Blackbird Fly

One

Severus Snape crept across the grounds; he was silent, stealthy as he moved, his robes fluttering about his ankles. He needed to be alone to think, and he couldn't do it in the Slytherin common room or the library. He was being watched, he was sure of it. Snape peered back over his shoulder as naturally as he could while keeping up a brisk pace towards the trees by the lake.

He shoved aside the creeping vines of the willow tree, figuring that he would be shielded from anyone who intended to bother him or spy on him. Snape pulled out his wand and set a few basic wards on the tree to ensure his privacy before pacing and murmuring to himself.

"You look a bit mental when you do that," a blithe voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

A girl was slumped lazily against the tree, one foot dangling in the open air below.

"Go away," he snapped. Snape couldn't be bothered to be courteous right now; he had too much on his mind and she was intruding.

"I was here first, you know," she replied coolly, jumping down from her perch.

"Chase," he sneered as he recognizing her. "I don't really care if you were here first," Snape mocked, adding, "Mudblood," as an afterthought.

"Subtle as ever, Severus," Chase drawled, her dark eyes glinting malevolently. She left, sauntering out through the vines around the tree, chuckling to herself as she walked back towards the castle.

Good. He was alone again. Now, Snape could think over the . . . intriguing proposition he had been offered today. He sat against the trunk of the tree, pondering to himself and working through various scenarios in his head.

He was drawn back to the real world when a loud popping noise sounded across the grounds, shattering the wards he had placed around the tree. He grasped his wand again, his knuckles white. The adrenaline rushed through his body as his eyes flicked around the grounds, searching for the cause of the sound.

Chase was lying across a boulder on the path up to the castle, gazing at the stars. She heard the sound too, leaping up from her supine position to assume her dueling stance, prepared for the worst. Snape raced towards her, catching her unawares and knocking her to the ground. He grabbed Chase's shoulders once he wrenched her wand from her hand, nearly snapping it in his panic.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, eyes wild. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

She took a moment to recover from the shock before whispering, "I thought you did it. It wasn't me, anyway and I don't think anyone else is out here. Now, please let go of me; you're hurting me."

"Sorry," he muttered reflexively as she pushed him off her. They stood slowly, him offering a hand up and she refusing; Snape watched anxiously as she pushed up her sleeves, revealing dark bruises on the near translucent skin.

She arched an eyebrow before pulling her wand out and healing them quickly. Chase then laid her wand across her palm, whispering, "Point me."

It spun rapidly for a few seconds before pointing towards the Quidditch pitch. She darted off, sprinting, Snape in hot pursuit.

Breathless, they reached the pitch, Chase laying her wand in her palm and using the Point-Me spell again; the night was so dark they were unable to see across the field. It led the odd pair to the far goal posts, where a girl was shuddering on the ground, as though holding back tears.

Chase knelt down next to her, resting a hand on her back to soothe her, using a low, calming tone. "Hush now, love. It's all right; you're safe and we'll help you." She turned to face the bewildered Snape. "Severus, can you do a Patronus?"

He nodded.

"A full Patronus?"

He nodded again, his inky hair mirroring his exasperation.

"Send yours to Madam Pomfrey; I'm sending mine to Professor Dumbledore." The two dictated their messages to the silvery creatures, eventually leaving the doe and the dragon sprint away through the night. Chase tactfully ignored his unusually feminine Patronus.

Snape knelt beside the two girls while they waited, his wand lit to try to see whatever injuries the stranger had. She was young, probably around his age, with wild brown hair that fanned out around her head like a lion's mane.

He glanced over at Chase, who was furrowing her brow as she patted the girl's back. "Chase," he said thoughtfully, "what's your name?"

"Isolde. And by the way, I don't know if I'm Muggle-born— seeing as I was adopted."

He bowed his head, feeling guilt sweep through him. "Oh."

She shrugged. "You're the epitome of Slytherin when you want to be, but you never remember one thing: there's always more than you know. You just can't take things at face value."

He nodded, respect in his black eyes. "Is she awake, Isolde?" he asked, testing the name.

"I don't think so. Poor thing, she's so frightened. I wonder what happened to her . . ." Her voice trailed off as Madam Pomfrey bustled over, conjuring a stretcher for the girl and levitating her onto it.

"Professor Dumbledore is waiting for you two," she said sternly. "You best hurry. I'll take her," she added, referring to the girl now laid out on the stretcher.

They nodded and began their trek to the Headmaster's office in a companionable but worried silence.