An Ever-Fixed Mark
Pairing: Snarry
Rating: MA
Summary: Harry is determined to discover the identity of his Half-Blood Prince. 1st person, Harry's POV.
Authors Note: A huge, heart felt thank you to Serpenscript, Plot doctor! I couldn't have done it without her support.
Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine and I am not making any money from this.
A Ever-Fixed mark
By: Kitty
Breakfast is a grisly affair with students everywhere laughing, shouting, and making an enormous racket while I sit still and attempt to stay awake. A feat which is proving to be verydifficult considering I got all of two hours of sleep before being rudely awakened by a refreshed-looking Ron bouncing on my bed.
Hermione was back to her usual… verbose self; chattering away with the Patil twins about the most effective Hair-Freezing Charm. How frustrating it is to have to listen to this nonsense while all I can think about is the small second that I actually felt that Professor Snape was pleased with a decision I made. Not to mention the completely baffling dream I had, the same dream that Snape had called 'a rather melodramatic exploration of my personal confusion'. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?
Ok, yes I am confused about the identity of the Half-Blood Prince and that could account for every half blood in my small circle of friends being featured as a possible match for my prince. But why were they speaking with that strange…voice? The bloody voice! Of course! The voice from the dream belonged to Snape! Is that what my brain was trying to tell me? That Snape was The Half-Blood Prince? That would explain why his shadow-self was directly connected to the book in the dream… Snape is the Prince.
Wait. No, that impossible. The Half-Blood Prince cannot be Snape, My Prince cannot possibly be Severus 'The Greasy Git, Over-Grown Bat' Snape. Could he? Oh Merlin, it makes perfect sense! Just think of it; An old potions book. Brilliant if sarcastic comments scribbled in the margins. Jinxes and hexes that Hermione warned me might be dark. Snape's book.
I jerk my head up to look at the head table, past the newly returned Dumbledore who was chatting with McGonagall and Professor Sprout, and on down the row until I locate the scowling, black clad phantom of Hogwarts. There he is, looking moodier than ever, attempting to stare down his toast and porridge. He must have sensed that someone was looking at him because not a second after my eyes rested on him, he lifted his head sharply and scanned the student body until his eyes locked on me. Giving me a rather put-upon glare, he returned to glowering down at his plate. Odd.
If he is the Prince, which I am not utterly convinced that he is, then did he recognize his old text book in the dream that I allowed him to view? Probably. I sigh and look around the Gryffindor table before shoving one more piece of toast in my mouth, grab my bag from the floor and make my way towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. This should be very interesting.
DADA is another dull exorcise in self restraint. With Snape billowing around the classroom, looking for cheaters I expect, and the Prince's book resting heavily inside my robe pocket, the compulsion to pull out the book and see Snape's reaction is extremely difficult to resist. Only the idea of many, many detentions stills my hand.
"Mr. Potter, am I boring you? I am so very sorry to interrupt your oh so busy day with my lesson," a dark voice intones from directly behind me. Bollocks.
"No, Sir. I'm just waiting for you to come around and check my work," I say cheerfully. Probably not the best thing to say considering that I have no idea what I am supposed to be working on. Double bollocks.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Let's have it, then, Potter. Show me your full bodied Patronus," Snape says, voice dripping with disbelief. At least he told me what I am supposed to do… even if it is not in the curriculum at all. Maybe he realizes how exhausted I am and is cutting me a break. Yeah. Right.
"Of course, Professor. Expecto Patronum," I incant, gathering up every happy memory I can think of, and to my utmost relief, Prongs gallops from the tip of my wand and loops the classroom before disappearing.
"Stay focused, Potter," he snarls, whirling away with a disdainful sniff. I sigh in relief and slump into my seat. Merlin, I have to stop drifting away on little daydreams or I am going to get seriously killed.
Without my express permission, my eyes follow Snape's circuit around the classroom, watching as he adjusts form and spits out instructions as he goes. For some reason, I can't seem to take my eyes off his hands as he grips Neville's wand and demonstrates the correct movement for the fifth time. Those long, potion-stained fingers curling around a wand stirs some unknown emotion inside me. How many times have I wondered about the prince writing in his text, testing his jinxes and revising the potion instructions? Are those the hands that stroked over the crinkled pages day after day? Is his the scent that still clings to the paper? The only way to find out for sure is to get him to admit to being The Half-Blood Prince… and how exactly do you get a Slytherin like Snape to admit to anything?
I do believe it's time to make a plan.
"Dismissed," Snape states dryly, strolling to his desk. I pack up as slowly as possible, waving Ron and Hermione on when they lingered with me.
"Professor, I was wondering if I might have a word." I say boldly, standing stiffly by my table instead of walking up to his desk. He flicks his wand sharply, causing the door to click shut, arm itself with a silencing charm and lock.
He nods and waves me to him, face calm and impassive.
"I'm sorry, sir." I blurt, forcing the words out before I could rethink my hastily formed plan.
"What have you done now, Potter?" Snape replies wearily, rubbing his fingers against his temples.
"I'm so sorry for looking into your pensive without your permission and I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to say so sooner," I croak, nearly hyperventilating now.
Snape is utterly silent again, looking at me with open shock. I seem to be doing that to him a lot lately. His face snaps back into its impassive mask very quickly as he stands from his seat.
"Yes, I imagine you are sorry. That doesn't excuse the fact that you did it in the first place nor does it excuse the fact that the authority I have over the students you told has been irreparably damaged," he says coldly.
"People I told? Sir, I never told a single person what I saw," I exclaim heatedly, ready to argue through the night until he believes me.
"No one? Not even Weasley and Granger?" He asks in disbelief, clearly expecting to be correct.
"No, Professor. Especially not them," I reply softly, meeting his eyes without reluctance.
"Alright, Potter. I believe you. If that is all…," he hedges, clearly attempting to get me out of his classroom.
"Sir, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that this war will never end and this will be my life until the day I die," I divulge softly, shuffling closer to him while I speak. Don't look nervous, or he'll get suspicious and you really don't want him to find out that this entire conversation is a ruse to get him to admit to being the previous owner of a book you happen to be infatuated with.
"Don't be absurd, boy. This war will end, as they all do," he sighs, looking more uncomfortable by the second. Clearly Professor Snape was not accustomed to playing councillor to Gryffindors… or anyone for that matter.
"But what about the next one and the next one? When will it end?" I plead, feeling slightly guilty for the manipulation. Well, I suppose you've got to think Slytherin in order to trap one.
"Only the dead see the end of war, Potter. It will never end whilst we are alive, as is true for everyone." He quotes, clearly desperate to stop the awkward confessions and revelations. My heart stutters in my chest before shifting into high gear.
"Thank you, Sir." I say, voice and smile wavering terribly as sweat breaks out on my face. Oh Merlin, I was right. Snape is The Half-Blood Prince. Don't panic, he'll see it and make your life miserable until you confess to something.
"Oh for – Potter, do stop looking so stricken. If you require empty words and coddling, I suggest you make an appointment with the headmaster or your Head of House. All you will get from me is hard truth, as you well know. If you didn't want to know the honest answer, you shouldn't have asked the question," he says in exasperation, clearly attempting to give comfort in his own way.
"I appreciate your honesty, Sir," I say with the last of my control. I am honestly about to have a long mental breakdown and I would rather be far away from Snape while I did it. He would never let me live it down.
"If you appreciate it so much why do you look like someone just killed your Kenzle?" Snape asks, at his wits end.
"Because it's you," I shout at last, fists clenching at my sides and I cannot possibly contain myself anymore.
"Pardon me?"
"Its you! I don't know how I could I missed it for so very long, but I did and now I know for sure and I have no idea what to do with this!" I exclaim loudly, waving my arms wildly.
"What in Salazar's name are you raving about now, Potter?" he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. Oh Merlin! I was just about to shout at him that I knew he was The Half-Blood Prince and beg him to be my friend just like the Prince was because, damn it, he stole him from me and I want him back!
"Nothing. Thank you for your time," I squeak in alarm, scuttling out the door as fast as I could manage, despite the utterly bewildered shout from Snape, and tear down the halls to Transfiguration. Oh McGonagall is going to toss me straight out on my ear for this and I'll have to beg Hermione to lend me her notes. Triple bollocks.
"But what were you talking to Snape about? It's Slughorn you're supposed to talking to!" Hermione nags, shuffling her notes on the table in front of her.
"Yes, I know that, but I just had to ask him a question. It wasn't anything to be concerned about," I reply heatedly, rolling my eyes at her theatrics.
"Then why won't you tell us?" She exclaims loudly, windmilling her arms in frustration.
"Because it isn't important! Could you please just let it go? I am just asking you if you have any ideas about how to get the memory from Slughorn," I say with a sigh, terribly exhausted and only wishing for a sandwich and my nice, warm bed.
"Well, I for one think you should just go up and ask him. He adores you, Harry," Ron interjects gently, diverting the conversation away from Hermione's foul mood.
"The only problem is that if it doesn't work the first time, the whole operation would be blown," I say with a sigh, slouching down further in my seat.
"Well you won't know what will happen if you don't even try," he suggests with a small smile.
"Your right, I should just go down there and ask him to give me the memory," I declare boldly, straightening up my spine.
"You might want to go ahead and use that Felix Felicis for the conversation, though," Hermione cries after me as I race into the dorm room to put my shoes back on.
"Good idea," I reply loudly, thumping down the stairs and downing half of the golden potion before shoving the bottle into the pocket of my jeans.
"Good luck, mate," Ron shouts as I break speed around through the portrait hole and down the corridor.
Students scatter to the sides of me, my feet pounding on the stone floor as I race through the halls towards the potions classroom before Slughorn's office hours end. A few startled ghosts, many intimidated students and two disgruntled professors later and I arrive in the dungeons, standing outside Slughorn's office, breathing rapidly.
I knock and seconds later, I hear him call me in. Felix is alive inside me and I can feel the pull as though it were a live thing, yanking and grasping at my spinal chord like I was a puppet. I open the door and rush into the room as though the entire castle was on fire.
"Professor Slughorn, please! I need your help! I know that you already gave Dumbledore that memory but it's imperative that you give me the real memory right now. Voldemort is preparing an attack and we absolutely must know what you told him. Please, Sir, if you don't give me the real memory then I could die! Please," I shout, planting my hands on the desk in front of him and using every ounce of cunning I possess to attempt to pull my face into a panicked expression.
"You – I – that is I certainly – I cannot - you don't understand," he stutters, spittle flying everywhere in his fluster.
"I don't want to die, professor. I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" I bellow, sure that my face must be a garish shade of red by now.
"My boy, you have no idea what could happen to me if I should give you this memory," he whimpers meekly, bowing his head.
"I guarantee you that nothing will happen to you. I swear that I will keep the owner of the memory a secret. Please, sir, I need you to trust me," I say, slowing down long enough to put on my most trusting expression.
"I have your word?" He hedges, narrowing his eyes.
"My word," I swear.
"Then you can have the ruddy memory. I certainly don't want it anymore," he mutters, pulling a crystal vial out of his robes and putting his wand tip to his forehead.
Slughorn concentrates for a minute, pulling the delicate memory out of his temple and places the silvery thread in the vial.
"Here, then. I hope this help..," he says, cutting off when I snatch the vial from his sweaty fingers, shove it in my pocket and race out of the room.
"Thanks" I shout over my shoulder, not looking where I am going, and before I can pull my head around, I connect with a solid object and find myself sprawled on the stone floor.
"Watch where you are going, Potter!" Snape snarls, reaching his hand down to wrench me up by my collar. "What are you doing, racing through my dungeons this close to curfew?" He asks suspiciously.
"I was speaking with Professor Slughorn, sir," I reply with a cringe. Of course, the absolute last person I wish to speak to would come around right when I was finally not thinking about him.
"Ah, yes. You two are getting along splendidly, I hear," he sneers, looking a bit ill at the thought of anyone being close to Slughorn. "You always loved being acknowledged."
"If that's what you like to tell yourself, Sir. If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to Gryffindor Tower," I say rebelliously, but as politely as possible.
"Actually, Mr. Potter, I need to speak with you. Come with me to my office," he demands with a smirk. Briefly, I think about simply fleeing as quickly as I can before he can insist again but instead I walk obediently behind him as he strides towards his office, attempting vainly to keep my breathing under control.
As we pass through the door to Snape's outer office, the door slams shut followed by the faint humming of a silencing spell being activated. Snape is standing very close, looking at me like I'm a small lab specimen that he has to dissect. Oh, jolly good, its time to talk about my little stunt this morning.
"You wanted to speak to me, Professor?" I prod, my voice unnaturally loud in the cavernous room.
"Obviously, Potter. I would like for you to explain to me what you were ranting about this morning. If you even think about lying, I will know," he purrs, smirking unpleasantly.
"About being afraid?" I ask with a tentative smile. Of course, I already expected the low growl so when it came spitting out of his throat like a swarm of angry bees, I was prepared.
"NO! And if I have to explain to you what it is I want you to tell me, I will stick you in detention for the rest of term," he snarls, his top lip curling.
"I'm almost positive that if I tell you then I'll be in detention for the rest of term anyway, so either way I see no improvement," I whinge, feeling a great pressure on my chest. Oh god, he isn't going to have to stick my in detention… there won't be enough left of me to serve any detentions.
Snape sighs irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a headache. "I'm sure it can't be that bad, Potter. Just tell me and get it over with so I don't have to look at you anymore."
"Would you mind if I asked you a question first, sir?" I ask in a very small voice. No use in trying to be brave when I actually want him to talk to me for once.
"Oh for Merlin's sake! Fine, I'll answer your question if you agree to tell me what you think you know," he replies in exasperation, leaning back against his desk.
"Deal," I sigh out, barely able to contain my shaking. Please don't let him kill me. "Are you The Half-Blood Prince?"
Snape is still for such a long time that by the time he blinked again I was so relieved that I almost hugged him. He blinks rapidly, still absolutely silent and stands up straight. I'm not dead yet so I suppose that it's safe to take a breath. Please, just say something! For the love of god, say something!
"Yes," he replies stiffly, his face not giving anything away. If asked, I would say that he was so shocked that he was incapable of more than that one word.
"That's what I know," I say softly, watching his face for any sign that he's about to go for his wand.
"How?" He grits the word out past clenched teeth, although somehow not looking angry.
"I didn't think I got a good enough score to get into N.E.W.T Potions so I didn't buy any supplies this year so when I actually got to take the class, Slughorn told me to grab a spare book from the supply cupboard and it was in there. I wrote to Flourish and Blott's and got a new book but I learned so much from The pr – er… it that I took the cover off the new one and put it on the old one so that I could keep the book," I explain hurriedly, trying to get the story out before he started yelling.
"Well, that explains your sudden knack for Potions. Why it had to be you, I'll never know. Why were you so distressed, then, to discover I was the previous owner?" He asks, finally finding his tongue.
"Because you hate me. I wanted so much to –" I explode, cutting myself off at the last possible moment to preserve what remains of my dignity. My mouth snaps shut with an audible click and I purse my lips to stave off any further humiliation.
"Go on," he insists, curious now. His eyebrow is arched and he looks generally interested in what I was about to say. In fact, the scowl is no where to be seen and he is running a long finger over his bottom lip, looking his rather youthful 36 for the first time I can remember.
"Listen, the Prince was my friend and I was so excited to find out who he was so that I could – so I could know him better, find out what happened to him, and I know you'll never sit down with me and be civil enough to talk about anything at all. So, yeah, I was very distraught… Sir," I babble desperately, hoping that I actually made enough sense for Snape to decipher my intentions.
"Your friend? How do you mean?" He asks, leaning forward in rapt attention as though the entire concept is foreign to him. It probably is. You don't create spells for enemies unless you have a great many said enemies.
"I'd rather not say, sir," I mumble tiredly, slumping forward against the back of the chair in front of the desk.
"Why not? It can't be that bad," he counters, smirking slightly. Pillock.
"I read that book every day, I slept with it a few times and I actually stroked the bloody pages and if you laugh at me, by Merlin, I will hex you," I shoot back in humiliation, watching the corner of his mouth twitch at least five times.
"I see," - another twitch - "Slept with it, you say?" – twitch, twitch – "Well, I cant mock you too much considering I did the same a time or two," he says with quite a lot of pauses to get himself under control, smirking constantly.
"Stuff it, you prat. Shouldn't you just– Sorry! I, er… I didn't mean -," I start only to freeze up in terror. Holy Merlin, I just called Professor Snape a prat. I'm going to be chopping disgusting things until June.
"Oh, relax. Consider this conversation off the record," he says tiredly, rolling his eyes and waving his hand as though to clear the insult from between us. I take another breath.
"So, I'm thinking that you should be rather happy with yourself for inciting such interest in one such as me. There really isn't any need for detentions of any kind, wouldn't you say?" I suggest with a bright smile, hoping beyond hope that I can inspire this… subdued Snape to show mercy.
"No detentions, Mr. Potter. I just have one question for you and then you can go," he drawls, rolling his eyes at my brilliant grin. His voice sounds serious, so I try to look as mature as I can so I don't end up looking like a moron, grinning away, while he's saying something important.
"Sounds fair," I agree softly.
"Now, I know what you were capable of on your own power, seeing as how I had you in my class for five exceedingly witless years. Though, this year, I am sure that with the help of my old text book you were able to achieve great results, my question to you is how great," he says, staring at me unflinchingly.
It takes me a moment to understand what he's asking. Merlin, does he always have to talk in riddles? Can't he just say 'What is your Potions grade, Potter?' instead of making me figure out what each sentence could possibly mean? It's like the man is incapable of making himself clear. Although, in his defence, years of being a double agent might do that to a bloke.
"My Potions grade? Last week I had an Outstanding. Why?" I say a bit defensively. I may not be a genius like him but it's almost impossible to not do well with the Prince whispering secrets in my ear.
"I see. That's a shame," he sighs, looking disgruntled.
"Why? That's the highest grade one can get! I happen to think I'm doing great!" I exclaim, frowning incomprehensively.
"Well spotted, Potter. An O is the highest grade you can receive. The problem is that you have risen to such a great height that it would seem… odd for you to return to your previous marks as soon as I take my book away from you," he replies in the same, bored tone.
"Take it... – NO! You can't! It's not just a book to me, Professor! It's… important. I don't care about my grade, but I need that book!" I shout, outraged, backing slowly towards the door as though to make a run for it.
No, no, no, no, no, no. This is absolutely not happening! I can't lose my book, I just can't! It's bad enough that the man whom I have been admiring all these months is Snape, a man who hates me so much that there is no chance of ever sitting down and talking about his life, my life and everything in between, but to have my friend ripped from me this way is unbearable.
"Mr. Potter, I assure you that I can. Not only is it my book but leaving it in your possession is irresponsible of me. It may surprise you to know that, in my youth, I was less than moral. I am sure that it will also surprise you to know that several of the spells inside that book might be greatly frowned upon by the majority of the facility when you start flailing them about like an uneducated Longbottom," he stated blankly, raising a sardonic eyebrow.
"Just because they're in the book doesn't mean that I am going to use them! I can be responsible!" I wail desperately.
"Really Potter? Remember your first year when you faced two different manifestations of The Dark Lord without ever seeking out the assistance of an adult? Or how about you second year in which you faced not only a Basilisk but yet another manifestation of The Dark Lord, also without telling anyone where you were going or with whom? Or maybe you would prefer to think of your third year when once again you ran off, half-cocked, to face an escaped convict and almost got eaten by a werewolf instead. Or perhaps even fourth year where you forced your company upon a masquerading Death Eater everyday and didn't find it worth mentioning that there was a peculiar trunk that whimpered and screamed for help. Hmm, yes, very responsible track record indeed, Potter," he blurts, not even concerned with the rather human function of breathing.
Goodness, he seems to be really gearing up into an involved rant. He must have been holding on to that for a long while, considering that after each one of these events, I had to be rescued by him. Damn, I might owe him an apology after all.
"Yes, well. It all sounds terrible when you put it like that! I did what I had to do and I got the job done just fine," I say petulantly. I'm grasping at straws and I know it but really, this is still Snape and he just has a way of getting right under my skin.
"I wasn't aware there was another way of putting it. You are an underage, undisciplined wizard who waltzes into absurd situations without any plan or advantage to fight the most powerful dark wizard of our time. Not to mention that your reinforcements in these aforementioned situations were two equally ignorant and unskilled children that barely ever helped you and instead just put themselves in great danger and hampered you further. Sounds a smidge irresponsible to me," he spits, shoving his face right up into mine and glaring at me ferociously.
"Your right," I murmur softly, not unlocking our eyes.
"Don't even think abou – what?" he roars, only to stop short in amazement.
"Your right about all of it. I'm not nearly as prepared as I should be by now if I'm expected to face Vold – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sometime soon, I didn't try hard enough in Occlumency and I do run off willy-nilly without asking anyone for help," I say forlornly, feeling very depleted all of a sudden.
It takes Snape a few minutes to compose a reply. He stares at me, blinking rapidly as though he can't believe what he just heard. Not that I blame him for being shocked seeing as how I have never gone out of my way to play into his favour, never apologized for my behaviour that directly effected him. I certainly never treated him with any respect… but come on! It's Snape!
"Well, at least you've seen the error of your ways," he says slowly, still looking utterly bewildered. "Come here," he orders sharply, as though to recover his authority further.
I walk to him in confusion, and am shocked further when he grabs my right forearm and tugs it away from my body. Opening my mouth to ask what the bloody hell he thinks he's doing, I let out a hiss instead as his cool fingers burrow into my school robe, brushing against my stomach, and retreating just as quickly as they came.
"What – ?" I bleat lamely, blinking up at his face. So very close, I could almost reach up on to my tiptoes and…
"You will be here everyday straight after dinner. Am I clear?" He demands, standing up to his full height and looking down his nose at me.
I look down at the hand that just came from inside my robes only to see the battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making dangling piteously from his fingers. I squawk indignantly, making a move to grab it back but stop short at the last minute when he puts it behind his back.
"Tomorrow after dinner, Potter. Do not be late," he says with a smirk, tucking the Prince's book into one of the many folds in his robes. Bollocks.
With one last desperate glance at my lovely book, I trudge to the door and make my way to Dumbledore's office for an exhausting exchange of information.
!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_!
In my life, I have had some really horrendous days. For instance, days I had an awkward run in with Lord Voldemort are absolutely at the top of the list, but I reckon today is in the top ten. And it's not even three o'clock.
After an insanely long night with first Snape and then Dumbledore, I got a grand total of three hours of sleep combined with the constant anxiety about my meeting with Snape tonight come together to create a very foul tempered Harry Potter.
Although I attempted, at first, to hide my testiness, by ten o'clock I realized that it was pointless and gave it up as a bad job. Hermione is currently so angry with me that she won't even look in my direction and Ron won't come anywhere near me at present. Apparently my issues are nothing compared to the melodrama those two carry on, because Voldemort is certainly not prancing around with pieces of his soul missing! GAH!
Potions was an utter disaster, comprising everything from minor spills all the way to a vile explosion that covered every student within a ten foot range in blue sludge. Slughorn was not pleased nor were the seven students who had to be late to their next class because they had to go change or risk carrying on through their day covered in slime. Combining my absolute lack of talent and the despairing absence of the Prince's book was the worst idea I've had all year.
"Mr. Potter! You have managed to transfigure your mouse into a daisy," Professor McGonagall says, looking over my shoulder.
"Brilliant," I reply as energetic as possible. I don't know how I even knew what the assignment was, but I think I deserve a pat on the –
"The assignment was to transfigure the mouse into a house cat," she barks, looking none too pleased. Oh good, now my Head of House is angry at me.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'm just not at my best today," I say, hoping to appeal to her nonexistent nurturing side.
"Well, I can certainly see that," she huffs irritably. "If you are prepared to take no marks for the day, then you may return to your dormitory and sort yourself out."
"Thank you, Professor. Sorry for this," I stammer, waving vaguely at the shivering daisy on the desk in front of me. McGonagall huffs again, pointing me out the door and pursing her lips.
Everyone's eyes turn to me as I make my way down the rows and out the door. Of course it's not bad enough to be having a terrible day, but the entire world needs to watch the decline of The Chosen One. Bollocks.
The dormitory is empty when I get there, the sounds of my footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted space. The house elves have already been through, changing sheets and taking dirty laundry, so the bedding is cool and refreshing against my overheated skin.
Oh Merlin, how do I always get myself into these things? I am so nervous and angry about this wretched meeting with Snape tonight that I can't eat properly. What in Godric's name possessed me to believe that I could escape detention for having Snape's book? I just can't understand why I fell for it. Every shred of common sense told me not to tell him, he'll just use it as another excuse to punish me for something I didn't even know about. I mean, how was I supposed to know that it was Snape's book? It's not like he had his ruddy name engraved on it, for god's sake. No, it was a vague self-made title without even a scrap of evidence to back up any research.
Anger, I'm sad to say, is not all I feel towards Snape at the moment. I feel that invisible tether that tied me to the Prince's book transfer on to Snape as though it was there all along. Every time someone mentions him, I can't help but tune in to see what they say, to take notice of every little scrap of news about what he's doing. It's utterly pathetic, mewling after him like a lovesick puppy. God, I wonder what he would say if he knew that I'm thinking these things? Laugh, I imagine, and then throw me out on my ear.
Class must be over now and I still have no explanation for my little episode in Transfiguration nor can I tell them why I have been so terrible today. Maybe they'll just believe that its stress from the war.
Ron and the others come galumphing into the dorm, talking animatedly about the new Wicked Sisters song but manage to hush themselves when they see me sitting up on my bed. That's always a great sign.
"Oi, there you are! Why'd you leave class?" Seamus blurts, completely unaware that this is supposed to be a quiet time.
"I felt ill, so I asked McGonagall if I could lie down. Long night, I suppose," I lie, feeling five sets of eyes boring into me.
"Clear off, you lot. I'll sort him," Ron shouts, whooshing his arms to sweep them out of the room. Rather nice of him, I have to say. Oh, Ron is going to throw an absolute fit when I tell him I lost the Prince's book… and the key to our passing grades.
"So what happened, really?" He asked, plopping himself down next to me. I think he already suspected something bad has happened, and that it very well could involve him in some way shape or form.
"Well Ron, it has completely hit the fan," I respond nice and frankly. No point in avoiding it now.
The look on his face initially shows massive confusion, followed swiftly with another bout of confusion. "What fan?" Oh. Right. He doesn't know any of the muggle phrases.
"Oh, for – I think it's safe to say that we will never see the Prince's book ever again," I explain slowly, giving him time to absorb the devastating news.
Ron's shoulders slump and his face falls into a mask of agony. "Now we'll never pass potions," he whines, looking longingly towards the grove where I kept the book hidden under the mattress.
"Wait! How the bloody hell did you lose it when you never take your eyes off it?" He exclaims, waving his arms hither and thither.
"Snape took it, said that it was cheating to use it," I mumble, feeling a bit guilty about the lie but unable to let loose the fact that the person who I have been obsessed with for months turned out to be none other than The Greasy Git himself.
"Course it would have to be that overgrown bat." Ron says, obviously talking to himself because he did not even look at me. I figure that I am completely in the clear since he hasn't sworn revenge against Snape nor has he started shouting at me. Then he looks at me.
"How'd he find out about the book, anyway?" He asks, sadly clearheaded again.
"He called it a random search for contraband," I blurt sadly, hoping that Ron would write it off as Snape being Snape and stop asking me questions that I will just end up lying about anyways.
"So he just took it from you and told you to go away," he hedges, clearly hoping that nothing else, such as a massive loss of house points, followed.
"No. I have detention with him after dinner tonight. And probably the rest of term…" I sigh, trying to look as forlorn as I should be. Don't look excited about detention with Snape; everyone will think you've gone spare.
"Rough gig, mate. Let's go off to dinner then before you're late for your date with the great big bat of Hogwarts." He blurts out with a little laugh. I too have to laugh about the idea of me having a date with Professor Snape. Probably not in the same way Ron did.
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Author's Note: Here's the second installment – I really hope you all are enjoying it! PLEASE REVIEW! I need them to survive!
Oceans of Love,
~Kitty