So, Chapter 1 has officially gotten a revamp! I deeply apologize for the disappearing act that I pulled when starting this story, and others. I'd fallen away from the habit of writing, gave it up for the mundane day-to-day. I missed every day of it, and I've gotten much better at prioritizing and managing my time, and I have a strict and extensive schedule for writing now that I am keeping to. I FULLY plan to continue this story, starting by redoing the chapters to make them better as I've honed my writing skill a bit since I've last posted anything. I truly am astounded by the following of this story, with over 2,000 views. That may not seem like much to many readers/writers, but it amazes me and honestly encourages me to dip back into my old writing passion. I plan to figure out a better schedule for updating chapters after I finish updating the old ones.
Thank you so much for your patience and continued following of this story. I plan to be a much better author as I do not deserve the fans of this story that I have as it is!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any plots/events. I own solely my OC and the extra scenes I have written.
~~~~ SG ~~~~
Sitting in his office and finishing the last of his notes before classes start in the morning, a lone man relishes in the quiet of his office. He's expected in the Great Hall momentarily, but he's stalling in order to enjoy the peace before the commotion of students returns.
Amidst the scratching of his quill and the occasional rustle of papers, he hears soft footsteps approaching his door. Severus looks up from his work, face framed by curtains of straight black hair, eyeing the young girl smiling at him from the doorway, bright blue eyes curiously trying to peer at the papers in front of him. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow, scowl set firmly in place.
"Must you barge into my office without warning?" he drawls, voice twitching with annoyance even as his eyes show no sign.
He gathers the sleeves of his black robes in his hands as he crosses his arms, waiting on her response silently with eyebrows raised. The girl observes him silently before a bright smile lights up her pale face, the porcelain pallor to her skin courtesy of the man in front of her. Her smile fades to a smirk, so like his own.
"Of course, Father," she states with false sweetness, enjoying the twitch of his eyebrow as his annoyance flares in her defiance, "Besides, I want to see if I can help with anything in your project."
"A first-year student cannot help with this," he dismisses, unimpressed with her.
Her lips purse in annoyance, mouth falling into a slight scowl. She bristles at the implication, as she often prides herself on being a quick study. A slight smirk makes its way onto her father's face as he observes her reaction, also taking the time to observe her in general.
Though it has been eleven years since her birth, and eight years since she'd gone into his care, he still sometimes finds himself marveling at her existence. Her mother had never disclosed her pregnancy to him, and he'd only found out after her death when he'd suddenly found himself in charge of a hyperactive toddler with an uncanny knack for getting into things she shouldn't. As she's grown, he's found himself observing their likenesses as well as her mother's influence in the girl.
She'd inherited his pallor and dark hair, but hers bounces in light curls so like her mother's. Her eyes are the very shade of blue as her mother had once had, as well. She's shown quite the talent for Charms, but she's far excelled under her Potions studies at their home, a fact he is silently pleased about.
"A normal one may not be able to, but I am your daughter," her voice knocks him from his thoughts as she whines slightly, pouting, "You've given me hundreds of extra lessons. Surely, I could help."
"No," he answers firmly, "It's an experimental blend I am working with and far too dangerous for you to assist in creating. Now, I must go to the Great Hall for dinner. I suggest you do the same, the first years should be sorted shortly."
"Will you be there when I'm sorted," she asks as he stands, gathering his papers neatly as he does.
"Of course," he answers, glancing at her, "That was an obvious answer. It's expected of me as a professor."
"What if I don't get into Slytherin," she asks quietly, a rare moment of insecurity flashing as she meekly watches her father.
"I could care less what house you are sorted into, Charity," he tells her, frowning at her, "You'll be an exceptional student no matter your placement. Well, if you can manage to stay concentrated and procrastinate as you are so prone to do," he finishes with disapproval.
"What if I'm in Gryffindor," she asks, head tilting as she watches her father, worrying at her lip with her teeth.
"Stop that," he mutters, watching her give him an apologetic smile and stop biting at her lip, a habit that annoys him, "You will be sorted wherever you belong, Charity. If that is Gryffindor, so be it. No matter where you are sorted, you will still be a Snape, and furthermore, a Prince. Besides, your mother was a Ravenclaw with exceptional intellect."
His words are rewarded by another blinding smile on his daughters face, cheeks dimpling as she visibly brightens up. She bids him a soft farewell, bounding out as he shakes his head after her, sighing as he begins making his own way toward the Great Hall.
Charity hurries up the stairs of the hall from the dungeons, rushing toward the Great Hall so she won't miss the sorting. Miss McGonagall will be very cross with her if she's late. She sends silent thanks to her many years exploring the halls as a child growing up when her father would need to come here to replenish the Hospital Wing as she takes a few shortcuts she'd found as a girl.
She quickly turns the last corner, miscalculating how far the students would be. The miscalculation sends her barreling into the nearest student, sending both of them sprawling onto the ground. They both groan in pain as they hit the stone floor of the corridor. She looks in front of her as a clattering hits her ears. She notices a pair of circular wire glasses on the ground and picks them up, turning to hand them to the student.
Her face heats up drastically as the students around her laugh at the scene. She, however, falls under her pride to hide her embarrassment, getting to her feet and assisting the ginger in helping the boy she'd knocked over down. She brushes off his robes a bit before holding out the glasses to him, which he takes gratefully, placing them on the bridge of his nose and looking at her in both curiosity and wariness.
"Sorry about that," she states, scowling slightly at her own hastiness, "I was in a hurry. Father'd reprimand me heavily if he knew I'd been running. My name is Charity, by the way," she adds hastily, remembering her father's lessons on being polite as after the fact and inwardly cringing at forgetting her manners.
"Harry," he returns, observing her silently as the ginger next to him continues brushing him off with a scowl at her.
She looks over the raven-haired boy, only an inch or two taller than herself, amused by the seemingly gravity-defying quality to his messy hair. His eyes, hidden slightly behind the glasses, are a bright, dazzling green color, much like the vibrant green of Slytherin House. He seems kind of thin, and he's slightly pale. She takes note of his stance, how he insecurely holds himself.
"I truly am sorry," she repeats, clearing her throat as she sends a chilling scowl at the others observing, causing many to abruptly turn under her icy gaze, "I didn't want to be late," she explains as she looks back to Harry.
"Didn't you ride the train," he asks, confused.
"Uh, no. My father brought me, actually," she tells him with a small grin, "He and I argued for hours over it, but I wanted to go with him instead of ride the train."
He nods and glances around at the students around us, still nosily watching the duo. She gives another scowl, irritation spiking as her previous embarrassment passes.
"Don't you have something better to do," she barks at them, causing several to grumble and glare at her, but they shuffle on just the same.
"You're a bloody menace," the ginger next to the boy finally speaks, scowling at her, "It's your fault they're staring, after you came swooping in here like a bat out of He-"
"I've apologized," she interrupts the ginger, glaring at him slightly.
He returns the glare, and she raises an eyebrow looking him over silently. He's taller than her by four or so inches, she'd guess. He's lanky, almost gangly, and his face is splattered with freckles. His robes are just a little short on him and have seen better days. She'd bet the money in her vault on him being a Weasley. She'd heard her father complaining about his older brothers plenty growing up.
"It was an accident, Ron," Harry speaks up, glancing at his friend to end the silent hostility between the two.
Charity gives a smug smirk to the boy as he scowls after the slight reprimand. She looks back to Harry, catching a glimpse of a scar as his hair shifts when he looks at her in return. She stifles her shock, not wanting to crowd the boy. I'm sure he's gotten plenty of that recently, she thinks wryly, smirking lightly.
"I'm Charity," she introduces to the ginger in an attempt to make some kind of peace.
"Ron," he returns reluctantly, "Ron Weasley."
She nods in acknowledgment, inwardly smirking at having successfully guessed who he was earlier. She glances around, her eyes meeting a familiar pair of steely silver eyes. She grins before turning to the two.
"Well, it was nice meeting you two," she states politely, "Good luck on the sorting!"
She weaves through the students until she is next to one of her few childhood friends. He stares disdainfully behind her, his mouth set thinly as he glares petulantly over her shoulder. She grins and reaches for his hair, intending to mess up the slicked-back perfection, only for him to swat her hand away and glare at her.
"Causing trouble already," he asks, smirking, "School year hasn't even started yet."
"Hush," she states, waving him off slightly, "It was an accident. What're you glaring for," she asks, grinning, "You look like they destroyed your broomstick."
"I don't need a reason to glare at them," he states, looking back to her, "I spoke with them on the train. The boy is a Weasley, a dirty blood-traitor, the other is Saint Potter," he states, spitting out Harry's name with disgust.
"Careful, Draco," she warns with a smirk, "Your crush on Harry will be obvious if you don't stop staring."
He looks to her in disdain, mouth falling into the famous Malfoy scowl.
"You're insufferable," he whines slightly, crossing his arms in annoyance at her.
"Funny, if I was, one would think you wouldn't have come over so often growing up," she teases, earning a light shove from the boy as she laughs at him lightly.
"Charity, I see you've joined your class," a stern voice comments from behind her.
Draco smirks at her as she looks to the disapproving look of Professor McGonagall. Her lips are pursed slightly as she watches the young girl.
"Sorry, Professor," she states with a small smile, "I lost track of time while I was with my father."
"Yes, well, you'll do well to keep your time in check," she comments, staring at the girl meaningfully, "You'll not want to lose points or earn detention for being late for your classes."
"Yes, Ma'am."
With that, she turns from the duo, beckoning the group into the Great Hall. Charity smiles as she looks at the bustling and shifting mass of students seated at their tables. She'd always come here during the summer holidays when the castle was empty. It's much more pleasant when it's so full of life. Her eyes observe the night sky where the ceiling should be briefly before looking over the multitude of candles floating above them all, lighting the huge chamber.
Her eyes scan the head table, seeing a few familiar faces. She gives a large grin to Hagrid, who returns it. She'd met the giant of a man a few years back, much to her father's displeasure, and had been enraptured by his knowledge of magical creatures. He'd shown her a few and even introduced her to a family of bowtruckles at the edge of the forest. Her father had lectured him for a few hours when he found out, but she'd been enraptured by the small wooden creatures and consistently captured and gifted insects to them.
She manages to focus for a good portion of the sorting ceremony, clapping when needed for the students as they make their way to their tables to sit alongside their housemates. She even claps for Harry as he's sorted into Gryffindor, though she's drowned easily by the roar of applause from the table itself. She watches a set of ginger twins dance and chant proudly, amused at their antics.
"Snape, Charity."
She preens under McGonagall's small, barely-there, smile and heads up, watching some of the older students eye her in surprise. She's well aware that very few, if any, students knew about their Potions Professor having any children, much less a smiling, mostly cheerful daughter.
She grins as she sits in the stool, the world plunging to darkness as the hat falls over her eyes. She can feel a slight presence in her mind and debates on pushing against it, but it seems harmless enough.
Ah, such a potential for occlumancy, a voice in her mind states, so like your parents, you are. Such potential, such intellect. I know just where to put you…
"SLYTHERIN!"
Her grin widens drastically as the hat is pulled from her head, and she barely contains herself from running to the table as she buzzes in excitement. She takes a seat next to Draco, who smirks at her. She, though, quickly scans the front table again, catching her father's eye. He gives her a small nod, just one, but it's enough for her grin to brighten tenfold at the small gesture. To most, it seems so insignificant, but she knows her father. That gesture alone is a sign of his pride in her, though he doesn't outwardly show it. He's not an expressive man, but more one for subtle gestures.
She finds herself unfocused through most of Dumbledore's speech, her mind still whirling with excitement over her placement. She'd feared getting placed into a House her father loathes, feared him resenting her for it. Now, her fears were for naught, and she couldn't be happier. She manages to catch the end of his speech, about a forbidden corridor and the Forbidden Forest. She perks up in curiosity, but one stern look from her father is enough to deflate that, instead giving him a sheepish grin. Her curiosity often puts her at odds with her father.
Food fills the many dishes in the table, and the students all begin to pick what they fancy and dig in. She makes up a plate of meats and vegetables, ignoring Draco's scrunched nose at the sight. Her father had drilled endlessly the importance of balance in her diet, despite many tantrums when she was a toddler. Now, she finds she rather enjoys the variety.
She eats in silence, opting to listen to Draco's tales of flying. She watches the reactions of the boys opposite him, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two rather dim boys who're staring at him in unrestrained awe as he tells an obviously fabricated tale of being chased by muggle helicopters. She knows for a fact his father would've been most unimpressed at a spectacle like that. Still, the two thick-headed boys are enraptured, fully believing the tales. She's not surprised, really. She'd had to interact with them at a few dinners at the Malfoy Manor growing up, and they don't have a full brain cell between them.
After dinner and dessert, she's led to the common room in the dungeons, the password being Serpent. She follows the prefect up to the girls' dormitory. Inside are four four-poster beds with emerald green curtains. Her trunk is at the foot of the bed to the left near the door. She walks to it, noticing a folded note on her pillow. She opens it, smiling at the familiar tilted scrawl of letters.
Charity,
Meet me in my chambers when you are unpacked.
~ SS
She quickly unpacks her clothes and puts them away into the dresser next to her bed. When she's finished, she leaves the dormitory and heads to her father's chambers across the common room. She glances around, noticing a few older students watching her curiously.
"Boomslang," she mutters, listening to the door unlock at the spoken password before she enters, shutting the door behind her.
She walks into the living area, furnished so closely to their own home that she feels a rush of comfort. She runs a hand over one of the dark fabric chairs near the fireplace as she listens to her father. She can hear tinkling near the back, so she heads that way. She walks past two doors before opening the door at the end of the small hall, breathing in the smell of the tea brewing as she does. She looks to the cauldron to the side, softly simmering and emitting a strange smell. Her father is at his desk, measuring out ingredients. He looks up as she enters.
"The tea is nearly done," he tells her, going back to measuring.
"May I help," she asks, stealing the stool by the cauldron and setting it across from him at his desk.
He gives her a disapproving look for not asking before she moved the furniture, but wordlessly hands her a vial of thick liquid and several small vials.
"Measure out the flobberworm mucus into the vials," he instructs, continuing to count and separate what looks like quills.
"Is this for our Potions class," she asks as she starts slowly measuring the mucus into different vials.
"Yes," he admits, glancing up at her, "These quills are, too. I don't expect to need to explain the need for your discretion."
"I won't say anything," she promises with a smile, "I'm so happy to be in Slytherin."
"Indeed," he agrees, not looking up from his task, "I will treat you no differently than my other students," he warns.
"Do your other students get to help you measure ingredients," she asks with a smirk.
"A few of the older, more experienced ones that have shown a talent for the art," he states, "But they do so in the classroom. I do not expect you to come into my private chambers unless necessary. It wouldn't do well for the other students to think I favor you."
"I can do that," she tells him, though pouting a bit, "But in return, I'd like to have tea with you on Sundays. I've no classes, and I can help you grade-"
"I cannot allow you to continue to grade lessons now that you are a student yourself," he tells her firmly.
"But tea on Sundays," she requests, frowning slightly, "We always have tea on Sundays at home."
"The other students have given up their home routines," he reminds.
"The other students can owl their parents," she reminds in return, "And we're both so busy during the week with classes."
He sighs, looking at her in exasperation. In return, she gives him a pleading look. After a moment of his continued silence, she deflates slightly and lowers her gaze to continue measuring the mucus. He continues to watch her for a moment before returning to his own task.
"Very well," he agrees after a long bit of silence.
She looks up with a wide grin, and he gives her a flat look in return. He watches as she happily goes back to measuring the mucus, no longer looking like a wounded bowtruckle. Satisfied, he goes back o his own task, the silence surrounding them more comfortable this time around.
Once the tea brews, they sit together at the fireplace as they do at home, sipping it and discussing his latest potion experiments. She asks some questions, to which he answers and explains as she listens and commits it to memory. When the tea is gone, he bids her goodnight. She gives him a quick hug, to his dismay and discomfort, before she heads out of his chambers and into the darkened common room. Only two or three older students are lingering, chatting by the fire. She heads up to her dormitory, noting that her roommates are sleeping already. She quickly changes into her nightdress and climbs into bed, closing the curtains behind her to drown out the low light from the furnace in the center of the room.
~~~~ SG ~~~~
And the first chapter is fully revamped and all shiny-new! I truly hope you like the updates. I greatly look forward to your opinion on it and future updated chapters!
Merry Met,
GharrahGirl