As Saturnine took her seat at the Head Table on the evening of Saturday, August 31st, she marvelled at the unique situation she found herself in. For seven years, she had sat on the other side—the students’ side—shyly gazing up at her professors now and then. In true Ravenclaw fashion, her teenage self had a million questions. Was the professors’ food the same as theirs? Was it pumpkin juice in their cups, or were they allowed something stronger? And mostly, she had wondered what they talked about at mealtimes, day after day.
Never in a million years did she think she would be sitting on this side of the Great Hall one day. And that it would be her that hundreds of students would gawk at, curiosity etched deep in their youthful faces. Saturnine still did not know what would be in her drinking cup tonight. But she had an idea or two where the discussions would go. Between the team of Aurors patrolling outside the castle and the newspaper reports of Death Eaters raids happening throughout Britain, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was on everyone’s lips.
Shortly before the students were due to arrive, Professor Leen Nine had made it to the ground floor with her new best friend, Bathsheda Babbling, in tow. At the elder witch’s instruction, she had taken the chair to the blonde’s left. Saturnine wasn’t sure whose spot she was stealing, but she didn’t care. She had nicked the third seat from the left, which was more than fine with her.
Anticipation built up as the rest of the staff arrived, and Saturnine attempted to pay attention to Professor Babbling’s words. The Ancient Runes teacher explained Hogwarts’ Sorting Ceremony to her, and the dark-haired witch tried to ‘hmm’ and nod at the appropriate times. She could have done without the reminder; it wasn’t like she could ever forget what the Sorting Ceremony was like; hers had left an indelible imprint in her mind. Though the Sorting Hat had made the right choice when it called out, “Ravenclaw!” over the top of her head, it also signed the death warrant of hers and Severus’ relationship. Being sorted into different Houses had been the beginning of the end for the two of them. She saw it in her brother’s dark eyes that very night, when she moved to sit down at the ravens’ table. She’d had no idea, but fourteen-year-old Severus Snape had felt the turning of the tide. She could still see it when she closed her eyes—sadness stealing over his boyish features as understanding dawned on him, his right hand shooting up to tightly grip the silver pendant hidden beneath his shirt. It ended with his face disappearing into the shadows cast by a curtain of thin black hair.
The sounds of dozens of pairs of feet hitting the stone floor signalled the students’ arrival and drowned out the rest of Professor Babbling’s words. Saturnine’s gaze shot up towards the entrance of the Great Hall, where young boys and girls, dressed in freshly pressed school uniforms, started pouring in. The quiet atmosphere that had reigned over the hall so far was blown to smithereens as they gathered around, exchanging loud greetings up and down the tables before ultimately choosing a place to sit down. It was only when Professor Dumbledore joined the Head Table that the noise level lowered to something half-decent.
Saturnine took a moment to appreciate the view from the raised dais on which the Head Table sat. It afforded staff members an unobscured view of all four House tables and the entire student body. And her spot on the left-hand side gave her an excellent view of the one Gryffindor boy she was so invested in.
She had to hand it to Harry; the lad had behaved perfectly so far. She had been worried that he would stare at her too much and inadvertently reveal their connection. But he had kept himself in check. Upon entering the Great Hall, he had stared, all right—as had Weasley and Granger. But then, all three had been quick to glance away before sitting down. Saturnine couldn’t hold back a smile.
Ten points to Gryffindor, lad, she thought warmly, before glancing at her still empty cup and wishing it would fill already. She was parched.
From thereon in Saturnine let her gaze move about the room randomly. But always, she kept a lock on the lad in her periphery vision—as she knew she would do throughout the school year. She was nearly positive she caught him doing the same thing once or twice, and it warmed her heart.
Harry wasn’t the only one mindful of where his gaze rested. Saturnine hadn’t gazed at the room’s far-right once since, in a flurry of swirling dark robes, her brother had walked in. But it didn’t matter that she hadn’t looked to where the Head of Slytherin had sat down; knowing that Severus was there, mere feet away from her, was enough to set her heartbeat aflutter.
The ongoing chatter died down when the side door opened, and Professor McGonagall walked in, followed by a line of wide-eyed first-years. And then Saturnine heard it: the familiar, level tone of her brother’s deep voice. Her heart tightened painfully in her chest, and she had to grip the table with both hands to stop herself from showing any reaction.
She was too far away to make out Severus’ words, but there was no second-guessing who the voice belonged to. As the Sorting Hat started singing, she turned her head to the right. Severus was leaning backwards in his chair so that he could speak to Madam Hooch, their Flying Instructor, behind Professor Trelawney’s back. The Divination teacher seemed so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed a thing.
The song ended, and the Sorting Ceremony began, and Saturnine forced herself to pay attention to it, hoping it would distract her. She clapped when expected to, stood awkwardly when Dumbledore introduced her to the students, and made herself eat when the food finally appeared on their table.
Her mind was so removed from the actions that she couldn’t have said what she ate or drank. As soon as she deemed it appropriate, Saturnine took her leave, saying that she still had a couple of things to prepare for her first class and that she wanted to get an early start the next day.
On her way back to the third floor, she tried centring her thoughts and recovered her countenance. She took the long way back and found that walking down quiet darkly-lit corridors did wonders to improve her concentration. She’d have to find a way to get a grip on her emotions, she realised. She couldn’t let the mere sight of her brother throw her like that again. Too much hinged on the concealment of her identity.
Severus was in a precarious situation, she knew—caught between Dumbledore’s mad schemes and Voldemort’s dark designs. Were it to come to light that his younger sister had returned to Britain, many would seek to get their hands on her to get to him. At least her previous employer, Rufus Scrimgeour, had had the good sense to keep the knowledge of her return to himself. But she wasn’t sure the headmaster would prove as cautious.
Pushing open the door to her private quarters, Saturnine heaved a sigh and rolled her tense shoulders. A warm shower would do wonders, she realised, as she crossed through her small living room. A tapping sound made her freeze mid-way. She turned to face the window and discovered a tawny barn owl perched on the windowsill. It was pecking at the glass with its beak.
Saturnine moved to let it in, and the bird flew towards the nearest armchair, landing cautiously on its back and dutifully raising its left leg. The dark-haired witch retrieved the missive and patted the bird twice on the head before it flew back out. The note was from Albus Dumbledore and requested her presence at once. She was on her way to the Headmaster Tower minutes later, wondering what could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the morning.
It was almost time for curfew now, and she didn’t meet too many students on her way down. Those that she ran into greeted her politely, with a touch of curiosity, and she returned the favour more demurely, slipping into the persona of Leen Nine.
When she entered Dumbledore’s cluttered circular office, she was surprised to find Professor McGonagall was also present. The headmaster and his deputy headmistress were deep in conversation over a pile of parchment.
“Right on time, Professor Nine,” Dumbledore said as he sat up from behind his claw-footed desk. Blowing out a nearby candle, he added, “We were just on our way to 12 Grimmauld Place; would you care to join us?”
Next to him, Minerva McGonagall levelled a stern look at her that let Saturnine know the old wizard had only asked her out of politeness. So that’s what it is, she thought: a summons to an Order of the Phoenix meeting.
Saturnine nodded cautiously but remained silent. She was curious to know who would be in attendance. If there were Order members she had met before, that could be problematic. They wouldn’t recognise her underneath all that makeup and would invariably say something. Then Professor McGonagall would be onto her. It could derail her entire plan.
“A small gathering,” Dumbledore added, as if he had ascertained her hesitation. “It should be over quickly.”
She nodded and followed the pair into the green flames of the headmaster’s fireplace.
The transition to the old London townhouse was near-instantaneous, and Saturnine barely had the time to steel her features before she stepped into the Black’s living room. Glancing around at the wizards and witches gathered there, she realised she needn’t have worried. The only two people in attendance she was familiar with were Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. The latter had clearly been informed of the peculiar of the situation beforehand, for she did not indicate surprise. If she had to guess, Saturnine figured she had Remus’ quick thinking to thank for that. Following the pair down to the kitchen, she gave her old friend a discreet nod of thanks.
Dumbledore hadn’t lied; it was a simple meeting to set up a rooster of patrolling Aurors in and about Hogwarts Castle for the duration of the school year. The protection detail had been sanctioned by the Ministry. But it seemed the headmaster was adamant that one Order member—or at the very least, an Auror vetted by them—was present for each shift.
It was no surprise that Dumbledore feared an attack on his school. The Dark Lord’s shadow was growing. It now enveloped much of Wizarding Britain and was stretching itself north at a rapid pace. Voldemort was getting bold, and everyone knew he had his eye set on Scotland and the magical school located there. As Dumbledore emphasised during his speech, the Order needed to work hand-in-hand with the Ministry of Magic. They needed to further their alliance if they wanted to fight the opposition’s ever-growing forces.
Saturnine had to bite her tongue hard at that. She had a thing or two to say about their newly appointed Minister for Magic, and none of them were too kind. Sure, she hadn’t thought much of the previous one, Cornelius Fudge, but his replacement, Rufus Scrimgeour, was even worse. Where Fudge had been a naïve, bumbling fool, Scrimgeour was a devious crook who knew how to use and abuse the system. Still, the Ministry had finally seen the light and decided to stand on the right side of the fight. And despite her grievances, Saturnine knew that when the last battle came, they would need their numbers. So, the dark-haired witch remained silent and kept her years of rancour to herself.
The Order meeting ended a short while later, and several members departed at once. Though a few stayed behind to have a couple of drinks, Saturnine excused herself quickly.
Instead of leaving, she disappeared into the old townhouse’s basement. A Potions lab, she knew, was installed there. Now that she was here, she figured she might as well turn this night into something productive. The timing was right for it. And after what had happened at the Welcoming Feast, she wasn’t sure she could have slept, anyway.
Stopping in front of an unassuming plain oak door, she pulled out her wand and performed a series of complicated spells to unward it. Entering her lab of fortune, she turned on the lights before placing her dark robes on the back of a chair. The air was warm and stuffy in the cramped room, but she resisted the urge to roll up her sleeves. It wouldn’t do to expose her forearms to potential burning projections.
Lighting a flame beneath a thick cauldron, she reached for the fresh aconite that rested on a nearby shelf. Deftly opening the jar, she carefully pulled out the poisonous plant before placing it on the cutting board. Glancing around to make sure the rest of the ingredients were ready to be used, she set about making the potion Remus needed to take monthly.
Albus Dumbledore’s demand to meet with her earlier this spring had come as a surprise. The two had had precious little interaction during her time as a student at Hogwarts, and none after she had left. How he tracked her down, just when she had freed herself from the clutches of the Ministry, was a mystery to her. When the seasoned wizard requested she join his secret Order of the Phoenix group and become the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, she had met him with a couple of demands of her own. The first was for some detailed information on her brother that only the headmaster possessed. The second was that she be granted the means to brew Remus’ Wolfsbane Potion each month, as long as they both should serve the Order.
The second request had been easier to negotiate than the first, but ultimately, she’d had her way. As a result, the old cranky house-elf of 12 Grimmauld Place had furnished a room for her, and the headmaster had placed several orders for the ingredients the potion required.
While Saturnine got started, it struck her as funny that she hid away in what amounted to little more than a stuffy broom closet. Hogwarts had a Potions classroom ten times bigger and several smaller individual labs that would be more than convenient to use. Of course, the old castle also had a talented Potions Master that would probably raise an eyebrow or two if their newly appointed Defence teacher started brewing Wolfsbane Potion in the middle of his dungeons for no particular reason.