September 1, 1996
As has been tradition for over 100 years at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hundreds of charmed candles flickered high above four lengthy tables within the great hall. This first night of school term always began in the same manner. The sorting hat, placed upon the heads of often eager and sometimes petrified 11-year-olds, announced which house they would be chosen. Predictably, each of the houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin – were each granted a comfortable balance of first year students.
Normally, I care not who, nor how many, students were sorted amongst the other three houses. As the head of Slytherin, my attention was focused on those who possessed exceptional talent for logic and less to those who let brawn define their skill with a wand. Tonight however, the bantering of that ragged cone of leather was not my concern. A certain, arrogant, attention seeking Gryffindor was not in his seat. Apparently the “chosen one” didn’t feel his attendance was required this evening. I assumed our Headmaster was aware of Potter’s absence since he frequently granted secret missions for the boy.
Dumbledore began his start of term announcements completely avoiding the conflicts with the Ministry. I knew from private conversations he did not want to trouble students with such matters. I kept watch on the far doors, anticipating Potter to enter and slip onto the Gryffindor bench, when the scent of moonstone powder and parchment enveloped the space to my left. I turned expecting to find the diminutive Professor Flitwick, instead sat a presence I had not known before.
“And may I inquire exactly who you are?” I asked of the witch wearing a most vividly colored robe of purples and golds.
“Good evening Professor Snape. I am Professor L’apercil Veritas from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. It appears Headmaster has not announced my company this term.” The witch extended a porcelain hand in my direction, too fragile to touch.
As close as Dumbledore and I have been throughout these past few years, I know there are many events he chose not to apprise me of. But with Hogwarts under the strictest of security and an impossibility to apparate within school grounds, I could not explain how the woman mysteriously appeared to my side.
The witch pulled at the length of her skirt and looked below to her black toed heals. “Do you mind?”
I looked down to find my boot resting atop the hem of one of her many layers of pearlescent silk and lifted my heel enough to free the fabric.
“Aren’t you a little, ah, short for Beauxbatons?” I asked in an attempt to ignore the inexplicable sense of serenity which seemed to accompany a pleasurable aroma of moonpowder and parchment.
She leaned over and whispered in the crispest of words. “Professor, only our Headmistriss is a giant. I can assure you Beauxbatons Academy is quite suitable for witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.”
“And your accent Professor Veritas? I hear no hint of the Beaubatons flair for the melodrama.” I asked.
“Oh, zees one? You zee I ’ave traveled across ze world and can easily adapt to any dialect ’nd accent. But if it makes you more, ’ow you say, comfortable, I can ’appily speak zis way if you like.” Her mouth created a most cunning and attractive smile.
The world seemed to become a little less dark, a little less foreboding as my pupils dove into the clearest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. I could not read into her mind, but in that moment I painfully relived the murdered betrayal of my dearest Lily all over again. Although Lily had looked upon me with the deepest of green eyes, they had had a similar effect on my actions, or in this case lack of them. I could not pierce through L’apercil’s blue orbs to discover any hidden truths. I only found myself drawn closer to them. It was only for an instant that I let my thoughts wander away from my mission, and in that split second, her sleeve had snagged against one of the jewels of her goblet. Before I could chant Locomoto to stop the fall, her tea had spilled across my cloak.
“Oh Professor, I am deeply sorry!” She apologized reaching for a most ornately carved wand. “Allow me.” She said as a great jet of air burst from her wand to dry to combat a spill with a spell.
“Ah, Severus, I see you have met the lovely Professor Veritas.” Headmaster Dumbledore announced from behind my chair.
“Obviously.” I replied as I raised my hand to block futher use of her wand.
Dumbledore reached for L’apercil’s wandless hand and kissed it lightly along the milky white skin. I watched the moment with the upmost curiosity and felt my own pulse race as he touched her flesh.
“L’apercil, you are as lovely as Madame Maxime described. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“It is my pleasure Headmaster. Madame Maxime has told me so much about your fine school. I feel as if I have already been here.” L’apercil said and smiled softly.
“I trust Professor McGonagall has shown you to your quarters.”
“Oh, yes, thank you. They are quite impressive.”
Dumbledore once again caught her hand with another kiss and turned back in my direction. I'm sure my expression was not what he had expected as I couldn’t help but leer back at he who had just placed his lips on that most delicate flesh.
“Severus, I know this will be difficult, but I must pull you away from the divine company of Professor Veritas in order to survey the grounds.” He turned his back to L’apercil and whispered over my shoulder. “It appears our missing student has arrived at the gate.
“At once,” I said and dragged my thoughts away from the fanciful images inside my head and the fluttering beneath my chest.
