Chapter 1 – The Impossible Girl

Severus Snape swept into the Hospital Wing, desperately wishing he'd given into his baser impulses and poured himself a large shot of Firewhiskey before answering Dumbledore's summons.

"Ah, Severus," the old man greeted him, his sparkling blue eyes observing him benignly. "You've managed to clean up, I see."

Snape inclined his head.

"Headmaster."

"What exactly is going on, Albus?" Minerva asked, her face pinched with worry. "Who is this girl, and why have you brought her here?"

Only then, did Snape allow his eyes to travel to the prone form on the bed.

A girl – a woman, really – slumbered on, unaware of their presence at her side. If he'd had to have guessed, he'd have said she was in her early to mid-twenties, but it was difficult to tell in her current state. Her fiery red hair framed her face like a halo against the pillow, and even in sleep, her brows were furrowed as though in pain.

Beneath the sheets, Severus knew, her body was a patchwork of burns, and it would be many days before Madame Pomfrey's skills had healed the worst of the damage. Until then, she was to be kept in a magically-induced sleep, but it seemed as though some injuries weren't so easily ignored. His own burns, wrapping around his ribs and scarring the top of his left shoulder, twinged and stung beneath his robes, but he had dealt with far worse before, and he refused to let the extent of his pain show on his face.

Dumbledore observed his colleagues over the top of his half-moon spectacles, and with a heavy sigh, turned to face him.

"Perhaps you'd better tell the story, Severus," he said. "You're the only one who was there."

With a sigh of his own, he crossed his arms in front of his chest – a protective gesture left over from childhood – and looked between Minerva and Poppy, before turning his dark eyes back to the woman on the bed.

"Earlier this evening, I was summoned by the Dark Lord to one of his Muggle-hunting trips," he began, distaste colouring his voice. "When I arrived, the – how shall we say? – festivities were in full swing, but it soon became clear that something was wrong."

He paused to gather his thoughts, and occlude his mind against the smell of burning flesh and echoes of helpless screams, as the Death Eaters had blasted their way through a village pub and slaughtered anyone they'd found there.

"The pub had been blown apart by the time I arrived, and the Death Eaters had broken up into groups, some killing outright, some torturing the Muggles they'd found for sport."

Poppy raised a hand to her mouth, and Minerva looked decidedly ill.

"Then, all of a sudden, there was an explosion of power from behind one of the falling walls."

He furrowed his brow, remembering the way the golden light had jettisoned into the cold night air, forcing the Death Eaters back and propelling Fenrir Greyback into the trees.

"No-one knew what was happening," he continued. "The fires Bellatrix had set began to leap and twist, until they morphed into an immense and incredibly powerful whirlwind."

"Of course," Minerva said bitterly. "I should have known she was behind this."

But Snape simply shook his head.

"No, Minerva," he corrected. "I said she'd set the fires, but she wasn't the one controlling them. A woman was standing in the middle of the tornado. She looked…."

He trailed off, recalling the way the figure had stood, arms outstretched, hair flying, her face a mask of fear, pain, and wonder, as the flames had danced around her.

"She looked… Terrified." He said at length. "She had no idea what she was doing. It was like watching a child making something fly across the room for the first time. She was acting purely on instinct, and what's more, she couldn't control it. But even so, no matter how many curses the Death Eaters sent her way, they couldn't penetrate the vortex. It was pandemonium. Bellatrix was cursing and shrieking, and the Carrows looked fit to lose their minds with anger. In the middle of it all, a wall of flame leapt at the Dark Lord, and he hardly had time to repel it. It's the only time I've ever seen him truly frightened."

He paused again, his eyes drawn inexorably to the sleeping woman.

"Then, the fire just seemed to burst out of everywhere. The trees caught light and the ground began almost to boil."

He recalled again the scene: the Dark Lord screaming for someone to Stop her! Stop her and bring her to me! and then the fear that had leapt like a spark between his followers, as their leader had Disapparated in a flurry of black smoke.

"The Death Eaters simply fled," Severus said with disgust. "They had no idea what was happening, and they couldn't subdue her, so they ran."

Minerva's eyes were like saucers, and Poppy's hands were trembling.

"And then?" The Medi-witch breathed.

"And then…"

He looked again to the bed, remembering that it had been just the two of them left, and as he'd lowered his wand, their gaze had locked. The depth of the helplessness in those brown eyes had taken his breath away, and as he'd held up his hands in placation, she'd simply dropped her arms to her sides, and collapsed with exhaustion.

He shook his hair in front of his face and continued, unwilling to identify the emotion now tightening his chest.

"When the Death Eaters had Disapparated, she fell to the ground," he said. "But the fires were everywhere. I managed to put most of them out fairly quickly, but I had to battle through to get to her, and by the time I'd got there her clothes had caught light, and, well…"

He swallowed the bile in his throat and gestured towards the bed, where he knew her body was blackened and raw. When he'd reached her side, he'd never seen a person so consumed by fire. He'd cast spells quicker than he'd ever done in his life, and used his own body to put the last of the flames out when that had failed. But by the time it had been extinguished, her clothes had simply melted off her body, and all he could see was blistering skin and large, gaping wounds splitting open from her neck-down. He'd thought she was as good as dead when he'd lifted her up, but as his arms slipped beneath her, she'd cried out and clung to the front of his robes like a child.

"Please," she'd begged him. "Please."

The moment she'd lost consciousness, he'd already known he couldn't leave her behind.

Silence followed the end of his tale, and the four of them watched the sleeping woman with varying expressions of horror and pity. It was Minerva who finally broke the quiet.

"But… She's a Muggle," she said disbelievingly. "A Muggle couldn't possibly have done what you say, Severus, she just couldn't!"

Snape felt his jaw clench.

"Are you calling me a liar, Minerva?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Of course not, Severus, it's just that-"

But he cut her off, drawing himself up in a manner he knew still terrified his students.

"Either you think I'm a liar," he continued silkily. "Or you think so little of my intelligence that you believe I was fooled by some sort of a trick. So, it falls to me to discern, which is it? Am I a liar, or a fool, Minerva?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Professor Dumbledore held up his hand for quiet, his expression troubled.

"I can confirm that Severus, you are not a liar," he said wearily. "But we are all of us, mistaken."

Suddenly, the old wizard appeared unbearably tired.

"What do you mean, Albus?" Poppy asked.

He stared gravely at them, his blue eyes no longer twinkling.

"It is impossible that a Muggle could do this, you are quite correct, but this woman is not a Muggle. Neither, however, is she a trained witch."

He allowed this last statement to settle into the uneasy atmosphere, and Severus felt his mouth go dry.

"Do you mean to say, Headmaster," he began slowly. "That this woman is an Undiscovered?"

Poppy and Minerva gasped, and Dumbledore nodded.

"That is indeed what I believe, Severus," he said.

"But we haven't had an Undiscovered witch or wizard for centuries!" Minerva exclaimed. "How has she stayed hidden all this time? Surely her magical signature should have been picked up and recorded the moment she was born, or at the very least, she should have manifested as an Obscurial and broken cover long before now. She's twenty-five if she's a day. It simply doesn't make sense, Albus!"

"I know, Minerva," the Headmaster answered, worry creasing his face. "But it's clear she isn't a Muggle. Nor is there a record of her at the Ministry, and from the behaviour Severus has described, she's clearly never had any magical tuition. The question now, is just how she managed to stay hidden, and what we should do with her now that she's been found."

The four of them looked down at the sleeping figure, and somewhere deep in Snape's chest, he felt fear.