A Matter of Black and White

DISCLAIMER: This story is based upon the works of JK Rowling. Anything you recognize is hers. I’m making no money off of this. I’m just having some fun adding my own little corner to the amazing world she has already created.

* * *

CHAPTER 24—SNEEZES, SWEETS, AND SONGSTERS

Severus Snape had a case of the sneezes. He was also suffering from clogged sinuses, burning eyes, and a nose that ran like it was being chased by Dementors.

And it was all because Slughorn had wanted a tip on Aunt Isadora’s ponies.

“Ask not what you can do for your students; ask what your students can do for you”—That should have been Horace Slughorn’s motto.

Ever since Slughorn’s gross example of negligence in the Potions classroom, the dungeons had been nearly uninhabitable. Filch had spent two days scouring the laboratory, but still the stench of the burnt solution had permeated the stones, the books, and the furniture. No charm from Flitwick or potion from either Snape or Slughorn had succeeded in abolishing the burnt and rancid smell from the affected areas. In the end, Filch had sprayed every room in the dungeon with an industrial-strength room deodorizer called Professor Fletcher’s Flourishing Freshener. As far as Snape was concerned, Fletcher could hang himself by his dubious credentials, because the only thing flourishing in the dungeons now were Snape’s allergies. He couldn’t spend ten minutes in his rooms without his eyes itching and his nose turning as red as a garish clown’s.

Although it made Snape feel like a man in exile, he was therefore spending the least amount of time possible in the dungeons these days. Through a stuffy head, he therefore acquiesced on Friday morning to Aurora’s suggestion that they hold their Occlumency lesson in her quarters. Part of him hated to relinquish the home-pitch advantage to her again, but he had to admit that she had been getting disturbingly comfortable in his rooms anyway. Sometimes she’d perch on her corner of the sofa with one leg tucked under her as if she were curling up with a book rather than reliving nightmares with him. At least the change in venue would let him do some snooping—spy work, as he liked to think of it—in her chambers.

That evening when he arrived, she opened the door widely for him to enter into her brightly decorated parlor. Stepping through the threshold, he could feel that her chambers had no more than the average wards, and he scowled at the fact that she had not taken his advice and secured her rooms more carefully.

She led him to a plush sofa in front of a cheery fire. “I know you’re not one for treats during lessons,” she told him with her practiced etiquette, “but I’d be remiss not to offer a guest anything.” With a twinkle in her eye, she produced a bowl of bovine-shaped chocolates wrapped in purple foil. “Would you care for some Milk’ems?”

Snape caught the amusement that floated just under the surface of her seemingly innocent graciousness. Old habits of spite died hard, and he very nearly pretended that he hadn’t the slightest interest in ruining his teeth with sweets.

“They’re the real ones from Switzerland, not the ones from the Bristol distributor.”

Snape sent a longing look toward the bowl of chocolates. The Milk’ems from Honeydukes, which arrived through Bristol, often seemed to have gone sour, and Snape could have sworn that they used inferior chocolate. Finding a chocolatier with Millk’ems from Switzerland was a rare treat, and after the week that Snape had been having, a treat did seem in order. With the quick hand of a thief, he stole a purple cow from the bowl, eliciting a broad grin from Aurora.

“Excellent,” she proclaimed. “Perhaps some tea too?”

She did know how to press her luck, didn’t she? Had he even once been interested in that damnable tea she still toted down to the dungeons in a thermos every time they had a lesson? He gave a noncommittal noise and started unwrapping his chocolate. With practiced and meticulous technique, he squeezed the cow, which gave a plaintive “Moo,” and squirted sweet cream into his mouth. Even with his fastidiousness, there was no way to enjoy this part of the treat without looking a bit like a child playing with his food, so he pressed the chocolate cow firmly in order to release the cream as quickly as possible. Then he enjoyed biting the head off the fine European chocolate. The silky substance melted almost immediately in his mouth, and he paused to enjoy the rich texture washing over his tongue.

Aurora, meanwhile, was busily arranging cups from a tea set. Just as she had done at the Leaky Cauldron, she never once raised her wand but instead filled two gold-rimmed tea cups by hand from a steaming pot. She swirled some milk into one of the cups and then handed him the other.

“Why don’t you use magic for that?” Snape asked as he took the cup from her. “Like any other normal witch?”

“I do it to make wizards named Severus Snape ask questions,” she replied, barely missing a beat. “Besides,” she added with an air of playful haughtiness, “I’m hardly a normal witch.”

Snape nodded. That much was certainly true. One minute Aurora Bernard was bent over obscure runic texts, the next she was in line for a job in espionage. One moment she was Miss Goodness and Light; then suddenly she looked ready to enact some rock star’s wildest dreams.

“That reminds me,” she said as if reading his mind, “I’ve got something else for you. Just a minute.”

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow and watched her disappear into a side room. The minute she had vanished, he heard a voice.

“You’re new aren’t you?”

Snape scanned the room and saw no one.

“Good to see our girl has company,” said another voice, which, like the other, was heavily weighted in a German accent.

Snape sprang to his feet and turned in a circle, searching out the source of the voices.

“Up here, man,” the first voice said. “Above the fireplace.”

Snape turned and found himself facing a framed poster of five musicians in glittery costumes. A wizard in a garishly white jumpsuit waved at him.

“Not the smartest one she’s had, is he?” said a third musician, a dark-skinned man who held a flute and spoke with an Indian accent.

“Better than that old man with the mustache,” said the original speaker, a blond guitarist.

“Not much for looks though,” the drummer observed with a scrutinizing glare from his vantage point above the mantle. “She likes me best, you know,” he added with an unexpectedly confrontational edge.

“Don’t mind Torsten,” the white-clad wizard said. “He’s just jealous of his fans.” Preening a little, he added, “He has to be when he has so few.”

Snape scowled. This is why he had no portraits in his chambers. Witches and wizards were twice as insufferable in two dimensions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, one of those,” said the flutist wisely.

“One of what?” Snape demanded.

“One of those who likes to pretend our girl isn’t eine Schöne.”

“A what?”

“No use pretending,” said the drummer. “We certainly don’t. Mensch, did I ever envy my real self last weekend when she was headed off to our concert.”

The other members of the band nodded in agreement.

Snape flushed. How could Aurora tolerate these badly dressed, egotistical cretins? “Whatever you are implying, you’re badly mistaken.”

“Have it your way, man,” said bass player Snape assumed to be Weissman. “Whatever the case, it’s good to see that our girl has company. We haven’t seen much of anyone since the move.”

At that moment, Aurora returned from the side room. “Perfect,” she declared when she saw Snape standing in front of the poster of the band. “I see you’ve met my boys.”

Snape snorted. “I don’t understand why someone pays good Galleons to be harassed by pictures of people who aren’t even their relations.”

Talking pictures required much more magic and expertise to create than the typical fan photograph and were therefore much more difficult—and expensive—to reproduce. (He had been quite thankful of this fact when Gilderoy Lockhart had flooded the school with headshots four years ago. Those hundreds of stupidly grinning mouths had been hard enough to tolerate without any words coming out of them.) The aggravatingly interactive poster above Aurora’s mantle had to have cost a fortune.

“It is something of an extravagance,” she admitted. “But my friend Marion was the one who bought it. Her mother’s the heir to a flying carpet fortune. A little poster hardly makes a dent in Marion’s trust fund. Besides, you should hear these guys sing.”

Immediately, the guitarist strummed an over-amplified chord, and the band broke into a few strains of song.

“What do you think?” asked the flutist.

“Of our two-dimensional selves anyway?” said Weissman.

“We’re even better in 3-D,” added the drummer.

“From what I’ve heard, there hardly seems a point in attending a concert,” Snape answered with a dose of Slytherin duplicity.

“Of course there’s a point,” interjected Aurora. “Presents!”

“Presents?”

“Here.” She thrust a little cardboard box toward him. This apparently was what she had gone to retrieve.

Snape stared blankly at the small object in her hands. She had bought a gift for him?

“I promise there’s nothing fanged inside.”

“Then I take it this is not a cast-off from Hagrid,” he answered dryly.

“Oh no, this is uniquely…you.”

Snape arched an eyebrow and warily took the box. Lifting the lid, he found a bright yellow lapel pin with a cartoonish happy face and a bubble-lettered inscription running along the rim: Smile. Be Happy. Snape scowled and the pin broke into the Zauberflöten’s version of “Put on a Happy Face.”

Aurora bit her lip amusedly. “It does that…whenever someone isn’t smiling.”

Snape immediately snapped the lid back on the box. “How…thoughtful.”

“Don’t worry,” she giggled and patted him on the arm. “I don’t expect you to wear it in public…though it would make a lovely conversation piece at the staff table.”

“That tie-dyed headband that Dumbledore was wearing at dinner tonight wouldn’t happen to be another of your souvenirs?”

Aurora laughed. “Did you know that Albus played bagpipes as a boy? He loved the idea of looking like a rock star.”

Snape grimaced. Had Dumbledore chosen a music career, he might have put the Dark Lord out of business. All that wailing on a goatskin bag had to have been at least as torturous as any Cruciatus Curse.

“In fact, he said he was thinking about taking up music again,” Aurora added.

“First my sinuses; now my eardrums. How many more of my senses can this school assault?”

“At least you know your sense of taste is safe. There’s still plenty of chocolate to go around.”

Snape reached for another Milk’em and bit the head off the chocolate cow. For once, he wasn’t inclined to argue with Aurora.

* * *

AN: I hope everyone had fun here. The bit about Snape being in exile is a very vague, very loose reference to Veresna Ussep’s “Prince in Exile.” Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

A note to Roger: I tried emailing you with the last update but it got bounced back to me. If you'd still like updates, please let me know.

A more general note to everyone else: I know I've been slow lately about updating. If you would like an email update so you don't have to keep checking back, please drop me a line. Thanks.