"Well?"
"I am concerned,"
"Which one,"
"All of them, but mostly you." Snape jerks staring at her.
"I'm fine,"
"When is the last time you slept?"
"Don't act like a ninny, Septima. It doesn't suit you."
"Very well, Miss Runcorn would be your first suspect of the four. Just as her family taught her."
"But you don't think it's her."
"No, I do not." Silently agreeing he waits for her to continue. "Miss Slinkhard was fairly composed if a little shaken. She asked about Miss Prine's mother." Silence until a whisper of breath escapes her lips in a sigh. "I think she might have been faking."
"Another old family, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"What of Rookwood?"
"It is not her."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, the child was distraught."
"Maybe-"
"I know what you are thinking, but it is not her Severus and I hope you will not disturb her even more after this." He rolls his eyes making a mental note to keep an eye on Rookwood.
"Alright, still nothing from Malfoy?"
"You forgot the last one."
"I thought it wasn't necessary, but if you wish to give a full report."
"She was very composed, strangely so. It almost seemed like she wasn't fully there."
"It's not unheard of for children to-,"
"That is not all, they quarreled recently. I think she might need some help."
"That's your job," Septima looks at him with a short flash of irritation.
"Yours, as well, Severus."
"Not right now, finding the heir is more important."
"I have told you before, some students just will not confide in me. I am not one of them."
"Trust me, Potter is too stubborn to confide in anyone, least of all me."
"Have you tried?" He waves this away.
...
Dealing with overprotective witches is starting to wear on Sarah. Madame Pomfrey felt, not only the need to perform a physical examination but her emotional state as well. Ask if she's had any nightmares, whether she's more defensive than usual, or if she's been having unusual bouts of happiness. She might have given in to a few fibs while providing just enough information to let the matron know that she's fine.
When she leaves, it's only to walk right into a very stern-looking witch.
"Miss Potter," Sarah looks up mentally rehearsing the answers she'd just given to Pomfrey. "I've been wanting to speak with you."
"I'm doing alright, Professor. The dementor just freaked me out a bit," McGonagall nods once,
"That's good to hear." She frowns. "I heard about your meeting with Professor Snape,"
"Oh,"
"So he sent you to make nice. What a wimp,"
The vengeful thought suits her mood, and when McGonagall speaks she's able to keep her expression composed. "Did everything go alright?"
"Fine," Her lips thin, "We had coffee."
"Professor Snape can be a hard man to get along with, Miss Potter." She says nothing hoping McGonagall will leave it at that. "I hope you remember that he is trying to help you."
"I'll think of that the next time he sends people to spy on us."
"Spy? Ah," McGonagall actually smiles, "I see." Sarah hopes she hasn't said too much. "You'll have to forgive him for that, it's his way of checking up on you."
"He could've just asked."
"Yes, he could've, but then he wouldn't be Professor Snape." Sarah looks away to hide her grimace. "He's very protective of his Slytherins."
"A Slytherin," She cuts in sharply "Not his." Knowing she sounds like a two-year-old, but not especially caring she takes a step back.
"I suppose it'll take time, but I hope you'll see his heart is in the right place." McGonagall turns away. "You don't have to like him, but you do have to respect him."
"He doesn't show me any respect, why should I?"
"At the very least because he spent most of last year trying to keep everyone alive." Sarah freezes processing these words, something pokes at her brain.
"He tried...but he never actually." It clicks into place and she breaks into a smile. "I've got to go, thanks, Professor."
She moves quickly deciding to skip the Welcome Feast entirely and head to the library. Maybe Madame Pince wouldn't even be there and she could have a few moments of study without the vulture's glare.
The library is not empty when she gets there, Mr. Filch is inside and immediately pounces promising detention.
"But Mr.-"
"Yes, Professor Snape will be willing! He's always supported the old punishments."
"I wasn't-"
"You escaped the consequences last time! But now-"
"Mr. Filch!" It's a prim voice, "There's no need to go all the way to the dungeons. I can handle this."
"Ah," Mr. Filch's head jerks between Sarah and this Professor. She tries to pull a name from the depths of her mind, but she's got nothing. "I'd, well, I'd prefer."
"Thank you for finding her. Now if you will please excuse us." He walks away with a nod. It's no surprise either, the witch has a way of speaking that conveys complete authority without seeming the least bit rude.
"Um,"
"Hello, Miss Potter." She smiles sweetly, "How was your summer?"
"Um, good,"
"God, what is this person's name?!"
Her head tilts and with a graceful wave of her arm, she gestures for Sarah to enter a classroom. It's a small room, with about ten desks spaced evenly through the center. There's the perfect amount of space to walk through them without any inconvenience.
"Do you think you will be taking Arithmancy next year?" This question doesn't exactly make sense, so she gives a noncommittal noise. "Speak up, Miss Potter."
"I, um, don't know." The witch turns, she's wearing golden robes with a floral design. Her hair is dark brown, it's let down unlike most female Professors she's seen, but not a single strand strays from its place.
"It is a fascinating subject for those who have enough focus. How is your focus, Miss Potter?"
"I, umm,"
"Um is not a word," Her voice is stern for just a moment, but it returns to the prim graceful cadence. "I know it is a bit old-fashioned, but when in my classroom I expect my students to speak properly."
"Oh, I'm, um, I mean, sorry."
"You are forgiven." Sarah makes a mental note not to take Arithmancy while straightening her posture. "Now, I know we did not speak much last year, but I would like you to know, I am a bit of an ambassador for Slytherin." She raises an eyebrow, "I help the girls who are transitioning into womanhood, I can be a confidant for those who are...intimidated...by their Head of House."
"Were you in Slytherin?"
"No," It's a firm no and she doesn't expand past that.
"Um-" She cuts herself off with a wince. The woman smiles obligingly. "I mean, thank you...for letting me know."
"You are welcome, Miss Potter." Sarah glances around the room in hopes of picking out a name somewhere. There's something very aesthetically pleasing about the way the portraits are hung, she realizes that the distance between them is exactly the same. No matter what it is. The cabinet to the door to the mirror to the portrait, everything is perfectly placed.
"Cool," Sarah breathes inadvertently going around the room trying to find something wrong.
"I like my students to be aware of themselves in my class. When they walk in here, whether they realize it or not, they change to fit the environment. Straighten their clothes and such. Awareness is the key to Arithmancy."
"I'd probably be terrible at it, then," Sarah comments.
"Perhaps, but you will never know if you do not try it." She steps forward smiling, "Now, could you tell me why you were going to the library, Miss Potter?"
"Oh, I, um, I mean," The eyebrows on the Professor's face rise so quickly Sarah cuts herself off immediately and closes her mouth firmly.
"I see," She steps forward once more, it's too close and Sarah steps back. "I had hoped you would learn from your mistakes last year, but as it has become apparent you are determined to test the rules-"
"I'm not!" The eyes sharpen, and she looks down feeling completely abashed.
"Please, do not interrupt me, Miss Potter." Nodding miserably, Sarah forces herself to stay silent employing some of her acting skills so she can look up with complete indifference. "I do not wish for you to get hurt again, but if you continue to refuse help then it is inevitable."
"Yes, Professor." The witch sighs sadly.
"I see, Professor Snape was right." Sarah bites her tongue to keep from crying out indignantly. "I suppose I should stop questioning him when it comes to his Slytherins."
"I'm not his Slytherin," Sarah spits unable to keep it in any longer. "I don't belong to anyone least of all, a spiteful, bitter, old man!" To her surprise, the witch laughs.
"L'habit ne fait pas le moine."
She hasn't had an accent while speaking English, but from the easy flow of her words she knows this must be the Professor's first language "What?"
"He is not yet forty and you call him old." Another laugh. "I wonder what you think of me." Sarah shrugs helplessly "Either way, you should be grateful to the bitter old man. He has worked very hard for you this summer,"
"How?"
"You are not willing to confide in me, Miss Potter. Why should I do the same?" Sarah opens and closes her mouth before shrugging.
"I guess that makes sense." The witch nods and dismisses her with a wave. Sarah almost to the door when a thought hits her.
"Professor."
"Yes, Miss Potter?"
"You said that you're a confidant for Slytherins. Did you, um, talk to Cecelia Prine last year?"
"Yes, we spoke quite a bit." Sarah considers her words carefully before shaking her head.
"Ok, I'll, um, shit-" The Professor frowns.
"I do not appreciate that language, Miss Potter, and the next time I hear it you will lose points for Slytherin."
"Yeah, definitely not taking Arithmancy next year."
"Sorry,"
"As you were roommates I think it prudent to inform you, she will not be returning this year." Like a swift jab to the gut, it seems as if the room has become even smaller. "Her parents were very concerned about what happened, and have decided a different school will be better for their daughter."
"What school?" The Professor smiles sweetly,
"Beauxbatons, in France. I think she will do well there." There's nothing more to say, so she leaves hating that her breath hitches in her chest.
...
"Life Debt- a magical bond formed between a wizard or witch and the person whose life they saved. The one who owes the debt to the savior would one day be obliged to repay the deed by doing something beneficial to the said savior."
Sarah reads A History of Magic carefully, but the book doesn't hold the answer to her question. It very briefly states that if the one who is owed dies, unless stated otherwise to the ower, the Life Debt is carried onto their children, if they have any. It doesn't go into detail about what happens when there are multiple children. Whether or not Snape actually does have to save her life to pay off her father doesn't matter. It's what he seems to think.
"No wonder he hates me."
She sighs closing the book after her third attempt at squeezing an answer from its pages. She's stuck with him, at least now she knows why he was so freaked at Knockturn Alley and Kings Cross. If she died, who else would he have to repay the debt? Something tickles at the back of her head, that if he were really worried about that he would have waited until she was in actual danger to do anything.
"Guess not even Snape is that cruel,"
His questions at the cafe still don't quite make enough sense to quiet her brain, but it's enough. Now she knows why he keeps showing up in places where he doesn't have any business being. Maybe she can figure out a way to let him off easier, bring any more unlikely meetings to a screeching halt.
As she peeks out from her perch at the window she spots one of her roommates playing Gobstones below. Everyone seems to already know about Cecelia's departure and no one seems to care. Lydia had already loudly proclaimed her joy at cleaning up one roommate and that there was "Only one more." Augusta's greeting was much less cordial, with a cold sniff and immediately leaving the room. Emmeline waved at her, but no other mark of recognition.
"God this year is going to be awful."
Sarah grabs her book and creeps down the stairs trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible.
"Potter!" It's Malfoy's drawl that makes her turn. Adopting confidence she doesn't feel whatsoever, she tosses her hair aside and gives him a disdainful glare. "You trying out for Quidditch this year?"
The room is still bustling with activity, no one else seems to think this is an odd question. He rolls his eyes as her silence continues. "Well, if you are tryouts are next week."
"Um, thanks,"
"Yeah, try not to make an ass out of yourself." She feels a strong urge to sink into the floor. What the fuck happened last year?
...
"How do you imagine that will happen?" Snape doesn't immediately answer as Merlin paces inside his portrait. He'd deigned to speak to Snape once again today. "It's been thirteen years, and he's never tried to help them before."
"James' reincarnate will be before him three times a week, he'll reach out." Merlin shakes his head.
"What about Vector? She knows how to handle kids, and if you told her what-"
"Septima is too proper, the girl would never relax."
"You should have just visited the Dursleys!" Merlin snaps, "Screw Dumbledore, if-"
"Be silent, what's done is done," Merlin grumbles something under his breath which Snape ignores. "By the end of this year, I'll know for sure,"
"And what happens if I'm right?" He considers this and shakes his head. "It'll be just like the others, you'll tell Dumbledore and he'll do nothing."
"It's Boy Who Lived, someone will do something."
"Just not you."
"If you're not going to be helpful then leave." Silence is the answer, and when Snape turns back to the portrait it's empty. He can't be too annoyed at least he isn't threatening him with the Weird Sisters.
A portrait has the most frustrating existence, and Merlin's attempt to fight Slytherin's fucked up system started centuries ago. Not even death can let this imitation of him rest.
Snape leaves his office going through a tunnel that ends outside the castle. The full moon is still out he pulls out a carton of cigarettes, lights one with his wand, and inhales. There's a single chair, wooden with a skinny cusion. Snape settles in it hoping to smoke away that last accusation.
He does what he can for the kids, Septima helps them.
The excuses sound thin and whiny. A deep puff helps the buzzing of his brain to quiet. Another and his shoulders can relax.
Three cigarettes later the sky is turning purple, and he stands striding across the grounds. His destination is far, giving him plenty of time to think twice about his decision. His step doesn't slow until he actually reaches the porch. Wondering if he should knock or just barge in turns out to be unnecessary. He doesn't even have to touch the door. It swings open,
"Oh, Severus." Snape clenches his fists then releases a breath. "I told Madame Pomfrey I'd be fine."
"Lupin, we have to talk."
"L'habit ne fait pas le moine.-French for the outfit doesn't make the monk or, loosely can be related to, don't judge a book by its cover.
Thank you so much for reading! I know you're quiet, but I see you there.
I do not own Harry Potter