Chapter Text
Severus Snape was irritated.
This, in itself, was hardly worth mentioning. Severus had spent much of his life irritated by one thing or another: incompetent students, excessively cheerful colleagues, ministers far too pleased with themselves. On that sweltering June afternoon, however, his irritation had acquired the precision of a freshly sharpened blade.
The clock above the fireplace read seventeen minutes past three. The representative from Beauxbatons was late. Severus glanced at the clock for the tenth time, as though the sheer force of his contempt might compel its hands to turn backwards. It did not. One of Dumbledore's old instruments released a cloud of greenish smoke in the corner of the room, Phineas Nigellus snored in his portrait, and sunlight streamed through the office windows with offensive persistence.
The first Triwizard Tournament since the end of the war. The grand celebration of European peace. A historic opportunity to bring young witches and wizards together in the spirit of cooperation, courage and friendship — phrases that appeared so frequently in documents from the British Ministry of Magic that Severus had begun to suspect they were some form of veiled threat. The last tournament had ended with a dead student and Voldemort's return. Evidently, the solution devised by the wizarding governments had been to organise another.
Beauxbatons' confirmation had not named its representative. Severus was expecting Madame Maxime.
At twenty-two minutes past three, someone knocked at the door.
"Enter."
The word emerged with enough force to intimidate students through three walls. The door opened nevertheless. The sound of heels crossed the office before Severus had a proper look at his visitor. It was not Madame Maxime.
The woman who entered appeared to be in her thirties and possessed the irritating self-assurance of someone who had never considered the possibility of being unwelcome. She wore pale-blue travelling robes, fitted at the waist and fastened up to the neck, although the light fabric betrayed the heat outside. Her very fair hair was gathered into a low bun, with a few loose strands at her temples. She removed her gloves slowly as she surveyed the office.
Her eyes were a vivid blue. They settled first on the peculiar instruments Dumbledore had left behind, then on the potion bottles lining the shelves, and finally on Severus.
"Monsieur Snape, I presume."
Her French accent was subtle. Her voice less so.
Severus remained behind his desk.
"So it says on the door. And you would be…?"
One of her eyebrows rose.
"Angelique Blanche. Deputy Headmistress of Beauxbatons." She approached and offered him her hand without smiling.
Severus looked at her outstretched hand before accepting it.
The handshake lasted no longer than courtesy required. Angelique withdrew her hand.
"I was expecting Madame Maxime."
"She is not well enough to travel. She asked me to represent her."
Severus gestured towards the chair opposite his desk.
"Do sit down, Mademoiselle Blanche."
"Thank you."
Angelique did not sit immediately. She walked to one of the shelves and tilted her head to examine a container in which a dark substance pulsed like a tiny heart.
"Quite a peculiar office."
"Since Dumbledore's death, I have been trying to make it habitable."
"And you decided to start by adding things that breathe inside jars?"
"They seldom sing. That alone is a considerable improvement."
She turned towards him. The beginnings of a smile appeared on her lips, only to vanish before it could fully form. At last, she settled into the chair and took a folder from her bag.
"These are Beauxbatons' plans for the Tournament. Timetables, accommodation, security protocols, transport, and everything else the English typically require before accepting a cup of tea."
"Rules and organisation have never done anyone any harm."
"A very English belief."
"And is punctuality still a discovery the French hope to make one day?"
"I arrived on time."
Severus pointed towards the clock.
"Twenty-seven minutes late."
"The meeting was scheduled for half past three."
He opened a drawer, retrieved the parchment he had received from Beauxbatons and found the relevant line. Half past three.
Severus folded the letter with great deliberation.
"An unnecessary flourish in the handwriting might account for the misunderstanding."
"Naturally. Blame the French and their handwriting. Never your own eyes."
She offered him the folder. As Severus took it, their fingertips brushed once more.
He noticed. Annoyed with himself for it, he tightened his grip on the folder, searching her face for any reaction.
Angelique, too, remained still for a moment. Her eyes dropped to their hands.
"Is there a problem?" Severus asked.
"None."
She released the folder.
Severus decided to check the documents later for concealed enchantments. It was a more useful precaution than dwelling on the contact.
"I imagine your compatriots possess qualities that compensate for their lack of organisation," he said.
"Several."
"Punctuality is not among them."
"Washing their hair is."
The silence that followed seemed to affect even the portraits.
Severus closed the folder.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Asphodel residue," she explained, pointing to a lock of hair near his face. "And something oily. Wormwood, perhaps. Were you brewing potions before our meeting?"
The accuracy of her observation only made the insult worse.
"My appearance has never compromised my competence."
Her blue eyes travelled slowly over his face. She showed none of the amusement Severus had expected.
"No," Angelique agreed. "I suppose it hasn't."
Severus opened the folder before she could explain what she meant. He had no interest whatsoever in the answer.
He began examining the documents.
"Will the outer wards be extended?"
"They already have been. We've added three independent circles, each connected to a different source. If one fails, the other two remain active."
"And the champions' seals?"
"Individual, tamper-proof, and bound to the designated authorities of all three schools."
"'Tamper-proof' is a dangerous word."
"Which is why I've included an entire section explaining every possible way they could be tampered with."
Severus looked up at her again.
Angelique appeared perfectly at ease, but the amusement had left her eyes. She indicated the correct page without consulting the contents.
He read quickly. The plan was meticulous. It included redundancies, emergency protocols and specific safeguards against Confundus Charms, identity forgery and external interference with the selection process.
"You look disappointed," she said.
"Surprised."
"Because I'm French, or because I'm wearing a skirt?"
"Because you spent the first ten minutes discussing my hair."
"And yet I know precisely what's written on every page."
Severus closed the folder for the second time.
"At the last Tournament, every supposed safeguard was circumvented."
"An impostor remained at Hogwarts for an entire year…"
"I was there."
Angelique held his gaze. Then she leant slightly across the desk.
"I know, Monsieur Snape. That is why I want your assessment."
Severus reopened the folder.
"Then show me what you intend to do differently."
"Beauxbatons will not allow a fourth champion to be added. We will not allow the seals to be replaced. And we will not allow any headmaster to withhold information from the other two, however inconvenient the truth may be."
"Are you implying something?"
"I am informing you of the conditions under which we agreed to host the Tournament."
"Hogwarts does not take orders from Beauxbatons."
"Excellent. Then you will understand perfectly when Beauxbatons refuses to take yours."
The beginnings of a smile returned to her lips.
Severus realised the argument should have exhausted his patience by now.
It hadn't.
He pushed Hogwarts' memorandum towards her with rather more force than necessary. The document landed on the desk with a heavy thud.
"These are our requirements."
Angelique regarded the hundred and twelve pages.
"Did you write all of this?"
"Personally."
"And here I was thinking you had no hobbies."
She picked up the document and began leafing through it.
Severus waited for a complaint. Instead, Angelique scanned the first page, then the second and third, with astonishing speed.
"Articles seven and nine contradict each other," she said. "You require unrestricted access for delegation supervisors to the competitors' areas, yet prohibit unauthorised adults from entering the accommodation."
"The headmasters will be authorised."
"That isn't specified in the text."
"It's implied."
"Implicit rules are merely future arguments dressed in formal attire."
Severus held out his hand.
"Give me that."
She moved the memorandum beyond his reach.
"I haven't finished."
"I intend to correct the wording."
"Once I've discovered how many other errors there are."
"There are no other errors."
"What delightful confidence."
Angelique continued reading. A faint line appeared between her eyebrows as she concentrated.
So it wasn't a lack of preparation, then. Within minutes, she had identified issues that two representatives of the British Ministry had missed over several weeks.
Severus ought to have felt reassured.
Instead, he began to regard her as even more dangerous.
"The clause concerning surprise inspections is unacceptable," she said.
"It is essential."
"It allows Hogwarts staff to enter any area of Beauxbatons."
"Only during the Tournament."
"Then I assume you won't object if I include an equivalent authorisation for us to inspect Hogwarts."
"That would be unnecessary."
"Because English castles are incapable of concealing dangers?"
Before Severus could respond, three firm knocks sounded at the door.
Angelique glanced at the small watch on her wrist.
"Now we really are late."
The door opened.
The man who entered was tall and looked to be in his forties. His wavy brown hair was beginning to turn silver at the temples. A close-cropped beard followed the line of his jaw. When he smiled, fine lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. He wore dark red beneath a heavy travelling cloak, and his face bore the serene expression of someone who knew he would be welcome anywhere.
"Forgive me," he said in impeccable English. "The staircases at Hogwarts seem to harbour a particular hostility towards foreigners."
Angelique placed the open memorandum on the desk and stood.
This time, her smile appeared in full.
"Benedikt."
The newcomer crossed the office, took her hand and bent to kiss it. The gesture was formal. The familiarity in his eyes was not.
"Angelique. Still arriving before me simply so you can complain."
"Someone has to preserve tradition."
Benedikt von Veltheim, Headmaster of Durmstrang, turned to Severus.
"Headmaster Snape. We meet at last."
Severus shook the offered hand.
"Headmaster von Veltheim."
Benedikt sat beside Angelique. She handed him a copy of the documents, and the two exchanged a few quick words in French.
Severus waited for them to finish. When Angelique added another remark, he cleared his throat and drew the memorandum to the centre of the desk.
"The inspections clause remains unresolved."
Benedikt opened the folder.
"What is the difficulty?"
"Hogwarts requires access to areas of Beauxbatons," Angelique replied. "I asked whether the authorisation would be reciprocal."
Severus removed the lid from the inkwell.
"It will be. We need to define which areas may be inspected and who may carry out the inspections."
Benedikt drew his chair closer to the desk.
"On the same terms for all three schools."
"Obviously."
Angelique turned the page and pointed to the relevant paragraph. Severus followed the line with his quill.
At least the objections would be made in English from now on.