October 19th, 1996
The winter months approached swiftly as did my concerns for Headmaster Dumbledore’s health. Upon his return from his summer quest many months ago, I witnessed first hand the mysterious curse that radiated through his fingers. I knew then nothing – no elixir, no counter curse – could postpone the inevitable. The best I could hope was to slow the process and give the man enough time to put his affairs in order. With luck, he would survive the rest of the school term and pass in dignity over the following summer.
After all these months, what concerns me even more than his health are his actions as of late. It is potentially months, weeks, perhaps even days from a most likely painful death, yet he spends nearly all waking hours either peering over his pensieve or in private conversation with Potter. Then, of course, there is the curious case of adding Professor Veritas and her Creative Arts course to Hogwarts curriculum. With the presence of Voldemort becoming more destructive and undaunted everyday, the need of such frivolous teachings seemed a careless decision for the wisest of headmasters.
It was early in the evening when Professor Dumbledore asked to see me in private. I assumed we would be discussing the welfare of the Hogwarts students and staff alike. With Draco becoming more and more reckless each day, we both sensed trying days were ahead.
“Severus, you may asking why I summoned you here.” Headmaster questioned me as I stood a respectable distance from the Pensieve he was utterly mesmirized by.
“Nothing surprises me these day Headmaster.” I replied.
“I must ask your word on something VERY important.
“Professor Dumbledore, pardon me for asking, but I fail to see the importance of Ms. Veritas’ course of study. Do you not think a wiser use of student’s time would be to improve their defensive studies?”
“Severus, indulge an old man in his final days. I know you have a difficult time accepting this, but L’apercil is teaching very useful skills – a talent that Voldemort knows nothing of.”
“Carving with mud and water? Slapping powdered pigments on canvas? How can this be of any value when the dark lord is upon us?’
The Headmaster simply turned again to his pensieve and uttered a few closing words. “You must trust me now as you have trusted me all these years my friend. The time will come when her innate cleverness and passion for muggle arts which she passes along to the students, and staff,” he turned to me, staring those great grey eyes into mine, “will be our greatest gifts.”
“Headmaster,” I began to inquire, “I see that she is dedicated to the students, but I also cannot help but sense a deep loss she has experienced which may cloud her judgment in times of crisis. Do you know anything about her past?”
“Ahh, I see you have attempted Legilimens on Ms. Veritals, Severus. You do know how much that displeases me?” One bristly white eyebrow rose while a frown set upon his aged face.
“I...have...done...no...such...thing!” My temper raged but out of respect for my mentor I did not raise my voice. “My thoughts are purely based on personal observation.”
“You two do have one thing in common. L’apercil has, as you have Severus, experienced the deepest loss a soul could bear. She was once married to her school sweetheart, Gregorian. He was a muggle, like her parents, but he was also a very successful writer whom she became attracted to for his well known generosity and wit. They had only been married a year when Gregorian was shamelessly killed by a death eater. Since then, L’apercil has traveled about the world trying to forget her pain and focus on her own personal artwork. She is skilled in all sorts of creative avenues including drawing, painting, and sculpture. Although her work is can be inferred to as soothing, it has also possesses an underlying longing for lost love. Her eyes and hands are her most magical possessions.”
“Can you not send her away? She has muggle blood in her! Don’t you see how much jeopardy you are putting her, not to mention the students, in by having her here?”
“She is not the only Professor on these grounds, Professor, who is a half blood wizard.” Dumbledore bestowed only a passing glance in my direction as he made his way to his desk.
It was clear to me this night, that our paths had crossed with purpose. L’Apercil and I shared an unspoken bond that would continue to be the basis of my vigilence to stay on task and protect the students and staff of Hogwarts – no matter the cost.
