More than a little confused, and lost in speculation, Severus nearly passed the turn to Hannah's office, his feet carrying him automatically to the dungeons, to his own. Bloody hell, he thought as he turned sharply to avoid having to backtrack, which would have been humiliating even if it was only the paintings that would have seen him, he stalked towards the classroom where he had first seen Aislinn Ichalia. She'd been sitting in the middle of a collapsed model of the solar system, looking stunned that the desk she had been standing on to hang the thing had toppled. "Never did have much sense," he murmured under his breath. He'd not had any intention of stopping at her classroom, after all she'd only requested he bring the scrolls she needed to mark and they were in her office, but for some reason, he did pause at the door of the classroom and gazed inside.
It couldn't have been more different from his own orderly classroom. Where he had neat rows of tables all facing the same direction, tables that had not been moved once in fourteen years unless it was for cleaning he didn't know about (and if he ever found out that they had been moved, god help the person—or house elf—who moved them!), she had round tables in such an odd array that he couldn't help but think the students had arranged them themselves. Where he had neat cupboards that were always locked and always orderly, she had open shelves on the walls, some of them sagging with books, others scattered with an array of things he couldn't imagine the use of. Glancing over his shoulder, he stepped inside. "Lumos," he whispered, and the room illuminated.
The chalkboard looked as though it had never been truly erased; there were odd hashes and loops that were redolent of letters in the corners, and even in the middle, if he squinted, he could make out what had last been written there. Her desk was nearly indistinguishable under the parchment spread across it, and, when he neared it and looked over the pages, he shook his head. Notes, it seemed, ranging from pages labeled 'Jupiter' to a folder labeled 'Crystals'. Half-buried under a collection of torn pages was a list of her students, and he picked it up, then shook his head again. Attendance sheets. He scanned the dates and sighed more loudly. Attendance sheets from yesterday and the day before. A bit of rummaging produced the ones from today and Monday as well. He stacked them and set them on one of the tables, making a mental note to take them with him when he took his own (for today only, as Severus was apparently much more inclined to staying on top of such administrative duties).
He thumbed through another stack of pages, frowning at the symbols scrawled across them in varying degrees of skill. There was considerably less scrawling on these circles than there had been on the one Severus had found under his door, which didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was when his hand landed on a thick scroll, and, upon unrolling it found the varying script of Hannah Carlisle. He closed his eyes, and suddenly had a flashback of a particularly brilliant essay on the properties of moonstone. It had been riddled with nonsense about energizing properties and idle speculation about the consequences of ingesting such a 'powerful stone', but that had seemed almost minor compared to the skill with which it had been composed overall. And, just like this scroll, the writing had been highly unpredictable, ranging from neat and even to a scrawl so awful he'd nearly handed the whole thing back to her to redo, legibly. As it happened, though, he'd found that her most brilliant points had been buried in the chicken-scratch, not in the neat letters. It had been as though her hand was racing to keep up with her mind, and losing the battle horribly.
Severus leaned against the desk and read the first few lines of scroll, a smile touching his lips when he came to the end of one line and saw a collection of little dots there. He'd seen such imperfections when she was a student as well, but hadn't realized what they were. The only reason he knew now was that he'd seen her beginning that interpretation of his. She tapped her quill on the page when she was thinking things through. A complex mind, that one, and a fertile one. He almost ached to peek into it again, as he had the first day of classes, but he'd resisted the urge to do so again. She'd never said a word about it, but he was certain she knew. She'd been choosing the memories he saw instead of the other way around, and that intrigued him.
The scroll, he realized, was substantially longer than the few pages of parchment he'd found under his door. He unrolled more of it, and skimmed, frowning suddenly as he realized that the beginning of it was largely the same as his had been, with general descriptions and speculations, but after three feet or so, all of which was in a neat hand, he found a new heading. Sun at 12° Sagittarius, it read. He skimmed the next two feet of parchment, which, apparently, contained an in-depth analysis of the sun in Sagittarius, and the sun at 12° Sagittarius in particular. After a lengthy block, he came to another heading, which was Moon at 18° Aries. This was followed by a position for Mercury, then Venus, then Mars, and each of the rest of the planets, and a few things he'd never heard of. Chiron? He found himself wondering, Vesta? Ceres? Hidalgo? There was still considerably more of the scroll, though, and he looked farther down on it, finding notations for the Ascendant, Midheaven and something labeled 'GC', then each of the Houses. Then, to his surprise, there were still more sections with labels like 'Sun in Sagittarius in the Fifth oppose Jupiter in Gemini in the Eleventh.' Notation after notation, and, by the time he reached 'Venus/Pluto/Mars Grand Trine in Water, his head was swimming. These were not generalized notations, either. The one labeled 'Gemini Mercury in the Twelfth squared Virgo Neptune in the Third' had a notation in it about being prone to mumble as one read. Severus read that three times before he was convinced it said what it said. Surely something like that can't be predicted from astrology, he thought incredulously.
He sank into the chair behind the desk, reading now instead of skimming, shaking his head at what was written. …a tendency towards exaggeration…an appreciation of art, but little ability…a predilection towards humanitarian pursuits, even from a young age…a predisposition towards organization…a propensity for losing track of time… Severus' head suddenly popped up. Losing track of time? "Shit!" he muttered, forgoing his more characteristically picturesque curses for one that better fit his mood. He hastily re-rolled the scroll, picked up the attendance sheets and murmured "nox" as he left the room, the lights dimming behind him. Having spent so much time in the classroom, he hurried to Hannah's office and mumbled the password "Mugglewump" to a painting of Cassandra. The door to the office swung open, and Severus immediately tripped as he stepped into the darkness. "Lumos," he sighed, and the lights came on, making him scowl as he realized he'd tripped over a stack of books. And what were those doing in the middle of the floor? He restacked them hastily, and stalked to her desk, picking up the parchments which, conveniently, were clipped together and sitting on top of the layers of papers strewn over the desk. He had an almost unbearable urge to tidy up before he left, but had already been gone long enough that he was going to have to come up with an explanation for his lengthy absence. Tucking the parchments under one arm, and then picking up a quill, a bottle of alcohol and several bottles of ink as an afterthought, he left the room, returning it to darkness as he headed to the dungeons, taking the stairs two at a time. He plucked his own attendance sheets from their neat pile on the corner of his desk, and headed back to the main level again, pausing only to deposit the sheets in the staff room.
When he reached her bedside again, something flickered over her face, but was gone before he could put his finger on it, replaced with a broad smile. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost," she said lightly, and he very nearly retorted that he could have gotten lost in that office of hers. He refrained, though.
"I paused to take my attendance sheets," he said dismissively as he offered her the parchment and writing instruments. "I took yours too," he added, and she frowned.
"Oh, thank you. If they were in my office I'd never have remembered them," she commented, and he could have bitten his tongue into. Just because it looks like the remnants of a hurricane to you doesn't mean she doesn't know where things are, he reminded himself, but said nothing.
"Did you need anything else?" he asked, already taking a step backward, but, to his horror—are you really so put out with this, Severus?—she extended a hand again, and he felt he had little choice but to take it.
"Thank you," she said softly, squeezing his hand.
Almost instinctively, he squeezed back. "Not at all," he brushed away her thanks. "Did you need anything else…?" He could see her seeming to battle with herself, and forced himself not to sigh. He did his best to look sympathetic, though he was thinking that if this was the way this 'friendship' business was going to proceed he wasn't sure if he wanted any part in it. "What is it?" he asked, trying his best to sound compliant.
She looked away, but still had his hand in hers, and he rather had the impression that she was clinging. "Don't go just yet?" she asked finally, turning her face back to him. There was a note of pleading in her voice, and in her expression.
He opened his mouth to protest; he had papers of his own to mark after all, but one look at her face was enough to sway him. He took out his wand and softly recited the incantation to conjure a chair, and seated himself. "Yes, Han—Aislinn?" he asked, "was there something else you wished to say?"
Once again, she seemed oddly torn, almost as though she were carefully considering her response. After a moment, she nodded slightly, more to herself than to him he thought, and took a deep breath, her face reddening slightly. That was the only clue as to what she was about to say, which meant that Severus was wholly unprepared for her sudden announcement. "I'm afraid," she confessed, and Severus instantly looked around for the source of her fear, expecting a boggart at the very least, but she was tugging on his hand slightly again. "Of hospitals. Sickrooms. Illness in general. I…" she trailed off, and his brows knit together as he tried to follow what she was saying and work out what he was supposed to do about it. "I just don't want to be alone," she admitted quietly.
He sat there for a moment, unsure what to do next. She was afraid of hospitals? Severus had heard of people being afraid of a lot of different things, for a lot of different reasons, but never of hospitals. What could be dangerous about a hospital? He gave her hand a weak squeeze. "This is possibly the safest place in the world," he offered uncertainly, "there's no reason to…"
She pulled her hand away from his and draped her arm over her face again. Why does she do that? He asked himself. Because she's hiding from you, came the immediate reply. But why? Does she fear me? He watched her carefully, but no, somehow he didn't think it was fear precisely. Besides, if she feared you, why would she have asked you to stay? He didn't have a chance to answer that question, though, as she was speaking now. He had the impression that she was speaking to her arm rather than to him. "Haven't you ever just wanted not to be alone?" she asked quietly.
He was about to protest that of course he hadn't, but he paused.
"Severus, aren't you coming down? It's Christmas!"
Severus was lying on his back on the floor of the boys' dormitory in the Slytherin Tower, his wand in one hand, idly shooting sparks at flies and watching them as they dropped from their flights. "No," he replied through the door, and, for a moment he was afraid that that old bat McGonagall was going to open the door and come barging in, forcing him to join the scant festivities in the Great Hall. Severus was the only Slytherin who was staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, and, while no one had commented about it directly, he could still remember the words of one Lucious Malfoy his first year at Hogwarts. "The school retains boarders over the holidays, those who don't have families to go home to." The statement had been innocent enough, and Severus had snickered, like all the other First Years at the idea of not having a home to go to for the holidays. Something in the way Malfoy had said it, though, had spoken volumes more than the words alone had. Those who stayed behind over the holidays were somehow worth less than those who went home. Severus, who had been simply astounded by the older, handsome, poised and knowledgeable prefect, had taken that lesson to heart.
Now, four years later, it was his turn to be staying at Hogwarts while everyone with a home to go to had left for the holidays. She had deserted him, and Dumbledore had refused to allow him to go home now that she was gone.
"Come on, Severus, you're not going to stay up there all day, are you?"
He didn't answer, and, to his horror, his worst fear was realized. McGonagall did come right up to the dormitory and spared time only for a precursory knock before she opened the door. He didn't look at her, but could see her from the corner of his eye. "Severus Snape!" she said firmly, her hands on her hips, "get yourself up off that floor and come down for dinner!"
"I'm not hungry." He put his wand down, unsure what she would say or do if she realized he was using a Forbidden Spell on the flies. If she noticed all the tiny, bewinged corpses that littered the floor, she didn't say anything as she stepped over to him and knelt.
He winced as her hand touched his arm. "I know it doesn't seem much of a Christmas to you, Severus," she said, her voice suddenly softer than he'd ever thought it could be. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily, reflecting that her observation had to win some sort of award for understatement.
"Please," he said softly, blinking slightly more rapidly, determined not to start crying again. It was no wonder that nickname was beginning to take hold around Hogwarts. "Just leave me alone."
She was quiet for a moment, then she gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "I'll have a plate sent up for you," she said quietly, then stood and left. When he heard the door click shut, he quit fighting the tears and let them slide unchecked down his face. Of course she'd left; after all, hadn't he asked her to? It was unreasonable to expect her to stay there and offer to talk for a while.
An awful fear swept over him, and he wondered if he would ever have someone ever again. He didn't need to be popular, he didn't care if he didn't have friends, but at fourteen, he did need someone who cared for him. Just one person. She had always been that one person, but now that she was gone, there was no one to be an anchor for him. No one to be a known in a world full of uncertainties. He picked up his wand and found a fly again. "Avada Kedavra," he murmured, and another fly dropped soundlessly to the ground.
"Yes," he said softly, "I suppose I have." He moved his chair a little closer to her bed, arranging himself so she didn't have to crane her neck so to see him. You certainly picked a bad person to keep you company, he thought dryly as the seconds ticked by quietly. The silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable, and he found that he had very few places that he could put his eyes without looking as though he were scrutinizing her breasts, which rose and fell temptingly under her dressing gown. The silence stretched on, and he cast about wildly for something to say, but could think of nothing. Well, he thought of plenty, just nothing he could say. Why did you ask me to stay, though? He questioned her silently. Why not Mickery or Dumbledore? Why didn't you ask me to send up Minerva, or even that lunatic Sybill? Any of them would have been better choices than he was. Was it a random choice? He thought for a long moment about that, but at length came to the conclusion that Hannah was not, by and large, a random person. Headstrong, yes, and impulsive certainly, but he'd yet to find anything she did without a reason behind it. An interesting conversation that would be, actually. Interesting if it was about anyone except me. Still, the question was intriguing.
Finally, after several excruciatingly silent moments, he cleared his throat softly. "May I ask why you are afraid…" he trailed off, feeling foolish. Of course she wouldn't want to talk about her fears. He certainly wouldn't.
She shrugged slightly. "I was in and out of them for most of my life," she replied conversationally, and it took him a moment to realize that she was indeed answering his question. "My first memory is waking up in St. Mungo's, and not being able to find my mum and dad. And then it seemed I was always being bundled off to one in the middle of the night, and…" she trailed off and shrugged again. "They never told me what they were doing, or why I was there. It was just a place where I had to be quiet and still," she winked at him, which shocked him. "And you know how difficult I find it to be quiet and still."
His lips quirked up slightly at the corners, but that was as close to a smile as Severus could manage. It simply wasn't part of his repertoire. "How old were you?" he asked.
Hannah's smile was much broader, and her laughter was genuine. "Possibly five," she said, "maybe six. Young enough to be prone to the wiggles to begin with, without the help of my own personality." She flexed her foot and grimaced softly. "I've gotten better about being still and quiet, but I still don't like it. So I suppose you can imagine what it was like when I was so young."
"And you don't know why you had to endure such torture?" He'd meant it to be sarcastic, but it didn't come out quite that way. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it probably was torture to make any five year old child sit still and quiet.
She waved her hand dismissively. "Of course I do, now, but I didn't at the time. Or rather, I knew but I didn't understand it."
Intrigued, he couldn't help but want to know more. "If I may ask…"
Her smile was still on her face, but it didn't quite touch her eyes. "I had cancer, Severus. I was diagnosed with it in a Muggle hospital when I was four years old." She grew oddly quiet, and he didn't know how to fill the space, so there was simply a long pause. "Muggle treatments are harsh," she said softly, her smile having now faded entirely. She wasn't looking at him. "Harsh enough that I remember even now, and that was very nearly twenty years ago." She pulled her hand away from his, and took a sudden interest in her fingernails, which he noted with some detachment were a very different color from her toenails. "They stick needles in you," she said softly, "and fill your body with powerful poisons, and then try to keep you alive while the poisons kill the cancer." She lifted a hand to her hair and twirled a lock around a fingertip, and he wondered if she was even entirely aware she was still in the room.
"Is that why you won't let me make you a potion for your headaches?" he asked softly.
She looked at him so suddenly, and laughed, genuinely, making him think that he'd not been far off target in thinking she'd forgotten he was there. "No, Severus, I don't want your potions because I refuse to give into a headache. I have enough things to contend with without admitting that my head hurts so badly I want to rip it off at times. I can't control what hurts and what doesn't," she said, her voice growing serious, "but I can control how I react to it. And I have chosen to ignore those headaches."
Severus nodded, still a bit mystified, but understanding on some level. Control over one's life was a precious thing. His eyes slid over her, and it was he who reached for her hand this time. Cancer. That was something he'd never known, certainly.
She yawned, and he smiled a bit at that. "Shall I leave you to sleep?" he asked, and she looked torn once again, but this time she nodded.
"I've taken enough of your time for one day, haven't I?" she chided gently, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she was smiling. Joking, perhaps? Perhaps not.
"I," he faltered, and mentally cursed her for putting him in that position. He was not precisely known for saying the right thing, after all. "I only thought you might be tired. If you want, I'll stay a little longer." Fool, why would she want you to stay? You actually gave her the perfect opening, and she took it, but like a frightened child you had to ask her to re-evaluate and…
"If I'm not keeping you from anything," she said softly, "I'd appreciate it if you stayed."
He squeezed her hand again, and said nothing. This time, though, the silence was no uncomfortable.