AN: Thanks to my hardworking betas, and my wonderful readers. I now present, Second Year, part II
Snape left the McKenzie's office at the cotton mill and headed out into the bitter cold of Manchester. The wisps of cotton clinging to his greatcoat were soon indistinguishable from flakes of snow, as Snape walked along the streets. He hated these streets. He hated this city. His only solace was the fact that this would be an exceedingly short holiday. With students, ghosts and cats being petrified from one end of the school to the other, it was imperative that he return as soon as possible. Now that his business was concluded, there was really no reason to loiter any longer.
He always felt out of sorts after spending time with McKenzie. They'd grown up on these streets, and they'd both managed to survive, but McKenzie's path had differed greatly to Snape's. He'd gone to work at the mill and made his way up to foreman and eventually junior management. He'd found himself a wife and settled down to a life of hard-earned respectability.
Snape had gone on to a life of self-induced calamity and indentured servitude.
They now had little in common except their childhoods, which were never a comfortable topic of discussion. However, Snape needed someone he could trust, and he knew he could trust McKenzie. He'd always had his back when they were lads, and if that wasn't enough, Snape could ruin his nice, respectable life with a word.
He thought about the third member of their youthful trio and shook his head. Black Jake had never even made a token effort to get out; instead, he was still out there somewhere, wallowing in the poverty and misery and creating even more. Snape hadn't seen him in years. McKenzie had tried with him, repeatedly offering to hire Jake at the mill, only to be bitten for his efforts. Snape didn't know why he'd even bothered. Jake was beyond help, just like so many others.
Thinking about McKenzie and Jake always made him think of Lily. She'd been the siren's call that had slowly lured him away from the street. He'd watched her for ages, fascinated by her laugh and her pretty hair. He'd followed her around spying on her and her bracket-faced sister, until his suspicions had been confirmed and he'd leaped out at her in his excitement.
He'd felt like an utter fool, of course, with his dirty face and ragamuffin clothes. She'd always been so clean, so pretty, his opposite in every possible way.
Against all hope, she'd actually become his friend. A real friend. His only friend.
The only problem had been that she'd come from a good family and had only been free to play for a few hours each week. There had been so many, many other hours to fill in between, and he always ended up sinking back into the mud once she'd returned to the sanctuary of her home. When they'd received their letters, he'd thought he finally had all the time in the world to be with her…
He'd been such a naïve fool.
He sighed and felt the ever-present pain in his chest again. His memories of her were now an anvil he dragged with him everywhere. Some days he wished he could just hate her instead.
He turned onto his lane and started up the street, spotting a well-dressed, portly gentleman leaving Elspeth Spanner's door. The two men passed, utterly ignoring each other, and he was startled out of his private thoughts by a hiss.
He turned his head to see Elspeth, pale and upset, beckoning furiously to him from her partially closed door. Usually she was far more discreet, and he would have thought she'd have taken the hint when he'd begun avoiding her. But then, she'd never looked this upset before. He looked around and then frowned at her, walking over as she swung her door wide.
He stepped inside, removed his hat, and looked around the room. It was even more of a hovel than it had been last year. In the corner, he saw two sleeping babes, one a few months old, the other looked to be well over a year.
"Madam, is something the matter?"
She shut the door firmly and turned to him with tears leaking out of her eyes. "It's not the same with them," she blurted. "I feel—" Her words trailed off as she reached out and touched the buttons on his coat. She swiped at her eyes and stared up at him. "You haven't been by in a year, and I see you on the street…"
He reached up and stopped her from undoing anymore buttons. This was not their arrangement. Not that they had ever formalized anything since that summer day when she'd caught his eye. She'd made for a nice tumble, and he'd been grateful for the occasional relief from the boredom of life, but now his life was not his own. He did not need any more complications when he was doing his damndest to eliminate as many as possible. Clearly, he had given her the wrong impression somewhere along the way.
"Madam, I—"
"I don't like it with them. I want you. I miss you."
She missed him? No one missed him.
She tugged her hand out of his and slipped it inside his coat, sliding it down his body until she had thoroughly captured his attention and scattered his wits.
"Madam, you mustn't—" She dropped to her knees, and he grabbed her under her arm to haul her back up, but wasn't fast enough. "Elspeth, don't—fuck!"
He threw his head back and cracked it on the door behind him. The impact sounded abnormally loud in his ears, and they began to ring. He lost any further desire to protest. Everything that happened next was a blur, and he wasn't sure how they made it from the door to her lying stretched out on the table, with her legs locked around his waist, as he drove himself deep inside. She thrashed and moaned, pulsing around him gloriously as he emptied himself with a shout.
He was still bent over her, gasping for breath while she murmured throaty platitudes, when a silvery Patronus slipped under the door and took the form of a Phoenix. He grabbed her head and kissed her again, jamming his thumbs into her ears.
"Severus, I'm sorry but I need you to return to the school immediately. We have a situation that calls for your expertise. I do hope my message doesn't inconvenience you."
His eyes nearly crossed from the indignity of having his Headmaster address him while he still had his cock shoved inside a desperate whore. How many people would he have had to Obliviate had he still been outside?
He pulled away when the message dissipated, suddenly furious. He adjusted his clothes—he hadn't done much more than unbutton his greatcoat—and held out his still-gloved hand to help her off the table.
He dug out his wallet. "Elspeth, this isn't you. Here..." He shoved five pounds into her hand and closed it into a fist. "Take your babes and go back to your family, wherever they are. You don't belong here."
"But Henry—"
"Leave him! If he gave a damn about you, he would not have brought you to this godforsaken place! He wouldn't drink all his wages, leaving you to earn your own meals on your back!" She shrunk away from him, and he softened his voice. "We all do what we must to survive, but you won't survive this life, girl. Trust me, I've seen it all before. You are not nearly hard enough."
She looked at him with shining blue eyes, and he wanted to scream at her until that needy look faded away. He wasn't her hero; he used her just like the others. Instead, he looked around until he found his hat on the floor and snatched it up. He brushed at it, calming himself.
"You have other skills. You can read and write, do needlework—" He put his hat on his head just as the shift bells for the mills rang out over the city, signaling the impending arrival of her useless scab of a husband. "I'll not come back here again. When I return in the summer, I would be pleased to hear that you had gone back to wherever you came from."
"I will do as you say," she said quietly to the floor.
He looked at her and sighed before leaving her without another word.
He walked toward his home, wondering if it was possible for his life to get any more ludicrous.
Snape stood over the hospital bed and stared down at the furry student lying before him.
"Polyjuice potion? Are you seriously expecting me to believe you were capable of brewing such a thing?"
"Well, it did go wrong, didn't it, sir?" said Mr. Weasley behind him.
"Silence!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It went wrong, because the effortlessly imbecilic Mr. Longbottom added the wrong hair. I want to know why it was brewed. I want to know where the ingredients came from, and I want to know who else besides the three of you dunderheads was involved."
When no answer was forthcoming, he whirled around on Potter, who couldn't keep a gnat from flying into his eye and stealing a thought. He found the missing bit of information dancing right there on the surface. He was so shocked; he couldn't speak for a full minute.
"Will you be able to help Mr. Longbottom, Professor?" asked Madam Pomfrey from the other side of the bed.
Snape bit back his rage and the sudden feeling of betrayal and replied, "Yes. But it will take me a month to do so. Such a potion takes time and skill, not unlike the one used so flippantly by our culprits." He turned to the patient and sneered. "Until then, Mr. Longbottom, enjoy your whiskers."
He turned on his heel and stormed out, buffeted by his conflicting feelings for Miss Granger. He was enraged that she had taken part in something so irresponsible, awed that she could brew such a complex potion already, and bemused at Potter's flashed image of her recent anger.
Hermione closed the tome with a thump. She knew what it was. She was absolutely certain that she knew what it was that was harming the Muggleborn students. The question was, who should she run to first? Professor Snape? Harry, Ron and Neville? After all, she had promised them she would tell them any of her findings straight away.
Mind you, the boys were being distant again. They had been ever so grateful for her taking the time to brew Polyjuice potion for them, but then she'd been a bit too vocal with her anger once she had realized that they hadn't purchased the ingredients themselves but had stolen them from Professor Snape. As soon as Neville had finally recovered from turning himself half cat, she'd become persona non grata again.
The effort hadn't even been worth it. All they had managed to find out was that even Draco was ignorant of any relevant information.
No, that settled it. She would go straight to Professor McGonagall. This was too big for children to deal with, and the Potions master had made it plain enough that he wasn't interested in having her bring her concerns to him anymore. Her Head of House would know just what to do.
She copied the relevant proof from the book onto a torn scrap of parchment, using a Gemino, and returned her books to the shelves. She packed her things, and at the last minute, she transfigured her ink bottle into a small hand mirror. Better to be cautious.
As she was heading away from the library, she saw Ginny. The younger girl had grown even more withdrawn lately. They had started the year on very friendly terms indeed, but not long after, Ginny had pulled away. Hermione winced when she saw her now. She'd promised Ron that she would look after his sister, and had obviously failed. The young witch looked pinched and haggard. Surely an unrequited crush didn't leave one looking so… lost?
Hermione quickly lifted her hand mirror and checked her own reflection. Surely, she didn't look like th—
Behind her, she saw an enormous, malignant eye, and then she knew no more.
Severus Snape looked around the infirmary at all the petrified patients in their beds waiting for the potion he was holding in his hands. He'd already tested it on the ghost and the cat, now there were only the students left.
The table next to Mr. Finch-Fletchley was covered in get-well cards and candied sweets and varying presents. A quick look about the beds showed that all the students had a similar pile except for one. That bed only had three cards, and a strange necklace made of what looked like tiny dried seedpods. An odd token of esteem.
He walked over and looked at the cards. The first was signed by Mssrs. Longbottom, Potter and Weasley. Clearly none of them had any artistic talent. The second was more elaborate and heartfelt, and was from Miss Weasley. Snape winced. That girl would need a kind and gentle touch to help her recover from her ordeal. The third was from Miss Lovegood and contained an utterly unfathomable bit of advice for avoiding Fibril Flitters, whatever they were supposed to be.
He shook his head and replaced the cards, wondering that there were no more than these few.
Apparently, Miss Granger still had few friends.
He hadn't even noticed this whole year. In fact, he hadn't really thought of her much at all, aside from his anger at what he'd thought of as a betrayal, and to be pleased her essays had improved. All in all, she had been relegated to the ash heap of extraneous concerns he'd created in his mind to protect himself against the Dark Lord's return.
He congratulated himself on a job well done. He had no idea what to expect when he ended up in front of his other master again, he would be at the total mercy of his Occlumency skills, and they had barely been up to snuff before. As much as he had thrown himself back into his mental exercises in the last year, he still couldn't be sure that his mind wouldn't shred like tissue paper under an assault. The fewer lives like Miss Granger's he had on his mind to damn him, the better.
He wondered how much longer it would be. How long would he have to wait before he was to be forced into embracing the Dark Mark again? How many more lives would he have on his conscience this time?
He wished fate would just hurry up and arrive; he had never been much of a patient man.
He took a deep breath and let it go, before turning his attention to the petrified girl on the bed. He caught sight of a scrap of paper in her hand and he pulled it out carefully.
He scowled furiously when he read it and folded it back up and shoved it in his pocket. With no further ado, he placed a few drops of the Mandrake Draught onto her forehead and watched them as they were absorbed. He stepped back just as her arms and legs relaxed and fell back to the bed. Her head lolled to the side, just before her eyes opened with a confused explosion of blinking. She turned her head and saw him and for a moment, she looked flustered, before fear flooded her features.
"It's a basilisk! Slytherin's monster! That's why Harry's been hearing it speak when no one else has!"
She sat up quickly and reached for him, repeating her warning. He took another step back quickly.
"Hush, child. We know."
"You know?"
"The basilisk has been vanquished. You and Miss Clearwater were the last victims."
"I—?" She blinked again, and lifted up a hand to rub her eyes. "How long…?"
"A month and a half. It is the thirtieth of May."
"Thirtieth of May? But…..Oh, NO! Examinations start in two days!"
"Pull yourself together, girl," he snapped. "Examinations have been canceled this year."
"Cancelled? What on earth for? How is that even logical? What about the N.E.W.T.s for the seventh years? How are they to find employment? This seems excessively arbitrary, sir."
His surprise at her priorities was probably plainly written all over his face, as she blushed scarlet.
"I had the same thoughts myself, Miss Granger. However, this would not be the first time the Headmaster has circumvented the Ministry out of whimsy, and they owe him a good deal at the moment , as you will no doubt ascertain for yourself one day."
She swung her legs off the bed and shook her head.
"It would seem that I have missed a good deal."
"Only Potter saving the day again," he said with a sneer. He watched her obvious disappointment with no small amount of confusion. "Why did you get yourself involved in their foolishness? Why did you brew the Polyjuice Potion? I was highly disappointed in you, Miss Granger."
She seemed to partially collapse. Her face fell, and she slumped over on herself until she resembled a slightly gawky prawn.
"I needed to find out who the Heir of Slytherin was. I thought they might be able to find something out, so I agreed to assist them in their endeavor."
"Why? Why wouldn't you leave such things to us?"
"Because I was afraid they would blame you," she mumbled at her knees.
"Me? Why on earth would you think they would blame me?"
She lifted her head and swiped at her tears. "Because they always blame you."
He was so startled by this that he couldn't compose a reply.
She darted a look at him and then looked at her feet. She let out a heavy sigh. "How strange. I thought myself so clever for having figured it all out, only to find myself utterly extraneous to events. There's a lesson to be learned."
"Miss Granger, if you are lucky in life, you will find that being extraneous to events is always to be preferred. One tends to live a longer, happier life. Now, as I have other students to see to… Off you go. As much as the school is caught up in a euphoric hysteria over Potter's latest triumph, it would be best if you spent the rest of the day quietly."
"Yes, sir."
She gathered up her things, taking a quick look at her cards, before stuffing them in her satchel, and shifting off the bed. She had not gone far before her stopped her.
"Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Professor?"
"Next year, let's try and not end the term in the infirmary again, shall we?"
Her eyes sparked, and she smiled with a slight blush. "I will do my utmost to comply with your wishes, Professor."
"See that you do."
He waved her off and turned to the other students, listening to her footsteps as she left.
oof.