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 this. I’m just having some fun adding my own little corner to the amazing world she has created.

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CHAPTER 3: SPIES AND DOLLS

Severus Snape swept along the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. He walked briskly despite the fact that he had no eagerness to reach his destination. The exertion of his pace simply relieved some of his infuriation about the meeting to which he had been summoned. He felt the urge to shove someone out of his way, but the street was inconveniently deserted.

Dumbledore had had his share of mad schemes, but this one beat all. Another spy? What was the old coot playing at? Was he, Snape, not doing an adequate job as Dumbledore’s inside man? Or was this new recruit meant to spy on the spy? Why bring in anyone new at this critical time? Was the Headmaster such a trusting old fool that he had as much faith in a woman whom he had met but once as he did in the man who had served him for almost fourteen years? Or did this intruder signify a lack of trust, an unwillingness to put all the Order’s eggs into one basket?

Either way, Snape thought, as he steeled himself in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, it was a ludicrous plan.

He swung open the door to the pub and scowled at the barman—just long enough to establish that he had no intention of wasting his time imbibing watered-down spirits in this gods- and customer-forsaken establishment. Recognizing that Snape would not be starting a bar tab, Tom nodded curtly in the direction of the stairs leading to the rented rooms above.

Idiotic. That’s what this was. Snape had been a Death Eater for nearly two decades. He had done his time. He knew things. He was valuable—to both sides. The Dark Lord was not as keen to trust as Dumbledore. Why would he welcome this newcomer into his folds?

She-would-be-nothing, he thought as he stomped up the stairs. There was room for only one spy in the Order, and he’d keep the job just out of spite alone.

Despite the fury that he had worked himself into on his way to the meeting, Snape forced his agitation from his body when he reached the top of the steps. He would not stomp around like some Quidditch-playing thug. He was Severus Snape—Potions Master and, at long last, Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Head of Slytherin House, Death Eater…spy. He moved stealthily through the dim corridor toward the door at the end of the hall from which he caught the muted sound of voices. Yes, he was a spy, and experience told him never to telegraph his arrival at a rendezvous. The outside of the doors could be much more interesting than what lay beyond them. He inched closer.

“I’m afraid it would defeat our purpose to offer you use of my Pensieve.” This, Snape knew, was Dumbledore.

“Of course, I’ve never had the luxury of one before.” Though Severus could not place the faint accent, he was certain he could identify the woman who spoke with it—his rival.

“Nevertheless,” Dumbledore began, “there are a few memories I wish you would keep in storage.” He spoke these words with added significance. Snape wished he could see the exchange taking place beyond the door as well as he could hear it.

“Ah, yes, don’t we all wish to bottle our most pleasant days?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Nothing could be more pleasant than meeting you, my dear.” There was a pregnant pause which Snape was certain that some significant action was transpiring. “Yes, please keep the circumstances of our meeting safe. I’d suggest that you do the same with the finer details of that ring.”

“With pleasure.”

So Dumbledore didn’t want her blabbing about their meeting, eh? Snape could only assume that meant to him. However she was involved in these espionage affairs, she certainly had no business discussing them with Tom the barkeep or the hag on the street. And what was this about a ring?

Yes, the spy games had begun. And after this interception, the first point went to Severus Snape.

When Snape distinguished the sound of chairs being pulled up to a table and heard Dumbledore offer his companion a sherbet lemon, he knew that there was no point in standing outside any longer. Instead, he knocked three times on the panel of wood that was a sorry excuse for a barrier. Really, Dumbledore ought to stop conducting important business in rundown inns.

The white-bearded wizard appeared at the door wearing his usual welcoming smile. Some voyeuristic side of Snape couldn’t help but look down at the Headmaster’s right hand, all black and shriveled like a mummy without its wrappings. Dumbledore had summoned him just a few nights before, seeking relief from but offering no explanation for the agonizing poison that was seeping up his fingers, that would eat him from the inside out. It was an ancient potion—the kind that didn’t come with an antidote—and Snape could only stop the poison from spreading into the rest of the old man’s system by killing the hand at the wrist, thus creating a kind of firebreak that would stop the poison from spreading through living tissue and reaching vital organs. He had stoppered the great Albus Dumbledore’s death, and the only thanks he had gotten was a meeting with someone who apparently wanted his job.

Dumbledore stepped out of the doorway to give Snape a full view of the Leaky Cauldron’s finest accommodations in all their dusty, threadbare glory. The younger man’s eyes darted around the room in search of his competition—the witch who fancied herself a spy.

Snape’s expectations of this woman had been low. (It had been easier on his ego to make them so.) He had envisioned some nut with a Muggle-like fetish for Gothic fashion, someone whose painful attempt at looking Dark might be laughable. But this? This had to be a joke. It might just rank as Dumbledore’s most absurd prank to date.

A doll. A china doll—her dainty hand outstretched as if she were posed for a tea party. A doll with cornsilk hair and bright blue eyes under ridiculously long lashes. A doll with bright red lips set off against pale porcelain skin—the stunningly unoriginal composite of a fairy princess. This was whom Dumbledore planned to send into the fray? She’d break before the Dark Lord ever branded her with his Mark!

And her robes! If anything could have incited more repulsion than Snape felt toward this woman’s person, it was her clothes. They were white. Blindingly, obnoxiously white. It was not just that one or two garments were white. They were all white—her robes, her blouse, her trousers, everything. As far as Snape was concerned, the only color that could be carried off in monotone, really the only color worth wearing at all, was black. White was just another color for show, as ostentations as any of the pastels worn by Gilderoy Lockhart in his saner days. Didn’t she know she was going to the Dark Lord? Oh, what were Dumbledore’s sherbet lemons laced with?

Despite her ridiculously showy robes, however, the china doll wore little jewelry. Most importantly, there wasn’t a single ring on her finger. She had obviously secreted away whatever one she and Dumbledore had been discussing. He scowled.

“Severus Snape,” Dumbledore said, “I’d like you to meet Aurora Bernard.”

Aurora. Of course. What more disgustingly pretty name could there be for Miss Goodness and Light? It was the kind of name unicorn-obsessed young witches named their dollies. Snape nodded curtly, but she insisted upon stepping forward to shake his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Severus.”

Severus? How had they managed to arrive on a first-name basis already?

“Won’t you please have a seat? Albus and I wore just preparing to have some tea.”

Albus, no less? The woman had the audacity to address the Headmaster of Hogwarts as an equal. The daring and Dumbledore’s tacit acceptance of it irritated Snape to no end, for it left him with no grounds on which to object to the woman’s familiarity with himself.

“Aurora comes to us from Switzerland,” Dumbledore said amicably.

Well, bully for her.

“I attended Beauxbatons in France.”

And that was supposed to make him feel better? What did Beauxbatons know about teaching Dark Magic or its defenses? “Lovely,” he replied as dryly as he could in Dumbledore’s presence.

“Yes, it is,” she answered as brightly as if he had been sincere. “Would you please hand me your cup?”

“What?”

“Your teacup. You would like some tea, wouldn’t you?”

Well, why the hell didn’t she just Acciod it across the table? Had Dumbledore recruited a Squib to boot? With a grunt, he passed her the cup.

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Black.”

She handed the filled teacup back to him, and he sloshed some liquid on the table in a bumbled exchange. With the same Muggle-like inefficiency, the doll poured Dumbledore’s tea, except that the Headmaster requested milk and three lumps of sugar. By the time she served everyone, the tea would be cold.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore declared when she dropped the third sugar into his cup. Leave it to him to enjoy this absurd ritual. “I do love the ‘plop’ of a sugar cube into a teacup.”

She spoke while she poured her own tea. “So you are a spy, Severus?” she asked as conversationally as if she had been enquiring about where he preferred to take his holidays.

“Do you believe spies admit to their occupations so freely?” he sneered.

“I don’t see why not,” she answered as lightly as before. “The best ruse is often honesty. The real question is exactly which side a spy is working for.”

Snape glared at her. More than ever he had the feeling that she and Dumbledore were trying to back him into a very dangerous corner.

“No need to get on edge, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Aurora already knows the reason I’ve called you two together. She knows your basic history. You see, I’ve recruited her as a spy as well.”

Snape longed to ask Dumbledore what right he had t blow his cover, but knew better. Instead, he challenged the newcomer. “And by what history has our Swiss guest managed to establish such a fascinating philosophy about the life of a spy?”

Little Miss Tea Party took a sip of her drink. She had the affected audacity to point her pinky out as she held her cup. “I can’t say I have much of a history at all.”

“Then how do you expect to penetrate the folds of one of the world’s most powerful wizards?”

“With that I don’t expect to have much trouble.” Her voice and expression were no longer bright, but she held his stare.

“I’d like some biscuits,” Dumbledore interjected. “Wouldn’t you?” He did not wait for a response. “I think I’ll go downstairs and ask Tom for some.”

Snape suddenly found himself alone with the woman. Outside of Dumbledore’s presence, he dropped whatever polite pretence he had feigned. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he spat.

“That matter is between Dumbledore and myself.”

“Not if you’re going to drag me into it, which you obviously are. You might be willing to stake your life on some ridiculous notion that good will prevail, but I for one want a little more security if my neck is going to be on the line.”

“A spy who wants security?” She was mocking him. She dared to mock him! “Well, if you wish to know my mission, I’m to be a spy.”

“Dumbledore has a spy,” he hissed.

“You don’t honestly believe that the Dark Lord trusts anyone so much to tell him or her everything?” Her voice had grown progressively cooler, but she maintained a nonchalant air as she sipped her tea, her little finger still perfectly pointed.

“And you expect the Dark Lord to tell you anything?” Snape sneered. “It takes people years to gain his confidence…that is, if he doesn’t kill them first.”

She studied him over the brim of her tea cup, then dropped her eyes to the dark liquid within. Had he frightened some sense into her? Slowly, she pushed her chair back from the table and walked over to the window. She kept her back turn to him. “My parents were both Death Eaters,” she said measuredly.

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I know of no Death Eaters by the name of Bernard.”

“And do you believe the truth is limited to what you know?”

“What truth I know affects what—and whom—I believe.”

“Then do you know of two Death Eaters by the name of Wolfram and Minka Kiebitzei?”

“Vaguely. They were killed….”

“When I was ten. The Dark Lord knew and trusted my parents, and he knows and trusts—as much as the Dark Lord trusts—me.”

Knows? This woman made less and less sense to Snape. The Dark Lord did not usually concern himself with children—unless of you counted his blood feud with Harry Potter. He hardly could have known her before her parents’ death, and Dumbledore spoke as if she had long been in Switzerland. Snape’s spy sense told him something did not add up. Was the woman already working for the Dark Lord? If so, why was she so keen on getting him involved? Had both of his masters ceased to trust him? Snape decided it was time for a covert operation. His eyes bored a hole in the back of that blindingly blonde head and sought to extract the answers to his questions.

“Don’t-do-that!”

Snape received the mental equivalent of a slap in the face as she spun around, her golden hair and white robes swirling around her. Her baby blue eyes no longer looked so doll-like but flashed dangerously.

So she was an Occlumens.

“If you wish to know something, you should ask it.” She had returned to her demure tea party voice.

Fine. They’d both see how far her honest spy policy would carry her. “Are you a Death Eater?”

Without breaking eye contact (she seemed to be daring him to try to read her mind again), she pushed up her left sleeve. Snape was forced to break her stare in order to catch a peek at her milky arm, untouched by the Dark Lord’s brand.

“An unmarked arm won’t get you very far with the Death Eaters.”

“That is why I need your help, Severus.” Dumbledore was standing in the doorway with a plate of chocolate biscuits in his hands. “I see you have been getting acquainted, so let’s get down to business. I need Aurora as a spy.” Snape tried to contest this point, but Dumbledore gave him an uncharacteristically stern look. “I need her as a spy, Severus,” he repeated, “and a spy in Lord Voldemort’s circle needs to be able to guard his or her thoughts. Is this not correct, Severus?” Snape agreed with a jerk of his head. “A spy therefore needs Occlumency, and as you are most proficient in this field, I wish you to teach Aurora.”

Was the old man daft or was this all part of the intruder’s elaborate scheme? “I believe I can save us all some time, Headmaster,” Snape said silkily, “seeing as how our guest is already an Occlumens.”

“In Pure Occlumency, yes,” she answered, “but I have no experience in the art of Mentior Occlumency.”

No experience? She had to be joking—or lying. Somewhere in the back of Snape’s head his brain still stung from the way she had snapped her mind shut to him. There was no way she could be so adept at closing her mind, particularly with such an accomplished Legilimens as himself, without having also tested her skills in sending off false thoughts.

“I see you are skeptical,” she said shrewdly. “And, no, I did not need to read your mind to know that. I know even less about Legilimency than I do about Mentior Occlumency. I was taught Pure Occlumency when I was very young. There was not time for me to learn the more advanced arts, and I have had no desire to learn them for myself.”

Then she was a fool—a pretty little fool. Didn’t she have it in that tiny, golden head that knowledge was power—other people’s knowledge as well as one’s own? How could she expect to be a spy?

“Headmaster, perhaps you would make the better teacher.”

“Alas, it is not possible,” the old man said with obvious regret. “I cannot risk Aurora knowing my thoughts, should she be…compromised. Though, of course, we’ll do everything to see that doesn’t happen,” he added quickly.

“Professor, I believe we have established that I am not a suitable instructor for this subject.” Under ordinary circumstances, Snape never would have claimed any responsibility for his one other venture into teaching Occlumency. Anyone with any sense knew that the lessons had failed because of the willful incompetence of The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Snape’s-Bane.

“I believe you will find Aurora to be a more willing and able student,” Dumbledore replied as if reading Snape’s mind. “Besides, she already benefits from knowing the basic skills. You will not fail.”

Was that supposed to have been a reassurance or a threat?

“Besides,” Miss Goodness and Light interjected brightly, “it will give us the chance to get to know each other better. I expect we’ll be seeing rather a lot of each other.”

Not if he could help it. He planned on standing on the opposite side of the circle from her at Death Eater meetings—if she ever got that far.

“I don’t believe Severus has heard that bit of good news, Aurora,” said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye.

“What?” asked Snape with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Twinkles never boded well.

“I’ve hired Aurora to be Hogwarts’ new Runes Mistress. It looks like the two of you will be working together both day and night.”