, and crept on all fours placing some other sheets following no apparent pattern. She got to her feet and tiptoed around the corpse and put three sheets to his chest. She then sat cross-legged about three feet away from the dead man.

“Well, pretty much all we can do for now”, she said, looking up at Severus”. “I invite you to sit down, it might take a while and you won’t grow any taller”.

Severus looked at her with a long-suffering expression, trying to decide if she was just mocking him or teasing him. He gave up the effort and sat next to her, managing to keep his dignity intact.

“What did you just do?”, he asked, curious despite himself.

“Just some markings for the coroner”.

“Oh?”

“Yes, the wounds, whether entering or exit, the shotgun shells, their distance from the body, the corpse’s position… It will be helpful for the investigation. I altered a bit the crime scene by checking on him and walking around, but that had to be done. I tried to keep it down to just me, but that damned stubborn wouldn’t move for the life of him…”

Severus finally understood her insistence, and the meaning of the sheets that didn’t follow any pattern in particular nor did they pointed out a shell.

“They mark footprints, do they not?”

“Yeah. Footprints, the place where Anna was, and the places I myself altered. But I’ve left a good distance ratio between the body and ourselves now, and we’re sitting on the opposite direction to the presumed origin of the shots, so I hope it won’t be misleading…”

Severus looked at her, impressed against his will. It occurred to him out of the blue that Fiddler could be a formidable enemy.

“Who d’you reckon shot him?”, she asked, breaking the silence. “Do wizards know how to use firearms?”

“I would not know for certain. I, for one, do not”.

“Do you reckon Lucius Malfoy does?”

“He despises all Muggle things. I would say he does not”.

Fiddler raised her row.row.

“Mmmm… You’d be surprised. Oh, look, they’re coming”.

She got to her feet hastily and Severus watched her go and meet the approaching people. She introduced herself and soon she was lost in complicated explanation of probable cause of death, methods and post mortem examinations and procedures she’d conducted to ensure the reliability of the crime scene, and although Severus didn’t understand a word, he could tell the formal-looking people was impressed at her efficience, just by the way they thanked her and asked her for her contact information, for the Hearing.

They all went through official interrogations led by Colonel Arthur O’Connell, active member of An Garda Síochána and honorary member of IPA, section Ireland, much to Severus’s dismay, who definitely wasn’t used to being interrogated by anyone. The kids found it hilarious and enjoyed the experience thoroughly, despite Moody’s hurried gathering to instruct them harshly into the hastily thought reasons to explain their presence in Elvenpath, paranoia getting the best of him, to Fred and George’s infinite amusement.
Severus accompanied Fiddler to court, even though he wondered why was he doing so. She had been requested to attend as the medical doctor who had certified Lord Paul’s death and heard her declaration marvelling inwardly at her matter-of-fact statements and tranquil observations.
The veredict had been accidental homicide commited by person or persons unknown, and not even one of the few that knew about it, and probably for the best, had mentioned the fact that Lord Paul descended from a wizarding family.
There had been no signs of Malfoy whatsoever, but Severus knew better. He knew Lord Paul’s murder had had nothing to do with him intending to marry a Muggle. Malfoy had learned somehow the Order of the Phoenix was around, and he had issued a warning.
Death Eaters believed in the effectiveness of killing their own flesh and blood, Severus thought bitterly.

So, now, all they could do was wait.
~*~

Severus couldn’t sleep. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the events of the previous days, although trying to no end. And he couldn’t exactly fathom the absence of blissful rest when he so badly needed it.
After spending an annoying amount of time turning around on the bed, Severus finally had enough and literally jumping out of it he paced out of his rooms with the firm intention of going out to walk himself to exhaustion and then come back to get some decent sleep. But as he went down the stairs, he was distracted by a muffled sound coming out from the double wooden door that lead to the sitting room.
It was the piano.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have spared it a second thought, but it was three o’clock in the morning and he was curious as to who could the also sleepless pianist be. He walked slowly as he knew how towards the door, trying to identify the stifled melody. He held out a hand and opened the door inch by inch, just enough to slip inside the room, then closing it behind him.

It was Fiddler.

He nodded absently. A part of him had known all along. He reluctantly admired the way her smooth cascade of hair shimmered blue with the dim light of a candlestick, and noticed she was wearing her usual loose surgery scrub. She was sitting at the piano with her back turned to Severus, as her fingers glided through the white keys.
Some part of Severus’ usually snarling brain thought the image before him was strangely alluring; he leaned his back on the door behind him, oddly relaxed by the music.
But then she started to sing.

All those beautiful people,
I want to have them all.
All those porcelain models,
If only I could make them fall

She had a wonderful voice, at odds with her habitual biting, hoarse tone. And although she was keeping it low, Severus knew a properly trained voice when he heard one; he had before him one incredibly talented singer indeed.
And not even once had men mentioned it.

Be my heart a well of love
Flowing free so far above

A wintry eve,
Once upon a tale;
An Ugly Duckling,
Lost in a verse,
Of a sparrow\'s carol
Dreaming the stars.

Be my heart a well of love
Flowing free so far above

In my world
Love is for poets;
Never the famous balcony scene…
Just a dying faith
On the Heaven\'s gateHer Her voice had risen a little. Suddenly, Severus thought she knew he was right behind her and that she was singing just for him to hear. Something deep within him gritted in almost forgotten empathy at the undeniable pain that made that wonderful voice tremble.
He heard her tear dulcet notes from the piano, not any less bloodcurdling than her voice, and then she concluded the song, rising her voice to soprano heights, causing a tingle creep up Severus’ spine.

Crystal pond awaits the lorn!
Tonight another morn for the lonely one is born…


She kept the piano going for a bit, and then she bowed her head. He half expected her to sigh or something of the sort, but what she actually did utterly stratled him: she snorted snidely and closed the piano shut.

“Lonely one, indeed”, she said softly, but bitterly all the same. And then she did sigh and added out loud: “You know, it’s at times like these when I’d really love to have someone to lean on”.
Severus’ heart skipped a beat. So she had noticed his presence. He opened his mouth to speak but his ability at retorting seemed to have deserted him. He stood frozen to the spot for what it seemed forever, until he heard her soft laughter.

“Yes, I know I have you, but you’re not big enough to hold me”. Severus heard the sound of a kiss being pressed and he thought: ‘Of course. The dog’.
And he was surprised at the sullenness of that reflection.

“Come on, Triskelion, old boy. Let’s go to bed”.

Severus reacted a second too late.

“Well, hello, Severus”, she said, walking towards the door and coming to a halt in front of him. “Been here too long?”

He tried to wrap himself in the malicious demeanor he was famous for, but all he could manage was a formal stiffness.

“My apologies, Fiddler”, he blurted out. “I was driven inside by the sound of your music. Did you compose it yourself?”

“No… It’s a song by Nightwish, a Finnish group I like a lot, actually. It’s called Swanheart…”, a dreamy smile lit her face but she quickly noticed and adjusted her features to her usual stern expression.

“Ah”.

They stared at each other for quite a while. They each knew their own longings, but damned be them if they’d admit them even to themselves. So what they did instead was what they both did best: challenge.
Countless time passed, none of them moving, nor taking their gaze from the other’s eyes; finally Severus gave into instinct and reached a hand to stroke her hair. She flinched away immediately and held the dog in her arms to her chest.

“Please don’t do that”, she whispered, and he was startled at the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. He lowered his hand and stepped back away.

“Why not?”, he asked softly.

She positively glared at him then.

“I don’t like people to make fun of me. I am not a drat buffoon to be laughed at”. And without another word, she stepped furiously out of the room, leaving Severus behind, as if glued to the spot.
But he recovered quickly and strode after her, finally reaching her half way up the stairs.

“What was that supposed to mean?”, he asked, taking hold of her by one of her shoulders.

Fiddler turned around to face him, slowly, stiffly.

“I know you heard what I said down there”, she replied. “And you’re not stupid, I am sure you understood what I was singing. And then you suddenly feel like stroking my hair?”, she spat her question bitterly. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

Severus blinked at her in utter nonplussement.

“What? I don’t…”

“Oh, spare me”, she snapped. “DO spare me. I’ve heard what the kids say about you, but I refuse to believe you’re that thick”.

Under normal circumstances, absolutely no one who’d had the gall of addressing him like that would have lived to tell the tale, but Fiddler had talked to him that way not once but a million times and, somehow, Severus had put up with it.

“I didn’t mean to intrude”, he retreated. “But the music was truly beautiful and… Why didn’t you mention you could sing like that?”

“As if someone cared”, was the bitter response.

Severus was at a loss for words. He’d thought ‘I care’, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“You have a beautiful voice”, was what he said instead.

She didn’t dropped her military pose, nor did she relax one bit, or even smiled; but she said ‘thank you’, and took a hesitant step forward.

“How long did you study?”, he inquired, for it was obvious she had.

“Nearly six years. Mother felt my screeching should be put to an useful end, so she decided to train it. She figured it would be such an entertainment for the guests!”

“But it did not turn to be that way”.

“No. I refuse to sing in public”.

“Why is that?”

Fiddler glanced up an down the stairs before she spoke again.

“I guess if we’re having this conversation we might as well go to a more comfortable location”.

Severus nodded, his lip twitching up ever so slightly. She bent to put the dog on the floor. “Go on, Triskelion, find yourself a sofa and nap”, then she turned to him and added: “Care for some tea?”

“Certainly”, he agreed, and he followed her downstairs, marveling at the way her hair swayed behind her.

They entered the kitchen and he watched her roaming about in search of the teapot, kettle, cups, napkins and saucers.

“I wager you find all this rather odd”, she said from inside the cupboard.

“What do you mean?”

Fiddler emerged carrying a silver tray with a beautifully decorated china and added:

“Well, you must be used to… you know, snap your fingers and have the tea to make itself, don’t you?”, she poured some water in the kettle and put it to the fire.

Severus smiled against his will.

“Most wizards are, I grant you. I, on the other hand, prefer to have my tea handmade”.

“Oh, right. I forgot you are a Potions Master”, she said, grabbing a chair and sitting in front of him.

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t believe in foolish wandwaving, do you? Silly incantations?”, her eyes twinkled merrily and Severus found himself mirroring her smile.

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, the kids told me all about your classes and your welcoming speech. Mind you, I even pitied poor Neville!”

Severus joined her chuckles.

“This from the woman who nearly gave Sonia an electric shock for not having those drat vitals”, he retorted.

Her chortles stopped abruptly.

“How did you know that?”

“I dreamt of it. Did the Headmaster not tell you?”

“Well, yes, he— he did, but he never mentioned you dreamt of things that actually happened”.

“I did. For over a month”.

“A month?”, she seemed shocked now. “Mind, that must have been hard to endure”.

Severus was beginning to feel unease at the way she had of putting herself down. It reminded him too much of himself at his worst.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well”, she responded lightly. “Imagine that, having to face me in each and everyone of your dreams for a whole month. It’s not what I would call sweet dreams”.

“I’ve had worst”, Severus said harshly.

“Yes… I imagine so. But still.” She was silent for a bit as if considering whether or not to ask something else. She finally made up her mind for she added: “And do you remember many of them?”

Severus knew for sure he wouldn’t be able to say “all of them”, without blushing, so he pulled up his usual scowl and said:

“Some of them, but, as I recall, we were not discussing that matter, miss Greene”.

“Oh, weren’t we?”, Fiddler retorted. “Why, stupid me, where did I get that idea? And drop the ‘Miss Greene’ thing, I was never your student, and I told you, I only make the nurses to address me by surname”.

None of them spoke for a while, but then she dug in:

“So what were we discussing, anyway?”

“Ah, yes. The reason why you will not sing in public… Fiddler.”

“Oh, that. Well, simply because I am too damned stickly, and I hate being laughed at. So I just do in front of people what I know I do right”.

“Which is?”

“Medicine, of course. And sometimes, not even that”.

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but she beated him to it.

“Tea is ready”, she hastily got to her feetget get the kettle. “Sugar? Milk?”

“Plain, thank you”, Severus replied a little numbly.

“All right, then”, she said, but she still opened what she called the “fridge”, to seize a couple of lemons.

“If you don’t mind…”

Severus made a hand gesture that said ‘be my guest’, and observed silently as she added lemon juice and sugar to her own cup. Severus took a sip and frowned slightly.

“This tea tastes odd”, he stated.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re implying”.

“No… I mean… Odd as in exotic. Never had one like this before, not that I recall”.

“Oh, well, you wouldn’t”, she said, blushing. “You see, it wasn’t meant to happen, but the truth is I sort of got all of my tea leaves mixed up in one pot. One of those kitchen accidents… Anyway, I’m guessing you have around five different types of leaves there”, she finished, pointing at his cup.

“That should explain it”, Severus said, taking another sip.

“If you don’t like it, you can throw it away, I don’t mind”.

“It’s good”, he replied, somewhat dryly.

“Oh, all right then. Just checking”.

She remained silent, inspecting her cup and moistening her lips with her tongue. She did that a lot ,and Severus pondered it was a nervous gesture of hers rather than a seductive one. Well, his rational mind thought that, all right, but the rest of him… He followed the movement of her tongue and swallowed hard, looking away immediately.

“So when did you get home?”, he asked after a moment.

“Around midnight, Mum, why?”, she replied, mockingly. Severus couldn’t help but grin. Tough, this one, he thought.

“Just curious. You do seem tired”, he said, smoothly.

“Oh, I give you that one. Everybody decided to die today. It was exhausting”.

Severus’ hand froze in mid air from picking his teacup. It was not the first time he had felt like he was back on the Dark Revels when he talked with her, for she spoke so mindlessly about death. Sometimes she reminded him of—
She’s NOTHING like her, Severus, he told himself repressively.

But deep down, he knew she was. In a way.
They both were intrinsically cruel women.

But…

Stop it, will you? Let it go.

“What do you mean?”, he heard himself ask.

“Exactly that”, she stated. “We had eight RIPs today. It was a record”.

“RIPs? Is that how you refer at them?”

“Yeah, RIPs, passers… It’s medical slang”, she smiled lightly and continued. “Anyway, eight patients died today and they weren’t supposed to”.

“You felt life still within them”.

“Yeah, I…”, she looked at him in surprise, and then comprehension dawned. “Oh… right. You dreamt of it. So you could read my mind and all, could you?”.

“Only in my dreams”, he replied tersely. “In real life, that seems to be your privilege”.

“Oh, drop it. I’m no mind reader. I just… Interpret mind’s strongest feelings”.

“A natural Legilimens. The Dark Lord should fear you”.

“Ha!”, she snorted. “Anyway, back to our subject, yes, I felt life within them. You see, they were not terminally ill and yet their lives slowly… extinguished, no matter what we did”.

A thought stirred in the back of Severus’ mind. Not a pleasant one, by the way.

Talking of the devil…

“Did you notice something strange?”

“Not thatouldould point out right now… They didn’t seem to have been hit by an Unforgivable, though”.

Severus raised an eyebrow, and she, of course, interpreted it as a challenge to defend her theory.

“Well, definitely not Avada Kedavra, because that one kills on the spot, doesn’t it? So that’s one down” She ticked it off with her fingers. “Cruciatus, most definitely not, they would have had such an adrenergic discharge… And none of them did. Nor did they have post ictal status, either”, she added, more to herself than anything else.

“Care to explain?”

“Oh, sorry. Um… Yeah. Adrenergic Discharge is a reaction of the body to an aggression or pain, it includes several manifestations, such as increase of the heartbeat rate, mydriasis… Enlarged pupils”, she clarified, watching his puzzled expression. “Also, there is an increase of blood sugar, and blood pressure, and there is piloerection … Goosebumps, that is… See, it’s the instinctive preparation to striack.ack. All animals have it, it is controlled by the Nervous Sympathetic System”.

“Of course. I have read of such manifestations. There’s a potions group that enhance them”.

“We call them sympathetic mimickers”, she said. “We have our lot of drugs to do that, too. Anyway, I am sure that with the amount of pain involved in Cruciatus, the person under it would definitely have adrenetic discharge.”

Severus nodded politely, as another part of his mind wondered when was the last time he’d had such an interesting conversation, and with a young woman of all people.
He couldn’t remember.

“And what about post ictal state?”

“Oh, that would be a state of drowsiness, confussion and lethargy following a seizure. Harry told me what Cruciatus feels like and I… well, I guess you can say I saw it in his mind; and yes, it’s sort of a very painful, generalized seizure”.

Severus nodded again. Oh, it was. He could bear witness of it. He rubbed his left arm absently and Fiddler inquired:

“You’ve been under it, haven’t you?”

“Yes”, he said grudginly. He didn’t want her pity. But once again, she surprised him.

“And? Were you dazed afterwards?”

“Yes… until I learned to… go through it”.

“There you go then”, she said smugly.

“What?”

“Well, Dumbledore told me you’re a powerful wizard”, she said and he blushed violently. “And even you were dazed. All the more for those Muggles to be, since I am sure they can’t just go through Cruciatus”.

“You certainly have a point there, Fiddler”, Severus said, amazed against his will.

“And they weren’t, so it was definitely not Cruciatus, if it was anything at all. Now, as for Imperius… Well… that’s a possibility… Force them into drinking it… But it is only too subtle… Not the sort of thing they’d gloat about…”

“You’ve lost me”, Severus said.

“Hold on… Yes, it could definitely be… That would explain the smell all right… Wait just one second!”, she jumped off her chair and headed for the door, leaving Severus staring at his cup of warm tea.
She didn’t giim tim time to start a train of thought, for she emerged back on the kitchen carrying a creased white coat in her arms. She all but tossed it to him and commanded:

“Smell it”.

Concealing his surprise as usual, Severus did as he was told. An earthy scent filled his nostrils, nothing overwhelming like sweetened flowers, but something more like the smell of the forest after a healthy storm. He closed his eyes unwillingly and inhaled, more deeply this time.

“Severus? You still there?”, he heard Fiddler ask.

“Yes, I… Yes”. He lowered the coat and tried to meet her gaze but could not.

“Well? What did you smell?”

“I… Nothing… Nothing more than… the usual, I am afraid”, he replied, trying to hide his vicious blush from her, but the treacherous kitchen’s lights only brought it out.

“Oh… well. Pity. I thought you could identify it… Being a Potions Master and all. I am sure it is a drat plant, but I can’t place it”.

Severus tried again, willing his senses to not notice the rainy scent of the coat’s owner. And yes, after a moment, there it was, a faint odor, sweeter than the predominant one, and, as he recalled, lethal.
His heart sunk.
Speaking of the devil indeed.

“Prunus dulcis”, he said, softly.

“Of course! Sweet almonds… Cyanide”.

“A poison. You are right. Too subtle for a Death Eater”, Severus agreed, shivering at the memory of the only Death Eater subtle enough to brew that particular potion… Even more subtle than he was. He swallowed hard and willed the memory away. “Most of them gloat in bloodshed and wriths of pain. They do not use poisons. That’s… what I used”.

You… And Wynn, Severus. Do not forget that, he told himself.

“Merciful”, she said, not wincing in the least at his implied murders.

She’s cruel, he thought, and not for the first time either.

“But not with cyanide, though”, she added. “It gives a painful death, that one”.

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I did a small research on toxicology”, she said, dismissively. “I’ve always been interested in poisons. Dad used to call me Lucrece”. She gifted him with that genial smile of hers and Severus winced. Who was this woman?

So much like her…

NO!

But she was, she was, and they were both blending in Severus’ mind, and he suddenly wanted Fiddler, wanted them both, because there was a time when he had loved her as well, before the hate became too intense, re sre she did what she’d done…

Would Fiddler do it as well?

And as much as he tried to deny it, a part of his brain knew she was cruel enough to do something like that for the sake of her beliefs. But something like that… Would Fiddler dare to do something like it?

The song, he thought incoherently. The song… Fiddler has got emotions in her that Wynn never had. That could save her…

And he shivered inwardly as the thought occurred to him that, if Fiddler thought of herself as the ugly duckling, Wynn had been the swan indeed.

He looked up at her, and swallowed yet again as he noticed she was eyeing him critically.

“Did you know in the real story the swans killed the duckling?”, she said, and her tone was harsh.

“What?”, she had read his mind again.

“Oh, it’s a Muggle tale, all right, but you’re a man who’s read a lot, I am sure you’re familiar with it.”
Numbly, Severus nodded.

“Well, Hans Christian Andersen altered it to make it suitable for children, but the popular story told that the Duckling was cast away by the other ducks because he was too ugly and different to be worthy of their company”, her voice sounded as if she knew how that felt like all too well. “So he found the swans. But they didn’t embrace him and called him the most beautiful among them, of course they didn’t”, again that bitterness. “No, they killed him because, even though he looked like a swan, he still acted like a duck”.

Severus looked at her expressionless, trying to hide his thoughts from her.

You were wrong, Severus. She might remind you of Wynn, but deep down she is sheer you.

“Yeah, that’s the bane of ugly ducks”, Fiddler said as she was used to it by now. “Anyway, it is a pity that I didn’t get to perform an autopsy on those RIPs. We might have known for sure”, she added, jumping back to their previous subject deliberately.

“Yes… what a pity”, he managed to extricate the words from his rebellious vocal cords.

“That’s life. Well, I think we should go to bed now”.

Severus gaped at her in disbelief. Had he heard right?

“Oh, I didn’t mean together, man!”, she laughed. “Loosen up”. Severus remembered just then that she could read minds… if the feeling was intense enough. Drat the feeling, then, he cursed.
She smiled graciously and added:

“I’ll let you know if someone else dies and smells like that. And if I get to do the autopsy. Good night”.

And without another word, she strode out of the kitchen, mimicking his own flourish, long hair billowing behind her.

She’s cruel, he thought again, staring at the closed door.
He noticed he still had her white coat and, of its own volition, his hands pulled it up close to his face to sniff at it yet again.

“Good night… Swanheart”, he murmured.



A/N.

TBC, please, please R & R!

Thanx to my beta Ian for his support!!!

An Garda Síochána is Gaelic for ‘The Guardians of the Peace’, it’s the Irish Police organisation.

IPA: International Police Association.

Disclaimer: All characters and HP universe belong to J.K. Rowling, except for the ones you don’t recognize. The plot as well is mine and solely mine!! No profit is being made!!!!