Guilt finally got to him. Snape was tired of seeing that little book burn holes on his desk. He had to return it and act like it was nothing. He didn't want to admit how much he enjoyed looking at the drawings of the planets and night sky. He never really cared for astronomy much, but the diagrams with their careful little notes became a nightly habit, a welcome respite from grading the dreadful stack of second year essays, each exactly eighteen and a half inches.

The only problem with his plan was Eleanor's recent absences. She had missed class, which would have been an easy return for him, even removing himself entirely by slipping it onto the floor in some dark corner of the classroom. He could only guess she was still in the hospital wing. As much as he hated to go, he needed to get rid of that book. Exams were coming up, and then any chance of returning the little thing would be gone.

Severus stepped into the hospital wing as soon as he saw Dumbledore rise out of a chair across the room. The old man gave a reassuring smile to the bed's occupant on his right and walked away, eyes meeting Snape immediately.

"Severus, what are you doing up here?"

Put on the spot, Snape shifted uncomfortably, "I'm here to drop off a found object. It looked important."

"That's awfully kind of you, Severus," Dumbledore grinned, making the younger man feel even more uncomfortable.

"Took up space," he said quietly.

"I see. Well, I should warn you, she might not be the most inviting right now."

"I'm not here to chat," Snape said defensively.

"Even so, please, watch your tone around her. Her father has passed."

A cold shiver went down Severus's spine. He felt Dumbledore give his shoulder a little pat.

"I'll let you to it, then."

Snape waited until the old man had shuffled away, and Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office after unsuccessfully trying to urge Eleanor to drink something. The girl was propped up in bed, her neck bandaged along with several other, smaller bandages from the debris in the fight. Her hair had been braided for her, and she sat looking completely miserable in a hospital gown two sizes too big for her thin frame. She was staring off into space when he walked up quietly.

He could see she had been crying, her eyes were as red as her hair and her cheeks were a mess. She kept her long, thin arms folded in her lap, the rest of her buried under the coarse hospital blanket. There were plenty of bottles crowding her nightstand, mostly blood-replenishing and anti-scarring potions, and beside them was a little stack of opened mail. Snape caught a glimpse of the top bit of stationery.

…we are pleased to offer you a position as chaser on the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team…

"I said, I don't want anything," she said without looking to see who it was, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Snape said nothing, clutching the little leather book in his hands. Slowly, and with great difficultly, she turned and looked up at him. He pressed the book down onto the table with a guilty look on his face. Eleanor looked at the book with mild astonishment.

"Where did you-…"

"It was left in my classroom," said Snape quietly.

She gave him an incredulous look.

"I didn't read it," he lied, not knowing why he felt the need to say so.

Eleanor said nothing, and merely stared at the book under his fingers. At last she spoke, "It's been an awfully long time."

"I only now found it."

"Liar."

The ease and rapidity of her accusation took him by surprise. There was a harsh look in her eyes as she glared up at him, apparently unafraid of any consequences.

"I don't care if you looked at it. I'm only curious to know why you did, or why you've kept it so long."

"As I told you, I only just know found it-…"

"You're lying," she said dangerously.

The tone of her voice and the intensity of her gaze made Snape lower himself into the wooden chair beside her bed, entranced.

"If you're going to lie, Professor, then at least make an effort." Eleanor sat back, tenderly touching a bandage on her arm. "You fidget slightly when you lie, and you look guilty."

Snape studied her ghostly pale face, silent with disbelief. He was young, yes, and he was new, but no student dared talk to him so freely so far. Yet he said nothing against it.

"You didn't answer my question, Professor," Eleanor whispered.

"To see its owner so I could return it-…"

"You're lying, again. Really, it's as though you aren't trying."

"Curiosity," hissed Snape.

Eleanor was silent as she looked away from him, "Who is Lily?"

"What?"

"Who is Lily, and why do you call me that?"

"None of your business," Snape snapped.

"Did she die? Around Halloween?"

The accuracy of her questioning shot through his heart like an arrow and the cold grip of sadness returned anew. He slumped in the chair, eyes searching the floor. He had forgotten that girl was there that night in Dumbledore's office. He had forgotten she had seen him slip, his carefully maintained mind in anguish.

"I'm sorry. If she did, whoever she is," Eleanor said softly, noticing her comment had hurt him. "I'm sorry, really I am. I didn't mean to sound like that. Or say that. I'm just… upset. I'm sorry."

Snape sat like a statue.

"Please," she said touching his hand lightly. "Please, I'm sorry."

Her hand was so cold, he thought to himself. He sighed, fighting the urge to jerk away. She seemed too fragile for him to move.

"Thank you… for the other day," she said.

At last he looked up at her, feeling her gold eyes fixed upon him in his mind before actually seeing them. The notion of this student practicing legilimency crossed his mind. Her ease of reading his lies and her mysterious lessons with Dumbledore encouraging the silly prospect.

Eleanor lightly touched the bandage on her neck, "Whatever you did… you really saved me. Thank you."

The sincerity in her voice made his heart flutter. For a moment, he could see Lily staring back at him, thanking him for showing her how to transfigure her holly branch into a sturdy chair. Snape suddenly jumped to his feet, turned, and retreated from the hospital wing leaving Eleanor alone and bewildered. She gently picked up the book from her nightstand and flipped through the familiar pages. Her fingers stopped on one page as she noticed something different. In one of her potions notes, her own idea, two of the lines of instructions were scratched out and replaced by a couple lines of tiny scrawl. She traced the corrections lightly with her fingertips.

"I knew it," she whispered to herself.