Not much is mentioned about Severus Snape's early life or birth. So, I am trying to tell it in my own way. It was out of a whim that I turned Irma Pince as Snape's relative. This time around, I am planning to finish it. I could have taken down the entire thing, but I didn't wish to lose those valuable reviews.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling.

Chapter 16

Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft
30th January 1960,

Irma Pince was sitting by the window sill, her legs tucked below her Ravenclaw robes, her pygmy owl, Botin, dozing near the edge of her knees. She had her latest edition of 'Hogwarts: A History' open on her lap, the chapter on how Hogwarts was founded staring back at her. But the girl was looking out of the window, her eyes lazily tracing the outlines of the forbidden forest. It was dusk. Soon enough, the whole world outside would drown itself in pitch-black darkness. She could hear the constant hum of the castle, vibrating at equal intervals. Like? Like, a pendulum of a grandfather's clock? Reynold Johnson, a half-blood fellow housemate, had shown her an image of those big clocks and Irma found them too commonplace and space consuming.

The Ravenclaw common room decked in its royal colors of gold and blue, the carpet studded with stars, the ceiling reflecting the night sky, and bookcases paneled all-around- a serene and idle paradise for an intellectual. With bay windows that brought the sky so close by- it was everything that a spirited bird could ask for. But not today. Today, even the air was whistling caution. The fellow housemates were whispering quietly among themselves. Their faces were gloomy. It was not hard to imagine, that perhaps few of the many colorful and fascinating rumors that would invade the school corridors, tomorrow was getting born right now, under the starry night of this tower.

"Perhaps, it's a troll, trapped in the very foundation of the school building." Rebecca Hamilton, third year suggested. It was expected of her anyways. She had a keen interest in magical creatures.

"Oh, not a snorting troll, but a monster, surely, yes, it has to be a monster," Stuart Jenkins, fourth year, added theatrically.

"Or the ghosts of elves, perhaps," his classmate Fabian Duncan said, pushing his glass up his bony nose.

"Hogwarts: A history has no mention of this!" Susan Norman, fifth Year charms genius opposed from the other side.

Irma had enough. She had heard enough of these speculations for the last couple of hours. Utter nonsense. Baseless, none of those floating theories had any valid proof to substantiate them. She shook her head nonchalantly. She had exhausted reading the remaining history-related books she had secluded in her trunk. She would come back to reading those stacked in the bookcases around the common room, once it was less populated.

She got down from the padded seat, grabbed her book satchel, and lazily made her way through the crowded room, heading for her dorm room. Botin had felt her mistress's uneasy and perched herself at her shoulder. She was about to make her way up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, when her fingers touched the tapestry narrating a tragic tale of love and sacrifice- one of Helena and Bloody Baron- perhaps. Irma suddenly stood rigid. Very, very slowly, she turned and scanned the whole room, then, kneeled on the steps as if to tie her shoelaces. Why would a pureblood witch need to tie her shoelaces?! She looked about again, made sure no one was paying her much attention. Secretly, tipping the end of her wand at herself, she whispered the disillusionment spell and dissolved into the background.

None of the excited and agitated students stressed with the sudden locked up condition, noticed the tapestry beside the stairs to the girls' dormitory move a quarter, and then dropped back against the wall. Botin had smartly flown off the nearest open window, to his own spot at the Owlery, for a nap, happy, her mistress had found a way to keep her disquiet mind busy.

The sun had eventually gone down, and so had several hours passed by. But a girl with long black hair, sat hunched by a bay window, tomes of books all around her, ferociously scaling through pages after pages, without a care for the world around. Sometimes, mumbling to herself, sometimes, biting the tip of her index finger, a habit- she couldn't do away with.

Irma was far, far away from the present time. She was once living among ancient goblins, who fought a war with wizards, conspiring at Hogsmeade inn. Or she was laying the foundation of the very school with the founders. But nothing absolutely nothing gave her a hint to latch onto. That odd sound had meanwhile been there sometimes, prominent, and sometimes so dull and so soft, that one had to literally place their ears against a wall, or lay down on the floor with ears touching the tiles to listen to it. But that sounded so familiar, and Irma could vouch on her memory, she had never forgotten anything she had come across, but for this little niggling detail.

"Nothing in Confronting the Faceless- so it is not some kind of animal below the school foundation, there goes Stuart's Jenkins theory," she pushed away that one and grabbed the next only to shove it aware with care of course after forty minutes. Dreadful Denizens of the Deep turned out to be thoroughly focussed on sea creatures. Creatures? Creature, why was she thinking about creatures of all the things! Huffing to herself, she scowled at the next book close to her elbow and heaved a frustrated sigh, and thought, 'A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, really will I find it in there?'

That was just how the Hogwarts librarian, Madam Newteye found the third year, secluded at one far end of the library after dinner. There was quite a hassle in the Great Hall, but the Headmaster had tried his best to assure the students and the staff alike, that the situation was being handled with care. And that the students did not require to panic unnecessarily. Their safety was as always, the school's top priority. The dinner was cut short, since the Minister of Magic, Ignautis Tuft, and his secretary- Rayn Crickerly, with a retinue of Aurors had dropped by without prior notice. The headmaster including the heads of the houses, with the minister and Aurors were now perhaps having a heated debate at the headmaster's gargoyle guarded tower office. No one knew though who had tipped the Ministry or the Auror department off.

Madam Newteye for a whole two minutes had stood quietly beside the stacks of ancient runes books eyes trained at the rule-breaking girl. But the 'culprit" was yet to notice the change in her immediate scenario.

"Miss Pince?"

Irma was so shocked to hear a voice so close in the so quiet library, that she had dropped her book, and stood up with a start, wands drawn and pointed at the librarian, a spell nearly reaching the seams of her lips.

"As commendable it is to be vigilant at times like this, I don't like to be at the receiving end of a student's wand, at any occasion, put that away, girl!"

"Oh! Forgive me, Madam, I was just lost in thought.' Irma had genuinely been sorry and looked down at her shoes after tucking her wand away.

"Apology accepted. May I know, why of all the students, you are loitering in the library? Did you forget the Headmaster's strict orders?"

"No! I was in my common room for most parts of the day, but madam, you must understand that these sounds, they are not normal, I have a feeling that I do know, seriously I strongly believe, I know what they are but I can't put my finger on it."- Irma trailed off.

After a moment's consideration, the elderly witch gave the student a curt nod.

"I should be docking points, but I will leave that to your Head of the House. As of now, you can stay but for half an hour."

With that the librarian swayed after, her robes swishing across the wooden floor.

Once at her seat, Margaret Newteye was thoughtful. Albus would not object. I might not be privy to what storm is getting cooked at his office now. But at a time like this we do need all eyes on deck. But the girl's safety is a priority no doubt. I do have a lot of cataloging to do right now. Deciding her next course of action, she whispered, "Grey Lady, I would like to ask for little help regarding a Raven of yours."

The shimmering apparition of the grey lady, the resident ghost of the Ravenclaw house materialized through the door of the library a little later, a brief nod from her suggested the librarian did have her attention.

"Miss Irma Pince is at the library and will soon be sent off to her common room. Please inform her head of the house about this development."

The Grey Lady, also known to be the ghost of the castle that never talked to anyone, gasped sharply at recognition," Irma, here!"

And then she simply departed with a swish of her gown.

Madam Newteye sat still at her table, her mouth open and jaw hanging. Never in all her years at Hogwarts, both as a student and as a librarian did she get to hear the voice of the Grey lady, even after being a passionate Ravenclaw.

About twenty minutes, later Irma made her way out of the library thanking the curious librarian profusely. While the latter had left her at her table to finish off with reading the book she had at hand, for some more minutes, Irma had hastily scribbled a letter on a spare parchment to her mother. Whenever she had a doubt, she would approach her mother. One could confidently say, Aida Pince made sure never to disappoint her youngest daughter.

Madam Margaret Newteye and Madam Irene Moonstone and Mr. Lawrence Flintstone are all my brainchildren.

Botin- is female messenger in German