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

As she knelt in front of him, waving her wand as smoke wafted over them, she asked, “Can you tell me what he’s planning?”

“You know I can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t like this.” She twisted her wrist with the words, another curl of black shadow swirled down her wand. A murmur incinerated it.

“You think I do?”

“Yes, I think you do. I think it gives you a thrill to hang out in Yorkshire and play with Pettigrew and brew things that are going to get you into trouble if you’re not careful.” The action was repeated, again and again.

He was silent, considering.

Her mouth tightened, the flicks of her wrist became sharper, her elbows jabbed at the air with every movement of her arms.

“I don’t brew in Yorkshire, but you’re right. It’s what I was meant to do.”

“Just because you were practically born into Slytherin doesn’t mean that you have to be sneaky all of your life just for fun.”

“Cheap shot.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not sorry, damn it. You have a family – a child to think of! What is going to happen when he finds out that you’re not on his side?”

“He’s not going to find out, Jasmine.”

“Let someone else do it.”

“There’s no one else and you know it.”

“What about Arielle?”

“Again, what kind of man would I be if I let him come back and didn’t do everything I could to try to stop him – or at least find out what he’s up to? Do you want me to sacrifice our world for the possibility that Arielle might cry someday?”

Jaw clenched, she smothered the brazier and stood. “I can’t get any more. It’s too much.”

“I see.”

She sighed, “Go in with her. I’ll just have to do it to her when you leave.”

“Thank you.”

“She deserves her father, not a martyr, Severus.”

“I don’t plan on dying. I’ll do everything possible to save my skin.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

1 November
Dear Jasmine,

You didn’t send my letter back again. Dare I hope? It’s about the only kind of hope I have these days, thinking that you’re reading my letters. Just in case – I miss you, I want to get to know you more, I want to be with you, I want to make love with you. Know that I’d be there now if Dumbledore would let me leave even for an instant. Did you know that he put a Tracking Spell on me, just in case I “accidentally” leave the house again? I talked to Harry, he’s doing as great as is possible with that Umbridge bitch up at school – she’s the one who had the laws about werewolves implemented. Because of her, Remus can’t get a job. Now, he’s stuck here with me and thinks he has to stay out of loyalty. I don’t want him throwing his life away on me but I can’t get rid of him. Not that I would want to, because he’s the best friend I have. We were the best of friends all though school. Getting that friendship back after twelve years is tough. Sometimes we snipe at each other but not much because he’s so nice. He’s learning how to stand up for himself and what he believes now, thank God. Doesn’t mean that he’s not the nicest guy in the world. Unlike me, of course. With the family that I have, how could I be? My mother’s portrait is even nasty and she’s been dead for years. How could that happen? Don’t you think a portrait would mellow over time? Perhaps if the paint faded. No such luck, though, she put charms on every painting in the house so they wouldn’t fade. My late, great-uncle, Phineas Nigellus, has a painting in Harry’s room. Sometimes I go talk to it and he keeps me updated with what’s going on at Hogwarts, when he’s not being a berk – which isn’t often. He laughs every time my house elf hands me a cup of tea. I hate that stuff. The painting does love to gossip and since he’s got another portrait up in Dumbledore’s office, he’s got an in on almost everything at that school. Of course he delights in telling me all about Snivellus – I know he’s your ex and you’re still friends but I don’t’ have to like him. I’m so sick of how he waltzes into my house like he’s royalty, people crowd around him and treat him like a king when he’s off being cozy with Voldemort. I’m surprised that Voldemort even wants him around – it’s not like he’s pureblood or something. Sometimes I doubt that he’s a spy for anyone but Voldemort and never was loyal to the Order at all. I remember him in school – he knew every hex in the book and even more out of it. He knew more than I did – and coming from me, that’s saying a lot. There’s no way that he could possibly be a good guy in this – especially with his attitude. He has the nerve to come in here and tell me how useless I am, when I can’t go anywhere without causing an international incident and having the entire wizarding world screaming that I’m loose and to get a Dementor to come kiss me. I hate Dementors so much. I have horrible nightmares every single night about being back in Azkaban. I’ll never go back, Jasmine, do you know that? I’ll kill myself first, even if it means that I can never see you again. I never had nightmares when I was with you, though. You calm my soul. I miss you so much. I miss Harry too, but I did get to see him a couple of times via floo. Had to ‘fess up about James and me being complete berks in school when we were younger. Seeing some of Harry’s hero worship die was tough but I hope that I can make it up to him in time. There’s something really wrong going on at Hogwarts but I don’t really know what – I think it’s mostly coming from the Ministry woman being there, fucking things up for everyone. I’m worried about him. I want him to walk the straight and narrow but he’s so headstrong I don’t think he can manage to do it. I think he was born to get in trouble, just like James and me. I see so much of James in him; I almost called him James a few weeks ago- did I tell you? Scared me. Also concerned by the newspapers. So much about Dumbledore being insane and too old to head the school. People have the nerve to laugh about how he was removed from the Wizengamot etc. They are so stupid. I almost wish Voldemort would kill a few people, just to wake the rest up. It’s only time, though. I know he’ll start up soon. Snape said he had big plans to get into the Ministry but so far we’re holding him off. He hasn’t managed to get what he wants but I’m just counting the hours until he does. We’ve got guards on it now – hiding under an invisibility cloak of course. I wonder, did you make it? Since you’re not ripping up my letters, I’ve regained a bit of hope that one day I’ll get a letter from you. Until then, I’ll love you.

Sirius

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

2 November
Sirius,
I worry so much about you. I miss you so much and your letters let me learn more about you with every one but they worry me, too. I’ve read your last letters and you didn’t sound like yourself – more – I don’t know. I can’t describe it. They are becoming jumbled or strung together in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I worry. I don’t think that house is good for you but since I don’t know what else to say, I’ll leave it at that. I think I’ll tell Professor Grandpa about it, though. I doubt it will help; he’s not doing so well, either. I don’t know if you can tell when you see him, but he’s pale, his eyes don’t shine and he doesn’t smile anymore. I know it’s worry and I don’t know what I can do to help.

I just want it to all go away.

I remember you and James Potter being mean to people sometimes. I am a bit ashamed to admit that since it didn’t really affect me, I ignored it a bit. I was busy watching you do other things. Like breathe and walk around with your shirt off. Well, thank goodness I’m not sending this! It’s a bit easier to admit such things on paper. These letters-not-to-send are like a diary for me. Perhaps I should be keeping one instead of deluding myself with these.

Did Dumbledore tell you that his brother gave us a goat? I think it was one of his girlfriends – pardon, “experiment” animals. Its name is Glaistig. Can you imagine? I KNOW what he does to those animals and it’s a crime! It eats everything – up to and including the barn walls, owl pellets, and several of the ribbons that Ari has tried to tie around her neck. I hate this goat as much as I’m glad that it’s not with my uncle anymore. It even smells like Uncle Aberforth. If you’ve never smelled Aberforth Dumbledore – don’t. She won’t even let me bathe her. She seems to be terrified of water, which is sad.

I talked to Severus. I told him that I didn’t like what he was doing. I’m scared. I love him ; he’s one of my best friends. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t even think of what it would do to Arielle if he were found out. The thought of her tears and - - I can’t bear to think of it. This has got to end soon, for all of our sakes. He said that this is what he was born to do - I believe him. His childhood was horrible, his father was an abusive bastard, his mother was an idiot and his grandparents were awful. Please be a little easier on him – he’s had a hard life and yes, he’s good at what he does because he’s so good at hiding his emotions. He grew up having to sneak around his house – houses. He’s good at it. I’m just so scared that one day he’ll not be good enough. Please try not to give him any more stress than he’s already under. I don’t want him to EVER make a mistake because he’s thinking about some petty insult from you when he should be concentrating.

With all my… Be careful,
J.


She gave him a kiss with his tea, “Happy New Years, Professor Grandpa.”

“And to you, little flower. May this year be better than last.” He toasted with the teacup then drank. He seemed to try to make his eyes twinkle but it was halfhearted. It only lasted a second before retreating into a preoccupied ice blue.

She gave him a sad smile, edged with hope. “Will it be better?”

He was silent – surely a rare occurrence. After a moment’s pondering, he shrugged.

It terrified Jasmine.

Arielle was bouncing about as usual, showing off the new teeth growing to fill in the holes and chasing Berri and Skeevers. Singing along with Celestina Warbeck, Arielle was wearing some of the new dress-up clothes that she’d recieved for Christmas. This particular outfit was a magenta tutu, charmed to hang horizontally, a sparkly chartreuse top, a gold lame’ boa and cerise high heels charmed to stay straight and stable. It hurt Jasmine’s eyes even though she’d made all of the pieces and charmed the Muggle shoes. Watching the little girl prance about, crooning every other word of lesbian torch-songs was better than dealing with the meaning of Dumbledore’s ever growing silences, though.

“It will all be fine. There are plenty of people working to make it so, Jasmine. Don’t you worry.”

“If there’s something I can do, you will tell me, right?”

“You’re doing exactly what I want you to do – living your life and being a good mother to Arielle.”

“It doesn’t always seem like enough, though.”

“It is enough.”

“I yell at Severus to be careful, but … I still want to be able to do something – anything,” she pleaded.

He looked grave. “I don’t want you getting involved. It’s too dangerous. I want you and Arielle safe,” he murmured before they both applauded the bowing Arielle.

The dancing girl trotted over for her reward, grinning around her lolling tongue. He placed a Melting Mint on her tongue and couldn’t help but smile as she shivered when the candy dissolved into sugary syrup.

Jasmine reveled in the smile and placed her hand over his. Turning it up to hold hers, his hand engulfed hers.

“Listening in the shop and on the street is more than enough. I want you girls to stay out of it,” he said.

She nodded, knowing it was fruitless. They’d had the conversation more than once. Truth told, she didn’t want to take a very active role in the Order of the Phoenix. She had Arielle to care for and wouldn’t jeopardize her for anything. Occasionally feeling helpless was difficult, though.

“No one says anything in the shop, you know that. Grandee tells you that.”

“I know, but sometime, someone might let something drop and not even notice. Doing that is enough.”

“It doesn’t seem like much.” It wasn’t a pout – really.

Finally, Dumbledore chuckled, patting her hand. “There is something that you can do, if you’re up to it…”

She listened, half-watching Arielle pile Stak ‘n’ Stik building blocks into a “house” around the very patient Skeevers. “Be careful, you don’t want to get his fur or tongue in those blocks. He’ll get stuck.”

“Yes, Mama,” she called back, carefully inching several of the blocks away from the Puffskein.

“Alastor Moody’s invisibility cloak was damaged when Arthur Weasely was attacked. Would you repair it, please?”

“Of course, did you bring it?”

“Not this time, but I shall, thank you.”

“Not a problem. Shall I make you another one? I have half of a Demiguise skin. I can have it ready in a week – a week and a half if I do it by hand. I can have it done sooner if I enchant the wheel and loom if you need it?”

“Yes, please. It would be a good idea to have another one soon. I want to put two people on guard duty. Since Arthur was bitten, I want two pairs of eyes at all times.”

Knowing that she shouldn’t ask what it was that Arthur Weasley was doing – or where, she asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Improving, I’m told. He had the idea to use a Muggle remedy of stitching up the wounds so they heal. Molly had such a fit,” he chuckled.

“Stitch skin!” she exclaimed, “You’re having me on!”

“Not at all. His healer is ‘progressive’” he made quote marks with his fingers around the word. “I’m told that Molly gave him an earful and he’s progressive no longer.”

Jasmine muttered again “Stitching people, insane! Silk- yes, skin- no. What will those silly Muggles come up with next? Glue?”

“Actually, I think they are gluing people back together. I read an article about it in one of their medical journals some time ago.”

She held up her hand, “I don’t even want to know! I’ll stick to spells and potions, thank you ever so much.”

Dumbledore laughed. The sound inspired her to slip out of her chair, wrap her arms around his thin chest and hug him tightly. Arielle, of course, had to jump up and cuddle into the hug as well.

Dumbledore gave the little girl a pat on the bottom after the family hug and she toddled back to her blocks. Skeevers had used the opportunity to escape so Ari abandoned the project in favor of pouring knuts into a piggy bank that squealed when fed and emptied.

Jasmine stayed in Dumbledore’s embrace, not wanting to look into his too- knowing eyes when she spoke. He seemed content to keep his arm wrapped around her shoulders, long fingers gently stroking her arm.

“I have been getting letters from London, you know…” she began, trying to sound more casual than she felt.

“Yes,” he prompted.

“I do actually read them, even though I don’t respond…” she continued.

He waited, stroking her shoulder comfortingly.

“The letters are getting… I mean, the thought process in some of them, is getting…” she bit her lip, unsure of how to continue.

“I cannot do anything to help, if I can help, unless I know what the problem is, little flower,” he said in his most soothing tone.

Jasmine leaned back, her eyes searching his face for answers, pleading for him to understand what she couldn’t express. “They’re off. He’s jumbled. Not always logical. Not even himself in some of them. It just isn’t like him. He’s so clever and knows what he wants and in these letters he’s so… he’s not alright.”

“Jasmine, from what I know, and that isn’t much, you haven’t known him very well as an adult. Your knowledge of his personality is from your childhood – and his.”

“No… I mean yes… I know that, but…. He can’t have completely changed personalities. He’d still be clever and logical. And I remember the letters from before he went to London….”

She was interrupted when Arielle hurtled at her, bowling Jasmine over onto her back. Jasmine quickly released Dumbledore so he didn’t fly to the ground, too; he burst into delighted laughter as she tumbled.

“Mama! Huggy time!” Arielle commanded, flopping atop her mother, black hair flying and blue eyes gleaming with delighted mischief.

Jasmine grinned, relieved to be distracted and obediently hugged the squirming girl. Faust popped into the space above Dumbledore’s chair and settled himself on the back, observing the familiar tussle. Smiling, Dumbledore absently reached up to scratch at the phoenix’s chest as he also watched. Jasmine called a halt to the energetic hugs when Berri, the cat, ambled over to chew on her hair.

“That’s enough, both of you – Berri, stop that! It hurts.” She sat up, giggling and pushed Arielle to her feet. “Ari, Professor Grandpa and I were talking and you interrupted. As much as I love hugs, you know that it’s rude to interrupt. Go play, bored child.” She tugged Ari’s hair in gentle reprimand.

Unabashed, Arielle kissed her mother on the nose, “Sorry, Mama.”

“No you’re not, witchlet. Go!”

“Can I play with your wand?”

“No, now scoot.” Jasmine settled herself into her chair again, smoothing her hair back in what she hoped was a more decorous style.

Arielle pouted prettily but went back to her blocks, which she tugged apart and rebuilt into a tall tower.

Eyes twinkling again, Dumbledore prompted, “As you were saying about your letters?”

She sighed. “Right. Er… They changed over the summer. They started out pretty logical and well written but as time went on have become disorganized and more…” she tried to find the proper words, “Stream of thought, not cohesive, I guess. Not all of them, but a lot of them…. The ones that I get late at night, mostly.” She shrugged. “There isn’t anything obvious, they just seem wrong.”

“Do you want to show them to me?”

“I don’t think he’d want that. They are very personal… I mean, I kept them, so if you think you can tell what’s wrong from looking at them….” She bit her lip.

“Ah, I understand,” he smiled as though he knew just what ‘very personal’ meant. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you wrote back once in awhile.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to. I just don’t… want to,” she muttered.

“Just remember who you’re punishing by not doing so – and why.”

“I know well enough. I simply haven’t anything to say.”

He looked over the half-moons of his glasses and hummed. “I see,” he said as he stood. “I will look into the matter. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I confess that I have seen some behavior that is not typical of the man I know, too. I will try to figure out what it is, but sadly, I think I already know and I doubt there is anything I can do until circumstances around us change.”

Jasmine muttered her thanks and understanding, hugged the old man and escorted him out the door and to the gate after ordering Arielle to stay inside because it was too cold to come out dressed as she was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Miss Parlous, do you know what plant it is that you are grinding into a sticky paste?”

“Er… Bladderwort, Professor,” the sixth year Ravenclaw’s voice trembled at the attention.

“Are you supposed to be grinding bladderwort for the Toothache Tonic?”

The girl frantically skimmed over the directions on the board, though was obviously not reading a word.

The muscles at the back of Kiaya’s neck tightened into a knot, complimenting the knots already in her shoulders. She would need another scalding bath in a candlelit room, an analgesic and another glass of brandy tonight. It was only Monday but already January. The late night combination of the potion, bath and brandy had become a ritual several months ago. “Third line from the top, left column.”

“Banwort.”

“Bladdarwort?”

The girl sighed. “No, Miss, banwort. I… I…”

Kiaya waited patiently, her face a mask of expectation. “Does that look like banwort?”

“No, Miss.”

“Why not?”

The girl retreated into stereotypically protective Ravenclaw swot mode. “Bladdarwort is any plant in the genus Utricularia, which are insectivorous or carnivorous aquatic plants – they have air bladders in which they digest food. Banwort is a land flower – commonly called pansy.”

“And should you be using bladderwort or banwort?”

“The pansies.”

“Do you know what will happen if you add bladdarwort instead of banwort to the other ingredients?”

“No, Miss.”

“The plant’s digestive juices will cause it to explode, Miss Parlous, and the fumes will render you unconscious.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Kiaya pulled out her wand with a flourish, directing it to the cauldron and chopping board next to it. “Evanesco.”

The tainted potion disappeared.

“Five points from Ravenclaw. Do it again,” she commanded and walked to the next student.


Hours later, she didn’t move when the door opened and closed with a sharp click, nor did she flinch when she felt his eyes cross over her back. When she heard the whisper soft footsteps, she picked up one of the two goblets on her desk, holding it up so that he couldn’t miss it as he passed. He paused next to her; she didn’t look up. He took the goblet, fingers barely brushing hers.

Grunting his thanks, he continued to his desk. He set something heavy down but stayed standing.

She hummed her acknowledgement while scribbling, ‘A liquid amber is a tree, amber is a semi-precious resin - fossilized sap. It is not liquid. Confusing them would be deadly in this instance. Your reading homework last night made the difference very clear. Did you not do it?’

“It’s Wednesday. You do not normally stay this late. Why are you here?”

She looked up, puzzled. “I’m working; ‘m almost finished.” Glancing to his desk, she saw a silver bowl with runes etched into the side. A silver-white liquid shimmered in it. Kiaya raised her eyebrows, questioning the beautiful potion and bowl.

Snape ignored the unspoken question. “I’ve a student coming in to be tutored in remedial potions. I did not expect you to be here.”

“I’ve got one more to do; I’d like not to have to take it home, if you don’t mind having company for a few minutes.”

“While I do not care if you witness Potter’s tutelage, I’m sure he is embarrassed enough.”

She took Snape’s not-so-subtle hint, thankful that he wasn’t screaming for her to get out. They didn’t talk much. This was, in fact, one of the longest conversations they’d ever had. Kiaya had given over to the knowledge that Snape hated her but was just going to ignore her most of the time. She tried to ignore him, too. The only time he ever spoke to her was when asking hat she was teaching the students. As long as it followed the prescribed Snape/standardized test-curriculum, he just grunted and ignored anything else she had to say. It had become such a habit – the stiff politeness and invisible wall between their desks that, in fact, she rarely even thought of him unless he was directly in front of her. The only exceptions were the headache tonics that they poured at least once a week, usually on the same days. Frequently, they simply placed a glass or goblet on the other’s desk and said no more about it. She’d discovered that they got on famously, as long as neither had a raging headache and Kiaya left soon after classes so he rarely saw her. Repeating the vicious battle of words from the summer was something that Kiaya never wanted to do so she stayed out of his way. Snape’s indifference was always preferable to his fury. “Ten minutes.”

He nodded and sat to mark essays. Occasionally, he would absently stroke the cool metal of the goblet’s stem as he slashed comments down the sides of his victim’s papers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*