"My life
You electrify my life
Let's conspire to ignite
All the souls that would die just to feel alive"
-"Starlight", Muse

Black Holes and Revelations
Chapter Two

Ophelia sank into her four-poster bed, in the quarters behind the Hospital Wing. The deep blue sheets and crisp pillows were comfort enough, but not quite a full distraction from the day's events.

She detested conflict, especially when it discredited her. She wasn't one to get in trouble, and now she'd have to explain herself to her mother. There was no avoiding the wrath of Poppy Pomfrey, especially when she was your mother and you worked for her.

Ophelia hoped to continue to shadow her mother, and become a healer of her own making. She loved healing; she loved every little element of it: the problem, the challenge of figuring out what needed to be done, the selection of spells, charms, and potions to help the patient, and the final result where she could see the tangible outcome of her effort.

However, she was less than eager to spend so much time under her mother's wing. More than anything, she wanted to have freedom. Even if just for a small time.

The next morning, Ophelia was helping her mother make the beds in the Hospital Wing.

"I notice you were hanging around that Harry Potter and his friends," Poppy Pomfrey grumbled, while fitting new sheets to a bed.

Ophelia, sliding a pillow into a clean pillowcase, raised her gaze to her mother.

"Yes, well they've been quite nice to me." she muttered.

"Hmm, well I happen to know that Potter often gets into trouble. Now I'm not trying to tell you what to do with your life but-"

Ophelia rolled her eyes. When wasn't her mother trying to tell her what to do with her life?

"If you want to keep up your perfect reputation- which, mind you, is not so perfect after that tardiness on the first day- then I'd advise you to invest your time in some people who are a little more...decent."

"Mother, Harry is about as decent a person as you can find, especially at a time like this. He and his friends fought Voldemort at the Ministry, and-"

"Ophelia, must you use that wretched man's name in my hospital wing?" Poppy hissed.

"He's not a man, mother. And Harry encourages us to use his name because it takes away the fear of a silly name."

Ophelia threw down the pillow in frustration.

"Besides, no one else wants to be my friend. I don't see a line up of anyone else who's interested. I'm eighteen years old, and you're trying to tell me who I should associate with?"

Poppy Pomfrey did not grace her daughter with a proper response, but rather sniffed sharply, and walked away.

Ophelia sighed, and grabbed a bed pan to clean.

"Oh," her mother called from the other side of the room, "I should tell you, Professor Dumbledore wishes to meet with you at noon. I hope I can trust that you won't be late."

Ophelia bit her lip.

Professor Dumbledore's office was a grand one, full of mysterious objects: old books, magical artifacts from around the world, and portraits of many old headmasters.

Ophelia sat patiently on a dusty stool near the Headmaster's desk. She swung her legs back and forth, admiring her shiny new shoes, and her tight khaki pants that she'd recently bought.

She'd always found it difficult to shop for her body type. She was tall for her age, and slender. She tended to wear dress pants and men's dress shirts- fashioned to fit her.

"You girl!"

Ophelia's eyes widened, and she looked around in a startled frenzy.

"Over here, by the door!"

Ophelia stepped off her stool, and hesitantly paced to the door. A portrait in a gold frame held a sullen face with dark eyes. The caption read: Phineas Nigellus.

"What can I do for you," Ophelia prompted gently, trying to seem polite, despite having never interacted with a portrait before.

"What are you doing here?" Phineas inquired.

"Oh," Ophelia blushed furiously, "I'm waiting for the Headmaster. I'm afraid I've done something rather stupid."

"Same old story," Phineas grumbled, "oh, I long for an interesting story once and a while!"

"Well, I'm sorry to deprive you, sir," Ophelia smiled faintly, "I'm just a healer's intern who made the mistake of being late for her first day of work."

Phineas snorted.

"Now that's a story!"

Someone cleared their throat from behind Ophelia. She expected to turn and find another portrait addressing her, but was, instead, greeted by Professor Dumbledore.

"Professor," Ophelia dipped her head respectively, and slunk back to her stool.

"Miss Pomfrey, a pleasure," the cheery old man replied.

"Now, let's see what we can do here. I haven't been in charge of discipline in so long," Dumbledore chuckled, "I usually leave these things to the heads of houses."

Ophelia chewed absently on her lip, "well I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, sir."

"No need to be," Dumbledore disagreed, "I'm sure we can figure something out. Honestly, I would have left it up to your mother to deal with your tardiness, but Severus was insistent."

Ophelia blinked heavily. She'd forgotten that Snape's first name was Severus. It was rather poetic; she liked the sound of it.

"Hmm," Dumbledore thought for a moment, "you know what...? I think I've thought of something perfect! It's Severus' first year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I'm sure he could use some help. I know you've got some free time on your hands, when you're not helping your mother. I'm sure you could help him as a teacher's aid, of sorts."

Ophelia's mouth popped open; she was aghast.

"A-are you sure?" Ophelia stuttered.

Dumbledore had a merry glint in his eyes.

"Quite sure."

Snape was bent over a roll of parchment, eyes furiously focused on what he was writing.

Without looking up from his task, he asked, "Can I help you Miss Pomfrey?"

She shuffled forward through the doorway to the empty classroom.

"Yes Professor...erm- I'm your assistant in this period," she admitted.

Snape's fingers paused abruptly and he placed his quill back in the ink pot. His eyes flickered to her direction. It seemed as though he were confused or startled by this information, but he merely shook away this initial reaction and quipped a typical reply.

"On time? I never would have dreamed I'd see the day. Pity you can't make up to your mother's standards. It's not as though she can afford to be late, healing people..."

She stifled a cough. Excellent. Just what she needed.

"Of course not, sir," she mumbled.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Ophelia didn't like when she came across as pathetic and limp. Her personality tended to wane when people insulted her. She tried to reestablish a presence as a responsible teacher's aid.

Snape adjusted the cuffs of his robes and rose, towering over the girl.

"Get all the desks and chairs ready," he demanded, walking over to the board.

Ophelia bowed her head in obedience and scurried off to comply.

As she was placing the last chair in place, she saw Snape rise from his seat. He proceeded to make his way to the door, his black cape flapping around, grabbing the air.

Ophelia stopped her movements, standing quite still, tilting her head ever so slightly, wondering what she should do.

"Well come along," Snape sighed, unimpressed.

Snape lead the way to a room down one floor. It was a small, cramped room with a large wooden desk, an armchair, and an assortment of books and potions. Snape's office.

"Stand here," he commanded, pointing right next to his desk, "and sort through these. I need them in alphabetical order."

He handed her a collection of forms, each with different students names and information on them.

Snape sat down at his chair.

"Each Head of House is calling their sixth year students for a short session in which to decide which classes they should carry on with and which classes, let's say...they should not," he smirked at the notion, as if failing students were a nostalgic and pleasant thought.

She mumbled something of a 'yes sir' sort of response, and delicately organized the papers as so.

"That's the last of the Slytherin students," Snape announced as a Blaise Zabini slithered out the door.

Ophelia nodded subtly and shuffled the papers back into a neat pile, handing them to her Professor.

"You're a bit of a robot, aren't you?" Snape muttered.

"What-what's a robot?" Ophelia asked, not sure whether to be offended or not.

"Oh...nothing-hmmr...'s just a muggle thing," he seemed annoyed that he'd even mentioned it.

As they headed back to the D.A.D.A classroom, Ophelia couldn't help but wonder what in the name of Merlin a robot was. This entire 'teacher's aid' situation was beginning to sour. It felt odd, being on the other end of the spectrum. Admittedly, Snape was a consistent man when it came to how he treated people- she hadn't expected any more respect. But there was something odd about her position- he couldn't quite treat her as rudely as he had before.

"Pomfrey are you listening to me?" Snape growled.

Ophelia snapped her head up, realizing she'd had her chin rested in the palm of her hand, leaned against one of the desks.

"Sorry sir, could you repeat that?" She tried to say this as if it were a request, as if she wasn't trying so hard to impress him.

"I asked you if you could pull down the blinds, the sun is coming up," he said this grudgingly, as if the sun would be his demise.

"Of course, sir," she hurried to do as he had asked.

"Anything else sir?" She asked eagerly, standing on the balls of her feet.

"That will be all."

Ophelia's feet fell and she quickly balanced herself before he'd notice.

She refused eye contact, blushing furiously, but she could sense that he'd rolled his eyes.

"Bloody brilliant," she whispered to herself.

Ophelia sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

Hermione was taking out all the books from her bag and reorganizing them so they'd fit better and be 'more convenient for access'.

Ophelia was buttering a piece of bread when Ginny reached the table with her new boyfriend, Dean Thomas. Harry shifted slightly in his seat.

"And Arithmancy will be so much more challenging as we draw into our NEWT year!" Hermione was chatting excitedly, "I think it'll be much more up to my speed. What do you think, Ophelia?"

Ophelia had to turn her head away from the staff table, where she'd been glancing at her mother, knowing that she ought to be sitting with her. Upon moving her gaze away, she noticed Snape. She really noticed Snape. Everything about him seemed so different now. He appeared so much more human. She raised her eyebrow at how uncomfortable he looked, in the company of everyone else. She knew that feeling.

"Hmm? Oh yes, Arithmancy is great that way. Professor Vector doesn't waste time, she's really focused on challenging our intellects. You'll love it," she assured the younger student.

"Charn er essk whyr yer herr?"

Ophelia realized Ron had directed this piece of dialogue toward her.

The boy swallowed his mouthful of food and repeated his question.

"Can I ask why you're here? At the Gryffindor table?"

"Oh," Ophelia ducked her head a bit, her long white-blonde hair eclipsing her sight.

"Well, erm, I dunno."

She did have to wonder why, all of a sudden, she found herself trailing off after Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She'd been on a friendly basis with the three, especially after being a part of the D.A. However, she couldn't quite understand why she felt so drawn to the group lately.

"Well, whatever reason, you're always welcome," Harry smiled warmly, his eyes traveling only slightly to Ginny and her boyfriend.

Ophelia opened her mouth to let out some sort of equally gracious exchange, when she was interrupted by the bell for next period.

The others headed off to class and she waved goodbye stiffly.

The next day, the class Ophelia would be helping in was the Sixth Year's D.A.D.A class.

She'd arrived early in order to impress Snape, but was given no such recognition. He simply nodded when she entered, and directed her toward a few pictures he wanted to hang on the walls before the class arrived.

She wrinkled her nose at the morbid themes of the pictures, all showing people in different positions of pain or torture. She hung them as straight as she could, careful that they would be in reasonable view of all the students at their desks.

Following this, as commanded, she lit several candles, which she placed around the room, supplying one of the few light sources the room needed because of the darkened windows.

"Just...sit in the corner until I need you. The first lesson will be mostly theory, anyway."

Ophelia obediently bent her body into an awkward sitting position. As the class filed in, she recognized Harry, Hermione, Ron, and a selection of other students in their year.

Harry and Ron took seats next to each other, while Hermione, noticing Ophelia, snaked closer to her.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

Ophelia blinked rapidly. Hermione was talking to her...again. She swallowed a grin.

"I'm the teacher's aid for this period," she responded casually, hoping to avoid the wrath of Snape.

"You volunteered to work with Snape?" Hermione seemed rather cynical of this.

"Well, not exactly..." Ophelia's words drifted off, not in the mood to continue.

"You shouldn't talk to me, I don't want to get you in trouble," Ophelia added, turning back to face Snape, who was stalking to the front of the class as each student settled in their seats.

"The Dark Arts," Snape introduced grimly, " are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, Ophelia noticed. She wondered whether it was something of concentration, or if she had some sort of doubt of what Snape was saying. Ophelia couldn't see why. Honestly, Snape seemed to have an excellent grasp on the topic, she might even go as far as to think that he had a passion for it, similar to that of hers to healing.

Raising his voice, he proceeded.

"Your defences must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo."

He made his over to the picture Ophelia had hung. Thinking quickly, she scampered over to them with a candle, illuminating the pictures so the students could see them.

Snape's lips quivered only slightly, as if he might protest, but continued on his lecture.

"These pictures," he gestured to them, "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse," he pointed to the picture of the women being tormented by an unseen force, "feel the Dementor's Kiss", this time it was of a man, backed up against a wall, with a sullen, petrified look, "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius", the final picture portrayed the horror of the inferi: masses of bloody bodies, arms outreached.

The lesson continued with Snape making references to the recent attacks which Ophelia had read about in The Daily Prophet. He talked at length, walking around the room dramatically. He was, without doubt, in his true element. He seemed at ease talking about this subject, as if it something pleasant.

As the students left the classroom, Ophelia nodded a friendly goodbye to Hermione, Ron, and Harry. But as Hermione was walking past her, Ophelia felt her touch her arm, pulling her away from the swarm of students leaving the class.

"What are you doing next?" Hermione asked.

"Just some routine training sessions with my mother," Ophelia explained.

"Well then, why don't you join us at our table again for dinner?" Hermione offered.

Ophelia's eyes lit up

"That would be great. Are you sure you don't mind?"

Hermione smiled, patting her friend's arm again.

"Of course not. The world's a scary place right now...it shouldn't hurt to have one more friend."

Flames flickered in Ophelia's dark green eyes, lapping up all the excitement, and causing a fire in her heart.

"I'll be there," she promised.

As Hermione left, struggling to keep her heavy book bag from knocking into the other students, Ophelia caught, in the corner of her eye, Snape with raised eyebrows and a sneer on his pale face. Ophelia knew he had a strong dislike for Harry and his friends. She wanted to pretend she didn't care, but somehow it bothered her.

"Professor, I have to get to work...is there anything else I can help you with?"

Snape looked up from his resumed place at his desk, solemn as always.

"That will be all," he declared.