Rowena Rowan paced back and forth in the hidden corridor that ran behind the head table in the Great Hall.  A great rustling echoed between the stone walls, laced with laughter and cheerful greetings.  She shivered.  She was always cold.  Even now, in the height of the summer heat, the cool breath of danger seemed to breathe down her very neck.  A thunk sounded behind her and she spun about, heart racing.  A house elf skittered past and picked up the pewter pitcher it had dropped.

"We begs your pardon, Miss," it called as it ran off down the corridor.

The swift rush of her blood back into her limbs left her trembling, and she leaned up against the cold stones, suddenly unable to hold herself steady.  Silently, she cursed herself for a fool.  Dumbledore had told her she'd be safe within Hogwarts walls.  He was the most powerful wizard of the age.  If he said she was safe, she was safe.  Then why couldn't she shake the paralyzing fear that hounded her steps, the memory hidden deep that taunted her with flashes of deadly horror?

Suddenly, she became aware that Dumbledore was speaking in the Great Hall.  I present to you, Professor Rowan, divination...

Gathering her wits firmly about her, Rowena pressed herself away from the wall and stepped through the concealed entryway.  A hail of applause broke over her.  The riotous colors of the hangings screamed from the walls; a sea of unfamiliar faces stared up at her, some smiling, some accusing.  She nearly retreated back, but Albus Dumbledore dropped his hand onto her trembling forearm.  "Steady, Rowena," he spoke under his breath. "Steady."

Swallowing convulsively, she summoned a smile.  Dumbledore raised his free hand for silence.  "Thank you for your welcome," she said, surprised that her voice came out louder than a whisper.  "I look forward to meeting you all in your divination classes."

Applause burst out again, and Dumbledore squeezed her forearm gently.  "Well done.  Your seat is waiting just there."  He gestured to a seat next to a formidable looking wizard, with jet black hair and eyes nearly as dark.  The expression on his face was far from welcoming, but the empty chair at his side beckoned.

She nodded.  "Thank you, Headmaster."

#

Snape watched the girl with something akin to dismay.  Girl?  Yes, very little more than a girl.  She was tiny, could barely come up to his shoulder, were he standing, her bones as light as a bird.  Soft hair as pale as moonglow drifted about her face, where it had fallen loose from her braid.  She looked as if a breeze would blow her over.

For a moment, he thought she would bolt.  The students and the other professors looked on, not seeing her distress.  How could they miss the fear that radiated from her, so intense he could nearly smell it?

Foolish question.  They'd no reason to recognize it.  Her tremors must look to them like simple nerves.  The hall quieted for her to speak.  Her voice was like birdsong, entrancing.  Applause filled the air and Snape blinked.  He'd missed what she'd said.

He scowled.  She was the loveliest thing he'd seen in many a year, like winter moonlight.  The scowl darkened.  Lovely or not, he could give her no more thought than the portraits that lined the corridors of Hogwarts.  He'd do what Dumbledore asked of him, then he'd never have to see her again, except at mealtimes.  The divination tower was as far from the dungeon as one could get.

She was coming towards him.  Her ice-blue robes reflected in her eyes; he thought they must be grey.  Two steps from her seat, her knees buckled and she staggered.

Before he could think, Snape was on his feet, steadying her by the arm.  Keeping firm hold of her with one hand, he pulled out her chair and settled her into it.  Her arm trembled in his grasp, but she did not pull away.  Instead, she smiled up at him weakly.  "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he sneered, dropping back into his own seat.  What had happened?  He couldn't very well have let her fall, he chided himself.  Common courtesy dictated his actions.  Nothing more.

He felt a pair of eyes upon him and glanced up to find Dumbledore watching him expectantly.  His hand tightened on his goblet and he was surprised to find his knuckles whiter than his already pale skin.  No use putting it off.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Rowan."

#

Rowena fell gratefully into her seat.  At last, the attention moved away from her and she began to be able to breathe again.  It would have been utterly humiliating to collapse two steps from her chair, her very first day at Hogwarts.  She smiled over at the dark wizard who had saved her from that fate.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Rowan.  I trust you will be comfortable here?"

His icy tone belied the welcome in his words.  The black depths of his eyes betrayed no emotion.  It was like he was dead.  She gulped.

"Yes.  I'm sure I'll be quite happy, Professor...?"

"Snape," he snapped.  "Potions Master and head of Slytherin House."

Rowena bobbed her head.  "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Somehow she was not surprised when he did not reply with the usual, the pleasure is mine.  He merely grunted and turned his attention to the front of the hall, where the first-years were making their way towards the head table and the Sorting Hat.

Here, at last, were faces that were nearly as frightened as her own.  She smiled.  This was why she'd come to Hogwarts, rather than take refuge in an isolated safe house.  She wanted to reach out and embrace the children, to reassure them that all would be well.  For the most part, it was true.  Hogwarts was more than an institution of learning.  It was a haven.  A home.  A family.  Each of these students belonged.  She was only a guest.  A flicker of envy ran through her.

She watched in fascination as the sorting began.  Her own school had had so few students that there was no need for houses.  Her parents, who had attended Hogwarts, had named her for the founder of Ravenclaw, in the hopes that she would one day become a member of that house, but with their deaths, she'd been forced to attend Magesta, a school for orphaned witches and wizards left unable to fend for themselves.

As the sorting progressed, the hat calling out the houses of each of the students in turn, Rowena began to relax.  A soft pink radiance shone like an aurora just beneath the enchanted ceiling, swaying gently.  She leaned into the carved oak back of her chair, aware of the silent wizard at her side.  From him she sensed a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts, all so well guarded that she could not touch them.  Normally, that would be a relief, but something about him fascinated her.  She wanted to know more, to understand the conflicting waves of intense emotion that swirled around him.

Unaware that she had turned to stare at him, she was caught off guard when he snapped, "What?"

"I... I..."

His obsidian eyes bored into her, daring her to explain her rude behavior.

"I'm sorry."  She dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap.

#

Snape watched as Professor Rowan nibbled anxiously on her lower lip.  Fool!  Snapping at her was certainly a good way to welcome her.  The hubbub of the sorting finally ceased and Dumbledore pronounced the beginning of the feast.  As trays of rolls, salads and finger foods materialized in front of them, Snape served a portion of each neatly onto her plate as well as his own, then poured two goblets-full of spiced pumpkin juice.

"Thank you," she said, in a voice so small he almost couldn't hear her.

"You're welcome."  He decided against apologizing for nearly biting her head off.  Instead, he pretended it had never happened.  "After dinner, would you care for a tour of the grounds?  Hogwarts can be a bit-- confusing-- to new folk."

Her startled glance amused him.  Was he so formidable?  The corner of his lips curled into an amused half smile.

She paused, her goblet half raised, then lowered it back to the table.  "I would like that.  I feel," she cocked her head to the side, apparently searching for the right word, "not lost, exactly, but dazed.  I barely had time to settle my bag in my quarters after arriving from Hogsmeade."

"Bag?  Surely you had more than one?"

Rowena shook her fair head, shaking loose another strand of hair, a faraway look in her eyes.  "No.  Just the one."

He must have looked dismayed, for she gave him a small smile.  "Don't look so distressed.  I'm used to making do with little."

At her words, he glanced down at her ice-blue robes, this time noticing the frayed edges, the embroidery that was years out of fashion.  Not that he took the time to worry about fashion.  His own monotonous set of black robes were left strictly unadorned.

Perturbed, he turned his attention to his plate.  One thing about Hogwarts, he could never complain of the food.  Snape savored the delicate braised quail and sumptuous pudding, mopping up the sauces with a spiced roll.

It was only when the meal was through that he noticed Professor Rowan's plate.  Although the food had been pushed from side to side, she had not taken a bite.  Her attention was focused on the children, so he took the opportunity to study her more closely.  Her skin was milky pale; dark circles haunted her wide grey eyes.  A muscle twitched in her jaw and she rubbed at it unconsciously.  She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

Professor McGonagall tapped her glass for quiet and the Headmaster rose.  "I hardly think I should need to mention this, but as you all know, the forces of the dark are rising.  Although Hogwarts is warded, be alert for any activity which may seem suspicious.  We are only as strong as the sum or our parts.  Be vigilant!  That said, rest well, and be ready to give everything to your schoolwork in the morning.  First-years will please follow their prefects to their dormitories.  Let the school year begin!"