In an AU where Ravenna doesn't lock Snow in the tower, and thinks she can make her a disciple.
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The year after her father's death, winter lasted well into April, and the Queen left Snow alone in her rooms for a full week. Only the vines outside of her window bore leaves and flowers, and on the eighth day, the Queen appeared at the door-in glorious person, in a cloak as green as grass. The weak winter sun turned her spun-gold hair to old hay.
"You have magic," the Queen said, stepping into Snow's room and surveying the piles of books, the discarded clothes, the remnants of stolen food that no maid had come to clean. "From your mother's side, no doubt."
"Your majesty," Snow said, gripping the arms of her overstuffed armchair. The upholstery was fraying. She'd been allowed to keep the blunted practice sword her father had given her for her ninth birthday. What good would it do her?
"No, you wouldn't know," said the Queen. She gestured for the pair of maids behind her to bring what they were holding between them into the room and place it on the table. The silver basin, from the garden-it had come from the South with the Queen. All terrible things came from the South. Snow had never seen it so close, or wanted to, and now that it was near enough to touch, she stayed in her chair.
But the Queen beckoned. She placed her hands-her smooth, clean hands-on either side of the rim. Snow stood on her toes and mirrored her, and saw that the water in the basin reflected neither of their faces. In the court of Queen Ravenna, there were soldiers wrought in shining glass and birds made from flame; a silver bowl, filigreed to within an inch of its life, was not so shocking.
At the bottom of the basin, the lines of filigree turned in on themselves and converged. Her eyes followed the swirls out, from the center to the rim. She didn't realize she'd leaned forward until her nose touched the surface of the water, and she jerked back and wiped at her nose with a threadbare sleeve before she remembered that she was not to offend her Majesty with her gracelessness. Even the palace's scullery maids moved like swans.
"To trap the unwitting," she said, composing herself and returning her hands to the rim of the basin. "If you look too closely, or-or in the wrong way, you'll drown yourself."
The Queen smiled warmly. Snow was long, long past thinking it was out of pride for her astuteness. Her yearning was a physical ache in her, as was her disgust. "Look into the water," the Queen said, "and focus, and tell me the color of my bedsheets."
Royal blood may yet prove useful, Snow thought, and her mother's ducal line had descended from a sorceress. Moments later, the Queen hauled her back from the water by the hair and slapped her back to consciousness. "Again," Snow said, gasping for air. "Let me do it again, your majesty."
"Perhaps you'll prove untrainable," the Queen said. Snow pressed her lips together and breathed through her nose. "Perhaps I'm wasting my time."
"Again," Snow said, and the Queen stroked the side of her face before releasing her, over the thick, knotted scar on Snow's cheek. The imprint of her palm on Snow's skin lingered like an oil stain.